Notes:I'll wait another couple of days before posting the epilogue to the best revenge,a nd I'm already working on another couple of mentalist-related fics (one of them, only romantic). Menawhile... I'll hope you'll enojoy this one-shot, who, as Rothelena knew, was supposed to be M rated, but my muse vrought me in different places, even if the story is rated T for mention of sex.
Disclaimer:The Mentalist mine? Yes, of course! Wait...No, my afther's called Bruno, but not Heller, so, I guess I don't... damn it!
When there's a knock at his motel room in the middle of the night, Jane isn't sure he should answer or not.
Under nay normal circumstance, someone knocking at his door at such a late hour is a bad omen- Killers trying to get rid of him, killers ready to trap him, journalists searching for a scoop, some crazy guy looking for the psych who claims to never have been such a thing….
The lizard brain, that primordial, animal and instinctive part of his brain would suggest (and it's doing just that) to let it go unanswered, pretend he isn't there and just hide in the bathroom… natural instinct of conservation, the same that makes him hide behind Lisbon's back when danger arises.
A bittersweet smile graces his features as he things of the almighty senior agent in charge, petite and delicate, mortal, and yet a real fighter, in the truest sense of the world, like some heroine from an ancient novel.
The knocking stops, and he breaths in and out for the relief – looks like he just escaped death once again, or whatever he was going to face anyway; he doesn't care too much, the important thing is that he get rid of whoever was at the other side.
That- and getting rid of his dirty clothes, taking a shower and getting to bed, even if he knows that he'll never sleep in the first place, between his usual insomnia, the living nightmare his life has turned into, the case, the foreign bed in a foreign town in the middle of nowhere, and even the fact that it's too damn hot in there for anyone's good.
And then… here it is again, the knocking starts again, only this time, it's shy and tentative, like, whoever is on the other side of the door- pacing, if the noise is correct- isn't sure if they should face or not.
Well, then, they are probably not a criminal, just some nuisance… a former fan? Or, God could help him…. a fellow psych.
"Jane? you awake?" he hears a well-known feminine voice whispering at the other side, and he can't help but asking himself questions after questions. What's wrong? Why is she so scared, so shy? Is it about the current case?
No, he reflects. Lisbon would never be shy about a case. It means there's only one option left, there's only one thing- better yet, person – that makes her that scared of him…. Red John. He had hoped he was gone, done and dealt with, he had hoped that the nightmare could finally come to an end, but it looks like he was once again wrong where the killer is concerned.
He jumps across the room, his heart in his throat, once again scared of opening that door, because, just like a decade before, he knows what will be on the other side: back then, the butchered bodies of his beloved ones, right now, Lisbon, bearing terrible news.
But still, he opens the door nevertheless, and smiles of a little smile, when Lisbon almost knocks against his forehead instead of the wood of the door, not waiting for him to open up so suddenly; she blushes, biting her lips and eyes on the ground, and when he shows her inside, she follows, hands in her pockets, silent.
"So.." he says, and she repeats it; their eyes are locked, but not on each other; each other, is the only thing they are firmly avoiding, the both of them.
"Where and when did he hit this time?" he asks, suddenly, breaking the heavy silence; she remains quiet, taken aback by the question, and finally, she looks at him, staring at him with eyes wide open in surprise. "C'mon, Lisbon, I know that Red John being dead was too good to be true. I already knows he resurfaced, just give me the details."
She shakes her head in a silent no, dark locks, soft and wild, flying around her face like waves in the stormy ocean. "That's not about Red John. That's not about work at all."
"This morning, Oscar asked me to marry him, but I can't say yes yet." She walks into his direction, getting closer and closer to the man, until they are just a whisper apart, so close he can feel her hot breath on his lips, their eyes lock, and neither of them seems able to break the contact. "Not when… you once told me that you loved me, and…"
Her hands starts working on his buttons, sure and steady but slow at the same time, freeing him, top to bottom, of the fabric of clothes; he doesn't resist, doesn't fight it, mesmerized by the spell she put upon him as she started touching his vest.
His shirt is on the floor before he can realize that she has removed it, and by then her hands are already working on getting rid of his underwear, while her mouth pleasures his nipples, kissing and licking and biting and sucking them until he squirms under her touch; her mouth moves lower and lower, and he knows what she is up to, and he doesn't want it right now, but he isn't sure he can actually voice the words, he is too far gone.
He probably did it, though, because Lisbon is suddenly again on her feet, her breath in his right ear, biting his lobe while she touches his manhood, caressing it with rough touches, working her magic on the soft skin of the rock hard flesh- she ash to be a witch, because he is fully naked and he doesn't know when or how it happened. "It doesn't have to happen again. It can be this one time only. It will be our secret…"
He moans his approval, because he has wanted her longer than he cares to admit, because he can't say no, he doesn't want to. He knows it's not right, towards her, towards himself, and even towards Oscar, but he can't help it. If this is their only time together… so be it. But he needs to have her, needs to know how it could be having her in his arms, bringing her to the onslaught of unthinkable pleasure.
"I just… need to know if you…. I want to know how it feels like… being loved by you…" With tears on her yes- sadness or regret or happiness, she doesn't know - she goes on tiptoes, and kisses him, kisses him like there's no tomorrow –and for them, she feels like there isn't any – and he devours her, greedy, needing her, all of her, he kisses her, like a starving man, and drives her towards the bed, and gets her naked, all at the same time- he'll never have enough of her, isn't sure he'll be able to let it go of her after just one night.
He lowers her petite body on the bed, and, slowly, he covers her frame his larger one, careful to not put any weight on her; without breaking eye contact, nuzzling her face, fingers of both hands interlaced, he penetrates her willing body, soft and pliant and humming just for him and him alone.
Slowly, they dance together the oldest dance of the world, and kissing her, he brings her to that special place, where nor time or space matter, but there's only the two of them, and he follows her, joining in her chants of happiness and pleasure, a song that, in that very night, so many others are singing along them.
Spent, he collapses on top of her yet again kissing her lips, never having enough of that cherries, and when he turns on his back, he brings her along with him, her chest against his own, and allows Morpheus to reach him after so many sleepless nights.
He caresses the skin of her shoulder, traces invisibles patterns, writes his own name, their names, on her naked skin, Patrick, Jane, Teresa, Teresa Jane, and wonders if he didn't just signed his own death sentence, because he knows: he'll never be able to live without her.
He just doesn't knows if she feels the same.
She feels her skin tingling, like caressed by the soft rays of the early sun, and, lazily, she forces herself to open her eyes, memories of the last few days crushing down on hers, bringing her down. She feels like crying for a second, and, like under some kind of instinct, she moves her hand for a warm body close to her, one that could reassure her, give her strength, but the other side of the bed is empty and cold, and for an instant, she wonders if it's not been just a dream, but then, she sees it- it's not her room. She really did it.
She found the courage to be, only just once, in his arms. And he is gone.
She wonders what does it mean, she has wondered for so long… did he mean the "I love you" he confessed, and then told her he didn't remember anything about? Did he sleep with her just to make her happy? Was it just sex? Does he want to have her again? Does he, maybe…. Want her, as a permanent fixture in his life?
She repeats to herself that the fact that he isn't there, at her side, or waking her up with a kiss and coffee doesn't mean anything. Maybe he felt overwhelmed by the sensations. Maybe he was scared that she had decided to marry Oscar, after all… Or maybe, he simply doesn't care. Sex is sex and they had sex and maybe it was just a way to get rid of the sexual tension, and maybe…
She hugs herself, the covers safely around her frame, and feels dirty, feels ashamed. She can't believe she did it. She offered herself on a silver plate to Jane and allowed her to take her again and again and again for the whole night, and now…. How could she face Oscar, now? How can she tell him what she did to him, to them? She may not love him, but…. He loves her, and she cares about him. And she has ruined everything.
And just because of Jane. All for Jane.
The door opens and closes, slowly, with as much silence as is manageable, and Jane, dressed in one of his pristine three pieces suits, appears, walking in her direction like a big cat, doing his best to avoid making any noise, and when he sees her, sitting on the bed, he grunts, a bit disappointed, but clearly amused, clearly happy- she swears she can hear a laugh somewhere.
"Woman, it's not even half past six, you should have slept a little bit more…" he says, joining her, sitting at her side and offering her a cup of hot coffee (not so much but decent enough) and nuzzling her skin- he doesn't dare to do more, scared of what she may have decided over the night.
"Kettle, meet pot" she muses, at low voice, rolling her eyes as she accepts his peace offering, maybe he isn't such a bastard. Maybe he respects her. Maybe he even loves her. He has just been his usual thoughtful self- the Patrick Jane she has… she has… fallen in love with.
He just shrugs, smiling his million dollar smile, but a smile she has gotten to know too well for her own liking; it's a true smile, because she knows when he puts on a mask nowadays, but it's a smile that it's tainted by sadness, and she knows: she caused this.
She may have ruined every one of them, all of them, or maybe… as unfair as it may be towards Oscar…. Maybe… if she loves Jane… and Jane loves her…. maybe, now that Red John is no more…
"I've got something else for you" he tells her, lowering his eyes, not daring to meet her gaze, and from the pocket of his jacket, he produces a small, white box; he offers it to her, silently, and with shaking fingers, she opens it, just to reveal a ring, quite antique, yellow gold, a central emerald, two small rubies at the side,.
She gasp, tears in her eyes, wondering what he may mean by that. "I…" She tries to say something, but he stops her before she could move on , a finger on her lips, shaking his head, no.
"There's something I need to tell you, and I'd be grateful if you could listen to it all now. In case you haven't noticed, I tend to normally avoid pregnant emotional discussions…."
"Really? I've never noticed!" She sarcastically tells him, covering immediately her mouth as she sees his death glares- she didn't resist interrupting him for not even a minute.
"I just…. Whatever you decide to do, I want you to take that ring. You may accept it from me, as a… token of my love and a promise of things to come, or…." He gulps, closing his eyes, shout, clenching fists and teeth, but he knows he can't avoid saying so. "If you decide to return to Oscar… I'd like for you take it, no matter what. You can tell him it's an heirloom, or that… it's a wedding gift from Mashburn, I don't care. take it, sell it, it's just… it's yours, it has always been yours."
She shakes her head in disbelief, starting at the gems in her hands- a perfect ring, her size, her favorite stones, just the color of her eyes. "Jane…. how long…"
"Since Vegas." He laughs, albeit a little hysterically, rubbing his hair nervously, ruffling furthermore his unruly curls. "Back then I thought…." He shakes his head, biting his lips and chuckling, and meeting her eyes, he tells her everything he can't say at loud, and she answers in kind.
I thought I was going to get rid of Red John and move on with my life. With you.
I know, I wanted that too.
"Uhm…Listen, I'm not….I'm not stupid, Teresa. I know…. that there's something…. Deep between Oscar and you, and I can…" he stops, gulping down a mouthful of saliva. "I can see why he could be better than me... why he is better than me, actually."
"Is this what you want?" She neurotically glares at him, tears in her eyes, but not daring to cry, not right before him; if he wants her out of his life, if he doesn't want her, so be it. She isn't going to cry, to beg him.
"Is this what you want?" he answers, but it's not strong, enraged or resentful; actually, he is quite sweet, and all she can think, chuckling in amusement, is that they are terrible at this opening up business.
"Ok, since I'm already looking like an idiot, I guess I'll go the whole nine yards …" he takes a big breath, and closes his eyes as he confesses everything he should have confessed her a long time before, and not a simple "I love you" whispered in the hour of fear. "Listen… I just… I want to be part of your life, if you'll want me to, because…"
He takes a big breath, and takes her hand in his own, drawing invisible patterns on her skin, a love letter almost. "I never thought that I could feel like this again…. I mean… I've been lucky enough to have Angela, and then… you arrived in my life. Beautiful, smart, intelligent, and so strong…. In every sense of the word, and… being loved once is a blessing, but twice…. When I thought I didn't deserve love…." He laughs, again hysterically. "But when we were apart…. Every time we were apart, I realized that I missed you, and that I was…. Cold without you. "
She interlaces their fingers, feeling like crying. This man…. He is risking a lot, she knows, risking everything, especially since he thinks he could leave him for Oscar, once and for all.
"We're a big too old for talking about boyfriend, girlfriend, soul-mates and all that jazz, and… I know it's not going to be easy. I know I'll always have my moments… and I know it's asking a lot, but….when I'm with you… I feel at home. Wherever you are. And… it's like we are always talking, even when we are not talking at all, and I'd never get tired of this, you know?"
They remain in silence for interminable minutes, and he just looks at her. he looks at her, studying her, trying to read her- because she has never been such an open book, so translucent – until she understands that he needs to hear her out. And she needs to let it out.
"My life is void with Oscar. I'm void with Oscar." She massages his fingers, the space where once his band has been. "I'm void without you, because…. The first time I saw you with a child…. I thought that I wanted someone just like that, to look after me… and…. Maybe a child of mine."
His grip gets stronger, and she can feels it, against her skin, a breath of relief, and she can't help but chuckle. Somehow, she loves having such a power upon him. "And… you are extraordinary, Jane, and I've been waiting my whole life for someone like you…. Beautiful, smart, caring, brilliant, good with the cooking and the sex…. And single" They both grimace a little at the word, and looking at her he knows that this has been the problem all along, why, while loving him, she never acted on her feelings: she never felt like he was available. There was always someone, or something, else in his life."
"Frankly, Jane, the only thing that right now remember me that you are not a fragment of my imagination, are your shoes and your idiocies."
He laughs, but not fully. He doesn't know, not yet. "Ok. Uhm… is that a yes?"
"Yes" she answers, and smiling, she leans over him to kiss him fully on the lips; at the beginning, he doesn't reciprocate, but when he does, his greed, his avidity, surprise her, and he runs his fingers through her hair, along her features, so sweet, and yet so needy, that suddenly her whole being vibrates with the desire to become yet again one with him.
And in this instants, she knows: she is home, doesn't matter if she is in an hotel room, or at the CBI or at her place: she is home because she is in the only place she feels, alive, complete, and something more than just a cop, she is home because she is in his arms.
And nothing else matters.