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...

So, a little somehting my mind elaborated using petitj's polt bunny from the jello forever forum ("Whould you please be my boyfriend for 5 minutes?" ). That's chapter one, I'm not sure when I'm goingto post chapter two, though, but I'm pretty sure it will be soemtime next week... I'm glad you liked chapter one. taht's number two for you all... and three to go!


Jane had practically run away from Sullivan's as soon s they had parted, without adding further words about the kiss, that wonderful, breathtaking, mind-blowing and unforgettable kiss, and had decided to come back to his place, the apartment he rented in Sacramento. He really didn't know what he was supposed to do or think; the only thing he was quite aware of was that he didn't want to think about Lisbon: quite a futile attempt, since his mind kept showing images of said brunette. At the end, he decided he was even in no shape to drive; the mere thought of driving his beloved and beautiful blue Citroen with all the alcohol he had ingested and his mind playing games with himself, flash forwarding images of the only thing he didn't want to see wasn't even a bit good. Hell, at the end of the evening, there was just one thing Patrick Jane knew was sure: there was a battle going on, and it was a battle he was fighting with himself.

One side of himself told him it was ok to feel that way again after so long, that there was nothing wrong in enjoying a kiss, to desire to have a woman, and not any woman, in his arms again, in wishing for a second shot at love and happiness.

But the other side of himself kept remembering him that his wife and his daughter were dead, that he had lost his family because of himself, that he was no longer allowed to have emotions if not hate and anger towards the bloody serial killer and guilt towards himself, that by kissing Lisbon he was violating the memory of the ones he had killed with his own hands when he mocked the monster.

No, driving was definitely not a wise choice, not when he couldn't concentrate like that. He left out a loud grunt and corrected himself: of course he could concentrate, only, there was only one thing he kept thinking about, the only thing he wasn't supposed to think about in the first place, but, still, like in autopilot, his mind kept going always to the same place, to the same thought, to his Teresa. No, she isn't Teresa, she is Lisbon, and she isn't mine, and the kiss was just a game, just an act. But, still, as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop to think about Teresa, Lisbon or that breathtaking, wonderful, mind-blowing and unforgettable kiss, but he had to, period.

He didn't have to think about how happy she (they) had been while kissing. He didn't have to think about smiling lisp on his owns. He didn't have to think about the tears she tried to hide when he had rejected her…

Yeah, a walk was a wise idea. Besides, his place was just an hour or so from Sullivan's. Unfortunately, one hour later Jane realized that if he had thought that walking could help him to clear his mind he had been, obviously, wrong. In retrospective, he regretted not having taken the car, because not only in the hour or so he took him to come back home he had barely made it (considering how many cars had almost hit him), but now, come morning, he had to call a taxi to come back to Sully top retrieve his vehicle, hope to find his beloved still there, considering what a neighborhood Sully was in.

Once gotten into his bedroom, a small room with a single bed, a nightstand table and a small wardrobe, he sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by darkness, fully clothed, his hands covering his face before to go, fists closed, to rest on his knees. He knew he couldn't actually see his ring, but it was like he could, even feel it, heavy. He felt guilty, but not because he had betrayed his wife's memory. No, Patrick Jane felt guilty because he had betrayed the wonderful, amazing, sweet, caring, loving and lovely Teresa Lisbon by rejecting her when the only thing he wanted to do was take her back in his arms and keep kissing her senseless.

Of course, he also felt guilty because he felt guilty for having rejected her and not for feeling guilty for the having kissed her in the first place. Jane had, after all, imposed himself celibacy for a reason, because he didn't think he was allowed to feel anything at all again. It wasn't like he wasn't able to still have emotions, even if it was what he kept repeating to everybody, he knew he still had them. He cared about people, were the victims of their families, his father and even his brother in law, and, mostly, he cared about his surrogate family, the team. He hated criminals, were them people like he used to be, fake and pretenders who took people's trust and (ab) use it for their own sake, murders and molesters, drug dealers, and what he felt for Red John, it run so deep, it was so strong, he couldn't even start to describe it, didn't know how.

And then there was Lisbon, his beautiful, carrying, stubborn, loving and lovely, amazing and sweet Teresa, that, step by step, had convinced him that, maybe, falling in love was something that he did want to do again, he did want to have a woman in his arms again, to wish for tomorrow again, that he didn't have to live for Red John and Red John only, that he still had the chance, and the right, to hoping into tomorrow, a better and happier tomorrow. He didn't know or when, but somehow, during the last six years, he had decided to follow her advice, and that maybe (ok, not maybe, definitely) it was with her he wanted to have that hypothetical future with. The problem was that there wasn't just one hypothetical future, but a way too many, endless possibilities and roads to take, and he didn't know which one he was supposed to take.

Jane could decide to not say a word about his feelings for the brunette; in this case, he could decide to give up on revenge and choosing between staying at the team's side (ending, maybe, with looking at Lisbon getting married to a man who wasn't him) and leaving. Or maybe he could decided to not give up on revenge; in that case, his fate was either dying at the killer's hands, life in prison or death sentence, or maybe, if he was lucky, life as a fugitive.

But, maybe, he could talk to her. He could confess her his feelings and she may or may not reciprocate them. If she didn't, the previously examined hypotheses were still valuable, but if she did, the choice was one and one only: he had to let Lisbon handle things in her own way. And maybe, was it the scenario, things may even work between the two of them…

But the fact that he did have few choices didn't helped, since he still didn't know what to do; even if his mind and body were used to insomnia, he, at least, had always got at least one or two hours of sleep, but after having rejected Teresa, he hadn't sleep for even two minutes. He had kept thinking about all the possibilities, all the scenarios the whole time. He had spent the night sitting on the edge of the mattress, and somehow, at a certain point, his mind had decided on its own to go into repeat and rewind mode, showing him the outcomes again and again,; he was pretty sure what he was experiencing was what people saw while dying, the "I'm seeing flashbacks of my while life in front of my eyes" kind of thing. Only, the images he was seeing were of things he hadn't experienced yet, like in a dream, only, Jane knew he was awake.

He imagined, no, not imagined, he saw their dates. Cinema, opera, ballet, theatre, concerts. He saw dinners at an Italian place, a French one, few Oriental restaurants. He saw eating at his place or her home, grocery shopping together an together cooking and eating, he saw picnics in a park and feeding Teresa with strawberries, making love in a room enlightened only by the moon and the stars, cuddles and kisses on her couch while watching TV, an origami rose offered after a work related fight revealing a white gold ring with emeralds, himself on a beach with a light grey suite and Teresa walking in his direction with a simple but yet marvelous white dress, he saw themselves holding hands while sitting in the bathroom waiting for two lines to appear on a stick, he saw the team welcoming Teresa back home, two babies in their arms, a boy and a girl with blonde hair and green eyes, he saw them holding a brunette girl with blue eyes few years later, he saw the two of them getting grey together.

Almost shocked, back to reality, Jane took a big breath and looked at the ring that no longer was a promise of love. Twelve years later, when he was 29, Chloe had put that ring at his finger, and he had promised to love her until death do them apart. And death had done them apart. In the last six years, the ring had been the symbol of the promise to find the man who had murdered them and make him pay. It wasn't that he hadn't slept with a woman because he still felt the need to remain loyal to his wedding promise, it was just that he saw it as a waste of time and something that could potentially causing him to lose his focus.

But Teresa wasn't a waste of time, and now that he had acknowledged it keeping the ring on his left hand felt wrong, for the first time in six years that ring was a burden, a heavy weight.

Turned the lights on, he reached for the top drawer of the nightstand and carefully removed a single item from its inside, a medium size jeweler box, scarlet with ivy-like motives in gold, and even more carefully he inspected the two items the box contained- a long and simple yellow gold chain and a note, handwritten carefully with a black fountain pen on a cream-colored and antique looking quality paper.

I'm giving you this because I know that one day you'll eventually need it- it' s a promise I'm making to you, Jane. Until then, keep it and remember that I'm here for you, always, and that I'm the one who knows you. And what I know is that you, Patrick Jane, are a good man better than what you give yourself credit for. Iknow you, jane, and I know that you'll always choose life. Happy Christmas, Lisbon

He smiled sad as the ring found its resting place inside the chain, right on his heart. He couldn't believe that he hadn't understood what was going on between the two of them at Christmas, the first time he had read the note, and he couldn't believe he had been that stupid and blind to date Kristina Frey, Kristina Frey of all, without seeing what was right before his eyes. He remembered trying to remove the ring that time, and that the mere thought felt wrong. Now, it didn't felt that way, because he knew that he was doing it for the right reason: Lisbon. No, now that he had made up his mind, chosen life, chosen love, decided to leave Red John into the team's hands, she wasn't Lisbon any longer. She was Teresa, his Teresa, and it was time to let her know that.

Without even bothering to change into fresh clothes, Jane left the place he had never really considered home and walked back to Sullivan's to retrieve his car. Then, next stop, he was going to the CBI, and wait for her, so that he could finally confess to Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon his undying love.