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I do not own The Mentalist, and I am only playing with these characters for fun. No copyright infringement is intended. Thanks, Mr. Heller.
AN: A heartfelt thanks to all who have stuck with story and left comments. This chapter's title is taken from the poignant Billy Joel song, And So It Goes. If you aren't familiar with it, I urge you to check it out on YouTube. Here are some of the lyrics:
"And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows.
So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break."
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And So It Goes
JANE
As they walked together into the festival grounds proper, Jane made a complete three hundred and sixty degree turn, taking in all the sights and sounds. "I feel so at home here, " he proclaimed excitedly. He laid his head back and drew in a deep, dramatic breath, sampling the myriad of smells as well.
"What, in Denton, Texas?" she quipped.
"No, Lisbon. This magnificent festival." He lifted his arms out wide to emphasize his exhilaration. "It's like a carnival without the cynicism." A young couple walked past them with their two small children, smiling and laughing. "It's music, and food, and the fruits of creative and artistic endeavors. Plus a large number of people enjoying a beautiful day." He took another breath. "Kettle corn. They have kettle corn."
He was secretly delighted with the way she rolled her eyes at his overdone enthusiasm, and then she agreed, "It is a pretty day. Nice breeze. Not too hot." They ambled down the fairway between the booths, getting an overview of the place. "Here's a schedule for the stages and the music," she said as she picked up a brochure from the information tent. Always the organized one, his Lisbon.
They made their way to Stage E, the venue she deemed "best", and set up shop at the rear of the audience in front of a wooden park perimeter fence. Jane smoothed out a blanket on the grass, claiming their real estate for the day, and set up the two beach chairs they had brought.
For the rest of the afternoon, they alternated between sitting in the pleasant sunshine listening to various jazz groups, and strolling through the rows of festival vendors during the breaks. There were all styles of artists, jewelry makers, and wood carvers represented, with an array of unique and unusual things for sale.
During one of their walks, they passed a hat maker. "Look Lisbon. Hats!" Jane touched her arm, guiding her into the booth, where he picked up a floppy straw hat and placed it on her head. "You look great in these. Remember that black one you wore as a disguise on that stakeout?" He'd made her blush, and he quickly slipped some cash to the seller to purchase the hat before she could protest. She twisted it on her head to make it fit properly and grinned. "My nose was getting a little sunburned."
The next booth contained a jewelry maker's wares. Jane noticed some interesting men's rings made of pewter, and recognized this as his opportunity. He found a Celtic knot ring and slipped it on the ring finger of his right hand. His deed wasn't lost on Lisbon, just as he anticipated.
"Never figured you for a 'Celtic ring' sort of guy."
"You're probably right," he agreed, taking it off and examining it carefully. "Interesting design, though. It's a little strange being without a ring these days."
She frowned and pulled back in surprise. "What? You're not wearing your ring?"
He held up his cast, which extended all the way past his first finger joints, obscuring the base of his fingers from view. "My fingers swelled so badly they had to cut it off." There was a certain irony in that, he mused.
She looked distressed. "I'm sorry, Jane. I…I didn't know."
"Don't be sorry. I wore it for twelve years, and I did what I had to do." He shrugged and gave her a small smile. "It was time. And now it's done. "
She said nothing else, but her shocked expression lingered. He ignored it, calmly putting the ring back onto the table. "What time is the next performance?" he asked.
"Not for another thirty minutes."
The sun had dropped low in the sky, and it would be dusk before long. "Ready for some dinner?" he asked.
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They decided on Esmeralda's Enchiladas for their evening's cuisine, and afterward they split some mint chocolate Dip-n-Dots. On top of that, he bought a huge bag of kettle corn on the way back to their seats. As they settled into their beach chairs, Lisbon promptly dug into the bag like a hungry puppy. "Ugh, I love this stuff. Salty and sweet at the same time."
"It is tasty," he agreed and he grabbed a handful for himself while he enjoyed watching her devour the popcorn.
The sun was setting, and the next act was almost ready to start when Lisbon's phone buzzed. She fished it out of her pocket for a look. It was a text, and she smiled as she read it. "Great," was all she said, and then she typed in a reply.
"Who was it? Is Agent Fischer worried someone might be out having a good time on a Saturday night?" he chuckled.
"It was Phil. He's been promoted to Durbin's position in HAZMAT."
Jane felt as if he'd been physically punched, and he struggled to maintain his poker face. It was a few seconds before he could manage an even comment. "That is excellent. Quite a step up." He had nothing against the promotion, but the news was an ugly reminder that Lisbon was not his, and maybe never would be. Rightly or wrongly, her prompt response stung.
The big band began to play, but Jane hardly heard the music. His thoughts ran to Rawlings and Lisbon and all the things he had planned to say to her this weekend. He glanced over at his companion, who was happily munching kettle corn, absorbed in the music. She was the one person in this world he truly loved, and everything he wanted. He had to stop being such a coward and lay it on the line – no more hesitating. It might be too late already, but to lose her through his silence would be more than he could bear. At least this way she would know.
"That tenor player was fantastic," Lisbon commented.
Only then did he notice that everyone else was clapping, and he joined in several beats late. The big band had finished its set while he stewed, he realized, and darkness had fallen as well.
"What's next?" he asked her, as the techies went to work resetting the stage.
"Says here it's a vocal jazz group. That's different."
"It'll be another thirty minutes before they start. Do you want anything else to eat?" he asked.
"God, no," she laughed, holding up the half empty bag of popcorn.
Jane looked up at the sky. There wasn't a lot of ambient light since they were so far back from the stage, and he could see the stars.
"Let's lie down on the blanket here and have a look at the Texas sky." He scooted off of his chair and folded it, laying it off to one side. "C'mon, Lisbon." He patted the blanket to his right.
"I'm fine."
"Oh, look!" he exclaimed. "A shooting star."
"Really?" She peered skyward.
"You missed it. They're fast – gone in a flash. You have to be looking in order to see them. It was right over there," he pointed toward the west.
"Oh, all right," she acquiesced. She folded her chair, laid it aside, and flopped down on the blanket beside him. "Oh man! There are a lot of stars."
"There's the dipper," he directed her attention to the north. "And over there's Orion."
"Oooh, I saw one. There," she pointed excitedly. "A shooting star!"
"Saw it!"
They were quiet for a few moments while they scoured the heavens for more movement. Now was the time, he realized. No more waiting.
"Lisbon?"
"Yeah."
"I need to say something."
"Sure, what?" she replied casually, still absorbed in her hunt for shooting stars.
"No, I mean something important." That got her attention.
"Jane, I should…" she started.
"No. Me first. I called it," he tried to keep his tone light, but his attempt fell flat. "Just listen, please. Then it'll be your turn." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, facing up toward the stars.
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LISBON
She propped herself up on one elbow and waited expectantly. Once he began talking, everything came tumbling out.
"Over the last three weeks, I've had a lot of time to think, and there are some things I want you to know," he started. He made no effort to look at her, but instead, laid on his back with his eyes closed.
This was strange, she thought, and a wave of uncertainty rose in her. Since his declaration to Rawlings, was it possible that he'd changed his mind? He'd been through hell since then, both physically and mentally. While she had felt guilty all along for not telling Jane that she knew about his conversation with Phil, now she was glad she hadn't. She needn't have worried, however, because he got straight to the point.
"I love you, Teresa. Surely you know that. You're my best friend and I don't know how I would have made it though the last twelve years without you. I'd probably be homeless in some alley somewhere, eating out of garbage cans. Or dead. Or worse."
She bit down on her lip to keep from interrupting him.
"But the thing is, I'm also in love with you."
Though she'd suspected something like this was on the way for three weeks, his admission still took her breath away. He hadn't changed his mind.
"I'm not sure how long I have been – probably years – but when I saw your face at the FBI the day I came back, I knew I couldn't deny it any longer."
Why was he telling her all this with his eyes closed? "Jane," she asked quietly, "Why aren't you looking at me?"
"Because…" He faltered momentarily, but quickly regained control. "Because if I look at you, I'll be reading your responses the whole time, and if they don't tell me what I hope to see, I may not get through all of this."
She was sorry she asked, but he continued unfazed.
"When I was in that house with Kirkland, after a few hours, things weren't looking so great and I thought my number might be up. I wasn't thrilled about that, mind you, but the worst part of it was the regret – the regret that I had never told you how I feel about you. So please, let me finish."
"Jane, I…"
"Please?!"
"Okay."
"You know me better than anyone. I could come up with a long, detailed list of my faults, but I doubt there's a single one you're not already aware of. Rawlings, on the other hand, is a pretty good guy. A bit cliché, but a decent fellow. And as a friend, if I were giving you advice, I'd probably tell you to stick with Rawlings. But selfishness is one of my faults, as you have accurately pointed out many times, so you also understand I can't do that.
A chance, Teresa. I'm asking you to give me a chance. Unless I'm badly mistaken, you loved me once, at least a little bit. Let me show you that I can make you happy, because I want to make that my new mission in life. Of course, I'm not implying - after everything I've done - that I deserve that chance. I don't. I know that, believe me," he emphasized. "Frankly, Rawlings doesn't deserve you either," he grumbled as an addendum.
"You don't have to believe my words here tonight. Just give me a chance and let my actions speak for themselves before you write me off completely. It's your choice. Entirely up to you. I'm yours if you will have me. You're the only one who knows if I'm worth the risk."
He took a deep breath, exhaled, and turned his head toward her, cautiously opening his eyes. He scanned her face, no doubt hoping for some clue to her reaction.
She could scarcely believe what he had done. The intensely private, "secretive and controlling" Patrick Jane had just laid himself wide open, and was looking at her with such vulnerability it made her ache. When she began with a cautious, "I have to tell you something, too," she saw fear cloud his eyes, but she owed him the truth, especially now.
"When you were kidnapped, and Phil was telling us how it went down, at first he thought you had invited him to the Airstream because you knew you were in danger."
"Wha…I didn't…" he began to protest.
"I know." She touched his arm to reassure him. "My turn."
He fell silent, nodding, visibly steeling himself for bad news.
"Fischer asked him to tell us exactly what you talked about before Kirkland showed up. I know what you told Phil."
"Oh." It was rare to blindside Patrick Jane, but she had done just that. He looked startled and off balance, and she felt horrible making him wait, but more had to be said. She was thankful she'd had those three weeks to think about how she wanted to respond.
"I haven't been out with Phil since then. I broke it off."
He raised his eyebrows, surprised and cautiously hopeful.
"You see, I love you, too. I am in love with you."
"But…" he said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His eyes were liquid now, hope mingling with fear.
"There is something I need from you if we're going to have a chance together. A promise.
"Okay. Whatever it is, okay."
"Listen to everything first," she admonished him. "The other morning, I ran into that house thinking I would find you dead. I don't need to tell you what a horrible feeling that is.
Now I know that none of this thing with Kirkland was your fault in any way. But over the years, there have been so many times – so many – that you have put yourself in danger when you didn't need to. That business with Krystal on the boat comes to mind, most recently." God that was a stupid stunt, and he had very nearly been shot.
"I admit what we do can be dangerous - is dangerous. That's part of the job. But I don't want to run into a building someday and find you dead because you decided not to tell us…to tell me…what you're up to, so I can back you up.
If we're going to be…together…I'm not willing to lose you for no other reason than because you wanted to satisfy your crazy need for theatrical reveals. Or whatever the hell your problem is."
"Okay," he said quickly.
"What?" She pulled back in surprise. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. People don't change their tendencies – I know I've said that before and I still believe it. I'm not saying I'm any exception. I will always want to go for the dramatic presentation – it's very ingrained, and yes, I do enjoy it. But if it's important to you that I not do that, I will control that urge when there is physical danger included. Because the consequences are too great." His face was open, his tone somber. He meant it.
"Promise?"
"I promise. I remember all too vividly what it was like that time you went into the house with Partridge without backup," he added quietly.
She gave him a rueful smile. He had looked like hell that morning in the hospital.
"I promise you, Teresa Lisbon, that I will do my best not to take unnecessary chances, from this day forward."
"Well. Okay then," she replied decisively.
He sat up, propping himself onto his good elbow, and reached between them to touch the angle of her jaw with the fingers of his casted hand. Then he leaned across the gap and kissed her. It was a simple, chaste kiss, but it made her tingle all the way to her toes. She expected – wanted – another, deeper kiss, but instead, he did something else.
Jane eased down onto the blanket and gathered her into his arms in a full body hug. The unspoken apologies, the years of undeclared love, his newly professed commitment – all of these things were somehow contained in an embrace of such tenderness it brought tears to her eyes. No one had ever held her like this before. "I promise," he breathed into her ear, planting a whispery kiss into her hair.
Before long, the vocal group begin to sing. Keeping his right arm around her he turned onto his back, and she snuggled into the crook of his arm. They lay like that though the whole concert, listening to the rich harmonies drift through the night air and reveling in the closeness they had denied themselves for so many years. She'd often wondered if it would be strange to be near him like this, but she shouldn't have worried - it felt natural. It felt right.
As the crowd gave the group an enthusiastic hand after their first number, Jane's curiosity got the better of him. "So, you knew how I felt – knew what I had planned – this entire time," he stated, shaking his head. "Was it what you expected?" he asked her frankly.
"Actually, I expected some grand gesture."
"I thought you'd prefer honesty."
"Good call. Very effective."
"Good to know."
"Oh, and that thing you said last night about bringing music back into your life? I really liked that."
"You got a strange look on your face when I said that. A new one I didn't know how to interpret."
"So I stymied the great Patrick Jane?" she teased.
"Temporarily."
"I was thinking I should go ahead and tell you I knew about your conversation with Phil, if you really want to know."
"Ah ha! That look was you, knowing something I didn't? No wonder I hadn't seen that one before."
She elbowed him hard, forgetting about his ribs.
"Owww!" he winced.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, with genuine concern. "I'm so sorry."
"Easy on the ribs, okay?" he requested, but quickly changed the subject. "Hey look, Teresa, the stars are gone. It's clouding up," he noted.
"They're still up there somewhere, I think," she grinned. "But yeah, rain may be on the way."
Soon it began to thunder, and as the group finished their last tune, stray raindrops began to fall. They packed their things, and by the time they were halfway back to the Airstream, the skies let loose.
They ran all the way, but they were sopping wet when they finally reached the shelter of the Airstream. Her hat had kept her hair partially dry, but Jane's was soaked through and through, as were their clothes. He kicked his wet shoes off and she did the same, and he fetched towels from the bathroom.
"Here, you're soaked," he said, handing her a towel. "You want a dry shirt?"
She was shivering. "Yes, please. I could use something dry. I'm cold."
He retrieved two clean shirts from his closet and handed one to her. "You change," he motioned her toward the bathroom, "and I'll make us some tea."
She stepped into the tiny bathroom, hung her wet shirt and bra in the shower, and dried herself off. Then she slipped on the dry shirt. His shirt, she thought with a voyeuristic sense of satisfaction. It was huge on her, and she rolled up the sleeves as she stepped out of the bathroom.
The teakettle was already heating on the stove, and two mugs sat ready on the counter. Jane had removed his wet shirt and was bent facing away from her, vigorously toweling his hair dry. He had a wonderful, muscular back, she observed, despite a scattering of brown and green splotches - his nearly healed bruises.
When he realized she was out, he turned around and smiled, obviously enjoying how his shirt swallowed her. "Warming up?" he asked. She took in his well-proportioned shoulders and how his biceps flexed as he dried his chest with the towel. Why yes, she thought, I certainly am. He threaded his cast into the arm of a dry white shirt, pulling it up and over his shoulders, and started fumbling with the button panels, trying to match them correctly.
She realized she couldn't let that happen. "That's not necessary," she said.
"Oh, it's no trouble," he assured her. "The tea will warm you right up." He was looking down at the buttons, still trying to align them.
She moved closer to him, invading his personal space. "No, I mean this," she said, grasping his unbuttoned shirt and lifting it back off over his shoulders. That finally got his attention, and he quickly searched her face. Slowly, one corner of his mouth turned up in a devilish smile that warmed parts of her other than her toes.
He didn't make a move, though. He was letting her take the lead, and so she did. She removed his shirt completely, peeling it off of his casted arm and tossing it aside. Then she ran her fingers over a faded patch of brown skin on his collarbone, letting her hand slip gently over the contour of his shoulder. She stood on tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his healing bruise. His breath hitched when her lips touched his skin, but he stood motionless. When she gazed into his shining eyes, he tilted his head to kiss her, and she met him halfway.
Unlike their first innocent kiss, this one was deep and intense. She reached up and pulled his head down closer to her, enjoying the feel of his damp curls between her fingers. His lips moved to the angle of her jaw, and then travelled down to the base of her neck, sending little shivers down her spine.
"You can have your shirt back," she murmured, and together they undid the buttons of her shirt. Then he guided it off of her shoulders, and the look of wonder on his face as he took in the sight of her made her tingle all over.
"Touch me," she said, giving him the only encouragement he needed, and soon his hands glided gently over her bare skin. When he lifted her breasts in his hands and kissed them, he whispered, "You are beautiful." Behind him, the teakettle began to whistle, and he twisted clumsily to find the off button. When he turned back to face her, their eyes met, doing a little tango, and they glanced simultaneously at the bed. Grins spread over both their faces, and she took his hand and led him back to the bed.
First, she helped him remove his pants, exposing more fading bruises. "Are you okay…I mean, can you…?"
He looked down at his bulging boxers and said, "I don't think there's going to be a problem."
"I mean the bruises. I don't want this to hurt you."
"Meh, I'll be fine. Just watch these ribs," he motioned to his lower right chest, " and this here," he pointed out a lump on his left thigh. "I'll let you know if anything hurts."
And with that, he helped her out of her pants, and they both slipped off their underwear, reveling for a moment in the sight of each other's nakedness. Then she threw the covers back and slid onto the sheets, lying on her stomach. "Did you buy this pillow just for me?" she asked, squishing the down pillow under her head.
"Yes, I did."
With a feather light touch, he ran his hand from the nape of her neck down her back, all the way to her bare buttocks, cupping one of them appreciatively "Teresa, you have magnificent hindquarters."
She laughed out loud. "Hindquarters? Seriously?"
"Don't like my terminology?" he asked playfully. "Buttocks? Butt? Tush? Ass? Deriere? Buns? Which would you prefer? Bodacious booty, perhaps?" He was having her on now, and she gave him a little smack on the arm. Any awkwardness they might have felt, however, had disappeared with their banter.
"Get in here," she summoned him, unwilling to wait any longer.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, sliding onto the bed beside her. The mood turned from humor to a sense of wonder, and they proceeded to make love with care. While she was mindful not to hit any of his sore spots, she understood he was busy discovering exactly what she wanted, finding out what gave her the most pleasure, and committing that knowledge to memory. They moved together deliberately - testing, exploring, learning each other's bodies - and savoring each new sensation.
As they lay together afterward, spent and satisfied, she knew she had made the right decision. He might be difficult, and exhausting, but this man would care for her always. She was at peace for the first time in a very long time, and she drifted off to sleep in his arms.
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Lisbon awoke alone, and quickly realized the Airstream was moving. She slid out of bed, pulled on one of his shirts, and made her way to the front of the RV.
"Hey," she greeted him. "Where are we going?"
Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached back and squeezed her hand. "We're almost to the hotel parking lot. Didn't want to get Officer Tucker in trouble for letting us park there."
She crawled into the passenger seat beside him. "I want to sleep here," she said. "With you."
"I was hoping you would," he smiled.
"But tomorrow, I'd like to get on back, if it's okay. I haven't even unpacked my stuff from El Paso."
"Okay. We'll leave first thing in the morning. Anything for you, m'dear," he assured her.
Damned if she didn't almost believe him.
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Thanks for reading. I must have rewritten this one five times, and I'm still not sure how it worked. I'm on vacation, though, and the margaritas have convinced me I should let it fly. I hope you enjoyed it. I have much of the next (last) chapter written, so it won't be long 'til the conclusion.
