Oh, yes, the damn disclaimer: seriosuly, do we really have to do it? Because, Jeez, if I'd own them, I'd not be here writing it, I'd be the writeer of a TV Shows and, well, we'd have the LIsbon romance for real...meanwhile, I just "write, draw, create, dream, hope and believe in Bruno, waiting for him to be blessed bu the light of reason..." (No, this discalimer isn't mine, it belongs to one fo the girls who wite Mentalist fiction on the italian site efpfiction, but don't tell me many of you don't share this vision...).
One-shot, spiler for 3.8, don't say I didn't say a word about it 8sorry, I've become obsessed with episodes tag, recently. I think that's the third or forth I do...)
"Not saying something doesn't mean that something isn't happening."
Hightower's words keep repeating in your mind, like in autopilot. They've been your mantra during the day, as you waited for news on Jane, they've been your mantra while, fighting back the tears, you watched the conference, looking at his picture- and, at the end of the day, you almost feel like laughing, because that has been one of his first cases at the CBI, and that picture has been taken around the same time.
Those words have been your mantra while you were stuck in the basement, and that crazy girl wanted to burn you alive, wanted for you to scream in agony while Jane watched at you, listened to you, dying inside and outside.
You've been repeating to yourself those words while you were both handcuffed, looking into each other's eyes, your green lost into his eyes. You could see the sufferance from his eyes. You could say he was sorry, and he was honest when he told he wasn't going to allow you to die burning, because his eyes weren't exactly blue, but a mix of blue and green- somehow, it's when they are this color that you get lost in them more easily, even if they are in such a way only when he is sad, and, really, what's wrong with you falling always for the wrong ones, for the broken ones, for the not available ones? Maybe, deep down, the good old doctor was right-there's a part of you that wants to suffer because you feel guilty. And you don't want even start with saying of what you are guilty of, of what you think you are guilty of.
You knew he was honest when he told that, like you knew he was honest all those other times he told you he was going to do anything for you, that he'd always save you and that he'd always be there for you. He has proven himself times over times, and maybe, just maybe, this is one of the reasons you have fallen for him. Jane has never let you down (differently from Bosco and Minelli- and, you are sorry to say that, but differently from the rest of the team as well. You don't want even start to think how could have ended if, at the time Carmen framed you, Hightower was in charge instead of Minelli); Jane was there to save you when Hardy was ready to pull the trigger, Jane was there to help you and support you and save you once again when Carmen framed you and you have no memory at all of your recent whereabouts; Jane was there to help you to save whatever was left of your carrier when Hightower suspended you. And those are only the big things, you don't want even start with the small thing he did, and still does, for you (origami animals, hot coffee every morning, the pony, dancing with you, feeling your smile and so on).
You haven't fallen for Patrick Jane, you think as you look at him faking sleep on his couch. You are beyond that, way beyond that. You are in love with Jane, with Patrick. You don't know when, how or why, but somehow, during the last four years, you've fallen for him, and badly. Maybe now you can stop to lie to yourself, telling that the only reason you can't stop thinking about him when you are away from him, when you are at home eating, when you are going to sleep, when you are dreaming, it'd just because you're worried for him and you are friends. Jane may be your friend, but you are not his, you don't want to be his friend. You'd like to be so much more, but you know that, will you reveal the true extension of your feelings, he'll reject you, and you'll ruin whatever semblance of a relationship you have with him, and you definitely didn't want that.
That's what you repeated until now, at least.
Now you are looking at Jane, faking sleep (or maybe sleeping for real, it has been a rather stressful day, after all), and you can't fight those words, you can't eradicate them from your mind (somehow, they've really turned into your mantra). "Not saying something doesn't mean that something isn't happening." That's what she said, that's what you are repeating to yourself. That's a silent and inner order to give up, to end the battle- if you can't have Patrick, then, you'll not have neither Jane. The feeling you have for him will not disappear from night to day, if you keep staying that close to him, if you keep getting closer to him as you are doing, trying to do, they'll only get stronger, and if they'll get stronger, at the end, you'll suffer too much, and when your heart will eventually break, you'll not be able to handle it (and you beg your mind to stop sending you images of Jane walking into the sun with some other woman).
You check a last time your hair, your clothes, your make-up (you went home few hours ago to get a shower and remove all the blood that Jane put on you. It took exactly 7 showers to remove the smell of iron from your being) and taking a big breath you move back to his couch, where just few hours before you had a nice conversation, or at least one of your kind of conversations.
You don't smile, you are only worried as you take a big breath standing in front of him, in complete silence, repeating one last time Hightower's words. "Not saying something doesn't mean that something isn't happening." You are aware she is right; as you are aware you'll have to leave the unit if he'll say no, but you really can't help it. It's time, maybe not the most appropriate time, but it's time. You can't wait any longer, it's now or never.
"Do you want to tell me something, Lisbon?" he sits on his couch, as he asks you while grinning, and you know that, even at closed eyes, he can see you blushing, because it's just how he is (and this is one of those reasons you are madly in love with him).
You sit at his side, almost touching, but don't look at him. you are focused on the pavement, biting your lips, as he looks at you intrigued, with a quizzical look, taking hold of your left hand, searching for your eyes, and maybe, just maybe, you think you shouldn't do this, you shouldn't say those words, maybe he is not ready (scratch that, you know he is not ready! For crying out loud, he still wears his wedding ring after seven years!), maybe you are not ready.
"Not saying something doesn't mean that something isn't happening." You keep repeating those words in your mind, and your breath dies in your throat, and your chest actually aches, as you realize that you can't talk, you are not able to. you are panicking, you know you have to talk but can't to, and Jane, he is so close that you don't understand a single thing, his natural scent and his cologne fill your nose, your senses, and you can't find the words, even if you know you have to, only if for not making a fool of yourself.
He is still searching for your eyes when you finally decide to torn to look at him, and you gulp. You have to do it, you know you have to, and you know you can to. You know this is the only way to say it. So, taking another breath, you do it.
You kiss Jane-Patrick. It is lips on lips, sweet and slow, unsure and scared, and you are crying, because you are scared, and it's quick as well. You pull away from his when he doesn't kiss you back, you don't stop to look at his astonished expression, pressing two fingers on your lips, you make to leave your seat from his side, in a hurry.
That's when Jane stops you, talking you for a wrist and bringing you back at his side- no, you correct yourself, you are no longer at his side, because Jane has pulled you into his lap.
You sit on his legs, cuddled, curled, and suddenly his lips are on your own, and it's him who has started the contact this time. Suddenly your hands are in his curls, pressing him against you to deepen the kiss, and suddenly his owns hands are cupping your face, tracing pattern like to memorize it.
You kiss like there's no tomorrow, like you are the only two human beings on the planet. You say everything when you kiss him, and he answers to every question you haven't asked but yet you did, and he said so much more, he asked so much more with that mind-blowing, earth-shattering, end of the world kind of kiss. You both just said everything, without saying a word. You know what he means when you look into his eyes, still blue-green, but more green (sign that he is happy), and teary. I know, I'm trying to move but I can't yet, I feel the same, give me a bit more of time, I'll eventually be there, wait for me, I'll do anything for you, I'll never hurt you.
You just nod, in silence, firming your answer with another kiss, that's more like a peck on the lips (you don't even allow him to answer to this one), and you say everything as well. I love you, I can't live without you in my life, I'll give you all the time you need and want, I hope you feel the same, I want you here with me, I'll wait for you, I know you'll do anything for me and I'll do the same, please don't hurt me, promise me that you'll keep that promise…
As you leave the office, you keep looking at Jane, your Patrick, sending him glances, and you can't help but giggle like a little school girl as he keeps smiling at you of an honest smile.
Maybe he is not yours yet, but you know he'll eventually be, and maybe you didn't said a words at loud, but, still, you said the "something" nevertheless (after all, your kiss spoke more than words).
At least, now you have something you didn't have this morning, neither 10 minutes ago-Hope.