Chapter 6

AN: Many times I get the comment through my reviews that my endings seem rushed. I know that putting a story to a satisfactory end is not my strongest point, so in order not to try and make this mistake again, I created this extra chapter to fit in between the previous one and the end. Hope I did my story justice.

Disclaimer: So many birthday presents...so little Simon Baker :-(. Oh well...there's still Christmas, right?

On with it...

In the weeks that follow that...eh...memorable beach trip, the both of you allow the other one some leeway. Patrick rents a cheap apartment somewhere near CBI headquarters, just to give you some breathing space. The first few days on your own, you're glad to be able to just walk around in your underwear without a warning first or just to have your second bedroom back as utility room, workout room or whatever you need it to be room.

Still, that lasts for only a few days. Then you have to admit to yourself that it's already been Patrick's room for too long and that no matter how much needless stuff you put in there, it'll always be his room to you.

At work, he's pleasant enough, teasing with a hint of flirting, but never coming as close to crossing that line as you were at the beach.

You feel so schizophrenic lately, part of you still constantly wishing he would come to you like the knight in shining armor while the other part knows that both of you need the distance and that the worst is yet to come.

How bad that worse is, you don't want to know. The ostrich seems a very sympathetic animal to you these days.

Yet, the combination of the feeling of missing him while he tries to keep some semblance of professionalism for your sake, triggers your irritation. You just can't help it.

The biggest of all clashes appears with one of many Red John copycat killings. It's not like you can accuse him of not helping, of not doing his bit for the team, but his lack of personal interest in the barely alive and very shocked seventeen year old victim, stings you. Just because her assailant is not Red John, as quickly deducted by Patrick himself, should not ever mean that the victim is any less traumatized or that catching the real pervert is any less important.

Teresa Lisbon, good friend and wannabe mistress, understands his disappointment. After all, it is again another lead gone cold before he even had a chance to look into it. But at the job, you're Special Agent Lisbon and as such, you don't have much time to worry about his personal grievances, not when the parents of this girl are holding on by a thread while their only daughter is still fighting for her life at the local hospital's ICU, barely able to talk, let alone give you any helpful information.

All the time during the investigation, he's again walking the very narrow tightrope in between being the helpful consultant he's getting paid to be and being the sulky, petulant and obnoxious childlike man you had seriously hoped you had gotten rid of by now.

Eventually, your team does find the man who almost killed young Colleen Briars, but not thanks to Patrick Jane, whose only contribution was recognizing the crime scene as a copycat of Red John's and not getting punched during investigations. Even that was a close call, come to think of it.

Other than that, it was mostly Van Pelt's skills on the Internet, where she found out that the perpetrator was the older brother of one of her school friends. A few strands of fabric from his work uniform were left behind at the crime scene and through the victim's Facebook page, she found a picture of a girl, posing with her brother. The brother was wearing a uniform with the exact same color shirt as the ones that were collected in Colleen's bedroom.

You got a warrant for a search of his dorm room and found the shirt. After forensics confirmed the match between the strands found at the crime scene and the shirt, your team arrested him. Cho got a confession out of him in less than fifteen minutes. It's the classical story of a boy turned down by a girl. The information to copy Red John's MO came as a spur of the moment solution to try and cover up his crime of passion.

Still frustrated about Patrick's conduct during this investigation, you decline the usual post-case pizza and head home, looking forward to being alone there so you can take a long, luxurious bubble bath and put on a sappy movie while eating your way through a whole carton of chocolate chip ice cream.

It is not meant to be. A very familiar figure shows up about ten minutes after you get home. Reluctantly, you turn off the hot water tap and drain the remaining water from the tub. With any other guy, you would just let them knock until they get the message.

But this is Patrick. There's not much imagination needed to figure out he'll come in anyway. The front door wouldn't stop him and neither would the bathroom door. And if you want to get into an argument with anyone, you prefer to do so fully clothed.

Silently, you let him in, but that's all. You don't offer him a seat, or a drink and you refuse to be the first to start the conversation. You can be very stubborn if you want to be and this time, you're not about to cut him any slack. He has some very serious explaining as well as apologizing to do.

His start is hesitant. He knows you're upset with him. Well, how can he not?

"Look, Teresa, I know I haven't been at my very best on this case, but…"

He abruptly stops at that, his eyes blazing, as if he's hoping you will, again, be content with a half-sentence and a slight pout. But how can he think that this is good enough, no matter how cute he looks? As usual when you're annoyed with him, you revert back to using his last name, knowing that he hates the emotional distance it puts between the two of you.

"But what, Jane? I can't expect you to pay attention when the bad guy is not Red John? The victim has no right to your sympathy because her attacker happens to be someone you don't want to kill? We, your coworkers do not need you to do your job if you don't benefit from this man's apprehension?"

He tries to get in a word, but now that you're talking, all the frustration, all of your dormant fears, come out like a waterfall. At least he already knows you're in love with him, so this time you shouldn't have to be afraid of revealing something he's not supposed to know.

"I worry about you, Jane. And I'm afraid. We've gotten so close these last few weeks, I thought you were sincere when you said you were trying, but now I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

"I am trying, Teresa. You know I am. But every time I think that this time, I might actually get to him, nothing happens and yes, I get frustrated. I wish…I wish I could make you understand."

Despite of yourself, your anger evaporates. But your anxiety does not. Slumping down on the first seat you can find, you allow the mixture of angry and hurtful tears to come out.

"And I wish I could make you understand how my heart stops every time I see you retreat within yourself. I don't expect you to share everything with me, I don't need you to open Pandora's box, but Patrick…I still fret about you. And I shouldn't. At least not at the office. I have to be able to be Agent Lisbon there first. I can't spare any more time wondering where you are, what you are thinking and if, by the end of the day, there's still even a friendship left."

Obviously startled by your last statement, he pulls you up from the seat you have taken and encloses you in an almost desperate embrace.

"Please, sweet Teresa, don't say that. There's nothing more important to me than our friendship…and whatever evolves from that."

"Nothing except for Red John."

There's no way he can answer that, so you're not surprised when he doesn't answer at all. He only tightens his grip around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, holding on for dear life.

As good as it feels, you know it's an end rather than a beginning. Patrick Jane can no longer lie to himself or you. He's tried…but failed and perhaps it's better to come to that conclusion now rather than in a few months, when you would have invested even more of your heart and soul into this man.

Reluctantly, you let go of him and while the tears are blocking your vision, you stand on the tips of your toes to kiss him ever so softly on his pouty mouth. If this is the only kiss you'll ever share, you grant yourself that much.

His hand comes up to find your cheek and gently wipe the tear streaks away. His breathing is heavy and even though your vision is blurred, you realize he's on the verge of tears himself.

"I think I'd better go now."

You nod. It's no use prolonging the inevitable. With a gigantic force of will, you let go of his embrace and take a step back. Immediately, the cold of his loss enshrines you and you gasp for breath. The pain is so much worse than you'd anticipated.

Patrick stands there, forlornly, for just a few more seconds, before he turns on his heel and flees the crime scene of the broken hearted.

The door clicks shut with deafening finality and for just a few minutes, you sink to the floor, paralyzed by the shock. Only when you cool off too quickly, you force yourself to get up and move to the bedroom. The bath doesn't appeal to you at that time, it's way too much trouble to even turn the taps back on. Plus, you're afraid you'll just drown yourself.

Your good friends Ben and Jerry help you get over the initial shock while you live through your own personal Bridget Jones moment.

In the morning, you contemplate the possibility of calling in sick, but you know you won't. Your job is your life and no shredded heart can prevent you from doing what you were trained to do.

At the office, communication between you and your consultant is reduced to the very minimum. It's hard on both of you, seeing the other one in pain, but nothing seems to get you out of this stalemate you're in.

After four days, you're at the end of your tether. You no longer care that he's after Red John like a bull spotting a red flag. At this point, you're willing to take him anyway, flaws and all. Even having him temporarily seems better than not having him at all.

He must be thinking along the same lines, because in the evening, when you've sent your team home for the weekend, he shuffles into your office, standing at the threshold, leaning against the doorpost.

Childishly, you refuse to acknowledge his presence, until he coughs to get your attention. Reluctantly, you look up from your computer screen.

"What do you want, Jane?"

"You."

"What was that?"

"You heard me. I miss you, Teresa."

That statement, so simple, so accurate, makes you drop the act immediately.

"I know. I miss you too. But we can't just ignore what's standing in between us. If we do, then how much more will it hurt the next time?"

"I never meant to hurt you in the first place. I guess I still have to get used to the idea of having someone to think about again. I've been flying solo for such a long time. Nobody cared about my thirst for revenge before. I would leave no loved one behind, no matter what I did."

"That's different now."

"Yeah, I know. But my subconscious hasn't caught up with that yet. Every time Red John shows up, my blood still starts to boil and all I can think of is getting rid of him."

"Even when it makes you a murderer? Even when you know it won't break some kind of spell and get your family back?"

"It's no fairy tale. I'm aware of that. Though I still believe it's some kind of magic that brought you in my life. And I guess that's the heart of the matter."

"What is?"

"The feeling that, if I lost them, I could also lose you. If I never did right by them, how can I do right by you? Maybe I sabotage what I have because I anticipate it going wrong anyway."

"You're forgetting something. There's two of us in this relationship, Patrick. And I have a say in this too. And you know what? I won't let you fall. I'll undermine all your attempts at sabotage, for as long as it takes you to see the truth."

"And what's that?"

"That we'll still be standing long after Red John's being taken care of."

He nods and takes your hand in his own. It's the first physical contact between the two of you and as small as it is, it makes you shiver.

"He still has to be taken care off. And I can't promise you I'll play it by the books."

"I know you can't. Just…be careful, Patrick. No matter how this pans out."

"That I can promise. For the rest, we'll just have to wait and see."

"Patrick?"

"Yes, my darling Teresa?

"Let's go home."

TBC...Reviews appreciated as always!