Disclaimer: seriosuly, do we really have to do it? Because, Jeez, if I'd own them, I'd not be here writing it, I'd be the writeer of a TV Shows and, well, we'd have the LIsbon romance for real... I just "write, draw, create, dream, hope and believe in Bruno, waiting for him to be blessed by the light of reason..." (No, this discalimer isn't mine, it belongs to one fo the girls who wite Mentalist fiction on the italian site efpfiction, but don't tell me many of you don't share this vision...)- I'm thinking about doing few vodoo on him as well, you don't know how things could work out...

Ok, last week I was reading this book, and at a certain point the main character said that, as a kid, she used to drink lemonade in garden of her summer house with her friends,m and this idea popped into my mind, since this month jello forever prompt is lemonade...

For Patrick Jane, misbehaving wasn't abnormal; saying that the times he had actually listened to Teresa Lisbon could be counted on one hand wasn't even an exaggeration, but the mere truth. Today, though, Jane had done his worst, striking all the "do not's" Lisbon had imposed him over the years (don't try to seduce the victim's widow; don't enter in a suspect/victim's house without a warrant and prepare yourself tea just to complain later about their not so good taste; don't contaminate the crime scene, don't steal evidences; don't drive the AD/judge mad, don't live the car, don't interfere in a firefight, don't get kidnapped by a suspect on purpose, don't play with a suspect's mind, don't hypnotize witnesses) and he had done all of it on purpose.

Of course, it wasn't the first time he didn't listened to Lisbon's order on purpose, but normally he just did one or two of the aforementioned things, mostly because he enjoyed Lisbon's reaction. There was always a fire in her eyes, whenever she was mad at him, such a passion… it was like all the passion she couldn't directly put in her works, too busy following rules, she put it in her fights with him. And he liked it. Seeing the fire in her eyes allowed his mind to, at least, dream, dream of things he wanted but wasn't allowed to have, not yet, at least, and maybe never. That fire sent shivers along his spine, drove him mad, made him wish to be able to jump on her and push her against the wall, kiss her like he was a caveman, possess her… when he saw the fire, he closed his eyes at night only to have his mind filled with visions of a dark haired beauty with green eyes. In his dreams, he imagined dancing with her, he imagined a picnic on the grass, certain times he dreamt about tangled limbs and soft caresses and sweet kisses under white sheets in a house by the beach, sometimes it was about a white dress and a church, other times about a walk in a park with blonde twins, a boy and a girl, with green eyes, but mostly it was about the two of them cuddling together, on the seaside or on a couch. Many times the dreams were what made his day, what made him go on. He lived for that dreams, and the only way to trigger his fantasy was to see the fire in her eyes.

Today, he hadn't seen it. Today, all his efforts to drive her made had been gone to waste. Something was wrong with Teresa, as he called her in his dreams. Something had been wrong since the morning, when she had received a phone call – something that had made her so upset she hadn't left her office since if not strictly necessary. She had been so quite, she hadn't been mad at him even when he had gone to say he was sorry for all his antics of the day. And, if this wasn't enough, at two in the morning she was still at work. Sure, she worked late, but never that late.

Jane knew Lisbon was oblivious to his presence, he understood she didn't knew he was till there, on his beloved couch, lost in his thoughts, when he heard her crying and sobbing, convulsionary. A single sob and he was already there, at her side, at the side of the woman who was sitting on the pavement, fetal position, shaking. Without further hesitation, Jane hugged her, melting into her, whispering sweet nothing into her ears, drawing invisible circles on the fabric of her red shirt. As she kept soaking with her tears his light grey shirt, holding to the man like for dear life, he never asked her why, just allowing her to let it go.

"My aunt- she started at a certain point, still between tear, never letting it go of his shirt, like it was the only thin g to keep her steady, the only thing connecting her to reality – my mum's younger sister, she died this morning. Her car got hit by a truck. The man wanted to avoid a deer" Teresa took a big breath, and waited for Jane to say something, but he didn't. He didn't say a word because he knew it wasn't up to him. He knew how losing a family member felt like, and he remembered how he hated people always asking how he felt and making stupid questions. He knew that if Lisbon wanted to talk, it was only up to her. He wasn't going to pray into her personal life, not like that, not now. Besides, she was already talking with him, so there was a good chance that, at the right moment, she'd said him the rest.

"She lived in the Washington state, moved there after getting married. It was a small place, a small city close to a lake, houses in woods, everyone knowing everyone, that sort of things. The guys always went to summer camp, but I preferred to go visit her, I spent the whole summer with her, with her husband and her two daughters. There was this old lady I helped, I went grocery store for her, went to her doctor when she needed her medicines, this kind of things, and she paid me, not that much, but at least I got to pay for my food and the efforts. Aunt Laura and Uncle Charlie didn't want to, though, but I insisted, because it was like it worked back at home, you know? Dad was always drunk, couldn't get a steady job, so I had to help as I could. "she stopped to cry, and Jane felt Lisbon smiling in his chest as her hair tickled his chin and he had to suppress the need to kiss her hair, or to even just breath her scent, her cent of cinnamon and vanilla "She made us sit in her garden, me, my cousins Veronica and Juliet, and our friends, Sam, Jess and Cassie, and she made us fresh lemonade and backed biscuits with dusting sugars. When I was younger, it made me feel like a child again, like I was finally allowed to be Teresa and not Carl's daughter or the guys' sister/mother figure. When I was a bit older, she kept doing it, but sometimes she did only for me, so that we could talk about "woman things". I told her everything, Jane, I shared everything with her… first kiss, first boyfriend, I talked her when I first slept with a guy, when I decided to enter the Academy, my pregnancy scare, Bosco, the CBI, my successes, my dreams, my problems, I talked about the team… she said it wasn't right to ask Grace and Wayne to break up, that Cho should be less stoic, that I should open up more, that you seemed funny to work with… there wasn't a single part of my life she didn't know. She was the only one I could talk to; the only one I could be myself with. And now she is gone. She was the mother I couldn't have and I lost her as well."

Jane closed his eyes, and gave up. He breathed her scent, imprinting the image of what was happening in his memory, and finally broke the silence, without, though, looking into Teresa's eyes, standing there in the same position. "She'll never stop being that mother, Teresa – she jumped a little, surprised by the sweet tone in his voice, by the mere fact that he had called her Teresa and how good it sounded her name said by his lips, the same lips that were pressed against her forehead - she and your real mother will always be a part of you. You'll never lose them, not if you'll keep them in your heart. One day, you'll just smile thinking about them, one day the good memories will overcome the bad ones. One day you'll remember your mother at your birthday, and not the day you went to her funeral. One day you'll remember your dad he singing you a lullaby, and not only getting drunk and hitting you. One day you'll remember every word spoke with your aunt, and not only today's call. The pain will never go away, because they'll always be a part of your life, but it will diminish, and one day, you'll be able to smile thinking about them."

As he finally kissed her forehead, sweetly and slowly like a tender lover, Lisbon hoped with all her heart he could find the closure he was wishing her to reach- a step in the direction of moving on and forgiving himself. As she lifted her head, their eyes met, and Jane smiled sweetly at her before to kiss her again, allowing then Lisbon to nuzzle her nose in the crock of his neck while cuddling. Her aunt had been her anchor while growing up, now this man, who was at times childish, insensate and even plain stupid in few occasions, had took that place. She had always knew that there was more to Patrick Jane than it met the eyes, but she was amazed to know that there was THAT MUCH under the cover. She had always known he was a good man, but he was showing her that he could be that kind of good man, the kind of man who was right for a woman – the woman he dreamt about, the woman he wanted, the woman he was holding in his arms, the woman he decided one day he was going to have, because having her in his arms in reality felt better than the dreams…

"I'm here, Teresa, I'm always here, I'm not going to leave you …" Yes, reality was better than the dreams. And besides, now he had new material for his dreams. And he was sure he no longer needed the fire to dream of her. He was going to dream of his Teresa every night, that she was mad at him or not, also because he really loved when Teresa was sweet and open with him… that was the woman he wanted to share the rest of his life with. Maybe, one day…