AN: This is unmitigated fluff and I will not apologize for it. I just need it right now. This is my equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and humming in regards to the spoilers.
Multichapter! Yes, really. My goal here is to explore what their life could be like together, with the start of their relationship being a beginning, and not the final result, of a story.
And this might be a little bit of an M rated first chapter. So sue me.
You might have noticed that MleeWrite, Donna, and I are writing a Christmas story. You should check it out - I'm thrilled and honored to be working with two of my favorite writers. It's a little daunting, and it's a challenge to bring my game up to their level, but I love it.
That being said..I hope you enjoy this piece.
Somewhere Beyond
When he invited her over to his shiny new Airstream trailer the first time, she accepted readily, curious to see how Jane would decorate a space of his own that was actually meant to be a home.
His hotel room had been deliberately impersonal, the attic bedecked with pictures of murder scenes the last time she had seen it.
Here in Texas, he had curtains and landscape paintings and a ceramic rooster that he apparently got simply because it amused him.
It was almost surreal, but it was wonderful to see Jane do something as normal as make dinner for her.
Even though the trailer itself was mobile, it seemed like he was putting down roots, something for which she was very grateful. He had spent so many years living like a gypsy. True, he hadn't exactly moved around, but she had always known that his presence was far from permanent, even if she hadn't liked thinking about it very much.
It was all different now.
Their first meal together at his place was chicken alfredo, done to perfection, red wine, and honest-to-God homemade bread. When he made a meal, he pulled out all the stops. She should have expected it.
She had smiled almost the entire time, was still smiling when she finally tore herself away from this fascinating version of the man she had known for so long and made the drive back to her new place.
Since the first moment she had seen him since his return to the US, she had known there was something different about him. He was lighter, brighter, happy to be where he was, unbothered by the darkness of revenge for the first time since they'd met.
And she was different, too.
She wasn't the boss. Well, not his boss, anyway. What Patrick Jane did was someone else's problem, and now that she could let go of the constant fear that he would do something to get her or her team fired (or, regarding some of his more elaborate schemes, killed), it was so much easier to relax and enjoy him for the man he was becoming.
For Patrick Jane was certainly changing.
He was coming alive again, almost before her eyes, and it was all she could do not to stare.
The next day, he brought her leftovers for lunch, dragging her outside to what had become one of his favorite spots. There was a small courtyard, peppered with round, plastic tables, hidden from the view of passing motorists by a row of neatly trimmed hedges.
He sat close enough that they kept bumping into each other.
"I'm thinking about installing surround sound in the trailer," he told her.
She frowned. "You don't have a TV."
He shrugged. "I'm getting one. Tonight. Come with me."
It wasn't a request.
She could feel his magnetic pull. There was never a question of resisting, even as the rational part of her mind wondered where this was all going to lead.
Her second night at his trailer was spent using a cordless drill to mount a television to the wall. Jane looked absurdly pleased at the results.
She found this a bit odd, considering she didn't know if she had ever seen him watch a show in the first place. Perhaps he was just buying things that he thought he was supposed to have. Whatever the reason, it clearly made him happy, so she didn't question it too closely.
They ordered pizza and flipped through the four channels he got without cable or satellite, settling on some stupid quiz show. He won their impromptu competition, demanding the last slice of pepperoni as his reward.
Four days later, she was at his place again, and then two nights after that.
Jane had never been to her house. She wasn't sure why - mainly because she had yet to invite him. This new dynamic with him took some getting used to, and she needed somewhere free of his presence to think about what it all meant.
But Jane seemed to accept whatever barriers she was erecting, apparently perfectly content to have her continue to spend time at the trailer.
Her seventh night there turned out to be the most significant.
It was late, almost midnight, and they had managed to work their way through a couple bottles of cheap wine, talking about some of Jane's more notable exploits. Hearing what he had actually been thinking, some of the lengths he had gone to while putting plans in motion had her laughing until she cried.
Jane leaned forward once, brushing her tears away as he chuckled.
She looked up, suddenly becoming aware of how very close his face was.
Their eyes, met, held, and she swore she could see the exact moment when he decided to cross the line that had divided them for so long.
Her arms were around his neck almost before he'd kissed her, her back pressed against the couch cushions before she could process what his mouth felt like.
Twelve years of wanting came uncorked all at once, and she lost herself in a haze of tangled limbs and hastily removed clothing, only able to speak when Jane suddenly stood, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder.
Her hair almost touched the floor as he walked down the short hallway.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
He slid her down his body, settling her on the down comforter. "Taking you to bed," he whispered, and she shivered, too hot and too cold.
His unbuttoned shirt fell to the floor, and she reached her arms out to him, savoring the first, precious moment when skin met skin. She could feel goosebumps on his bare flesh.
He kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, her hands sinking into his blonde curls, the way she always dreamed of doing. He tasted like an eight dollar bottle of Moscato and if this wasn't sensuality incarnate, she didn't know what was.
His hands were everywhere, sliding and caressing like he was doing his best to commit every curve to memory.
"I want you so much," he breathed once, lips against her collarbone.
She grasped at his hips then, urging him forward, but he resisted. She felt his smile.
"I've waited a long time for this," he told her. "I'm not going to be rushed."
He meant it, and she found herself clawing at the comforter before long, breath coming in short, panting sobs. Jane was going to have nail marks on his shoulders and back, and the thought gave her an unexpected jolt of purely savage pleasure.
Eventually, he wound his fingers through hers, hands on either side of her head. She opened her eyes, wanting to see his face, and it took her breath away.
She realized she was shaking like this was her first time, and in a way, it was. It was the only time that truly mattered.
He let himself go, relinquished the control he kept over his every emotion, every action, said her name, lips staying parted in silent ecstasy, body trembling.
The only sound in the room was her breathing, Jane's shaky gasps muffled in her neck, his warm weight resting on her.
She pressed her cheek against his sweaty hair, fingers tracing patterns over his damp skin.
Eventually, he raised his head, and the smile he gave her, like a sunrise breaking, made her heart stutter.
They had been working towards this for so long that to think they were finally here took some processing, and she sucked in a deep breath.
He pressed a hand against her face, opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but closed it again.
Patrick Jane at a loss for words. She didn't know there was such a thing, and she grinned so widely she thought her face might split.
There was a rustling of covers as he switched positions, gathering her up against his chest. She could still hear his pulse beating rapidly under her ear, one of his hands sliding through her hair over and over.
Absently, she thought that this must be close to what heaven was like, then chuckled at her own whimsy.
"Most men don't like to be laughed at in bed," he said, still slightly out of breath.
She swatted at him lightly. "Stop fishing for compliments. I'm sure you know precisely how good you are."
It was his turn to laugh. "Why don't you tell me? I can compare notes with myself."
Propping herself up with one elbow on his chest, she surveyed him thoughtfully. "Hm," she murmured. "Perhaps we could re-enact some of my favorite parts."
His eyes went dark again, hands methodically pulling the sheet away from her flushed body. "An encore," he mused. "Well...if you insist."
Yes. She did insist.
The second time, she tried to repay some of the torture she had been given and was rewarded with something that sounded very much like begging. Her head fell back, her palms flat against his body, his hands splayed on her hips.
Later, burrowed under the plush blankets, Jane still half draped over her, she took half a second to wonder what all of this meant, what the implications would be when the sun rose again.
Then he pressed a tiny kiss against her bare shoulder, curling closer, and she decided she didn't care. She had him for tonight after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting.
Eyes closed now, she simply let herself be happy, to appreciate what she had been given.
Jane moved, reaching for another pillow, she thought, then re-settled himself, taking her hand again.
Pleasantly exhausted, she rested all of her weight on him, toying with his fingers.
There was a slight indentation on one of them, and she frowned, eyes fluttering slightly open.
His wedding ring was gone.
The emotion that rushed through her was almost tangible.
He noticed her preoccupation, kissed her hair. "Go to sleep," he whispered. "Everything is alright."
Still shaken, she turned on her side, both of her arms wrapping around one of his. The mattress dipped as he mimicked her posture, nose almost touching the back of her neck.
She smelled like him now, had been abrasions from his beard just about every place on her body. It was...something that she had dreamed about.
And it still seemed like a dream.
Were they really here? In Texas? In a silver Airstream?
Maybe she had fallen asleep on her desk in Washington, or even in California, and there was no Blake Association, no Chief Lisbon of Cannon River. Jane had never left, had never strangled someone in a park one sunny day.
She shivered for a different reason, and his arms tightened around her. His lips pressed against her spine.
"Sleep," he said again. "You can think in the morning."
Her eyes closed again, and she focused on Jane's breathing.
And, despite everything, she drifted off in his arms.
He was right. She could think tomorrow.
AN: I thrive on reviews. Yes, that was a shameless hint. Hope you enjoyed this!