A/N: Wow! You guys are incredible! Thanks so much for all the wonderfully encouraging reviews. They mean the world to me.

This chapter is definitely a mixed bag, lol. I'm attempting to explore how Jane might be, now that he feels comfortable to lower his inhibitions a bit on a more personal level. I think that before he lost his family, he must have been a terribly romantic, and even sexual being. I mean, look at the man. I hope he doesn't come across as too out of character here, but in fact, everything from the time he got on that plane was out of character where Lisbon was concerned-out of the character we've seen for the last six years, anyway. But enough explanations. Let's see what you think.

Chapter 2

By midnight, they had spent a pleasant few hours talking about old times at the CBI, discussing music and even singing along (or fighting over) the radio. But Lisbon was seriously winding down, despite having stopped twice for coffee. A four-hour nap had not been nearly enough, not after twenty-four hours without sleep, and she was suddenly feeling her age. She couldn't pull two all-nighters in a row anymore.

She reached out and flipped off the radio.

"This noise isn't cutting it," she told Jane, putting her empty cup in the holder. "My brain needs something more to focus on or I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel."

"We could play a game," Jane suggested. He was used to getting by on limited sleep, and while his insomnia had nearly gone away after he'd killed Red John, over the past month it had returned with a vengeance as he'd witnessed Lisbon slowly slipping through his fingers.

"Are you kidding? I know better than to play games with you. You always win."

"True," he conceded. "But this is some lighthearted fun. It's a getting-to-know-you game."

She glanced over at him, skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Scoff if you will, but it occurs to me that, while we have known each other for over a decade, there are many things that were always off limits to talk about. I tried to respect your privacy, but now, I'd like to invade your privacy as much as humanly possible."

She laughed. "Oh, really? Well, it works both ways, buddy. There are plenty of things about you I've always wanted to know. Are you really willing to put yourself out there now? No clever evasions? Nothing off limits?"

He smirked in the darkness. "You show me yours, sweetheart…"

"Okay then. Deal. How do we play?"

"It's simple, really. We'll take turns asking if the other has ever done something. The goal is to find something neither of us has done, and decide whether we'd like to do it together someday. Nothing is off limits. The only rule is, if you agree to play, you have to answer the questions."

"Hmm," she said, though she felt a tingle of trepidation.

Like Jane, she was by nature a very private person, had always believed in keeping her work life separate from her personal life. The walls between the two had come down lately, what with Marcus doing things like kissing her and proposing marriage in the office, and perhaps because she wasn't a team leader anymore, she hadn't felt the need to set a perfect example. There had always been a very defined wall between herself and Jane, however. They'd skated around the details of their private lives for years, out of both fear and respect, she imagined. This habit probably was a big reason why it had been so difficult to share their true intimate feelings with each other. The idea of emotionally exposing herself to him now made her feel a bit lightheaded, but also, she had to admit, wonderfully excited.

"Lisbon? You in?"

"I'm in. You go first."

"All right. I'll start with an easy one. Have you ever gone skinny dipping?"

"What?" she said, laughing. He was just going to jump right in with the personal questions then. She blushed. "Yes," she admitted. "You?"

"Yes," he said cheerfully. "Any more details you'd like to add to that?"
"Nope," she replied mysteriously. "My turn. Have you ever…gone skydiving?"

"Definitely not."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I've never understood why someone would jump out of a perfectly good plane and risk plummeting to their deaths. I mean, how incredibly stupid would you feel as you were falling and your parachute didn't open? No thank you. But you have, haven't you?"

"Yes. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once." Sort of like loving you, she thought with a private smile.

"Interesting. Next question. Have you ever made love out of doors?"

She gasped involuntarily. "Jane!"

"Answer the question, Teresa," he said softly.

She swallowed. "Yes."

"And what were the circumstances, if I may ask?"

"You may not. It's my turn now."

"Don't you want to know if I have?"

"No."

He chuckled. "Liar. And yes, I have. In the ocean. By the ocean. In a meadow. On a Ferris wheel. Behind the Hollywood sign—"

She was fascinated in spite of herself. "You're kidding me?"

"Nope."

"How? With whom? No. Sorry. None of my business." She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Who the hell was this man who had once seemed almost…asexual?

"Karen Clemens," he said dreamily. "I was sixteen, and the carnival had stopped just outside of LA. She dared me."

Lisbon looked over at him, her mouth wide open in shock.

"She was also my partner in crime on the Ferris wheel, by the way."

"Damn," she said under her breath. "I can't believe you're telling me this."

"I'm an open book now, Lisbon. Ask anything you want. This actually feels pretty damn good."

"Well, okay then. Have you ever…cheated on someone?"

"No."

"Well, that was categorical."

"I'm a one-woman man, Teresa. Always have been. Well," he added with a grin that flashed white in the darkness. "One at a time, anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "Your turn, loverboy."

"Have you ever made love in a car?"

"I'm detecting a theme here," she said dryly.

"No, wait. I think I can answer this for you."

"Jane—"

"The answer is yes, you have. As a matter of fact, I would venture to say your first time was in the backseat of your boyfriend's Camaro. You were eighteen, and your Catholic guilt set in as soon as the deed was done. You went to Confession the next day. And probably the day after that."

She was quiet a moment, her thoughts drifting back in time. She hadn't thought about her first time in years.

"You're wrong," she said softly. "It was a Trans-Am."

He chuckled. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Lisbon. Losing your virginity in the back of a muscle car is the American way."

"Oh, God. I've never told anyone that before."

"Except your priest."

"Not even him."

"Well, then I feel honored. Your turn."

"You didn't answer the question for yourself," she reminded him.

"Yes, I have had sex in a car," he replied. "Though never in a Camry."

"Me neither," she said softly.

"Hmm," he hummed, tapping his lower lip thoughtfully.

The conversation had veered so far into the surreal that Lisbon was having trouble wrapping her mind around it. She had to admit that she liked his seductive tone, loved the way it made her spine tingle, her face warm, her stomach fill with butterflies. So this was what it was like to be openly loved by Patrick Jane.

"Next question," he prompted her.

The thought of asking the question that occurred to her made her pulse race uncomfortably. Could she really ask him this? But she couldn't pass this up; he was being so open and honest with her. Maybe there would never be a better time.

"Don't be afraid," said Jane, sensing her inner struggle. "Ask me anything."

"I'm not sure I have the right."

"We love each other, Teresa. That gives you every right."

She took a breath, and then she asked him.

"Have you ever considered taking off your wedding ring? Not just for a case, I mean."

She felt him go still beside her, his tension at her question almost palpable. She didn't have Jane's phenomenal gift of insight, but it was obvious even to her that this question might be too difficult for him. Perhaps she'd found the line he would not cross. Or maybe she was reading him completely wrong, and it was his fear of hurting her that made him hesitate.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that," she said quickly. "I'll think of something else."

"Yes," he said. "In South America."

This was a complete surprise to her. Her mind began to race. Had he wanted to commit to someone else he'd met there? She hadn't asked him anything important about their time apart, except mundane things about the people of the village where he lived, the details of his daily life. He'd never mentioned another woman. In all the years she'd known him, he'd worn his ring faithfully, and whenever she looked at it, she felt the presence of his dead wife, a seemingly unbreakable link to his tragic past.

"Oh." She wasn't going to ask for more information.

He sighed. "This is going to sound bad, Teresa, especially because of what's happened since—"

"Maybe I don't really want to know," she said, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes.

"Yes, you do. And I really need to tell you. In the spirit of telling the truth in all forms of transportation, mind you." He cracked a small smile-to try to set her at ease, she assumed, but it only made her brace harder for what he might say next.

"I'm sure you deduced that Kim Fischer's roll in tracking me down on that island was to soften me up, seduce me with her charms to make me consider coming back to the States."

"Fischer?" She was genuinely startled at this turn of the conversation. Never in a million years would she have thought her coworker would have anything remotely to do with Patrick Jane's wedding ring. She tried to calm herself, not to jump to conclusions and let him explain. "Yes, I figured that out later. I didn't think she had succeeded though, in seducing you that is."

He caught a whiff of jealousy, and it made him want to smile again, but he resolutely stifled that impulse. This would be difficult enough to explain without Lisbon speculating about any residual feelings he might have for the lovely Agent Fischer.

"She didn't," he told her. "But I was tempted. And so, before I met her for dinner, I took off my ring."

"But you didn't—"

"No. But I might have, had I not drunk so much to summon the courage, or gotten kicked in the uh, groin before I had a chance to try."

Lisbon's eyes widened. "Fischer racked you?"

He laughed, though it still smarted just thinking about it. "No. Some local hooligan, but that's another story. The point is, I took off my ring in an attempt to move on with my life. I didn't ever see myself returning to you in the States. I'd killed Red John, and I figured it was about time I let go of the past completely. When I woke up the next morning, hung over and still in pain, I put it back on. I wasn't ready. At least, not with Kim."

"But you're back now," she said, willing her voice not to tremble.

"Yes, and I can't really explain it logically, Teresa, but being back with you made it easier to keep it on."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm botching this up royally, aren't I?" He reached for her hand with his left, the one that still held the ring Angela had placed there eons ago. For the first time since their kiss in the TSA office, she shied from his touch, moving both hands back to the steering wheel.

"Let me try this again," he said. "It was easy to take my ring off for Kim because she meant nothing. If I took my ring off for you, well, it would be real. It would be forever. And something tells me that had I slept with Kim, I would have put it back on the next morning anyway, overwhelmed with guilt because I'd taken it off for sex rather than for love."

His words hung in the quiet car for a full minute, while Lisbon attempted to process this. He was right; his reasoning didn't seem logical. Not at first, anyway. But she understood now where he was coming from. It still hurt, but she knew him well enough that Jane never took anything he did lightly, especially when it came to his lost family.

"I think," he said at last, breaking the silence. "I was always subconsciously waiting for you. My brain kept telling me I would never see you again…but I think my heart was still holding out."

To his supreme relief, she relaxed in her seat, her grip on the steering wheel loosening considerably.

"I guess it sort of makes sense," she said slowly. "Thank you for telling me this. You took a huge chance that I might throw you out of this car."

His smile was like the dawn.

"Thank you for understanding, Lisbon."

"And for the record," she added, her good humor returning. "No way Kim Fischer would have slept with you. Just sayin'."

"Now you're just being mean," he said dryly.

"Oh, please. She's a professional. Sleeping with you on the job would have been tantamount to prostitution in her eyes, and you know it."

"I don't know, Lisbon. She was turning it up pretty high that night on the island. What with the dinner, the cervezas, the dancing, the making of the perfect tea…"

"She made you tea?"

"Well, I'll give that it was the next morning, when I was totally hung over, but still…a woman who can make tea that well was just begging for it, at least in my eyes."

Lisbon reached over and punched him hard in the arm.

He laughed.

"I'm tired of this game," said Lisbon grumpily, noting the sign that said there was a gas station ahead. She put on her blinker. She admitted to herself that she was jealous of Fischer. Not the Fischer she knew now, but the woman who had been compelling enough to get Jane to do what twelve years of loyalty had not.

"I know another game," he offered, sensing her melancholy mood. "It's much deeper. It has you plumbing the depths of your very soul to decide the best answer."

"After your first game, I don't really think I can handle any more of your lighthearted fun."

He ignored her sarcasm. "Okay. First question: would you rather have fingers as long as your legs, or legs as long as your fingers?"

She reached over and turned the radio on, cranking up the volume while he chuckled softly to himself.

After their pit stop, however, when Jane was limping back to the car, she noticed he was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After another two hours, her vision began to blur.

"I've got to stop and get some sleep," she said. She looked next to her and saw that Jane was sleeping soundly. Some help he was in keeping her awake, she thought in annoyance.

With a sigh, she turned off the interstate and into the next rest area she saw. Yawning quietly, she turned off the engine and leaned her chair all the way back. From the back seat she grabbed her jacket, and, using it as a blanket, snuggled down into her seat.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She awoke to the sound of a staccato tapping, and to Jane violently shaking her arm. The light from the advancing dawn turned everything golden.

"Lisbon," he said. "Wake up!"

"Huh?"

He nudged her and glanced toward the window.

"Open the door or I'll shoot!" ordered the man with the red bandana tied over his nose and mouth, bandito style. The loud tapping had been the sound of his small handgun rapping against the window.

"Aw, shit," she said, more annoyed than frightened.

Lisbon's mind began to work immediately; she was used to having to be suddenly alert. She eyed the man and his gun impassively, then, being sure to make her movements slow and easy, reached for the door handle.

"Do what he says," she said to Jane under her breath.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, hands up.

"Now, get out…bitch," he added as an afterthought. "You too, mister."

The bandit stepped back as the car door swung open, Lisbon stepping out with her hands up.

Jane, having rightly assessed that their attacker was just a kid, resisted rolling his eyes and got out of the car, mimicking Lisbon's nonthreatening movements, his hands up. There were no other cars around them in the parking lot, save for an old Chevy pickup truck and a semi parked on the other side of the restrooms.

"Come around the car and stand by her. No funny stuff, or the uh, bitch gets it."

"Take it easy," Jane said, as to a frightened animal. The man's forehead was damp with sweat and his gun shook slightly. "You're in complete control here," Jane said soothingly, hopping on his good foot, the other hand using the car for support. "Nobody has to get hurt."

"Shut up! I need your money or any other valuables you have. Starting with your wallet."

On the driver's side of the car, Jane obediently retrieved his wallet from his inside coat pocket, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Toss it on the ground." Jane held the young man's eyes as his wallet hit the pavement.

"My money's in my bag in the back seat," Lisbon said.

Jane's face went still. She hadn't been wearing her sidearm, and he knew it wasn't in the glove box, so the only other place it would be was in her duffle bag. He briefly caught her eye and correctly gauged her intentions.

"Get it. No tricks, or you're both dead."

"What's your name, kid?" Jane asked calmly, attempting to distract him.

"Ha. You must think I'm stupid. Shut the fuck up."

"No, I don't think you're stupid. Just desperate. What do you need the money for?"

"Everybody needs money, man."

"But not everybody holds people up at rest stops. It must be something very important."

Jane held the man's gaze, willing him to calm down and focus on him, and not on Lisbon, who was opening the door to the back seat. He heard the zip of the duffle bag.

"College," the kid admitted, seemingly against his will. "I need it for college."

"Ever heard of Stafford Loans?" Jane asked dryly.

"Put the gun down now," came Lisbon's most commanding police voice.

The robber looked at Lisbon in astonishment, as she trained her Glock on his head.

Jane chose that time to quickly move out of the line of the kid's gun, his movements causing the boy to fire instinctively, the bullet making a fine hole in the car window before embedding into the driver's seat.

Lisbon dove on top of their assailant, knocking him to the ground, while Jane toed his dropped gun out of the way with his left foot. Lisbon quickly pinned the robber to the ground with her knee in his back. She held his wrists roughly behind his body with one hand while she pressed the Glock to his neck with the other.

"Be still," she ordered. "Jane, get my handcuffs from my bag, please."

"Are you a freakin' cop?" asked the kid, his voice muffled by the bandana and the pavement.

"FBI."

"Jesus."

"Close," said Jane with a grin. "Saint Teresa."

She gave Jane a dirty look, then took the cuffs and efficiently fastened them around the lanky boy's wrists. She hauled him up and shoved him into the back seat, pulling down his mask before slamming the door on his shocked baby-faced expression. She retrieved her phone from the console and dialed 911.

"This is Agent Teresa Lisbon with the FBI. I've got a 2-11 at the rest stop off I-10 near Lyman. I need immediate assistance please."

It took about twenty minutes for the Louisiana patrolman to arrive, and another hour before he got all the information he needed from the scene. The officer had taken pictures of the gunshot to the Camry, and retrieved the bullet slug from the seat. The college kid waited in the back seat of the patrol car.

"Poor kid," he said with genuine sympathy.

"Maybe he'll finish his education in prison," Lisbon said, shaking her head morosely.

Four hours later, after a multitude of official statement taking, a phone call to Abbott, and generally waiting around at the nearest highway patrol station, they were on the road again. Lisbon merged onto the interstate, rolling her shoulders tiredly. She was in desperate need of more coffee—the stuff at the station had tasted even worse than the swill at the FBI.

Jane took out the complimentary map from the glove box.

"Hey, we're just a couple hours from New Orleans. Let's stop there for an early dinner."

"Jane, we've already wasted enough—"

"Have you ever been to New Orleans, Teresa?"

"No, but—"

"You wanted to see the world with me. The Big Easy is a great place to start."

"Abbott told us not to dawdle."

"You know what, we risked our lives to prevent a kid from beginning a life of crime. I think we deserve some good food. Besides, you're exhausted. Let's get a room if we can, catch a few hours of sleep. The idea was to get us safely home to Austin, and frankly, I'm not trusting our odds in your current condition."

"Jane," she said, trying to sound deeply offended. Her unexpected, huge yawn sort of took away her thunder.

"My point exactly. Come on, Lisbon. You know you want to."

She glanced over at him, saw to her dismay he was giving her his most appealing puppy dog eyes, which on Patrick Jane were doubly effective. She was nearly powerless to resist, especially now that she knew what it felt like to kiss that smiling mouth of his. The jerk knew immediately that he'd won. She shook her head in exasperation, grinning reluctantly at his triumph. He stretched across the console and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"You won't regret this, Lisbon, I promise."

"Where have I heard that before?"

Her cheek tingled pleasantly for many miles afterwards.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the way to New Orleans, Jane began calling hotels. He secured an inn on Chartres Street in the French Quarter, only lucking out because they'd had a last-minute cancellation. They would have to share a room though-one with two beds—and Lisbon only relented because she knew both of them were way too tired to do much more than grab a bite to eat and catch a few hours of sleep.

Jane was actually able to plug in the GPS coordinates on his phone and she drove slowly down the street, stopping in front of the inn to utilize the valet parking since Lisbon feared Jane wouldn't make it on his bum ankle. It was early afternoon, and the Quarter was relatively quiet. They carried their bags and walked toward the front entrance of the inn.

Lisbon noticed that he was hardly even limping. In fact, he was wearing both his shoes now. She frowned.

"You're ankle's barely hurting now, is it?"

He shrugged, not remotely apologetic. "Several hours off of it, and it's almost good as new."

At her look of annoyance, he felt compelled to explain himself. "It was only a sprain, Lisbon. I promise I'll put in my share of driving now."

This seemed to concern her more than his hurt ankle had. "That's all right," she said quickly. "I don't mind."

He chuckled, his hand going to her lower back as she preceded him inside the hotel.

Their room was small, but the view from the balcony of famous Royal Street more than made up for it. They were in the heart of the French Quarter, and by nightfall the streets would be hopping with all manner of excitement and interesting people.

While Jane went out the French doors to the balcony, Lisbon dropped her bag on the floor, then practically threw herself down on the nearest bed, lying on her back, spread eagle. She closed her eyes, moaning blissfully as she stretched.

Captivated by that particular sound, Jane peeked back into the room, his mouth going dry as he beheld the beautiful woman lying prone on the bed. The temerity that had compelled him to climb across a table in a TSA detention room emerged again, and he walked purposely to the bed, pressing one knee into the soft mattress.

Teresa didn't even react. He crawled carefully closer on all fours, like a graceful cat, until his face hovered over hers. He smiled gently, willing her to open her eyes, but she was too tired to move. Experimentally, he lowered his mouth. It took her a moment to summon the strength to kiss him back, and Jane knew she must be half-asleep. He wasn't touching her anywhere but her soft mouth, holding himself above her, his arms trembling slightly.

Jane kissed her leisurely but thoroughly, though his heart was pounding as if they were in the throes of passion. Suddenly, she wasn't responding to his kisses at all. He slowly withdrew his lips, then sat back on the bed with a grin and a shake of his head.

She smacked her lips once in her sleep, then, to his even greater amusement, she began to snore softly.

"I really must be out of practice," he whispered to the room.

He watched her sleeping—a novelty in itself—allowing his love for her to fully suffuse him. Since his family's murder, he had only ever wanted Red John and Teresa Lisbon. He'd always known he would get the former; it was only in his wildest dreams that he'd imagined he'd have a chance at the latter.

Funny how the world worked, he mused. Two days ago he'd sunk once more into the deepest depths of despair, and now he was in fabulous New Orleans, on a bed with Teresa Lisbon. He didn't think he was capable of being surprised anymore, but she'd done it, just liked she'd promised him over dinner a few weeks before. He should have learned by now never to underestimate this woman.

Not wanting to disturb her further, Jane moved slowly off the bed and retrieved the coverlet at the foot of it, laying it gently over Lisbon's sleeping form. He removed his suit jacket and shoes and, covering a yawn, stretched out on his own bed to sleep.

A/N: I'm thinking this might end up being a little longer than three chapters. Hope you don't mind. Next up: fun in New Orleans and more car conversations. I hope you'll join me for the ride.

Please check out my other multi-chapter, "The Psychic Next Door," as well as my Season 1 episode tags from the Super Duper Tag Project. And reviews are always welcome.