AN: Well, hello again! Two chapters in two days! Sorry, I'm really getting into this story. I don't know how long it'll be (pfft, I say that now, and I'll do something silly like end it after another chapter), but I'm having fun writing it, so let's see where my brain takes me.
Also, if you haven't read Ultra Violet by myself and the incomparable MleeWrite, you should check it out.
Also also, if you're interested in getting in on some of the Save the Mentalist stuff that's been happening, head on over to Twitter and look up SaveMentalist's account for plans and ideas.
This first part would probably be considered M.
Depths and Determinations
Chapter Three
He was going to give in.
He was going to actually make love to her.
Her knees buckled.
Jane held her up, chuckling. "Did you actually expect me to say no?" he wondered.
Truth be told, she just didn't know. He did things sometimes that she absolutely couldn't account for. This had the potential to be one of them, but then he had properly surprised her. Oh, God. She was going to go to bed with Patrick Jane.
Not thinking, she stretched up to kiss him for the second time that night, wanting the taste of his lips once more. She couldn't believe she had been brave enough to ask for this. But when she had read his letters, the words that had been in his heart, knew that he had thought about this as much as she had...she was utterly unwilling to continue not knowing what it was like to be with him.
He loved her.
He had said it and not taken it back.
It was like a dream, something created from the deepest part of her secret fantasies.
He coaxed her mouth open, angling his head to kiss her deeply, tongue sliding against hers. He was too good at this, too good at making everything sensual.
She grasped at his hair again, not wanting to squander the opportunity to get her hands on his curls, something she'd thought about forever.
His palms were heavy on her hips, holding her to him. Already, she could tell he was hard. And it was because of her. The knowledge was heady, powerful.
Her hands fell from his hair to his bare chest. She'd never seen Jane without his shirt on before, and now she was pressed against him, and in a very short period of time...
She shivered.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, pushing at the sleeves of her jacket until it hit the floor. Her shirt was next, and then he touched skin that he had never seen before.
His hand closed gently over the swell of one breast, and she arched instinctively into his touch.
And then he scooped her up unexpectedly, carried her the short distance to the bed. She anticipated being lightly set down; instead, he tossed her and she shrieked.
His laughter followed, then so did he, propping himself up on one elbow to peer down at her. He touched his nose to hers. "I love you," he said, and her heart contracted again, just like it had every other time he'd said the words.
"Love you, too," she said, her smile matching his.
Then his lips were on her skin again, and there was no more laughter. Just a deep, aching need to get as close to him as she possibly could.
She ran her hands down his bare back, fascinated by his reaction to her touch. This was something she usually avoided, never knowing if Jane would welcome the closeness, the intimacy.
But he certainly welcomed it now.
Somehow, he'd managed to tug her jeans off, a mentalist trick if she'd ever seen one. He was alarmingly talented in bed already and they hadn't even gotten anywhere.
She kissed him again, relishing the feeling of skin on skin.
God, this was what she had needed. Not more fancy words, or those hopelessly heartbreaking letters. She had just needed him, all of him. Needed to know that this was real, that he wanted her in the same way she wanted him.
His fingers skimmed down her stomach, and her breath hitched. He hesitated for just a second, pulling back enough to see her face. She had no idea what he was looking for, but he must've found it.
He stroked her softly, and her mind blanked, nails digging into his arms. The only things she was aware of were his hands and the weight of his body on hers.
Abruptly, he was gone, and her eyes flew open, reaching for his shoulders. And then she felt his curls between her thighs and fell back against the pillows with a groan.
She quit thinking, quit feeling anything except for the intense pleasure he gave her, all except for the small voice in the back of her mind that kept reminding her that this was Jane doing all of these things to her.
His fingers found her again, thrusting gently, stretching her.
She shattered.
When she came back down, Jane was poised over her. She could feel him trembling. He lowered his forehead to hers, every line of his body taut.
"I need you," he admitted, and the raw emotion in his voice made her shudder.
Gently, she wrapped her hand around him, guiding, and he pushed forward. The world abruptly dissolved and reformed around the point where they were joined.
"Christ," he breathed, voice hoarse.
She arched her hips, urging him on, needing this, needing more. It was intense and fierce and tender all at once.
She changed the angle, legs around his waist, and looking back, she realized it was the exact moment he lost his self-control.
He said her name, movements unmeasured and uneven. She gloried in it, this loss of his mask, of the artifice he normally hid behind. He groaned and then went still.
His arms went around her, grip too tight, his face in her neck, shaking.
She held him back as tight as she could, fingers sliding a little in the sweat on his back. She pressed her lips against the damp hair plastered to his temple.
God, she couldn't count the time she'd dreamed about this moment. The reality so far exceeded her expectations that it was laughable.
Eventually, Jane raised himself up, touched her cheek. Grinned.
It was contagious. "Someone's awfully pleased with themselves," she teased as he shifted positions, pulling her into his chest.
He chuckled. "You betcha."
She hummed in approval, still listening to his thundering heart. Jane tucked the sheet around her, and she was touched by the gesture.
Cuddled against him, she dozed for an hour or so, utterly unwilling to put an end to this night. When he kissed her again, she pushed him back down to the mattress, then straddled his waist.
His eyes were dark, bright, aroused.
"Well?" he challenged. "Is this where I find out what the FBI's finest agent is made of?"
She moved her hips, and her response was lost in his breathless moan.
When she was snuggled against him again, she slept, emotionally and physically exhausted, legs still shaking, one of Jane's hands curled around the back of her head.
Of all the ways to end this day, she had never dreamed of this particular possibility.
Had it really been just the night before when she'd told Jane that Pike had asked her to go with him? And now, thirty hours later, she'd made love with him twice and finally gotten an admission of his feelings?
But now...now they had to deal with this god-awful indictment and what it meant for their future. She knew why he hadn't wanted to tell her what was in his heart. He wanted her to be happy, he hadn't lied about that. And if she knew he loved her, knew how much he cared, she would wait for him.
She had promised not to, if the worst happened. Had promised to leave, to go to DC.
In all honesty, she had no idea if she would keep her promise. If she could keep her promise, or if she even wanted to.
Jane dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and she stopped thinking about it. The choice was out of her hands, at least until a legal decision was made.
When she woke, it was almost dawn. She stretched languidly, then looked up at the man beside her. His eyes were open, alert, and she knew he hadn't slept a bit.
"Morning," he said, rolling slightly towards her.
"Good morning," she replied, stretching towards him for a kiss. "I'd ask if you slept well, but I know the answer."
His smile was a little strained, but still warm. "I had more important things to do."
"Oh?" she teased. "Like what?"
He pushed her hair back behind her ears. "Like remember what this feels like. Much more important than shut-eye."
Her eyes pricked, and he brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.
"No crying," he ordered, trying to sound strict. "We're having a happy morning."
Her laugh sounded a little choked, but she tried. "Are we?"
"Yes," he informed her. "I realized an hour ago or so that I don't have coffee here, so we're going to have to get creative in our wake-me-up methods." His smile was full of sensuality and promise.
She propped herself up on her elbow. "How creative are we talking?" she wanted to know, teasing, but just a little breathless.
As it turned out, very.
But it worked. And she thought she might have even liked it more than coffee.
Then came the bad part, the part where she had to gather up her things, dress, and sneak out the door, not knowing if she would ever be able to come back here again.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber band Jane had found in a kitchen drawer. God, she didn't want to do this.
He stopped her at the door, kissed her thoroughly, and for a moment, she thought she tasted tears.
"I love you," he said again.
"Love you, too," she whispered back, desperately praying that this wasn't the last time she would be able to say those words.
And then she left, the morning air too cool on her overheated skin.
The sun rose on her way home, promising a beautiful day. She cursed at the deception.
In her driveway, she dug through her coat pockets for the house keys, fumbling a bit. They jingled merrily in her hand as she turned them in the lock, but then something caught her eye.
Jane's wedding ring was attached to her keychain.
She made it into the house before she collapsed, sliding down just on the other side of the door. Not bothering to stop her tears, she sat, remembering once to pray.
For perhaps five minutes, she allowed herself to have an utter breakdown.
Then she picked herself up off the floor and showered, the water too hot. Methodically, she got ready, knowing she needed to be strong, today of all days.
She made coffee, not because she needed it, but because it was safe and familiar and made her feel like the world could still be an okay place.
Abbott was waiting for her in the bullpen. She did not take it as a good sign.
"Agent Lisbon," he said, as serious as she had ever heard him. "Jane's hearing is in an hour at the federal courthouse. I'm assuming you'd like to be there."
"Yes, sir," she said evenly. "For moral support, if nothing else." She thought her words sounded normal.
"I figured," he said. Then, "I'll drive."
To her surprise, Fischer, Cho, and Wylie were waiting in the FBI-issue Suburban.
No one spoke, but she was supremely grateful for their support and loyalty. As they climbed the courthouse steps, Cho touched her arm.
"You okay?" he asked. Direct. Straight-forward. Too observant.
"Nope," she replied lightly.
"Hang in there," he told her. "This is Jane. No one is going to make him do anything or go anywhere that he doesn't want. You of all people should know that."
"Thanks," she whispered.
"No problem," he said as they started walking. "And call Pike. He was looking for you earlier."
She expected to feel guilt, but she didn't, not really. There were more important things to worry about.
The courtroom was crowded, and she squeezed into the back row next to Cho.
When she saw Jane enter, her blood sang out in her veins. He looked calm, composed, and it was difficult to remember that she had seen this man utterly undone just a few hours ago.
His eyes scanned the courtroom once, and he winked at her when their gazes met.
And then there was nothing for the next several hours. She sat as still as a statue, hanging on every word.
Mentally, she was trying to keep score, but she was too afraid that she was reading the signs all wrong.
Jane never looked at her again.
She was thankful for that.
After testimony had ended, the audience was dismissed while deliberations began. She paced outside, Cho keeping a weather eye on her.
Of everyone here from the FBI, he was the only one who had any idea of what Jane really meant to her, of what they had gone through together. And he was worried for her.
In a short time later, they were called back.
Her mind screamed at her that they hadn't been out long enough, that they had come to a decision too quickly and nothing good would come of it.
When Jane was asked to rise, Cho unexpectedly took her hand, and she was grateful for his warm, steady presence. Absently, she thought that if she actually collapsed, he'd catch her, and that was something.
The judge looked stoic, implacable.
Her nails dug into Cho's hand, but he simply tightened his grip.
"Mr. Jane," the judge began, expression giving away nothing.
She thought she might scream.
"It is the opinion of the jury assembled here that you not be tried for the murder of Thomas McAllister."
She quit listening then, a ringing in her ears. She didn't even know if she smiled, didn't even know if she breathed.
But it was okay. He was okay. He was going to stay. He wasn't going to leave her again.
Cho kept her hand.
Stupidly, belatedly, she realized Fischer had her other hand.
The room was dismissed, her head still spinning. Jane would have to stay for a while, she knew that, but she just couldn't.
Instead, she told Abbott she was going to take a cab home. He didn't protest, just nodded and squeezed her shoulder, and she felt a rush of affection for her new boss. Maybe she could have a family here too, just like she used to in California.
And maybe she just needed a drink.
Ten minutes after she got home, she was violently ill, the frenetic emotions of the past thirty six hours or so finally catching up with her. The tile of the bathroom floor was cold and perfect beneath her clammy cheek.
At some point, she realized she was crying, had probably been crying for some time.
With some difficulty, she stopped, pulled out her phone.
He answered on the second ring, and she steeled herself.
"I can't go," she told him. "This...us...it's not enough to move across the country. To uproot myself again. I'm so sorry." And she was. About that she was sincerely. It would have been much easier if she could have found a way to just love Marcus unconditionally.
"You moved for Jane," he said, but there was no anger in his tone. Just acceptance, like he'd figured this was coming.
"I did," she replied, and that was it.
Two full hours later, there was a knock on her door, and she wondered why he didn't just come in.
He looked...as exhausted as she'd ever seen him.
But he smiled at her, and she walked into his arms.
For several minutes...an hour...she had no idea, she simply stayed there, her head on his shoulder, his hands spanned across her back.
"Lisbon," he whispered eventually, "tell me you're staying."
"I'm staying," she replied immediately.
He exhaled against her hair. "In that case," he began, and she finally looked up at him. He grinned tiredly. "Well, I'd planned on making love to you until we both pass out, but by the looks of things, that'll be in about ten seconds."
She smiled. He had a point.
"So what do you say we just go to sleep? I realize I haven't actually asked to stay, but I'm hoping you'll take pity on me." There was something in his eyes, just for a moment. He really wanted to spend the night, but he was...unsure...of what her answer would be? Could that even be true?
She touched his cheek, and he kissed her palm.
"If you snore, I'll shoot you," she promised, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
She gathered up the first things that passed for pajamas and threw them on, but even as quick as she'd been, he was already asleep when she climbed into bed, looking like he'd fought a war. Which, she supposed, wasn't far off from the truth.
Tenderly, she brushed his hair off his forehead, kissed his temple.
Then she curled into his side, gratified when his arms instinctively came around her.
And she slept. The sleep of the just, the sleep of the happy, of someone who has finally gotten what they wanted.
She didn't wake up for the next twelve hours.