Chapter 7
As soon as she stepped over the threshold of her silent, empty apartment, the strain of the past days seemed to fall away and Teresa Lisbon could breathe again.
She dropped her bag on the floor, still feeling the slight tiredness the pneumonia had left her with. But she felt considerably fine, really, and the longing for silence and solitude had become unbearable after the endless days in the hospital. She had needed to get out, so as soon as the fever had vanished for good, she had released herself.
Jane hadn't been there to pick her up, but how could he when she had told him nothing of her plans to leave the hospital?
She was afraid to overwhelm him, assume too much, suffocate him with her affection. He needed space. And she would do what she always had done: take care of him.
Tenderness washed over her, accompanied by a fierce longing that knocked the breath from her lungs, just a moment of churning emotions, trembling through her veins.
She wouldn't whine now when she never had in her life, wouldn't become ungrateful and greedy. She knew it was still hard for him, the emotions, the caring, she could read the pain the suppressed memories caused him, could read it on his face, in his haunted eyes. She would accept what he could give, and if he had to break out from time to time, she would just let him go.
But truth was: she already missed him a little.
He had told her he loved her, and this time, he had been true to his word. He had visited her every day these past two weeks, bringing her personal things (which he had fetched from her apartment after picking her lock, the impish little devil), distracting her with funny stories and card tricks, holding her hand until she fell asleep.
She smiled.
It still felt strange to be in love like this. But it wasn't a bad feeling at all. Funny how you never really knew love until it stared you in the face. And then it always was far too late to run.
Her stomach growled, and she groaned in exasperation. She'd almost forgotten- she had to take care of her own food again, and she wasn't looking forward to it. She was a hopeless cook, but eating had never been especially important for her to begin with. She ate to keep her muscles working, had never been much of a gourmet.
She walked through the cool living room, noticing that the air condition was on- Jane. He had done her laundry, the little piles of clean clothes, expertly folded, sitting on the dining room table. She grinned. For a man who had been a lone wolf for almost a decade, pining for nothing but death and revenge, he was doing marvelously.
She looked into the fridge and was almost grateful to find it empty- after close to two weeks of absence, everything inside would have worn a greenish pelt by now. She was sure Jane had taken care of that, too.
She grabbed a bottle of water and put the cold glass against her forehead. It was still stifling hot outside, and she gulped down the water in breathless relief.
She slowly walked to the bathroom, shedding her clothes one by one, leaving a trail of garments along her way. The cool shower felt wonderful, and she let the water wash away the grime of dark memories along with the dust of the day. The fever had left, and it felt wonderful to be the mistress of her own mind once again, the cottony haze of delirium nothing but a fleeting shudder long gone.
She almost didn't want to get dressed again, but after some thoughtful minutes in front of her closet, she chose a tank top and comfortable black cotton panties, which could almost pass for shorts.
When she was about to walk down the stairs, she heard someone rummaging around in her kitchen.
The feelings chased each other inside her stomach. Longing and delight flared like a scorching flame, for of course she knew who it was. The slight pang of annoyance that he had picked her lock again. Worry was quick to follow. Red John was still on the run, so what if she was wrong?
She walked into her bedroom and fetched the loaded Glock from her nightstand. Better safe than sorry.
But as soon as she entered the kitchen, she saw a shock of unmistakable golden curls above her counter… he was obviously filling her fridge with groceries.
"You know, Jane," she said and wasn't surprise that he didn't even startle, "I give up. You need your own key. I don't want you to pick my lock every time you want to come in here."
He chuckled and got up, closing the door of the fridge with a slight thud.
"You didn't open the door when I knocked," he shrugged, "and seriously, Lisbon- my own key? That's a frightening symptom of trust, coming from you… maybe we should celebrate this. How are you, besides unbelievably beautiful, I mean?"
She smiled, feeling deeply and truly flattered.
"Tired. I hope that stops soon, it's getting on my nerves."
He shook his head and started to walk around the counter.
Xxxxxxxxxx
She looked so good he couldn't stop staring at her. Her wet dark hair framed her face, her lips red and pouty from the undoubtedly cold shower she had taken. Her skimpy clothes hugged her figure, and an almost uncomfortable bout of desire raced all through his system.
He still hated losing control, but with her, it couldn't be helped. It still scared him how completely she got him, wriggled beneath his defenses with maddening ease.
He knew the feeling, he thought with a hot rush of pain. He'd felt the same with Angela.
He knew he should touch Lisbon, should give her physical comfort as often as he could. But he didn't trust his self-control with her, and she was still exhausted from her sickness. He should be a gentleman and play nice.
His noble intentions were lost when she raised her arms and pushed her hair back, looking like a nymph from an ancient fresco.
He swallowed drily. It took him only one step to get close enough to pull her into his arms, her body so small and fragile he would have been afraid to hurt her if he hadn't known her for what she was- the bravest soul he had ever met. He felt her strong muscles ripple beneath her cool skin and smiled against her hair.
"You're still affected by the pneumonia," he whispered, "I guess you will sleep a lot over the next few days, and that's fine. Are you on sick leave?"
"Not for long," she breathed against his shirt, the rush of warmth sending goose bumps all over his body, "I'm going to march into headquarters Monday morning and correct that."
Jane sighed.
"I thought as much. Then let me pamper you this weekend, at least. Why didn't you tell me that you planned on leaving the hospital today?"
She let her lips wander over his jawline, gently using her tongue on his skin, it made him hot, and he could feel himself harden against her stomach.
"I didn't plan on anything," she said softly, nipping on his earlobe, causing his erection to grow these last inches, "it was more of a spontaneous decision. The moment the nurse came in to ask me about my bowel movements, I knew the time to leave had come."
He laughed softly.
"Do you want me to cook you something for dinner?"
"Well," she answered, blowing against his ear, "to be honest, I don't want FOOD at the moment."
She let her fingers glide into the open V of his shirt, and he almost got a stroke when she rubbed his nipples into tight little peaks.
"Teresa," he croaked, "I don't know if this is such a splendid idea, I don't want to put a strain on you so short after your recovery…"
"Okay," she said, "you can be on top."
She kissed his lips, her tongue invading his mouth with an insistency that allowed no further discussion. She tasted wonderful, warm and sweet and uniquely like his Lisbon. He framed her face to stop her from pulling back before he was ready, but what if he would never be ready, if her kiss was a lifeline he couldn't do without? He guessed he just would have to cope, then.
Her hand wandered to his raging hard-on, gently massaging his contours until he felt himself growing out of his waistband. He groaned for all he was worth.
"I'll lead the way," she smiled against his lips and grabbed his hand, tugging until he followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Despite her promise that he could be on top she pushed him down onto her mattress so that he lay flat on his back, her thighs straddling his hips. He sighed with relief when she opened his belt and fly, freeing his aching length from its uncomfortable confines.
"I swore to myself I wouldn't pressure you," she said softly, her eyes huge and not quite so innocent, "but I can't help myself."
He smiled at her, rubbing his thumb over her adorable, pouting lips.
"Don't worry, love. I'm sure I will suffer horribly, but I will try not to scream too loud."
She slapped his chest, but her smile was sweet and soft. He urged to lick it off her lips, just to find out if it tasted as wonderful as it looked.
She started to unbutton his vest and shirt, pausing again and again to caress the naked skin she revealed. His cock started to throb with impatience, and he bit down on his bottom lip to stop from crying out.
He was so responsive to her, she gave him feelings like he'd never experienced before. He'd never been an especially passionate lover, but he was older now, had suffered more, been through so much he could hardly find the connection to the cheerful, carefree young man who had fallen in love with Angela. Time and misery had given him an urgency that still felt strange to him, but when Lisbon's hands touched his cock, a hunger roared through his body that rendered him breathless.
Her touch was attentive, gentle, but he reacted like a wild beast, his strong fingers clutching her upper arms to stop her, make her go on, he didn't know what he needed most any longer.
She straightened her lithe body and pulled the tank top over her head.
"Patrick," she whispered, and her using his first name still made him feel vulnerable, treasured, raw, "I love you."
Lust and tenderness crashed down on him like a flash flood, her hand squeezing his length tighter, making ecstasy surge through his system, he felt wild and ruthless and pushed her onto her back, covering her body with his. He could have ripped her panties off, but he wanted this to take longer, to make her squirm just as he had, show her what she did to him.
He pulled her panties down her legs, breathing hot air onto her wet sex. It filled him with delight how much she wanted him and he spread her legs roughly, licking over her folds so slowly he knew it would drive her insane. Her body arched beneath him, and he thrust his tongue into her, shivering with delight when her delicious sweetness hit his taste buds.
"Teresa," he whispered, making sure that his lips vibrated against her clit, "mine."
She was his one chance for normalcy, and he had no doubt that she was the only living being who was able to tolerate living with him for the rest of his life. He'd never expected to experience this kind of love again. He felt humbled.
He framed her clit with his lips and squeezed gently, his tongue rubbing insistently, until she convulsed and came so hard he could feel it against his mouth. He closed his eyes, savored the ripples of her body, her cries, prolonging her climax with measured licks and kisses.
He pushed up, supporting his weight on his outstretched arms, and pushed inside her in a single, deep stroke. Her still clenching muscles hugged him like a glove, and he gasped, her outcry tingling inside his ears. He felt how much he stretched her, and it drove him mad, heightened the wildness inside him until he felt truly dangerous. Her fingernails scratched his back, the slight pain making him shiver.
He looked into her eyes, didn't want to hurt her, but she stared at him, her eyes glazed with lust.
"Hard." She mouthed, and he lost it completely.
His thrusts made her bounce from the impact, again and again, he felt the heat of her core around him, his cock entering her as deep as he could go every time he surged into her. He was much too big for her, had never taken a woman this tight, but she urged him on, her breathless little gasps fueling his lusts until he saw everything through the haze of his desire.
His hips slammed against hers, pushing her up the mattress until she almost hit the headrest and he grabbed her waist to hold her in place for his ruthless strokes.
"Yes," she groaned, "just like this…"
And she came, her contractions making her even tighter. He screamed the almost painful myriad of sensations into the air, tears streaming down his face.
He impossibly picked up speed, slamming inside her full force, his skin prickling with the need to come, to lose this final scrap of control. He could almost taste a violent release on the back of his tongue, every pounding thrust brought him closer, until he knew a single touch would push him over.
Lisbon brushed her fingernails over his nipples, and his whole body clenched.
It felt as if his insides melted, his cock erupting in long, voluminous jets of seed. It felt so good to fill her, every single time, his offering for his mistress as much as a branding of ownership. It was the right she generously granted him, and that she accepted him like this was reason enough to live.
She spread her legs even wider to receive more of him, and he was amazed about the amounts of semen he spent, his stomach muscles contracting until it hurt, until he felt drained and empty and so sated the feeling spread through every cell.
He could hardly gulp enough air into his lungs, his breath harsh and panting. He didn't want to pull back, didn't want to leave the delicious heat of her body, but he couldn't strain her body with his weight, so he wrapped his arms around her and rolled over until he was beneath her, his semi-hard cock still firmly embedded inside of her.
She was breathing hard, and he was suddenly worried.
"Are you okay, love?" he whispered anxiously, gently stroking her tousled hair.
She raised her head and looked at him, her stark green, expressive eyes huge in her pale face.
"I'm fine, "she said, "that was absolutely wonderful. Leaving the hospital was one of the better ideas I had."
He chuckled and sighed in contentment.
"Patrick?" she said.
"Hmmm?"
"Can I talk to you?"
His eyes snapped open.
"You know you always can, Teresa."
She hesitated for a second, and he felt a subtle tension running through her body.
"Can we make a deal?" she said eventually, "I don't want you to sleep in the attic. And I absolutely don't want you to sleep in your house in Malibu. Can't you sleep here or in my office? Your couch is okay, too. And if you need time alone, you go to a nice little motel, where you are warm and safe and not surrounded by moths and dust and death?"
He let his fingertips wander over her face, learning every inch of skin by heart. How he loved her. How completely she filled his heart, letting light and warmth inside until all the cold and darkness had no space any longer.
"I don't need time alone," he whispered, "I just need you. Please- never think that I see the closeness between us as a complication I have to tolerate if I want your love. I want it, Teresa. I want to be close all the time, and when we're apart, I miss you. I have missed you even when I didn't know how much I loved you. Some things may be hard, some difficult. I'm not an easy man to live with. But never believe that I feel better when I'm alone, that I don't want to be with you, my love. There's nothing I want more."
She looked at him and kissed him softly, her warm lips on his eliciting a groan of bone-deep satisfaction from him.
"Where do you want to live?" she asked after they had parted, breathlessly.
"At the seaside," he answered, "with you."
"Are you sure you don't want separate apartments for the time being?"
He smiled at her.
"I'm old," he chuckled, "and after ten years of solitude, I feel as if I've been alone all my life. And be careful, agent Lisbon: in love, I'm rather possessive."
She smiled, the gesture as bright as the sun.
"I think I might like that better than I thought before I met you."
"Dinner?" he asked.
"If you insist." She groaned.
He made her sit down on her couch where she could watch him, not wanting her to do anything. She looked delicious in his shirt and nothing else, just staring at her made him happy. Nothing else mattered. He felt the need to protect her whisper at the back of his mind. They weren't safe. Their world wasn't an easy one as long as they were pursued by a killer. But right now, they were here. She was with him. And that was all he needed.
He had just started to fry the chicken when his cell phone ringed. He still wore in his pants pocket. He opened it.
"Hey, Cho," he said.
"Jane?" Cho's calm voice was surrounded by an enormous rush of noise. Jane felt his stomach clench instinctively. "Are you with the boss?"
"Yes." Jane said tonelessly. "Lisbon is right here."
"Put me on loudspeaker, please."
Jane obeyed, his fingers trembling while he pressed the keys. Lisbon sensed the change in his mood and got up, her huge eyes staring at him.
"Boss?" Cho said, "You listening?"
"Yes, Cho," she said, still looking at Jane intently, "I can hear you."
"We managed to catch Red John, just a short distance from the Mexican border. To make a long story short: he put up a fight. Rigsby shot him."
Jane felt his vision dim, the outlines of the world around him becoming blurry. He sat down on the floor, simply where he was, leaning against the oven door, trying to catch his breath.
"He said something before he died," Cho continued, "a message for you. He said: 'Tell Jane, this is my wedding gift for him.' I thought I should tell you. It's over. His corpse is zipped into the body bag just now."
"Thank you, Cho," Lisbon said, taking the phone from Jane's numb fingers, her voice so firm and strong when his world was tumbling, "I'll be in on Monday, I expect your report then."
He didn't hear Cho's reply. She flipped the phone shut, and it was silent.
Jane felt nauseous and shaky. Red John was dead. His nemesis, the enemy who had formed his existence, had filled his thoughts for almost a decade was gone. He tried to find a hint of elation, relief, but he couldn't find anything but dizziness and emptiness.
Emotions came back he had pushed away all these years. The birth of his child, her first cry. Angela's laughter on their wedding day. How he had kissed Charlotte goodnight after she had split her lip fighting with a neighboring boy, her face grimy with dirt and blood, but she had refused to let anybody touch. Only his gentle kiss on her cheek- she had allowed that.
Tears were streaming down his face, and he shook uncontrollably. Lisbon sat down next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and he was just grateful for her touch, her closeness, her warm breath on his face. He put his face against her slim shoulder and inhaled her scent, wetting her shirt with his tears.
She was silent until he had regained a modicum of calm, and by then, it was completely dark. He noticed that she had taken the skillet off the burner. He pressed closer to her.
"Are you mad that you missed your revenge?" She said, and he understood that she'd been scared of this, scared that it would imprint the anger into his soul.
He was silent for a while. He exhaled and shrugged.
"No," he said, "it's good that he's dead. Nothing more. I would have been mad if I had missed you for him."
His mind felt freed, and he felt more tears spill while he remembered the good times, the precious days he had spent with Angela and Charlotte, the flood of his past streaming out of him like a river of pent up hurt. He could breathe after all, could connect with a part of him that had been closed up, lonely and barred.
"I promised you dinner," he said after endless hours of bittersweet memories had returned like a long lost episode of his life. He had cherished them so much. Had loved them more than his life.
But Teresa Lisbon had brought the urge back, the will to persevere, to live beyond vengeance and hate.
"I'm not hungry," she replied, "let's go to bed instead. Let me hold you."
He smiled through his tears, touching her warm face with his cool fingertips.
He had no objections.
THE END
I hope you liked this! The last chapter was hard to write for me, because my mind was SO occupied with all the spoilers running amok in my head… I admit that I'm not too keen on this attraction-thingy between Jane and Loralei, although I almost saw something like that coming.
I'm intent on staying calm because spoilers can be and often are deceiving, but knowing myself, I won't be especially successful… I think I won't manage much more than a few soothing one-shots until the season starts. I had this moment last hiatus, too: at some point, I simply was too nervous for plot-heavy stories. I'm very nervous now, so I think I need some harmless PWPs now… or something like that.
Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! I'm glad you're still reading my stories!
