Sincere thanks for the reviews for Chapter 3, lovely to know people are reading these words I am putting together; and even lovelier to know some people enjoy them. Jill has left for a while, but the plan is for a return soon – when things start to go a little bit wrong.

Falling Slowly – Chapter 4

For the second night running I have company in my home, but I don't think beer and pizza are going to have such healing qualities as they did last night.

I don't quite know what to do; Jane is standing just in front of me, seemingly fascinated by his shoes, and it doesn't look like he is intent on moving anytime soon. I'm not sure he's actually capable of moving, something in him seems to have shattered since we came in through the door. I can tell from the tension in his shoulders and the absolute weariness of his demeanour that our conversation in the car has reduced him to this nothingness.

"Jane, would you like to go sit down?"

He doesn't give any indication that he heard me, which is mildly terrifying frankly. I remove my jacket and move to stand in front of him to see if I can coax him into walking towards the couch.

"Jane. Jane, are you okay?"

I take his hand, wrapping my fingers round his to try and draw him out of wherever he has gone.

"Your fingers are cold Lisbon."

I smile at him as he whispers these words to me and I tighten my grip on his hand, trying to make him look at me by the curl of my fingers around his own.

"Come sit with me, please Jane, please come sit with me."

And at my words I finally get what I wanted, but suddenly it seems like the worst reward I could ever have received. He has tears in his eyes and a look of such sorrow mars his beautiful face. I have done this to him tonight with my insensitive discussion of his family, as though I have any right to tell Jane what to think and how to feel. I want so much to frame his face with my cold hands and kiss his tears away, but that would be so selfish and an act of comfort for myself; and I don't deserve comfort after putting him through this.

"Of course I'll sit with you Lisbon; lead the way my dear."

So with his fingers still entwined with my own I led Jane further into my home and towards my couch. Only a few hours ago I had beer in here while I faced some uncomfortable truths with a friend, tonight I think the best I can hope for is that I can encourage this friend to rest. Before moving to sit I turn towards Jane to read if he is okay with where I am taking him, but as is soon often the case he anticipates my unasked question and simply pulls me down to sit beside him.

So here we are, sitting together in my apartment. It's been several minutes since we sat down, but I've been too nervous to say anything and Jane seems unlikely to speak at all. Our fingers, however, remain entwined. We are close together, but with enough space for our joined hands to rest on the cushion between us.

"Jane, can I do something for you? I'm so sorry for the way I spoke to you before, truly sorry. What can I do, tell me what I can do?"

The silence we are sharing right now is different to the usual peacefulness we can find in each other's presence. Usually when he is on a couch and I am near it's because I am working and he is pretending to sleep; now I am tormenting myself with the possible implications of my thoughtlessness and Jane is apparently unreachable.

"Call me Patrick."

What.

"You want me to call you Patrick? Okay, if that's what you want… That's fine."

Though clearly it's not.

"I'm sorry Teresa, but if you are worrying quite so much about me tonight it would be exceptionally helpful if you were to call me Patrick."

"Of course."

Would it be over stating to say that me calling him Patrick is the oddest part of the night; and I say that while I am sitting here holding his hand.

"And I believe there was the mention of tea earlier; would it be possible to have a cup Teresa?"

"I'm sorry, of course. Stay where you are, take off your jacket and get comfortable and I'll go make some tea."

I move from where I am sitting but I can't leave to go to the kitchen as Jane – sorry as Patrick – doesn't seem to want to let go of my hand. I have never known him to be this clingy in the past. We don't do this. We don't cling to each other when we are desperately upset, we show up later when the wounds have healed a little, but we definitely don't do this.

"You're going to have to let me go, Patrick."

And it's as though my words have wounded him again, and for a few moments I can read only desolation in his eyes.

"I find myself increasingly unable to do that, Teresa."

This is not what I was expecting; we really don't do this.

Jane takes pity on me, I think, as he lets go of my hand and I am free to go make tea, and catch my breath a little. I don't care who you are, Patrick Jane looking in your eyes and whispering words around his feeling for you is breath-taking.

"I hope you won't be forcing me to drink any of that fruity imitation tea I've watched you and Grace try and introduce at work."

"Don't worry my apartment is a fruity tea free zone. I have coffee, which neither of us need; or I have some Assam tea that I…"

I stop what I am saying, conscious of what I almost admitted and how it would appear, especially now. If I am lucky Jane will let my silence go.

"You have some Assam tea that… You stopped in the middle of a sentence Teresa; why would that be?"

Because it's not important that you know every little thing that flashes through my mind.

"I bought some for you, like a gift basket a few years ago; then I realised how stupid that was so I mostly drank the tea myself. Anyway the Assam was my favourite so I always have some in my cupboard just in case I feel like a girl and want to drink some tea at night."

He is smiling at me, that beguiling one he does where his eyes crinkle and I can almost believe he is happy.

"You bought me tea?"

"Shut up."

"Seriously Teresa, why didn't I get my gift?"

Because I was afraid of what you would intuit from the gift; I was worried you would realise that I think of you and of your comfort, and happiness. I was worried you would mock me for it.

"I forgot to give it to you; that's all. I forgot."

"Okay."

I know there is more he wants to say, but he simply watches me in silence as I make our drinks. This feels more like normal, we could say more and yet we don't. I almost tell him that I bought him tea because I thought it might make him happy, that I hoped he would take pleasure in it; and then I didn't give him the gift because I knew it would expose my heart. I almost tell him this, but I do not.

Our drinks made, I lead Jane back to the couch and hope hot tea will soothe us both; it's one of my more admirable qualities apparently – hoping in vain.

Goodness I'm starting to sound insufferable again inside my own head; I need to hush and ensure my friend is okay and then I need to try and get some sleep.

We reclaim our previous positions on the couch; Jane has taken his jacket off so looks slightly more relaxed than he did a few moments ago. I am still wearing the ridiculous dress I just had to put on for my dinner with Jill. I feel over dressed, silly and unbelievably afraid of hurting Jane anymore tonight.

We are back to the silence, the only sound the swallowing of hot liquid and then the return of our cups to their saucers. I know I have to say something to make it alright, to make us alright again, but I am struggling to know which words to choose.

"Seen any good movies lately, Teresa?"

I turn towards him smiling, remembering a similar conversation from so long ago.

"No."

"Okay then, well that's cleared up that issue."

I can tell he is trying to find his way back to being Jane, to be the insufferable presence in the room that can be depended on for a glib comment and an annoying observation. I shouldn't allow him to do that, should I?

My drink finished I lean forward and deposit my empty cup on the table in front of me, as soon as this is done Jane leans forward to do the same with his. I move back into the soft cushions of my sofa, and I close my eyes, hoping to find some inspiration in the darkness. And do you know what, I close my eyes because I'm tired, exhausted really and it feels good to rest.

My eyes are still closed as I feel the slow slide of his fingers across mine, pulling my hand from where it rests in my lap to rest instead in his hand on his left thigh. This night just keeps getting weirder. I keep my eyes closed and wonder if this is all a dream.

"Teresa, your hands are still cold; are you ever warm woman?"

"It's because I'm tired, leave me be; not everyone is as perfect as you are."

I keep my eyes closed through this exchange, knowing that if I open them he will loosen his hold on me and I will be separate from him again; frightening how much I want to stay connected to him like this.

"You going to fall asleep, Teresa, and if you want to I can leave and let you get some rest."

No. Suddenly my eyes are open and I turn in my seat to face Jane, drawing my legs up onto the couch and tucking myself into my usual position when I relax at home.

"No, I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier first; if that's okay. I wanted to make sure you know how sorry I am about hurting you. I didn't mean to meddle; I think I was channelling Jill. Actually, that's not fair; what I said was entirely my own fault and I am sorry for bringing you pain."

Jane stares at me, and I can't tell you what he is thinking; I would honestly say that he is shocked by what I am saying. Before I have the chance to say more he moves our joined hands from his thigh and holds my cold fingers against his lips; a repeat of his gesture from earlier in the car. He is not kissing me, just holding my skin against his lips as he breathes in and out.

"Is this your attempt at warming my hands, or have you suddenly decided that my fingers are a good place to warm your lips?"

That sounded snarkier in my head, but now that I've said it out loud it sounds like I'm flirting. I can be such an idiot sometimes.

"Maybe it's a little bit of both, Teresa. I do wish you'd stop apologising to me, you did nothing wrong earlier. You were being honest and my friend, both of those things I hardly deserve from you. And I agree with you; I do… It's difficult Teresa, sometimes I think I'm brave enough to do what you suggested; but the rest of the time I know I need all my energy for what I'm doing now."

"I know, I know how much focus finding Red John takes but I worry about what will be left of you when you find him."

What is wrong with us tonight, where is all this stupid honesty coming from?

"I wish you wouldn't worry about me, Teresa; it won't do any good. I can't allow it to change anything. Please don't waste time worrying about me."

Really, back to retreating so soon.

"Is that really what you want Patrick? I thought you were Patrick tonight while I worried, why would you even come in here if you don't want me to be involved? Why would you come with us tonight if you don't want for me to care about you? And why is it okay for you to watch out for me, but I can't extend the same courtesy to you."

I'm yelling at him now, mad at him. Mad at us both for allowing us to get here; mad at us both for caring and ignoring it outside of our own head. Because I'm done thinking he doesn't care, but I'm mad at him for believing it to be a weakness. And if I stay mad at Jane then it means I don't have to look at myself and my own inertia.

While I've been yelling at us both in my head, Jane has further tightened his hold on my hand but this time he is kissing my fingers.

"I don't want to let you go, Teresa."

"Well, too bad; I'm going to need my hand to work so you're going to have to give me it back sooner rather than later."

"No Teresa, I don't want to let you go."

We are staring at each other now, but I'm not sure what we are saying. Usually I can understand our silences perfectly, this time the words are foreign to me. So I do what I should have done in the beginning; I pull away from him and move away from where we are pretending to be honest together.

"Don't you see how messed up this is, Jane? You're sitting with me, kissing my hand and telling me about not wanting to let me go. You don't have me. There is nothing to let go. We don't normally go out for dinner and trade stories; we don't normally talk like this at all. I mean, as messed up as this is it's the most we've ever said to each other, out loud, ever."

"You're supposed to be calling me Patrick, Teresa."

"Shut up. Just stop being Patrick Jane for five minutes. Stop it."

And now Jane is on his feet, advancing towards me as I try and leave. He catches me around the waist and holds me to him as I attempt to control both my breathing and my temper.

"I'm always going to be Patrick Jane; and you would resent me if I were not. I'm not trying to upset you, Teresa. I find myself not in control of this situation, and you know much I enjoy when that is true. I'm being honest when I tell you I don't want to let you go, and I agree it's obviously true that we don't talk like this normally. It doesn't mean I don't want to Teresa, it doesn't mean I don't think about it. I think about you; goodness knows I have enough time on my hands to think. I know you believe I spend my time thinking about Red John and ways to find and punish him; and of course that's true – that will be true until I kill him."

I am trying to squirm out of his hold, but Jane is much stronger than he would have us believe and he seems intent on doing just as he said earlier and not let me go.

"But I don't just think about Red John, I would still be in the hospital if that were true – the only reason I survived Vegas was my thoughts. I thought about Angela, and Charlotte; and making it home to Teresa Lisbon. I do think about my family and how much I love them, I do think about happy memories and even simply the mundane events of our life. I think about that every day. I don't talk about it because it's easier to control and easier to keep mine if all I do is think. Red John took them physically away from me, but he can't take them from my thoughts – so I keep them on the inside where I can nurture and protect them."

He's crying now, the tears are streaming down his face. I wish again that I could wipe the tears from his skin, but I am afraid I will break this spell – I am afraid my touch will help him retreat into silence again.

"I think about you too Teresa Lisbon, I think about you every day. You are a constant in my thoughts. You are my constant, Teresa. I don't say any of this on the outside of my head because if it's a secret then he can't get to you. If I keep these things to myself then I can protect you; because you won't let me protect you in any other way. I do think you are superior to anyone in the world, you must know that."

"But that's not true."

Excellent, Teresa; well done. Patrick Jane has just shared more of himself in the last few minutes than all the years I have known him and I choose to call him on a lie.

"I really do think you are superior to everyone else Teresa, I do."

He pulls me further against him as he confesses this, but I need to call him on his lies or I will hate myself for it.

"No, you said you think about me and that I am a constant in your thoughts. You say you do this to protect me – that you keep this secret to protect me, and that sounds beautiful and noble in a despairingly tragic kind of way. But that is lies, Patrick; it's lies. You do tell me things, you tell me about always saving me and you even tell me you love me. You tell me these things, and then you take them back; or refuse to admit they were ever spoken. And you leave, and you shut me out, and you leave, and you hide, and you hurt me."

That felt good. I know I'm crying, I know I must look a mess and I know how emotional and vulnerable I have just made myself – but it felt good. I step out of his arms and swipe at my own tears. I don't know where to go now, I've yelled and cried and want to make a dramatic exit but that would mean leaving him; and all I want to do is hold him.

"I would much rather I hurt you Teresa than allow him to hurt you."

Stupid man, stupid, stupid man.

I do what I have been resisting all night; resisting for ten years really. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on Patrick's chest, almost smiling as his arms immediately encircle my body.

"He's not going to hurt me."

My words are whispered against his chest, my tears soaking through the expensive material of his vest. I know my words wound him as I am suddenly and possessively pulled further into his embrace.

"You've heard this speech before Patrick, so forgive me. I will be ready for Red John if he tries to hurt me, I will. I will be just as ready for him as I am for any other unexpected danger. I know he is the most dangerous man to have coming for me, but I don't want to lose my entire life to him. I would have failed utterly if that were true – and it terrifies me that you value your life so little that you surrender all of yours to him."

"I don't care about my life; I care about his death."

And really that should have me walking away; shouldn't it? I'm being embraced by the person I care about most in the world and he is talking to me about death. I should walk away, but I know I never will. He is resting his lips on my shoulder now, and I shouldn't – but I do – wonder what it would take to have him kiss me there.

"I care about your life more than I do his death, Patrick; I want you to promise me you'll remember that. When you are next about to run off and do something dangerously insane, remember what it'll do if you are lost to me. I know you will do anything to get to him, and I know you've never lied about that – but all this thinking that you claim to do about me, do some of that thinking next time you decide I don't matter and Red John is all that does."

That did it, actually; while my words were honest and not designed to draw out his kisses that is what they have done. Patrick Jane is kissing me through the material of my dress, pressing his hands against my hips and pressing affectionate kisses from my shoulder to my neck.

"You'll always matter, Teresa."

He whispers those words into my neck before he draws me into the tightest embrace I have ever been a part of. And I think it is these kisses that are making me brave.

"That's not true either, is it? I know someday Red John will manipulate you or provoke you into forgetting everything you have said to me tonight. I know one day you will forget that I matter, you will ignore that I am superior to everyone else and you will leave me behind and you won't apologise and you won't regret it. I know all of this and I am still here. Do you understand that, Patrick? Do you ever think about what that means?"

"I'll never forget how much you matter, Teresa."

And I think it's his lack of denial of the truth of my words that makes me finally braver than even I was a few seconds ago. At least he is honest enough in this. I know that what I am about to say will change everything; just as surely as I know I won't allow us the pretence of misinterpretation this time. Even if I whisper this it will feel like shouting; these words are too huge and too wretched to ever be small.

"I love you, Patrick."

And everything changes.