Azure Present

Disclaimer: The Mentalist show and characters are the property of Bruno Heller, Primrose Hill Productions, Warner Bros. Television and I'm sure others (CBS, etc.). I am not profiting from this story.

Spoilers: Leading up to and including Ep. 2.03 Red Badge and 2.08 His Red Right Hand after which the story in generally AU.

Summary: Sequel to Blue Memories.

Author's Notes: This is a continuation of my story "Blue Memories". Please read that first.

Yaba has been kind enough to stick with me for another story and has been diligently editing this story chapter by chapter. Thank you so much!

Please read (and hopefully enjoy) and be kind enough to leave me a review/comment. That would be most excellent.

Chapter 1

Jane awoke to soft curves pressed against him; warm, moist puffs of air blew against the base of his neck where his shirt was unbuttoned. He turned his head, his jaw coming in contact with slightly wavy brown hair. Lisbon was draped against him, an arm and leg possessively thrown over him. Well, they would seem possessive had they not been on her narrow couch. It was more likely she was keeping herself from falling off.

Jane stretched his body slowly, trying not to disturb his sofa partner and winced. His body ached; the thin cushions on Lisbon's living room couch certainly didn't hold a candle to his at the CBI headquarters. This piece of furniture was probably rescued from a college dorm. He knew, though, that he would continue to return to this couch for the woman in his arms.

And speaking of arms… his left one was numb with a hint of a tingle. Lisbon had slept on his left shoulder all night, head tucked against Jane's neck. He looked down at his dead arm, trying to move a finger. Nothing. The tingling was bothering him. He let out a sigh and let his head drop back against the seat arm, wincing again. His neck had a crick in it. He wasn't young anymore. 'No, it's the couch's fault,' he corrected himself. Surely it was, his leather couch was so much more comfy, rounded and worn in just right. This fabric atrocity had too many corners and paper thin cushions.

Lisbon shifted against him, his attention leaving his uncharitable thoughts about her furnishings and back to her and his arm pinned under her, not so much because it was numb, but because he wouldn't be able to hold her against him with that arm if she slipped off the edge. Okay, so yes, now that his attention was back on his tingly arm and not the crick in his neck or his aching back, his arm was once again bothering him. Teresa was at the forefront of his mind though. Mostly… only mostly because his arm was still pinned under her. As much as he loved having her lay against him like this in the quiet warmth of a curtained dimness, he wasn't a saint.

"Teresa," he breathed into her ear, right hand smoothing down her side.

They had been dating for a couple months now. On more recent Friday nights (when permitted by the case they were working) they'd have a movie night. Sleeping on the couch together was becoming a bit more common, but even now just a handful of times and mostly because the week had washed out Lisbon of any energy. He had feigned sleep once to let him sleep on her couch, though he suspected she knew, and even then she had somewhat surprised him by deciding to sleep with him.

Lisbon and Jane had not been in her bedroom together since he had carried her there after she had succumbed to the pain meds for her ribs. Not to say they hadn't enjoyed making out like a couple of teenagers a few times, but it hadn't gone beyond that. There was a silent understanding that the living room was a safe haven where they were mostly friends, and on occasion, chaste lovers of sorts.

Their libidos, however, were slowly awakening. Jane was able to appreciate beauty in women after the death of his wife, even feel some attraction, but beyond that nothing for several years. He was consumed by his path of destruction to get to Red John and forever mourning the loss of his wife and daughter. He had never taken a woman to bed since his wife. Teresa was tempting the hell out of him.

Lisbon had been focused on her career, which didn't give her much time for a personal life. Everyone she knew was related or associated with her job. She did have a few relationships with men that had lasted for several months, but never really went anywhere. Some of the blame certainly fell on her shoulders as she had unconsciously set herself up for failure, not being able to fully commit since she held her job in priority and her unacknowledged fear of the relationship itself. Then, the last few years, moving up the chain of command, promotion and transfer from SFPD to the CBI headquarters, all left her with little time to pursue romantic interests.

Two of her younger brothers had married, had children. There were brief moments when working in the dark office by herself that she had entertained a slight envy before pushing those feelings away and focusing on the papers in front of her again. Going east to visit her family, though she loved them, was painful at times. Somebody would ask, always, if she had someone in her life yet. Most of the adults finally stopped asking, but then her growing niece, ever curious, asked "Aunt Tessa" if she had a boyfriend and why didn't she? Had it been one of her brothers, she would have glared and turned on her heel (or just tell them to mind their own business… though more colorfully). For her young niece though, she just smiled and told her she scared them away. Boys have cooties anyway.

"Teresa," Jane spoke a little louder, hand now resting on Lisbon's hip. Barely a twitch.

He pinched her bottom which startled the woman out of her sleep. No, he certainly wasn't a saint.

He loved how the woman looked, tussled hair, surprised expression rapidly darkening into annoyance as she zeroed in on the cause of her conscious state.

"Did you pinch me?" she asked disbelievingly, holding herself up with her hands against his chest.

He shook his numb arm, trying to get the blood circulating again, seeing if he could move his fingers. Jane appeared to not be listening at all, a common occurrence.

"Jane!"

"Patrick," he corrected, finally looking up at her, "have you been packing some extra pounds? My arm is all numb- OW!"

Lisbon had smacked him on his chest and quickly vacated the couch. When she had sat up after having been rudely awakened the leg that had been over Jane's had slid between his, her knee grazing his crotch. An intimate position indeed, had he miscalculated he knew she wasn't above kneeing him.

He stayed lying on the couch, watching her hips swinging away from him as she headed to the bathroom. Her angry strut was quite attractive. He grinned to himself, the corners of his eyes creasing in enjoyment, then he turned his head to look at the ceiling. No Elvis here, but something that looked like either an elephant or a bull. He couldn't decide which.

He heard the shower go on upstairs and looked down at his rumpled clothes. He didn't wear a belt as he often napped, or pretended to and a belt would be awfully uncomfortable. Still, sleeping in slacks and waistcoat, no matter how worn in, wasn't fully practical or relaxing. Maybe he could leave an extra set of clothes here…

Jane moved from the couch, stretching up and rolling his head about, pausing as he feared having pulled a muscle. No, he's fine. His spine popped as he leaned back. He walked to the much better cushioned leather lounge chair and sank in. He let out a dreamy sigh. His back was feeling better already. He closed his eyes and found himself listening to the faint sound of Teresa showering, water trickling down the drain, the splashing as she moved under the hissing spray. It didn't take long for him to imagine a water slicked Lisbon… but as beautiful (and arousing) as the imagery was he stopped himself rather abruptly. No use having such thoughts now. He sat up, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing his hands down his thighs, forehead wrinkled. He pushed himself out of the chair and decided to busy himself with breakfast preparations. A blushing Patrick, too bad Teresa missed it.

Teresa blow dried her hair. Using the blow dryer usually caused her hair to have some volume to it, her natural wave showing. She pulled it back into a ponytail. It was the weekend and she wasn't going to spend much time on her hair. She did, however, apply her basic light makeup. Opening the bathroom door, the warm smells and sounds of something cooking in the frying pan wafted in. She flipped off the lights and fan and stepped out wearing blue jeans and grey t-shirt, which she didn't tuck in.

There were subtle differences in how she wore her clothes, did her hair when not on duty. A tucked in shirt and a blazer was definitely her casually professional look, fixing her hair whether by straightening iron or carefully groomed waves also part of her morning routine. The ponytail look came in on those days she was running late or her hair didn't feel like cooperating, and sometimes just because. She started taking just a little more time in getting herself ready for the day some time after a certain consultant joined the team. Not that she had noticed at first. When she finally did start realizing the extra time she was spending in choosing what shoes she wore to work (practical in function of course) and taking care of her hair she adamantly refused to admit to the reason why. Even now it was hard to admit, though she could finally say it had a little to do with the man who was apparently cooking breakfast. If that certain man made any mention, however, she would utterly deny it.

"What are you making?" Teresa asked as she leaned onto the counter next to Patrick. He had found her apron, clearly a birthday gift decorated by her niece and nephew. Mikey certainly had to have been laughing when he allowed his five-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son to choose the frilly pink thing for their aunt. Lady bugs, flowers, and a puppy appliqué were lovingly placed all over it. In truth, the apron was quite ridiculous in itself, especially having residence in Teresa Lisbon's kitchen, but it looked hilariously adorable on Patrick Jane. He looked like a dad preparing breakfast on Mother's Day.

"French toast," he replied, using a spatula to flip their breakfast, "Cute apron by the way. Why don't you ever wear it?"

He was clearly teasing her. She just quirked an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth pulling back just enough to cause that unique dimple. He gave her a cheeky grin and scraped the finished French toast onto a stack on a plate. He shut off the stove, placed the frying pan into the sink. Teresa stepped back to let him and picked up the plate taking it to the table.

She opened the cupboard above her and pulled out a mug. Coffee was percolating in the coffee maker squeezed onto the sparse counter space. Thank God Patrick hadn't ever tried talking her out of her caffeine. She wouldn't have stood for it. Tea had its place, but not for waking her up.

Fresh hot coffee in hand she walked over to the set table, her male companion already having started into his breakfast. Sitting down she noticed the peanut butter jar next to the syrup bottle in between them. 'Peanut butter?'

"We're out of powdered sugar, I think you used it up on the cinnamon rolls last week," Jane told her, taking a sip of his tea.

She stared at his plate, swirl of melted peanut butter and syrup dripping off the edge where he had cut a piece off.

"Never tried peanut butter on your French toast or pancake?" he asked, looking up from his tea, clearly knowing the answer, but asking anyway, "It's good, you should try it."

She looked at him dubiously, but pulled a piece of toast onto her plate, dabbed some peanut butter onto a corner. Jane looked quite amused at her cautious tactics and resumed eating. He watched her as she finally took a bite, a thoughtful look on her face. It wasn't her favorite, but she liked it. He could tell. After she had chewed and swallowed she told him as much.

"Did you add some cinnamon in with the eggs?" she asked, taking another bite, no longer hesitant as she now welcomed the addition of French toast topping into her palate.

"A good chef doesn't give away their secrets," he teased.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responded finishing her plate.

That day's agenda was mostly just grocery shopping. Lisbon was still edgy about being seen with Jane outside of the office together as they had not told anyone of their relationship. On this Jane had been good, upon threat of denial and ending of relationship he had not, to date, done anything during work hours that would cause suspicion among their coworkers. Though, inevitably, their working relationship would reflect the change in their personal lives. Such changes were small, infinitesimal even. Lisbon still had her clear sense of duty, what was right, wrong, and the law. Those would not waver. The changes were in their interaction, between Lisbon and Jane. A few more looks between them, across the bullpen, a touch not quite lingering when passing items to each other. Nothing concrete, but certainly a subtle change of something the others couldn't quite identify.

As Lisbon cleared the plates, a question popped up, innocent and innocuous, "Why peanut butter? Some sort of carnie secret topping?"

The general, benign smile he often had on his face froze for a moment, unnoticed by Lisbon as she set plates into the sink. She glanced over her shoulder at him as she ran water over the dishes just in time to catch his face transition into a soft, wistful expression.

"No, just something my daughter decided to try," came the quiet answer. Jane placed the syrup and peanut butter in one of her cupboards. The kitchen became subdued as Teresa washed the dishes, regretting having brought up a touchy subject.

The last couple of years working together Patrick never spoke of his family other than in context of Red John. They were distant figures in his past, idolized as pure and innocent victims, but almost nonexistent and two dimensional for all that. He never spoke of them by name, didn't reminisce about the good times. There was the case file on them and that was all she knew. All personal touches about them nowhere to be found. It was off limits.

So it surprised Lisbon at his fragile admission of something personal like the topping his daughter used for French toast, acknowledging something of his past, viewing him as a father. Somehow it hadn't connected that he was both a husband and father despite knowing that he was, knowing that he "was" being his whole reason to join CBI in the first case.

He stood beside her and took the washed plate in her hand, drying it with a kitchen towel. She glanced up at him to see he still had a slight smile.

"Teresa," he singsonged, "I know I'm handsome, but you're wasting water."

She stiffened, sniffed, and pointedly washed the dishes. Jerk.

Jane chuckled at her rough movements, "You're going to break something."

"Shut up," she bit out. Finished washing the dishes, she shut off the water and dried her hands. It irritated her how he was always amused by her irritation, a never ending and vicious cycle. She grabbed her keys and clutch off the table by the door, heading out. Jane hastily put away the last plate and jogged after her, knowing she could easily leave him behind. Fortunately, she was only mildly irritated so did not leave the passenger side door locked as she climbed into the car, allowing him to climb in as well. Seatbelts fastened, she pulled out of parallel parking to head to the grocery store.

"Let's go on a picnic," Patrick announced, warming to the idea.

She briefly looked over at him with a questioning look before resuming her watchful gaze over traffic, "Why?"

"Why not? It's a beautiful day, the sky is blue, birds are singing, we can find plenty of shade. We have the day off and good company. The perfect opportunity for a picnic," he enthused, his hands motioning in front of him. It was difficult not to follow along, and really no reason not to.

She gave a lopsided smile at him, eyebrow rising, "I don't know about the company," she snarked, "but yah. It is a good day. Why not?"

"And you could let me drive-"

"Let's not get carried away," she warned, half a smile on her lips partially joking, but her eyes were serious.

"Oh come on. I've driven before and as we are both fine that's testament enough that my driving is not dangerous," he insisted as she parked. She eyed him warily as she kept a firm grip on the keys as she drew them out of the ignition and pocketed them as she climbed out, locking the car doors.

"You-"

"-drive too fast," he finished for her as they walked into the store, sliding doors opening before them, "Come on, live a little."

"I intend to live a lot," taking on a slightly scolding tone as she pulled a cart out, "and so help me Jane-"

"Patrick."

"Whatever- I will not get into a car with you behind the wheel," she finished as they walked past the stacked soda boxes near the entrance.

"So you say now," he continued just for the sake of continuing, taking over pushing the cart, bumping her out of the way with his hip. She raised her hands up and stepped away from the cart, walking alongside it as they went up an aisle.

"So I say forever until you drive like a sane person," she picked up the brand of spaghetti noodles she liked, placing it in the cart. Their argument really wasn't an argument and carried on half-mindedly on her part as she kept her eyes roving across the aisles in search of sale items, comparable food products, store brand versus brand name, calculating price differences based on volume, weight, etc.

Patrick loved watching her shop. It was fascinating how different people behaved in all sorts of situations. There were the shoppers like her looking for the deals, mothers with all sorts of pre-clipped out coupons stuffed into their checkbooks, men who grabbed whatever looked good, harried husbands on the phone going straight to the back to pick up milk on the way home from work, and the meandering people who had nothing scheduled for the day and eyeing the deliciously unhealthy snacks.

Then there were the men giving his Teresa appreciative looks. Jane would admit he could be possessive. In previous years when he spoke of Red John and Red John cases, his adamant statement of "he's mine" was made quite clearly. Yet, he also liked to think of himself as a highly evolved male when concerned with women. Certainly he was aware of the possessive and protective caveman underneath who would like nothing more than to maul Lisbon publicly for all other males to see that she was his property; however, being evolved meant acknowledging that instinct and not acting on it as such. Besides, Lisbon would likely pulverize his face and manhood were he to act in such a way.

He would like to say that he was totally secure in their current relationship and didn't need to act in any way differently than he had been… but that wouldn't be quite true. They have been only formally acknowledging any sort of relationship beyond that of coworkers for only little more than two months, even if that acknowledgement was just between themselves. He had been aware of his attraction to her for far longer, his feelings for her cemented and clear to see after she had been shot and hospitalized. Lisbon gave the impression of being the person giving in to his demands.

He knew she enjoyed their relationship in her own way, but she could barely admit to herself, much less to him, that she liked him, though her actions spoke volumes more than the words she couldn't yet say. Such as letting him shop with her, sharing her couch and her company, unknowingly letting him watch as she reached up for an item on a shelf above her, her shirt riding up a bit for a tantalizing flash of pale skin.

He schooled his features as she turned to place the jar into the shopping cart, but some trace must have been left in his eyes as she caught sight of him, giving him a curious look. He flashed her a boyish grin and she let it go as some figment of her imagination. He cast an adoring look at her back as she walked along, a hand placed on the edge of the metal cart, leading them to another aisle. He probably looked like a fool in love, he didn't care. He was older and quite aware of how short life could be. He knew if he pushed too much Lisbon would dig her heels in and halt any forward progression.

Lisbon felt Jane's eyes on her. Not unusual, but at times disconcerting. Previously she had gotten used to the feeling, but it was different now, a different look she was getting from him. Just a moment ago she could swear he wanted to devour her. Perhaps not something a person in a relationship should worry about, even something they'd want to encourage, but it had been a while since she was last in a relationship with a man. By no means was she a virgin, but again, it's been a while, a few years at least. Taking it nice and slow and in controlled measures. Predictable.

That irked her, it was "irksome" as Jane would say. He has been as gentlemanly (and still his annoying self at the same time, which begged the question: can someone be called a gentleman while being annoying?) as he could, and hadn't pushed her other than the initial confrontation for her to accept expanding their relationship beyond that of coworkers. That he could read her so easily and act accordingly… didn't he have any uncertainty in their relationship? It bothered her for quite some time that his claims of being able to read her like an open book did appear to be true.

In most parts, even after she thought she knew him well, he still surprised her. The closest she got to predicting his actions was knowing he would probably do something, but not what he would do. If she was able to predict what he would do just even once a week, it would save her hours of fielding calls on harassment charges and law suits. She knew that being able to predict his actions was more likely to happen than him changing any time soon.

She paid for the groceries and both carried the bags to her car. Once at her home, they put together some food for their picnic. Teresa spent a moment wondering what else to bring. Something to sit on that could either be thrown away or washed easily. She dug into a closet, knowing she had a large beach towel somewhere in there. It was used rarely since she had not been to any beaches, nor gone swimming, for a while now. If it was a towel, she should keep it with the other towels. Such a pain- she finally found what she had been looking for. It was in a box from when she moved from San Francisco. She had been living in Sacramento for a couple years already and still hadn't unpacked everything. Had it really been that long since she last had use for a beach towel? It was almost depressing to think about. Shaking such thoughts from her mind and closed the closet door, choking on a gasp when she realized that Jane had been standing behind the door.

"Damnit, don't do that!" she shoved the towel into his chest which he fumbled with as his hands had been in his pockets. She turned away to go down the hall but he caught her arm, pulling her to him. She almost fell on him as she was pulled flush against him, her heart hiccupped at the sudden closeness, the warm man in front of her, noses brushing against each other. Patrick's arms were around her and he felt her rigid body, held in surprise. He loosened his hold, now certain she wouldn't fall, nor bolt from him, since she was blushing already, their faces so close for so long without movement, embarrassed with no reason as he stared into her eyes. She nervously looked away but sensed him moving in, her eyes closed. Lips pressed against lips, the stubble of his unshaven face lightly scratched her. She relaxed into his arms and held him back. His lips moved away from hers and pressed into her cheek, their warm breaths fanning over each other's skin. His lips moved again, to her ear, gently mouthing the edge of it before sliding down to her neck. It was at this point that Teresa finally pulled away, looking up at him. He generally didn't show much physical affection. The only times they had done similar were on the couch, only a couple times. Other than that instance it had been quick peck on the lips, goodnight kisses. Not that she was complaining, they were inside her house away from prying eyes.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked quietly, eyebrow cocked. Their foreheads touched, she leaned her head away to look at his face properly. Being so close made her feel she was going cross-eyed.

He gave her a small smile, enjoying having her body pressed into his. He spoke, "Don't get mad."

"Why would I get mad? You didn't manage to cause an incident in the five minutes I wasn't watching you, did you?" she joked, then slightly seriously, "You didn't break something, did you?"

"Nothing of the sort, woman," he chuckled, "I've been wanting to do that since the store."

A funny grin stole across her face, "Shopping turns you on?"

He loved that expression on her face, "Would you believe it if I said 'yes'?"

She laughed, "Maybe I would. You're crazy enough, but something tells me that isn't it."

He leaned in again, bringing his mouth to her ear and whispered, "What if I told you that I wasn't fond of other men staring at you? Though I can certainly understand why they'd want to."

"Okay, now I know you're joking," she laughed and patted him on his chest, pulling away from his arms, but giving him a flirtatious smile while doing so. He picked up the beach towel off the floor and reached out for her hand before she got to the stairs.

"Oh believe me, my dear Teresa, you are quite the attractive woman," he insisted as they walked down the stairs. She gave him that smile that said "yeah right" but didn't comment.

Perhaps she was being a bit modest, she knew she was likely pretty by modern conventions, but didn't really think much of it. There were other things to think about, that and on those days she sometimes stared into the mirror after a shower she would notice those little things most people wouldn't notice unless it was pointed out. Things like her uneven eyes, at least she thought they were uneven, or how her mouth quirked a bit more to one side than the other when she smiled. Then there were her freckles. She couldn't decide if they were an attractive or unattractive quality. She didn't think of it often, just once in a while when she had a vain moment to herself in front of the bathroom mirror. There was also the slight bit of a paunch to her stomach. She was pretty fit, worked out and was likely fitter than some of her colleagues who, in their later years, no longer cops on the beat, but agents, had let themselves go. Despite that, she was still a woman and was not immune to all those little insecurities that many women had whether they were warranted or not.

Though they've not discussed them, Patrick was certain he had picked out all of these insecurities (and he had).