Author's note: Sorry for the delay. I had a pretty demanding week in real life. And Lisbon is just as difficult to write as Jane—maybe more so these days since we haven't seen as much of her. Anyway, thank you so much for your reaction to the first chapter! I thought the reaction to a story where the only thing that happens is a conversation might be one big "meh." So I was very pleasantly surprised!

Chapter 2: Lisbon

I would much rather drive than experience the terror of Jane's Grand Prix reenactments, but the past 24 hours have me beat. Between Grace going missing and then Jane and Rigsby running off, I've pretty much been in panic mode the whole time, topped off with five endless seconds when my heart stopped until I saw Jane move, telling me he wasn't a corpse after all. God. When I saw him in the hospital waiting room I didn't know whether to hug him or punch him.

So I did both. But I got the punch out of the way first, and it was only his shoulder, not his nose. I could tell Jane had been scared this time from the way he clutched at me during the hug, so I'm glad I took it easy on him.

I glance over at him for the millionth time since he fell asleep. He looks uncomfortable, slumped in his seat with his forehead resting against the window. There are little lines around his eyes that are only noticeable when he's exhausted, and he's sleeping very deeply, which he rarely does. And I'm something of an expert on Jane sleeping.

I'm not a big fan of the bullpen at the FBI. I don't like having to turn around to see what Jane is up to. I miss the days when I could sit at my desk and watch him doze, tucked away in my office. I miss my office. But the bullpen is the price I pay for not being the boss anymore, and I've decided I like not being responsible for Jane's shenanigans. Though Abbott is making me clean up the mess this time, which is kind of the worst of both worlds.

Still, we both came through this alive, and Grace and Wayne are safe. I'm grateful. And once again, Jane figured it all out. I just wish he'd stop coming up with plans that expose him to so much risk. Him and Wayne, in this case. God, what if I'd lost all three of them? I couldn't bear that. Just one of them would be devastating. Three...I don't know how I'd ever get out of bed again.

I wonder if Jane thought about that. About how Cho and I would feel being left behind, especially if things ended badly. We'd have spent the rest of our lives thinking about the what-ifs, blaming ourselves for not being there.

Goddamn him. He would have condemned us to the same hell he lives in.

Now I want to punch him again.

But he looks so angelic when he's sleeping. He knows it, too. After his most outrageous antics, he'd always sleep in my office. I have no doubt he knew exactly where to lie so the light would glint perfectly off his curls, and precisely how to snuffle like a little boy to make me forgive him.

Sometimes, he'd have nightmares. He doesn't talk in his sleep, but I could always tell from his expression. If he started to look really distressed, I'd drop something or shift in my chair to make it creak so he'd wake up. He'd look confused for just a second before sitting up and rubbing at his face, then get up and go make tea. He always brought me a mug of coffee when he came back, and then he'd sit and sip with me. Sometimes he wanted to chat, but most of the time he just wanted to drink his tea.

I like to think my being there helped him, made him feel less alone. After a bad case, I always ended up working later than I needed to, just so he wouldn't be alone. He's been alone way too much.

He's still alone a lot, but now I think it's just habit. He spent a decade believing that getting close to people would mark them for death, and now that the threat is gone he just doesn't seem to think about it. He has me and Cho for the rare times he needs someone, and the rest of the world is just there for his occasional amusement.

I hear his breathing change and glance at him again. He's frowning, and he's slumped down further in his seat like he's trying to curl in on himself. Combined with the rapid breathing, that means he's having a nightmare. Not a big surprise after his close call.

This man has used me, abandoned me, lied to me, manipulated me, and nearly gotten me killed on more than one occasion. And I must be the biggest fool in the world, because all I want to do is pull the car over and put my arms around him. I wish I could run my fingers through his hair and whisper comfort into his ear. But we don't have that kind of relationship.

And that makes me feel even more of a fool, because I really thought we were heading there. I took this job because I wanted it, but I can't deny that I also expected—wanted—to be with Jane. And not just at work. But he hasn't given me any sign he wants anything more than a professional relationship. Well, as professional as Jane ever gets, which isn't very.

A quiet, heartbreaking whimper makes me look over at him, concerned. This must really be a bad one.

"Jane," I say, keeping my voice low so I don't startle him. "Jane, wake up. You're safe."

He makes a weird choking sound that really alarms me. I reach out to lay a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle shake. "Jane."

Jane flinches from my touch and startles awake, gasping for breath. Then he rubs at his face with both hands, trying to calm down. I stare at the road ahead, giving him time to compose himself since he can't go brew a cup of tea.

My stomach growls, and I realize it's past lunchtime. I remember we passed one of those signs that tell you what's at the exit a minute ago and think maybe we should stop and grab a quick bite.

"Bad dream?" I ask.

"Mm hm." He stretches awkwardly in the confined space. "Why're you slowing down?"

"Refueling stop," I say.

"Oh, good. I could use some tea," he replies. As if I couldn't figure that out. "And lunch. Or maybe breakfast, since I didn't get any. Not to mention dinner yesterday. In fact, I'm starving."

"Maybe next time you decide to risk your life in a stupid plan, you should include breaks for meals," I say.

Jane chuckles. "Especially if Rigsby's involved. Though it's a testament to how much he loves Grace that he didn't complain. Much."

Of course Wayne loves Grace. That's why I don't blame him for going along with Jane's crazy plan. If the person I loved was in danger—

Oh, wait. He was. And that's why I'm still angry. Because Jane put the man I love in terrible danger. Like he thought Wayne and Grace's happiness was more important than mine. Like I wasn't important at all.

"Brr," Jane says. "Chilly in here."

I come to the end of the exit ramp and turn right, toward the diner I can see from here. Then I get angry with myself, because I don't really like diners, but I always stop at them if I can because they make Jane happy. When am I going to stop catering to him even though he never gives me a thought?

But my only other choice is a McDonald's, and I don't want to sit through the whining and "fun facts" about what I'm trying to eat if I drag Jane there. So I pull into the diner's parking lot. But after I turn off the car, I sit for a minute, wanting to say something to relieve this terrible pressure inside me. Something to make Jane stop joking around and realize the damage he's done.

"Just spit it out, Lisbon," Jane says when he sees I'm not moving.

I take a deep breath and let the words spill out. "If you'd gotten killed, I'd never have forgiven you. But worst of all, I'd never have forgiven myself. And I hate you for almost doing that to me."

Then I grab the keys, get out of the car, and slam the door before walking briskly into the diner and heading for the restroom. I need a minute to get myself back under control.

mmm

Ten minutes later, I feel ready to face Jane again. I'm calm, and I accept that my anger isn't going to change anything except my blood pressure. It certainly isn't going to change Jane.

Speak of the devil. There he is, sipping tea in a booth. He tries a charming smile as I sit down, but I ignore it. The coffee and chocolate eclair, however, get my full attention.

"Figured you had to be hungry," Jane says, setting his teacup down and picking up a forkful of scrambled eggs. "I told Cathy you'd want something else when you got back. Ah, Cathy. I think she might need a minute to look over the menu."

"She's fine," I say, annoyed. It's not like there are going to be any surprises on the menu. "Cheeseburger with onion rings. Oh, and a chocolate shake." Fattening, yes, but I need all the help I can get if Jane's going to make it back to Austin alive.

"Rough day, huh, hon?" Cathy smiles at me and leaves before I can swallow enough eclair to reply. Wise of her.

Jane finishes his bite of eggs and looks at me for a moment. "Before you finish deciding which stretch of road to dig my shallow grave beside, please allow me to sincerely apologize. I was focused on Grace. I didn't stop to think about what would happen if things went wrong. But now that I have, I see that despite my good intentions, I caused you pain. And for that, I am truly sorry."

Oh, very pretty. How long did it take him to come up with that little speech, I wonder? "Talk is cheap, Jane. I know you don't mean it. You'd do the same thing again in a heartbeat."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry I hurt you," he says.

"That doesn't mean anything to me if you're just going to turn around and do it again." Really, how hard a concept is that? The man can watch four things at once, but he can't grasp this simple fact that even a four-year-old understands?

"I'm really hoping a similar situation doesn't come up again," he says, taking another sip of tea.

It's not that I don't understand. We're the only family he has, and he's not going to let any of us be hurt if he can help it. I would have taken stupid chances to save Grace, too, if I'd come up with any. I guess I just...I just really wish he cared about how I felt. I wish I knew I was important to him. I need to not live with the dread that one day I'll be too late and he'll be dead and I will hate both of us for it.

"But it will," I say. "Sooner or later." It was bad enough knowing he was going to do something stupid with Red John, but I foolishly thought we were past that. "I can't work like this."

I said that to him once before, and he gave in, at least a little. But this time he seems thrown. He stares at me for a few seconds, then says softly, "Tell me what you need."

I need you to love me, I think but can never, ever say. "I need you to treat me like your partner. That means you tell me things, Jane. That you don't make plans in secret. That you don't run off without telling me."

He's silent, and my heart sinks, though I really didn't expect anything different. I wonder if I can transfer to another field office, though I don't want to. I like Kim and I love working with Cho again. But I am not going to get sucked back into the trap of hoping Jane will wake up one day and decide he doesn't have to do everything on his own.

"I've tried to do all those things," he says. "And I thought about telling you. I did. Rigsby wanted to. But I selfishly didn't want to risk your job, because it would be unbearable without you, Lisbon."

I can name five times he's kept case-related information from me recently without having to think about it. But it's true he has usually kept me informed, more than he used to.

"And I'm trying to be less selfish," Jane adds, looking intently at me. "But it's hard to overcome a lifelong behavior. It's a process."

"I know. And I know you've tried, sometimes."

"No," he says, frowning. "I've tried all the time. I just...haven't succeeded all the time." He looks down at his remaining eggs, then up at me. His eyes are sad, and something squeezes at my heart. "Please don't give up on me, Lisbon."

Is he manipulating me again? It's so hard to tell with him. But in a way, it doesn't matter. Jane is Jane, and no one can change him. I have to either find a way to live with him as he is, or leave.

And I don't want to leave.

Jane reaches for my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. I look down at the movement of his fingers. I've always admired his hands, and I'm sure he knows that.

After a moment, the stroking stops, and he slides his fingers between mine. But he's not just holding my hand; he's squeezing and rubbing and practically massaging it. My hand has never felt this good. Is it possible to have a handgasm? It might be. This is pretty much hand sex.

But what the hell does it mean?

I hope the cook burns my cheeseburger and has to start over, because I don't want Cathy to barge in on this. I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

Jane, as calm and collected as ever, picks up his tea with his left hand and sips. My jaw drops as I realize he's not wearing his ring. "What did you do with your ring?"

"Hm? Oh. It's in my pocket. I've decided to try weaning myself off wearing it."

Well. That's interesting. I'm ashamed of myself for giving him a hard time about it earlier, but apparently, talking about it has spurred him into action.

Cathy returns with my grease and carbs combo, and Jane lets go of my hand, lying it gently on the table with a little pat. It takes a minute for me to regain control of it. I think it wants a cigarette.

Jane orders a slice of apple pie a la mode, smiling at Cathy in a way that makes her giggle a little. I hate when Jane flirts in front of me, but I'm not his girlfriend, after all. Just his friend.

I finish my lunch around the same time that Jane scoops up the last of his vanilla ice cream. He offers me the spoon with a hopeful look. "Dessert?"

"I just had a milkshake," I point out.

"Come on," he wheedles. "You know you want to." He grins and waggles his eyebrows.

I secretly love it when Jane is playful. With an exasperated sigh, I reach for the spoon.

"No, no. Just open your mouth," he says, pulling the spoon out of reach.

"No way," I say, folding my arms.

Jane sighs and eats the ice cream himself. Then he looks at me for a moment. "Are you unhappy, Lisbon?"

"No. Why?" It's a weird thing for him to ask. He usually knows.

"I haven't been around you much lately. And things have been stressful. I know you like to be in the field and haven't been, lately. Do you want me to talk to Abbott?"

It's easy to forget how sweet he can be sometimes. "I haven't been in the field lately because I was working on Ardiles' murder." Which I felt rotten about. "That was my choice, Jane. And even if it weren't, I can deal with my own work issues."

The last thing I need is Jane crusading on my behalf. That would just fuel the rumors that I'm only at the FBI because I'm sleeping with him.

If only.

"I know you can," he says quickly. "But I do feel a certain sense of responsibility. And I want you to be happy."

"Then stop making me unhappy," I reply.

He reaches for my other hand, and I let him fondle it with his clever fingers. "I'll do my best," he says. "I'll make every effort to include you in my plans. Which means having you out in the field with me." He grins. "I'll talk you into a trip in the Airstream yet."

Driving around with Jane in a vehicle with a bed sounds like fun, except that there seems to be no chance of using the bed for anything but sleeping.

I should be grateful for that. Patrick Jane is the walking embodiment of chaos, and a sexual relationship with him would almost certainly plunge my own life into chaos.

It might be worth it, though, considering what he's doing to my hand.

Cathy interrupts us with the check. I don't try to stop Jane from paying for both of us, because I figure he owes me that much at least. Then we get up and head back out to the car.

Jane comes around to the driver's side, and I quickly grab the keys out of my pocket to ensure he doesn't lift them off me. But he merely opens the door, gesturing for me to get in. I roll my eyes a little and start to move past him, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder, then pulls me into a hug.

"You're the most important person in my life, Lisbon," he whispers into my ear. "And I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again."

I hug him back, leaning into his warmth and savoring his familiar scent for just a moment. And I realize I'm kidding myself about ever leaving him. There's no way I'm ever giving him up willingly.

I may not ever be more than his friend. But I'll take what I can get.

"Let's get on the road," I say. "It's still a long way to Austin."