A/N: I wrote this story for the challenge of March challenge of Paint it red community of mentalist but never uploaded it. The prompt was 'All the words unspoken'' and I figured I could publish it here after like two months have passed.

Also I have never tried writing a Jisbon fic before so don't be too harsh.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or the prompt.

Enjoy and review to tell me your opinion.

All the words unspoken

He watched her, watched how she cope with everything, how she run her team, how she defended the weak and stood up against the bad guys.

He watched her every day, but his admiration had not depleted in the least since the first time he saw her.

Jane thought that Lisbon was perfect from all aspects, maybe even too perfect. And maybe, just maybe, this was the reason why he didn't make any move towards her, or at least one of the many reasons he thought there were.

He was tainted, the poison of revenge running into his veins so urgently that sometimes it overshadowed anything else, every happy moment he lived.

Teresa was beautiful and bright and good at anything she wanted.

Even though she had come in terms with Jane's whimsical personality and she had also come to trust him and enjoy having him around, solving cases with his own peculiar methods or just lying on the couch of the office and ready to cause trouble or help someone in trouble, he knew oh-so-well that he shouldn't show her his true feelings.

Teresa had a hopeful future spreading before her. She could meet someone and have a family with him. The prospect of a happy life for Teresa was there for the taking.

So unlike Patric, whose life would always be haunted by what Red John did.

So he just watched her from afar, he watched how shining and beautiful her hair was and the shade they took when exposed to the golden sunlight, how proud and purposeful her stride was, how her delicate hands clasped the gun and shot without hesitating like an avenging angel.

He wached her and even though she was just a few feet away from him, he always felt this mere distance as miles and miles that separated him from the one he loved.

Love...such a strange word. Jane hadn't thought about it ever since Angela's- his wife's- death.

Jane hadn't bothered with love, but love had found him as it somehow always managed to find those who tried to hide from it, even unconsciously.

He imagined Cupid, that little plump and naked, flying naughty boy that threw arrows directly at people's heart. The image alone would have make him laugh if lately the thought of Teresa didn't seem to always sneak into his other thoughts.

Jane knew that Angela would want to see him happy, but he didn't want to let go of her memory just yet, and the thought that he didn't deserve Teresa was enough to prevent him from showing her just how much he cared about her.

Everytime he spoke to her, every time Jane made a joke that brought this angry spark in her eyes he had come to adore, every time he told her about his plans and schemes and she agreed if not with some uncertainty, there was a word creeping in the back of his tongue, or rather a phrase: I love you.

He never told her though, not about his feelings, not about the little things he loved about her, the things left unsaid.

How blind he had been! Jane always liked to believe he had a great insight that surpassed anyone else, an instict that left little space for mistakes.

Now all that he could think of as he watched Lisbon lying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of her own blood that grew bigger and bigger significantly fast was that he wasn't fast enough to prevent it.

Then, the realisation hit him and it was so sudden and violent that it shook him to the bone.

He hadn't been brave enough to let her know his true feelings and now it might be too late even for telling her those words he feared so much.

Regardless, Jane bent next to his beloved but not his lover and uttered those words that had been left unsaid all this time.

''I love you''

They didn't make any difference, and for a moment Jane thought bitterly to himself: What did you think you could do by that, ressurect her? It's too late for that now.

Jane dreaded it, he dreaded that he had been too late.

And he was too afraid that all those words he had been thinking but never said aloud, all the words of admiration and love and affection towards Teresa, all the words unspoken wouldn't be enough to bring her back.