Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's sent me encouragement on this story! I really can't overstate how happy it makes me to know you are enjoying this. It's turning out longer than I originally thought (what else is new), but hey, it's a long way back to Austin. :)

Chapter 4: Lisbon

Oh.

My.

God.

It's a good thing I don't need all my brain to drive, because if I did we would have died in a fiery crash a minute ago.

Jane just said he loved me.

Of course, then he pretended to fall asleep. But actually that's a good thing, because I need to process this past the "Oh my God!" stage. And that might take a while.

If he was sitting there expecting me to respond, I'd probably ask him what the hell he meant. Actually, no. The last time I asked him what he meant, he pretended to have forgotten the whole thing. Bastard.

But apparently, he's a bastard who loves me.

I should get a grip. He didn't say he was in love with me, after all. And he just spent several minutes telling me that he cares about me, that I'm his family. Maybe he loves me like a sister. Oh God. That's probably exactly what he meant.

I think I might throw up.

Taking a deep breath, I try to relax my grip on the steering wheel. I should probably pull over, but fortunately there aren't any other cars around at the moment. In fact it's been miles since I've seen one.

Okay. So maybe this "I love you" wasn't romantic. I mean, it's not a romantic setting, is it? A stolen car we have to return, broad daylight, neither of us having slept last night. And if Jane meant it romantically, he'd have planned out some big reveal with flowers and violins and possibly expensive jewelry. It's not like he just blurts things out. Well, not usually. I guess that first "love you" was a blurt. But nobody was about to shoot anybody this time.

Wait. What if this is just a big misdirect to get my mind off the fact that he ran off again?

No. He wouldn't have told me that story about what happened after he killed Red John just to change the subject. He wouldn't have said he lived for me.

I blink to clear my vision. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. And I know he meant it. I can just see him there, lifting the gun and then suddenly picturing me finding his body. That would've destroyed me, and he knew it. So he got up and called me and went off to keep breathing. And then he wrote to me. A lot.

I've never told him what a lifeline those letters were. My world came apart around me when I lost my job and my team scattered to find their own ways in our new world. There were a few days when I could barely get out of bed. That first letter was like a life preserver after I'd resigned myself to drowning. Knowing he was safe was a tremendous relief; knowing he was thinking about me, worrying about me, made me bawl like an overtired toddler.

But the second letter—that was what really got me back on my feet. I never expected him to write again. I never expected to hear from or of him again, actually. I read that first letter over and over, and then the second one came. I cried a little bit over that one, too. Because it meant he hadn't written just to set my mind at rest about his safety and was now going to forget about me. He wanted to stay in touch, even if it was one-sided. It was proof it hadn't all been a lie, that he really did care.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he loves me. Who else is he going to love? He's a creature of habit, set in his ways. He rarely makes an effort to get to know new people unless it's work related. And it takes him a long time to trust anyone.

But while it's nice to know he does actually care, I'm still not convinced he's going to change and prove it. And despite the fact that he kissed my hand, there's no evidence that he intends our relationship to ever be anything but platonic. God, I hate that word.

Could I be okay with that? Maybe. I want him in my life; I know that. I'm happier when he's just a phone call away, or when I can turn around and see him and know he's safe. I could probably let that be enough, most of the time. He probably wouldn't mind if I go out occasionally with a guy who actually wants to sleep with me. I'm not signing up to be a nun or anything.

Or maybe, if he loves me, he'd be willing to have sex with me now and then. I mean, he's got to have urges sometimes, right? And he doesn't seem like he'll ever want to date again. We trust each other, so I'd be a safe choice for him.

I've wanted him for years. Not only is he ridiculously attractive, but he knows me so well. Sex with Jane would be one of those life-altering events, I think sometimes, like climbing Mt. Everest or skydiving for the first time. I really, really want to do it at least once before I die.

I hear Jane's breathing change, and I realize he's fallen asleep for real. He must really be tired. But then, he didn't get any sleep last night, had a very stressful morning, and had only a short nap earlier before trying really hard to connect with me. No wonder he's tired. I think the honesty alone would be enough to wear him out. He's not used to it, after all.

I turn on the radio and find it's already set to a jazz station. Jane must have listened to it on the drive up. I glance over at him to make sure I didn't wake him, but he just shifts a little in his seat, sighs, and settles back down. He always sleeps well in a moving car, and he likes background noise. Plus, I like to think, he knows he's safe with me.

And he is. I won't pressure him for things he doesn't want to give me. I'll be grateful for his love, and I'll let him know I return it. The rest of it, we can figure out as we go.

After a couple more hours, we cross the state line into Texas, and shortly afterward I see an old-fashioned gas station with a vending machine outside. I could use a bathroom and maybe a Diet Coke to keep me going, so I pull into it. Jane wakes up as I turn the car off, looking at me with sleepy eyes before glancing around.

"Pit stop?" he asks.

"Yeah. You want anything?"

"I'll avail myself of the facilities," he says, unfastening his seat belt.

We go our separate ways to the bathrooms. When I come out, he's just pulling a bottle of water out of the vending machine and steps aside to drink it, leaving room for me to consider my options. I'm not a huge Diet Pepsi fan, but that seems to be the diet soda here. I sigh, hoping a more attractive option will catch my eye.

A warm hand lands on my shoulder. "Get the ginger ale," Jane advises. "It'll help settle your stomach."

I don't ask how he knows I'm paying for that cheeseburger and onion rings. "That doesn't have any caffeine."

"You could let me drive and get some sleep," he points out.

I suppose I could. I really am tired. He's standing really close, and I can feel myself lean toward his warmth. I wish I could rest against him for a minute. But I don't want to embarrass him.

"Teresa," he murmurs in my ear, making me shiver a little. "Relax, please." His hand moves to the back of my neck and rubs gently, and it feels amazing.

I sigh and feed my money into the vending machine, then get the ginger ale. I could use a nap, and Jane probably won't kill us on a deserted stretch of highway. As I open the can and take a drink, I realize Jane is staring at me. Going by his frown, he doesn't like what he sees.

"What?" I snap, sipping my ginger ale.

"You," he says slowly, "do not have the appearance of a woman basking in the glow of knowing she is loved."

Oh. I have no idea what to do with that. I try a smile, but he sees right through it.

"So I can only assume," he continues, "that you've decided one of three things. One, you have no use for my love and regard it as a burden. Ah, that's not it. Good." He gives me a relieved smile. "Two, you think I'm lying to you for some obscure reason. No...not quite that either. But close. It must be three, then: you have reflected on the different kinds of love that exist and have concluded that mine for you is not of the same variety as yours for me."

I can't hold his gaze and look down at my drink, so I'm taken by surprise when Jane touches my cheek, stroking a single finger down to my jaw before laying his entire palm against it. "Teresa, look at me," he says softly.

It takes me a few seconds, but I finally do. God, his eyes are beautiful. When he looks at me like this, I can't look away. I can't even move and can barely breathe. It's the very definition of the word mesmerizing. I don't care that we're standing out in plain sight of the highway with the sun beating down on us; I could stay like this all day.

"Allow me to clarify," he breathes, stroking his thumb along my cheekbone. Then, so slowly it feels almost like a dream, he leans toward me. It's so slow that I finally bounce up on my toes to close the last inch, and our lips meet.

Wow. This is...sweet. Simple. No sense of urgency or desire.

This is not how I pictured our first kiss. I always figured that if Jane and I ever kissed, we'd explode in a flaming ball of lust and end up naked and sweaty in no time. That's not happening here on the roadside, of course, but still.

Maybe he doesn't really want me. But wait, wouldn't Jane be able to fake it better than this? Should I feel flattered that he's being honest instead?

Oh. Oh! There's his tongue, at last. I open my mouth so I can say hello with mine. He tastes like the tea he drank at the diner, with a hint of sweetness from the ice cream. And now this is the hot, wet kiss I always thought we'd have. Wow. Just...wow.

Jane slides his arms around my waist to help me stay upright. I release my grip on his arms and link mine around his neck, tightening them in protest as he pulls back a little. But he's only changing the angle before plunging back into my mouth and making himself at home.

I slide a hand into his hair and tug on one of the curls, teasing him. He growls into my mouth and moves his own hands to my ass, pressing me against him so I can feel him getting hard.

In the back of my mind, angels are singing the Hallelujah Chorus. He wants me! Sex is on the table!

It feels like a long time, but not long enough, before he pulls back to smile at me, almost shy. "Does that clear things up for you, love?"

I'm not normally a big fan of endearments, but hearing Jane call me "love" in such an affectionate tone makes me unbelievably happy.

"Well," I say after I've caught my breath a little, "I guess it's not platonic, huh?"

Jane chuckles a little. "Anything but."

"Thank God," I say, which makes him laugh out loud. With happiness. I don't think I've ever seen him do that before, and it's beautiful.

He starts kissing my neck, making me weak in the knees, and says, "I just have incredible self control. Want to get a hotel room so I can show you what happens when I lose it?"

"Oh, yeah," I sigh, tilting my head to give him better access. Then my brain catches up. "Um, no. We have to get this stupid car back tonight or Abbott will probably demote me to security guard."

Jane strokes my hair and straightens up to look at me. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

The thought of Jane declaring war on our boss fills me with dread—and a secret little thrill that I will never, ever admit to. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fine," he sighs. "You gas up the car while I get us some provisions from inside."

Jane comes out of the gas station with a bag full of snacks just after I finish pumping the gas. He smiles and says, "I paid for the gas while I was at it. I'm assuming Abbott isn't going to approve the expenses for this little jaunt."

"Probably not," I agree. It hadn't occurred to me, but he probably thinks Jane should foot the bill. Which he seems happy to do.

Jane waits on the passenger side of the car so he can open the door for me, and he hands me the bag once I'm settled and then closes the door. I set my can in the passenger cup holder and rifle through his purchases as he walks over to the driver's door and gets in. Hm, Cool Ranch Doritos, which I think have addictive properties; a bag of pistachios, his favorite nut; two packages of Reese's peanut butter cups, my favorite; a dark chocolate Milky Way, which is obviously for him; and a box of condoms. "Optimistic, aren't you?" I tease him, holding up the 12-pack.

Jane grins at me. "I try to be prepared to take advantage of opportunities when they arise. I'm not presuming anything, if that's what you're thinking."

Good, because I'm tired of him taking me for granted. I'd love to make him really work hard to get me into bed, but I know I'm not going to. At least not the first time.

I set the bag down near my feet. I'm not hungry yet, and I doubt Jane is, either.

"Close your eyes and get some rest," Jane says, pulling back onto the highway. "I promise not to get any speeding tickets, so there's no need to stay awake to fret about my driving."

"I'm holding you to that," I warn him, reclining the seat a little and closing my eyes.

After a minute, I feel him take my hand in his, settling both on his knee as he massages my fingers with his own. It feels amazing.

This is so much more than I let myself hope for. But I'm wary of taking it at face value. This is Patrick Jane, after all, master of deception. What if he's doing all this for some weird reason I can't even guess? Or even a reason I can, like that he thinks he owes me, or he's decided he's tired of being lonely and that we can be happy together even if I'll never be the love of his life? We both know he's the love of my life. Maybe he thinks that's enough.

"Stop thinking so hard, Lisbon," Jane says gently. I don't open my eyes, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "There's nothing to figure out. This is all above board, no con involved. I love you, you love me, and despite my not having my act entirely together, I believe we will make each other happy."

It's nice that he doesn't need me to tell him I love him, but I still feel like I should say the words. They don't come easy to me, but it's not like I can deny they're true. I open my mouth to tell him, but what comes out instead is, "Promise you'll never leave me again."

"I promise," he says immediately, lifting my hand to kiss it. "I'll never leave you again, Teresa. Not for anything. But I know it's going to take some time for you to trust that. And until you do, there's nothing you need to say. This is all on me."

Sometimes it's a relief that he knows me so well. Letting me off the hook is a kindness, and I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful for him.

As I imagine what it'll be like to be with him, I know that sometimes he'll be condescending or impatient with me, because that's how he is. It must be hard for him, always three steps ahead of everyone else and having to wait for us to catch up. It must be lonely. It must make him feel apart from the people around him, like he doesn't belong. So I will forgive him, as I always have, because he does belong. He belongs with me.

But I also know that sometimes he will be so sweet to me I can hardly bear it, because there's this whole nurturing, protective side to him that must have made him a terrific father. He's shown it to me in big and small ways, from shooting Tanner to bringing me coffee when I have a headache or a snack when I haven't eaten. He'll take care of me for the rest of my life if I let him, I think.

And from the way he kissed me, I don't think I'll need to worry about finding anyone else to have sex with. I think he'll take care of me in bed too. I shiver a little at the thought.

We'll take care of each other, and we'll make it work. Or at least, we'll give it one hell of a try.

I feel myself drifting off, but I don't want to leave the words unsaid. So I whisper, "I love you."

Then I crack one eye open to see his reaction. He smiles, lifting my hand to his lips again and kissing my fingertips. "My darling," he says, his voice a little choked up. "I love you, too."

I smile, close my eyes, and let his fingers on my hand soothe me into sleep.