AN: Well, hello there! Thanks to all for your lovely reviews! They are much appreciated!
Warning: the last...3/4 (yes, 3/4) of this is M, so if you want to skip it, here's your advanced notice. For the rest of you, please read the first 1/4 BEFORE heading to the sexy parts.
Please please please review. I'm like a drug addict.
The Problem With Atonement
Chapter Three
The other license plate numbers belonged to the small group of FBI vehicles that their team tended to use. That particular detail made Lisbon uneasy - it wasn't just a list of any FBI SUVs.
Someone had been watching them, and for some time.
The security cameras from the sixth floor had been turned off. The building manager had responded to her not-very-well-hidden annoyance by arguing that since the entire floor was still being remodeled, there wasn't much of a point.
Their current strategy now involved looking at every second of footage from the lobby and other floors, trying to match faces on the screen with personnel files they had been given. So far, everyone they saw on the footage had an actual job in the building.
It was slow going, however. There was somewhere around ten businesses housed in the one skyscraper. That translated to a lot of damn people.
Wiley was methodically going through footage, looking utterly absorbed in his work. He was burying himself in the job, his own method of coping. Jane had pointed out to her that it was probably a rare thing for the IT genius to know an agent that had been wounded. He held Cho in much regard, and he was devoting all his energy to finding whoever was responsible.
She had lost track of the number of cups of coffee she'd drunk since reluctantly disentangling herself from Jane this morning.
Must of their day had been a hurry up and wait situation. Hurry to the crime scene. Wait for footage. Hurry to interview witnesses. Wait to hear if the canvassing had turned up new leads.
An ache had started to blossom between her shoulder blades the way it always did when she was tired and under a great deal of stress.
Suddenly, a warm pair of hands was on her shoulders, and she relaxed fractionally under Jane's touch. They were still in the office - she should make him stop, but his thumb brushed a knot of tension and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.
"What now?" he asked, leaning over her.
"Hmm?" Her eyes fluttered shut. He was really too good at this. If he ever needed a career change, he would make a fabulous masseuse.
"What do you want to do now?" His voice was quiet.
What did she want? She took a second to totally misunderstand the question. What she wanted...well, she wanted to lock up whoever was attempting to gun them down, make them safe. Then she wanted to go home, have a glass or two of wine, a long bath, then go to bed. With Jane. In both capacities.
Before her mind could start constructing scenarios, she wrenched her lids open, forced herself to focus. "There's another potential witness coming in within the hour." They had requested the public's help - anyone who thought they had seen a suspicious looking individual was urged to call in or stop by - and they'd had a few takers. "After that, if we don't get anything useful, I want to go see Cho."
Jane sighed. "Right." He squeezed her shoulders once more before stepping back, much to her regret. "After that, though," he whispered, lips unexpectedly in her ear, and a shiver of heat crawled up her spine, "we're going home."
It took a considerable amount of restraint not to launch herself at him.
They had shared just a few passionate kisses, but she knew what his voice was promising.
And, God, did she want him.
The latest potential witness was less than helpful. Far from corroborating any one else's testimony, the man described a suspect that matched no previous descriptions.
She wanted to pull her hair out, but instead, calmly thanked the man for his time.
Forcing her back to straighten, she tossed her things in her bag, looking around for Jane. It was then that she found the note propped against her keyboard.
I snuck out. See you at home. Love you.
She smiled at his scribbled message. It was the second time in just a couple hours he'd referred to "home." It should have frightened her a little, but all she felt was happy. Jane needed a home, and God knew that trailer didn't fit the bill.
Briefly, she traced his love you with her fingertips. Then she carefully folded the note and stuck it in her purse. Struck by an idea, she hastily scrawled her own message, tucking the sheet of paper into the cushions of his couch. He'd find it, she was sure of that.
Cho was sitting up in bed when she arrived at the hospital. He looked pale, true, but he smiled at her a little, and she felt much better for it.
"Any progress?" he asked, wincing as he adjusted the angle of his bed.
She shook her head despondently. "No closer to finding out who did this, if that's what you mean. We have pretty good reason to believe that it's someone after old CBI agents, though."
His expression didn't alter. "Apparently we left more than a few disgruntled people in our wake."
She knew what he was thinking. "But we closed almost all of the cases."
"We did," Cho agreed easily. "And no matter what, boss, that's what counts."
He closed his eyes, and she left soon after, figuring that surviving a near-fatal shot earned the man some downtime.
The lights were already on at her house. She expected it, but it still touched her, coming home to someone. Then she frowned - she hadn't given Jane a key.
Rolling her eyes, she finished pulling into the garage. Like a deadbolt would stop him. He'd probably stolen her house keys and gotten copies made when she wasn't looking. That sounded like him. She knew he'd done the same thing in California though he'd rarely had reason to be at her place.
He was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled delicious and Italian.
"Hello there," he smiled, handing her a glass of red wine. "I got groceries."
She opened her previously bare refrigerator. "I see that," she said, noting the fresh fruit and eggs. "Is that where you disappeared to this afternoon?"
He turned back to the stove. "It was. It's been a stressful few days. You need some real food or you're going to keel over. And so do I, for that matter."
She stole a kiss, tasting the wine on his lips, too, and it was far more intoxicating than the actual drink.
Jane dropped the spoon onto the countertop, wrapping both arms around her. He coaxed her mouth open, making her pulse jump, his hands sliding beneath the back of her now-untucked shirt.
Warm hands on warmer skin.
Silky hair beneath her fingers.
She nibbled on his lower lip, loving his stifled groan, the sensation of his hardness against her stomach. His hands were trembling against her back, and she felt almost lightheaded. This was Patrick Jane. He was the most collected man she had ever known, an accomplished actor and pretender, and he was shaking in her arms.
He hadn't been able to act like a man for so long, had to keep his own desires and passions buttoned away and now...
She wanted to make him feel. Wanted to let him feel. Feel desired and wanted and loved.
Her hands skated down his chest, undoing buttons. She could feel the goosebumps on his bare skin.
Slowly, she rose onto her tiptoes, tugged gently on his earlobe with her teeth, was rewarded with breathless swearing. "Take me to bed," she breathed hotly, one hand sliding below his belt and massaging lightly.
He was fighting for control, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggled to master himself.
It was time to let go.
She kissed him again, distracting him long enough to undo the buttons on her own shirt. He definitely noticed when she shrugged it off, pressing her mostly naked chest to his.
He groaned again, and she peppered his neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. "I want you," she whispered. "Take me to bed, please."
She looked up at him, pleading in her face. His eyes were hooded, unfocused, breath coming erratically. She stroked him again through the fabric of his trousers, and his lashes fluttered shut. It was fascinating to watch him like this, to see his face stripped down to stark want.
She did that. Her hands found his belt, fumbled for a second. He stopped her, pulling her fingers back to his chest.
For just a heartbeat, she was afraid. This was a monumental step for them, and despite his teasing and innuendos earlier, he might not be ready for it.
Then he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder and she nearly wept in relief.
He laid her across the bed, hovering over her, lips lightly skimming her hyper-sensitive skin. He nuzzled into her cleavage, fingers slipping beneath her to unclasp her bra. He cupped her breasts with both hands, thumbs brushing their taut peaks.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, regretting that he had to take his hands off of her to accomplish her task, but decided it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
His mouth replaced his fingers, and her hands slipped into his hair again, holding him in place, back arching.
Distracted by the rough edges of his tongue, she hardly noticed when he tugged her slacks down, but definitely did notice when he began tracing the edges of her panties with a fingertip.
Dimly, her mind told her there was something she should be remembering. It was impossible to focus. She shuddered when he pushed the soft cotton aside and stroked her.
Abruptly, it came back to her. She had wanted this to be about him...
"Patrick," she groaned out, and he raised his head from its place at her breast. "I want..." He stroked her again, and she broke off.
"What, love?" he asked, voice seduction itself. "What do you want?"
She fumbled for her wits. "I want to make you feel good."
He smiled then, kissed her stomach, lower. "Teresa, sweetheart, this makes me feel good." His fingers slid inside of her and she clenched around him. "You have no idea how good, in fact."
Her eyes squeezed shut as he moved his hand in a subtle rhythm, breathing shallowly. She could sense him shifting, then let out a sob when she felt his mouth against her sex. His tongue circled her, and she heard him hum appreciatively as he eased another finger inside her.
She came, sudden and hard, gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white. He didn't let her go, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure out. Too much, it was too much, and she rolled away onto her stomach, shaking with aftershocks.
Jane followed, hands sliding over her back, then her rear, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses on her spine. His fingers found her once more, slipping easily inside, and she felt dumb with pleasure, cheek pressed against the comforter.
He grasped her hips, pulled them up, and she felt his tongue against her again...
She was almost sobbing when she came again. Blindly, she reached for him, and he held her fast, her face in his neck.
"If you're wondering," he whispered, "that made me feel good, too."
She didn't have the breath to reply. Instead, she finished what she had started earlier with his belt, the buckle making a satisfying clink as it hit the floor.
Jane was tense when she slid a hand into the waistband of his boxers. She thought she understood why, but then she caught a glimpse of his face. Taut with desire, yes, but there was something else, too. Patrick Jane was actually nervous.
Which just proved to her that men could be idiots, too.
She wasn't sure of his exact reasons - maybe he didn't know if she would...well, like what she saw, or maybe he was afraid that it was all going to be over far sooner than she anticipated.
Silly fears. There was nothing about him she didn't think was perfect, at least physically, and even if he came the second she touched him, it would still be the best sexual experience of her life.
She just needed to reassure him, that was all.
Her fingers wrapped around his length, smiling when he twitched. Having this effect on him was a powerful feeling. She stroked him, wanting to know what this felt like, circled the pad of her thumb around the head of his shaft.
His eyes were wrenched shut, cheeks a riot of color. He was biting his lip so hard she was afraid he was going to draw blood.
So she took pity on him, sliding his boxers off his hips, grasping in in her hand again as he knelt between her open thighs. Slowly, she rubbed him against her slick flesh, feeling her own tension rise as his body caressed the most sensitive part of hers.
She was on the edge of another orgasm when his fingers started gripping her arms almost painfully tight.
"Please," she heard him whisper. "God, Teresa, please." Patrick Jane begging. Her heart stuttered.
She pressed a soft kiss against his collarbone, then guided him to her entrance, hand falling away as he pushed forward.
They were both utterly silent when he filled her, lost in the moment. She felt open, stretched, full, almost dizzy. His hips moved, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
His self-control was gone now, she could tell, and she let her head fall back, relishing every second of this.
There were going to be bruises on her hips, but she didn't care. She urged him forward, hands on his sides, telling him without words that she wanted whatever he did, needed whatever he needed.
His movements became almost rough, and the sudden angle change as she found herself flat on her back pushed her over the edge. She scratched at his back, pulling him deeper, and heard him cry out her name as he followed.
He was still for a very long time, head bowed on her shoulder, trembling just a little.
She stroked his hair, just like she would have if he was a child, kissed his sweat-dampened temple. "I love you," she whispered.
He raised his eyes to hers, and what she saw in their depths took her breath away. "Say it again," he said warmly, a hint of a smile playing around his lips.
She touched her nose to his. "Say what again?" she dutifully replied, smiling too.
"You're supposed to kiss me now," Jane helpfully reminded her, and she laughed before doing just that.
He moved to his back, pulling her against his chest, one hand in her hair, the other tracing patterns down her bare arm.
She tugged the blankets up over both of them, snuggling into his warmth, perfectly happy to stay just like this for the rest of the night. She was relaxed, absolutely sated, felt loved and cherished.
And hungry, she amended as her stomach growled.
"Oh, shit," Jane said, sitting up quickly and nearly dislodging her. "I left the stove on!"
He rolled out of bed, fumbled a bit in the dark for his boxers. "Stay put," he instructed, "I'll be right back."
Grinning, she rolled to her stomach, arms around a pillow, stretching languorously. She was a bit sore, but it was for the absolute best reason she could think of.
Within five minutes, Jane had returned, two plates balanced on one arm, their wineglasses in his other hand. "Et voila!" he announced. "Your slightly burnt dinner."
It was absurd and perfect, wrapped up in bedsheets eating slightly singed pasta, discussing everything and nothing.
After, they showered together, and she took great delight in exploring a naked and wet Patrick Jane. She suspected he had enjoyed it as well.
He stepped out into the steamy bathroom first, quickly drying himself before pulling a towel around her, the ends against her cheeks as though she was a child. He kissed her tenderly, and for whatever reason, the moment moved her nearly to tears.
Jane understood what she couldn't say, and simply held her next to his heart, letting her know that he was as moved by what had happened tonight as she was.
He made love to her again slowly, without any of the frenetic energy of their first coupling, reading her body language until she was shivering and clinging to him.
He was so good at this, she thought absently, Jane going abruptly stiff above her. Then she smiled to herself. They were both good at this.
What a welcome thought.
And then she stopped thinking for the rest of the night.