Lately, too many of their conversations end like everything's been said and done. And he doesn't even remotely begin to know how to fix that. He doesn't know how to undo all this pain he's caused her and, basically, he's a little bit too tired and a whole lot too scared to try and tell her the truth.
The whole fucking truth. That he's in love with her and that this fact scares the shit out of him, when all he can think of is how guilty he feels. Patrick Jane is not in love. Not anymore. He's had his shot. Angela was the one for him and he's to blame for the loss. Angela filled up his life in ways he never thought anyone else could.
But maybe, just maybe, he thinks, Lisbon could outdo Angela in that. And, if he's being brutally and totally honest with himself, she already is.
Lisbon makes him want to be a better person, a better man. And when he wakes up in the morning, it's no longer Angela he's reaching for. It makes him feel the tiniest bit ashamed to admit that but it's been that way ever since he gave her that first tiny paper frog and he saw that smile creep up onto this beautiful face of hers.
Yes, he's a mess. And yes, he doesn't deserve her, god no. But why does he feel like he needs to be with her so badly, it makes him want to scream?
So, he thinks, he needs to fix that. He needs her to see that he's not the arrogant asshole, everyone assumes he is. Until now, he never realized how much he wanted her to see behind his soul. He doesn't want them to fall like those autumn leaves. He wants them to be what they are supposed to be, a couple.
He gulps, once, twice. There, he said it. He wants them to be a real couple. With stolen and not quite so stolen kisses. With whispered conversations about what he likes about her and likewise. And it's not like him to surrender to the aching pain.
He opens one eye and takes a look around the bullpen. There she is, quietly doing paperwork. In that moment, she clicks her tongue, obviously stressed out because of something she just wrote down and scratches out some words. He smiles to himself. That's his girl. It feels fucked up, really fucked up. That they're not in love. That they're not a couple. That he's lying there, pretending to be asleep, when all he wants to do is go over and kiss her.
Funnily enough, the thought of kissing her does something to his body. It makes him squirm in all the right ways and makes him have all the wrong thoughts.
But for now, all he can do is stare at her from afar. So, he sighs quietly and when she looks over at him, irritated by the little sound, he just closes his eyes again.