Oh my goodness, an entire Mentalist fic! I have been inspired my the brilliant works up here and have a few Mentalist stories in progress that are slowly but surely coming together. Yet this little oneshot just came to me!

Angst isn't usually my thing, I'm a sucker for Jisbon, but when a plot bunny comes your way, you just have to follow it!
I hope you enjoy it, please review, they are very much appreciated!

xxx

I Feel Everything

And when you despair
When you cannot breathe
When you wouldn't dare
I feel everything
Idina Menzel

His heart was hammering, that familiar feeling of guilt settling into his chest, quickening his breaths and stabbing at the back of his throat. Slowly he took in a gulp of air and steadied his heaving chest, forcing himself to calm down. Debating whether or not to get up, his decision wad made for him when an arm made its way across his chest. Carefully he turned over so he was facing the other way and gazed at what had hit him. An arm, an arm on a woman's body, a woman's naked body.

Teresa Lisbon's naked body.

Like him, she lay on top of the covers, the sheets having been tossed to the floor on the sticky summers night. Her breath was steady, her bare chest softly rising and falling her arm flung over his chest, which was equally bare. Peacefully she slept, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil their night together had left him with.

'How did this happen? How could this happen? Where do we go from here?'

Whilst all these questions were forcefully spinning and colliding in his head, the question dominating all of Patrick Jane's thoughts was simple, for he knew what he had to do.

'Will she ever forgive me...?'

"I don't want to be alone, please, Patrick."

She was breaking his heart. Her eyes were glistening with tears, her pale, make-up free face revealed her vulnerability, her need to be held, to be loved.

He had taken her home, everyone could see she had to get out of there. They could see the bruises littered her small body along with the marks the several sharp slaps and kicks she had received today had left. Luckily there was nothing that would leave lasting damage. She'd been seized by the killer and was physically and emotionally worn and knowing she was only saved because Cho had pulled the trigger quicker shook her to the core.

Jane led her to her apartment and helped her undress, wash the blood off her clothes, her skin, her hair and clean up any of the wounds although he knew it was not those that would affect her. Gentlemanly, that was what he had been, not once had he looked at her or even contemplated it. He was her friend, and right now that was what she needed. He had locked up her apartment, brought her some tea and paracetamol and soothingly rubbed the angry red mark on her lower back that she couldn't quite reach. In the corner were his shoes, waistcoat and jacket making as he held her, keeping it together for her for once letting someone else be the strong one. But when she sat on the edge of her bed in her little pyjamas, her voice quiet, scared, begging him to stay, he couldn't hide his emotion as he softly stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort.

"Thank you," she whispered and let go of him to look into his eyes, her bright emeralds searching his deep ocean blue, longing to truly penetrate them.

"You don't have to say that." Jane replied, taking her hand in his.

"You're a good man Patrick Jane," slowly she ran her hand down his cheek, gently cupping his face, "a very good man."

Gazing into his eyes she brought her lips up to his, planting a soft kiss on his lips that she felt him return a moment later. They pulled away as a heated intensity neither had seen before filled the room. Simultaneously they went in for another kiss, hungry mouths longing to taste, eager hands wanting to touch

"We shouldn't so this." Jane said, his voice a husky whisper, pulling away.

"I don't want to be alone, please, Patrick."

Jane shook his head, that shouldn't have happened, he shouldn't have let himself, she needed him, he needed her and not just today. It had been hell on earth, the man they thought was just a witness had shown himself to be the true killer, an evil sadist who raped then slit the throats of his female victims. Without warning he'd thrown an arm around Lisbon's neck, pressed a knife to her neck and took her, all they could do was watch, horrified as she was bundled into a car, now weapon less with a blade against her throat. Jane felt physically sick, demanding he to go with the team to each new destination, regardless of the dangers convincing himself that everything would be all right and pushing any scenario that didn't involve Lisbon's safe return, to the back of his mind. Only when she was safe and her captor dead did he allow himself to feel again and when he took her in his arms he had never felt a surge of such overwhelming emotion and he never wanted to let go.

They were a unit, a pair, a team, they looked out for each other, they needed each other, they trusted each other. Yet now they were lying naked in Lisbon's bed having spent a night of passion together, a night of lust, longing, both needing to believe, needing to feel, perhaps that trust was not as strong as they thought.

She didn't know anything about him, nothing really.

The fact he had learnt everything from his father, a manipulative money hungry fraud who he was becoming more and more like as he teetered closer and closer to the edge. He was desperately afraid of heights and despite common belief, he had eve cheated on his late wife, not once. His childhood dream was to be a lion tamer, which probably explained his love of cats and the fact he wanted one as a pet but never had one as his wife was allergic. He hated football but loved baseball, his favourite food was roasted duck and he really didn't like the taste of alcohol.

Nothing.

Red John, she knew that.

She knew that was his purpose in life, his reason, the ultimatum that dictated every pore of his being. The serial killer was why he worked fir the CBI, why he knew her, why he so much as got up in the morning and plastered that hollow smile onto his face.

Red John, she knew that indeed.

But Jane waned her to know more, he wanted to tell her about his past, about his hopes, his dreams, fears, how one day he wants to be able to move and would like to make another woman happy if he could ever shake off the guilt and allow himself to. He wants to make his family proud without becoming a killer, but revenge seemed like the best option, the most painful, what he deserved. He wants to be able to talk about them, remember the joyous times without blocking the image of his daughters curly blonde hair and his wife's beautiful face so the only thing he sees is a bloody smiley face.

One day he would tell her all this, but for now, she doesn't even know their names.

Lisbon shifted again, her fingers softly brushing Jane's skin as she moved, causing another pang of viscous guilt. Once more, he lived a charade, always having the upper hand, after all, he knew her.

For the two and a half years they had known each other he had discovered a lot about her, more so than he even intended. Yet in the last night, he had understood more about her than she would ever know.

When they had made love she had gripped his hair, roughly but without hurting, she was dominant but caring and when she let him lay her down and she whimpered under his touch, he saw there was a part of her that would allow herself to drop all her barriers for someone she truly trusted.

She lay towards him, her legs curled to her chest, one arm over him, protective, but fragile, a need to be loved but a reluctance to let it show.

Her legs were smooth, despite her tough exterior and necessary lack of femininity, she was proud of her appearance and did not want to compromise her womanhood and perhaps was more conscious of others' perceptions of her than she let on, especially given the multitude of products on the dresser by the bed, including an expensive perfume.

There were faint scars on her left arm, so tiny and faded you would never see them unless you brought her arm millimetres from the eye. He observed this as her arm lay across his body, she had self-harmed, clearly years a go, a coping mechanism, presumably during her turbulent teen years. She wore armour to protect herself, didn't want others to sere her weak.

There was a dent just above her hip, she had been badly injured, probably ten, even fifteen years ago when she was a rookie. A knife or gunshot wound, something she was conscious of, her leg often bent so her body creased to hide the mark, many times it was subconscious. She didn't want people to think less of her.

Jane knew all this from just a few hours, from observing her, touching her, being intimate with her. He knew so much about her.

He knew this would hurt her.

Lisbon trusted him, her sceptical act was just that, a façade to protect herself and her position, they both knew the trust was there. He had saved her, she had saved him their bond was deep, their unique relationship both solid but fragile. She saw past the broken, manipulative, confident man and took comfort that he let his guard down with her, perhaps for a few moments, but his mask had slipped nonetheless. She thought he had changed, perhaps he saw more in his life than revenge.

She doesn't know that though, she just thinks she knows that.

He can't do this. He can't allow himself to feel like this again, he can't do that, not to her. Getting too close will be the downfall, his, hers, it will allow Red John to get away, to have invaluable leverage over him that would no doubt destroy them. He couldn't commit to her, he couldn't bring himself to let her be his main focus and she deserved better, he didn't deserve her.

He couldn't, he wanted to, he needed to, but he couldn't.

Swiftly he got out of bed and put his clothes on and kissed her gently before he left the room without looking back. Once he was in his car he emailed his resignation to Minelli from his phone and then he drove.

She thought she knew him, thought he could allow himself to feel, to have another chance at happiness, to truly let go in the arms of someone you want to be with... like she had.

Not yet.

A lone tear rolled down his cheek, clouding his vision of the road ahead when he realised the only thing she truly knew about him was that he was a coward, a coward who would not allow himself to feel.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, causing the blare of the morning sun to blur into a dazzling light when she realised that he was gone, for good. All she knew was that he was a good man who didn't believe he deserved happiness, he deserved to feel.

So she would feel, feel for the both of them. The tears, the pain, the sadness, the spark of hope, the wasted excitement, the numbness, she alone would feel it.

She would feel everything.


When you can't be touched
When you can't be loved
When you fall apart
When you have no heart
I feel everything

The End

I hope you liked it, please let me know.

Peace Out

xxx