A/N: We're back at the beginning now and that means dreams and memories and the ocean beyond the bay-doors. Towards the end we're also back in slightly M-rated territory. You have been warned (and I have no idea where that came from, but won't complain about it ;-). Thank you for sticking with this story, that has somehow become so much more than the little tag I've meant to write.
Where the hell had he wandered off to in the middle of the night?
And where the hell were her blouse and her jeans?
Teresa Lisbon knelt on her hands and knees on the bed, close to the edge, knowing fully well, that she probably looked like a distressed Labrador searching for its favourite toy. Which meant it was highly likely that Jane would chose this precise moment to re-enter the room through the open bay-doors and would be presented with a very clear and unobstructed view of her backside — and little else.
Which was good.
It might distract him long enough for her to spin around and pounce on him.
And it wasn't going to be a sexy kind of pounce — no matter how much the sight of him staring at her might distract her and dull her anger.
And she was angry. Because she'd woken up confused and feeling guilty and upset and the only reason for that was, that he hadn't been there. Because if he had been there, she would have known at once that her dream was a memory. A good one. She would have smiled at him in relief. Watched him sleep for a while. Stroked his face. And gone back to sleep herself, happy and content.
She would not have panicked at the thought that all of this might just have been another dream.
Not despaired at the thought that the dream of a touch from one man, still felt better than a real caress from another.
And she would not felt guilty like hell for the 24th time because of it.
She was angry, because she'd never wanted to wake up like this again: With that awful, sharp, tearing, ripping, searing pain of loss that left her heart and body heavy and numb and that usually took her almost all day to shake.
The first time it had latched on to her was about two weeks after Jane had left.
It had been with her ever since.
She'd dreaded it each time she'd fallen asleep, praying, hoping that it wouldn't return the next morning. After a year she had finally accepted with a dull feeling of resignation that it was here to stay. It was the price she had to pay for keeping Jane with her in her dreams.
The pain had been a little less intense once he was part of her daytime-world again, but the void it had left, had been quickly filled first with embarrassment and then with sadness at knowing that she needed to let the dream go. Let him go. And be left with nothing more than a familiar stranger, who'd always be close by, but never be close to her.
Once she'd been with Marcus, the sadness had gone as had a little more of the pain, but guilt had taken their place swiftly and efficiently. Guilt at sometimes still dreaming of one man and waking up next to another.
And she was angry, because the memory of the pain brought something else back. Something she had not even realised she'd finally managed to shake within the last 24 hours.
Resignation. The unchallenged, dull acceptance of all the things post-CBI-life had thrown at her. The feeling that all this pain had been for nothing in the end. Like so many things she had sacrificed and hoped and fought for all her life. The bitter knowledge that in the end no matter how hard she'd tried to change and adjust the course of her life's journey, in the end she always ended up alone, stranded in the middle of a sea of loneliness.
Or in Washington.
Which was basically the same thing.
She remembered how on a lonely Christmas up there, she had thought of all the people she had fought for and helped, everyone she'd protected, loved and cared for and how, once they were back — or in case of her brothers standing — on their own two feet, they had all left her behind, exhausted and completely on her own, while they moved on, striding towards happiness and life with a laugh and a wink.
She remembered how happy she had been when Rigsby and Van Pelt had visited her. How she'd felt whole and home again for a few minutes, thinking of it as a family reunion. And how heavy her heart grew, once she realised it was not much more than a social call to them. Realising they had moved on, truly moved on, when she'd asked Wayne if he missed the CBI and he'd shaken his head at once. Just a short while later they'd left in a hurry, their thoughts already back with their own family, their own lives.
She remembered that she hadn't really expected Cho to keep in touch, simply because, well, this was Cho. But one day she'd spoken to the FBI about a case and the agent had mentioned his name and she'd said they used to work together and the agent said "Really? He never mentioned you." — it had hurt. Even though it was probably nothing more than a case of Cho just being Cho. After all, he had sent her a Christmas card. And actually written more than his name inside it.
Jane had sent her a Christmas card as well. He had not written his name on it, but it had contained a lot more words than Cho's and had been the best present she could have hoped for. It had made her cry and laugh for the better part of an hour, the mixture of longing and loneliness and happiness and despair almost too much to bear.
Later she'd stood at the window looking out into the cold and the snow and the grey twilight of the late afternoon and when she'd raised the card up to her face once more, she'd caught a scent that was all sunshine and sea and warmth and light and she knew it should have triggered something in her, something she felt was there, somewhere deep inside her. But she was aware of it only for a second. And then everything was just grey twilight and a strange feeling of resignation and tiredness that kept her standing motionless in front of the window until twilight turned into darkness.
In the end she'd fallen asleep on the couch drunk and sad. She hadn't dreamt of Jane that night. The hangover was gone within a day. The heavy feeling of resignation and tiredness was still there at New Year's. And Easter. By the beginning of summer she didn't even notice it anymore. When she cleaned up her office on Thanksgiving she threw her application letter for a detective's job with Seattle PD into the bin.
There was no point in posting it anymore.
It had sat on her desk for three months already.
She stared down at the floor now, head hanging low, her legs and arms feeling heavy, the returning familiar feeling of resignation pushing against her back, making gravity suddenly seem unbearable, while the soft night breeze sweeping through the open bay-doors into the room, seemed to whisper to her, tempt her to just give in and crawl back into bed, and let sleep and the man of her dreams comfort her.
Open bay-doors.
Dreams.
Jane.
That brought back the anger. And a question. The anger made her move. The question made her peer down from the bed and scan the floor.
And the resignation and all the memories attached to it faded until it was nothing more than a dull, small, far away pain in the back of her head.
When her eyes caught sight of Jane's shirt and slacks on the floor, some of the anger made way for a mixture of curiosity, slight annoyance and relief. If his shirt and his trousers were still here, he couldn't have gone far, so he was probably just outside on the… balcony? Beach? She blinked towards the bay-doors, aware that she had actually no idea what lay behind them.
And then the anger left her, completely. She smiled and shook her head.
Almost eight hours of sleep.
All the mind-blowing things that had happened.
And food.
The sum of which meant, that Jane had probably gone up the walls with pent up excited mental energy, once she'd dozed off again.
She really shouldn't blame him that in that state of mind, checking out a mysterious balcony behind locked doors might have been a little more tempting than simply watching her snore into his chest for an hour.
She slid off the bed. Right now she was only wearing her underwear and her black top. She snatched up Jane's shirt and finally spotted her jeans on the floor, but decided in the end to leave it there. It was quiet outside and dark and his shirt covered enough of her thighs, so she was at least close to being decently dressed.
Especially compared to him.
She padded towards the bay-doors and stuck her head out into the night.
And that was when Teresa Lisbon forgot all about Washington and Pike and all the three letter law enforcement agencies. Just for a moment, she even forgot about Jane. After half a minute her brain was able to form the word "wow" in her head, but anything more elaborate probably had to wait until sunrise.
Beyond the bay doors lay neither balcony nor beach.
There was only the stars and the sea and a long wooden deck leading towards both. On either side the deck was lined and protected from rough sea and eyes alike by small artificial islands covered with a variety of palms and exotic plants, in which tiny golden lights flickered like happy fireflies, inviting her out onto the deck, and leading the way along the wooden platform far out towards the horizon.
Lisbon stepped out of the room and into the night. The wood felt warm and soft beneath the soles of her bare feet. She went to the edge and crouched down, fingers reaching beyond the wood and into cool water. She turned back towards the bay-doors and raised her eyebrows. Hotels were a bit like something from Dr. Who. Always seemingly bigger on the inside and full of doors and corridors that made you lose all sense of direction. She'd assumed the building was set further inland and much wider, had assumed a second or a third corridor might run along theirs. But it seemed the building was rather narrow at this side, consisted of only a ground floor and ended not on the beach, but just beyond the water's edge. It also seemed their room was the only one at this end. And thus the only one with direct access to the ocean. It also meant the deck was practically out of sight of every other room, while the artificial islands blocked any view from the beach or the water. They had, in essence, a private stretch of Atlantic Ocean all to themselves.
She stood up and took a few steps out onto the deck, then she stopped again, staring in awe at the sky above her, all dark blue and full of stars. High above the horizon, the full moon shone down on the sea, casting silver sparkles over the surface of the water.
Then her gaze went back down, following the wooden path from the bay-doors out towards the ocean. At the far end of the deck, where islands and wood ended and the water began, stood a silent figure, moonlight catching in his hair and flowing over his bare shoulders and down his back and arms.
Lisbon couldn't help staring and suspected that even if she had still been angry, any kind of pouncing on him would probably have turned into the sexy kind after all.
It took her a moment to trust her sense of balance enough again to take a step forward and she couldn't suppress a small sigh of relief, when her foot touched solid wood again. For a second she'd feared she'd just keel over and tumble unceremoniously into the sea.
Even though her anger and distress was gone, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd swept her off her feet after all.
Her feet made barely any sound on the warm wood. The night was quiet, except for the constant whisper of the big waves, crashing against the shore and the small island and the quiet bubble of much smaller waves licking at the edges of the deck. Lisbon tried to catch the sounds of the land behind her — cars, laughter, sirens,TVs on maximum volume — but the building and the islands were a solid wall against the urban white noise, so all she heard was the waves and the sea. All she saw ahead of her, was the stars and the ocean.
And Jane.
She was about to call out to him, not wanting to startle him, but her mouth fell shut again without a word leaving it.
He had turned just a little and lowered his head to look down at his foot. Or the darkness beyond the edge of the deck. Lisbon wasn't sure and it really didn't matter where he was looking anyway.
Because with a turn of the head, he had turned thoughts of sexy pouncing under a romantic full moon into cold, gut-wrenching fear in the darkness of the night.
She stared at his face, which was stained with regret and pain. For a moment she thought she'd lose her balance after all. For another moment she thought she wouldn't care if she did.
Because for one long, very long minute she shuddered, screamed, cried, howled inside at the dreadful thought that he might feel guilty about this after all, might regret this, his earlier resolve to be with her, to love her, a result of panic at losing the only person he had learned to trust. The only person he had left in his life.
She looked at him again. And the screams and howls and cries within her died down and she banished what was left of it from her soul and hurled it out into the night along with a forced, almost painful sigh.
She knew what his regret looked like, knew every line of guilt and shame, every shadow, every deep line, scar-like etched into his face. She knew the dark haunted look in his eyes, that seldom showed in daylight, but was always there when his face was in shadow, in darkness.
Oh yes, she knew what his regret looked like, especially at night, when he thought no one was watching him or that he was save under the cover of darkness.
And this was not the look she knew so well. This was pain of a different kind. She took another step towards him. Then another, her eyes never leaving his face, searching it, checking every shadow and every line. And then he looked up at the stars and the moon and sighed and she knew.
This was not pain for things lost, but for things missed out on. Not for what was, but for what could have been.
And she knew that, because she'd seen that exact same look before. On a pale ghostly face caught by light and shadow in the glass of a car-window, trapped in a mirror or dancing over the surface of a Christmas ornament.
Her own face.
And for another long moment — and even though it made her feel a little guilty — she was glad she saw that look on his face now, glad, because it told her, in no uncertain terms, that he'd felt the same pain she had.
And that meant, that even though it had felt like it for two years and a couple of months, she had never really lost him after all.
Just temporarily mislaid, maybe.
A bold little wave threw itself onto the deck and licked at her foot, leaving behind a startling cool sensation that snapped her out of her thoughts.
And brought on another.
She raised her eye-brows in concerned disapproval as she realised Jane was standing on both his feet. She was about to address him for the second time since they'd stepped out of the room.
And didn't.
When her gaze had shifted back to his face again, the pain and the regret had gone. What was left was a mixture between fierce determination and fear. He'd clearly made a decision. Then that expression was gone and she knew he had finally realised she was out here with him, when a smile spread back over his face. But he didn't turn around to greet her, just raised his head, to look back up at the moon and the stars and the sea.
Lisbon started to move, taking a few last steps towards him, her own emotions shifting along with his, thoughts, memories, both sad and happy, drifting out into the sea and the night, until there was nothing but them. And a deep sense of peace.
And a growing sense of something not quite like peace.
But equally welcome.
When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed a long soft kiss between his shoulder-blades. When he covered her arms with his, his fingers seeking hers, she closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her face and her body into his back, inhaling deeply the scent that was all Jane and the ocean and herself.
She thought her stomach started to feel funny again.
When Jane suddenly turned, and, without saying a word, slid a hand into her hair and cupped her face with the other, thought turned to conviction.
When he kissed her, deep and hard and with pure want and longing, when his hand slid from her cheek along her side and first under his shirt and then under her top, when she kissed him back, hands roaming over his bare chest, brushing away the soft spray of ocean water covering his skin, she thought "funny" did not really cover the feeling inside of her anymore.
He suddenly pulled back, not letting go, but just far enough to breathe out a few words between soft, short kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her nose and her neck.
"You… do… realise.. we're… practically… close… to… breaking… the…law…"
She smiled against his lips, ran a finger slowly down his chest.
"I was close to breaking something else when I woke up and you were gone", she said, very proud that it was a) a whole sentence and b) the one she had planned to say and not the one that was actually on her mind.
Telling him "This is amazing, please don't ever stop doing that" would have sent quite the wrong message in the context of this conversation.
He stopped the kissing for a second to look at her. A long serious look.
"I'm sorry. I just… didn't want to wake you."
She sensed there was more to it, but when his hand started moving again under her shirt and the long serious look turned into a long not so serious one, she knew that whatever it was, it could wait. Like everything else.
"Next time, wake me", she said against his lips. "There are far more important things than sleep."
"Hm… like dancing on the edge of illegal action", he replied, nuzzling her neck and drawing a long sigh from her, when his hands started exploring the skin on her abdomen, brushing teasingly up and down, almost making her say something stupid again.
But judging from the grin she felt against the hollow of her throat, he'd gotten the message — stop teasing and just go for it — anyway. She only hoped he'd gotten what it was referring to as well.
His hands moved.
Oh. Yeah. He got it. Good.
She brushed a hand over his boxers, feeling him moan against her neck. When he started to slide his shirt off her shoulder, she stopped him. As much fun as it was and as much as she hated to admit it — and as curious as it was, that he should be the one to mention it and not her — he was kind of right.
"Wait. This is Florida. Sex on the beach is really illegal here."
He grinned against her shoulder, kissed it. Then replied.
"We are not on the beach."
Her hand in his hair tightened when his lips moved lower.
"But we're not in international waters yet, either", she replied, impressed with herself that it was a sentence and not a moan and that she hadn't given into the urge to push her face into his neck and him down onto the deck.
Jane looked up from somewhere close to her breasts.
"Does that mean we have to arrest ourselves afterwards then?"
She looked down at him, brushed a curl out of his forehead and laughed at the adorable expression on his face.
"Probably."
She pulled him up and kissed him. After half a minute he drew back with a questioning frown.
"But we're federal employees. So we are bound by federal law, right? Is there a federal law about two very consenting adults making love on a private wooden deck out in the Atlantic Ocean at night?"
"I… really… don't… know."
Maybe she did, but he was doing that thing again that made thinking and remembering almost impossible.
He lowered himself to his knees in front of her, pushed her shirt up just a little so he could kiss his way across her abdomen, his hands running up and down her thighs now. She almost lost her balance and he held her tight for a moment, then dragged his lips up her abdomen, his nose pushing her shirt further up. Her hands were now in his hair. She wasn't sure if she was holding on to him or holding him in place. Not that it mattered. He chuckled against her skin.
"I'm shocked, Lisbon, really. How do you plan on enforcing the law if you don't know what the law is?"
"Sorry… I deal in serious crime… decency laws are not my field of expertise… really…"
Jane tugged on the sleeve of his shirt now and pulled her gently down. Once she was sitting on the deck next to him, Lisbon suddenly found herself on the other side of a sexy kind of pounce — and then beneath his strong body.
Good, at least we're really out of sight down here, she thought.
"Hm…" Jane said, trying again to get her out of his shirt.
"It's probably a good idea to brush up on the various state laws regarding … the regulation of adult outdoor activities."
"Why?"
He shrugged into her shoulder, then kissed it, then looked at her with a grin.
"Obviously, we'll continue to travel all over the country, so, it would be … you know… useful to know. So I don't end up in a legally compromising situation like this again."
"And what situation is that exactly?"
Lisbon gasped, when he shifted his weight above her, brushed his body against hers, his elbows resting on the deck, his hands touching the sides of her neck, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. She opened her eyes, when she felt his intense gaze on her. The fear and determination from before where burning bright in his eyes now.
"One in which I can't wait another second to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you, to let you know, to let you feel how much I love you. One in which I won't wait another second to start at least trying to make up for all the times I didn't. Kiss you. Touch you. Let you know I loved you. For all the times I wasn't…"
His voice broke along with a wave against the edge of the deck. There were tears in his eyes now. Or maybe it was just a reflection of the tears in her eyes. Or a reflection of the shimmering surface of the moonlit sea.
She took his face in her hands and smiled at him, her heart and body and mind so happy and free and light, she was glad he was keeping her down on the ground with his. Then she drew him down for a soft, light, tender kiss and whispered against his lips.
"Lucky then, that we are out of sight on private property and not on a public beach."
A/N: This took almost all day to write, so will fix any typos I've missed tomorrow ;-)
