Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. It all belongs to Bruno Heller, he who loves to make the lives of his fans living hells.

Author's Note: This is a companion piece to "Bereft of Touch." I wanted to do something more with the story, but I wanted it to be from Jane's POV. Oh, and have you heard the news? We're getting a seventh season! Please, for the love of all things Jisbon, let them be together! Please!

I don't touch her anymore.

I used to touch her all the time: my hand in the small of her back, a guiding and comforting touch, or a tap of my finger to her hand to get her attention, a squeeze to the shoulder to show solidarity. There was also the rarest (my favorite), long and lingering hugs that filled my very being with something light and precious.

But I don't touch her anymore. I haven't touched her for two years, and I'm afraid that if I start, I won't be able to stop.

It wouldn't just be my hand on her back, it would be my hand on her cheek, in her hair, and on her breasts. It would be my hand on her knee under a table at work, daring to inch farther and farther up her leg until she stopped me.

It wouldn't just be my hands either, oh no, it would be my lips against hers, my tongue exploring her mouth; I would feather kisses up and down her spine until she begged me to stop.

It would be my body pressed against hers in doorways, on my couch, in my bed, in the backseat of the vehicle on stakeouts, and wherever else I could.

I know that the moment I start touching her, she will be mine and I will be hers.

So, I don't touch. I observe her space in a way that I never have before.

I can tell that she is confused by the absence; I can tell that she sometimes expects to feel my hands upon her by the way she'll angle herself towards me, and by the way that her eyebrows crinkle in confusion when her eyes are not drawn to a point of contact between my finger on her arm.

If she stopped and thought about why I don't touch her, she might be surprised to find that it is entirely her fault. She told me that I didn't take her feelings into consideration, and that I never had. She told me that I had no right to interfere in her life.

Therefore, I assumed, incorrectly apparently, that she had already moved on. That the future she envisioned for herself did not include me.

How could I touch her after that? How could I bring myself to indulge in affection that was undesired? I was resolved: there would be no more touching Lisbon.

Except…she wants it.

She'll look at me sometimes, with so much longing in her eyes, and my breath will freeze in lungs and my thoughts will stutter to a halt. But then, she'll blink and the moment will be gone.

She doesn't look at Pike like that. I should know, I've been staring at the two of them for weeks now trying to determine how serious this relationship is. And based on all the information that I've gathered, it's not.

What is she waiting for? I can't declare myself to her, not when I've just been doing what she wanted this entire time. I've given her space, I've considered her feelings, but her actions tell me that she would like nothing more than to have me in her space, to have my hands ghosting over her in that familiar way.

But, as long as Pike is in the picture, I will do nothing. I made another resolution: until Lisbon openly indicates that she wants something more from me, I will hold myself back.

I must admit, though, the wait is killing me.

I am startled out of my musings by a swift series of kicks to my couch.

"Wake up, Jane. We need to talk."

I can see that she has something serious in store for our little chat, but she's got that look in her eyes, the one that takes my breath away.

Well, that wasn't as long of a wait as I thought.