A/N: At last we arrive at the conclusion. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I thank you once more for all your outpourings of love and support. Readers like you have been why I've continued to write for this fandom. Thanks so much for reading.
PS: The Epilogue has some elements of an "M" rating, so proceed with caution (or excitement, whatever the case may be).
Chapter 11: Conclusion and Epilogue
They settled into a routine, in which Teresa became the center of Jane's and Charlotte's world. She cooked, she cleaned, she taught, she cared for them both. But as time passed without his vision returning, his happiness at having Teresa in his life began to be marred by the reality of what his life would become if he stayed like this.
He could very easily have seduced her by now, but something had stopped him—his conscience? Maybe. More likely it was his pride, and an attempt at saving her from being with a man who would forever be dependent upon her. She needed someone who could take care of her, not the other way around.
Perhaps it would be best if he started distancing himself from Teresa for his own self-preservation as well, before he had lost his heart irrevocably, before Charlotte became too dependent upon her. Teresa was sleeping in her own bed again, given Charlotte's presence in the apartment. In unspoken agreement, both of them had deemed it inappropriate now. He didn't sleep nearly as well without her, but perhaps it was for the best.
It was in this mood that Teresa found Jane lying in his favorite place on the couch near the window, relaxing in the sun like a cat. His face had lost its ruddiness, and after a brief time of peeling, had revealed smooth new skin. He'd finally gotten to shave—or rather, Teresa had shaved him, an event that would always stand out in his mind as one of the more sensual events of his life. Even now he shivered in remembrance of the hot, wet, shaving cream kisses they'd shared on the bathroom floor. But he couldn't afford to dwell on that now.
"Jane?" she said softly, in case he was asleep.
He immediately stretched and sat up. "I'm awake."
He turned in her direction, the bandages on his sightless eyes now replaced with dark sunglasses. She sat beside him on the couch.
"It's almost time for your doctor's appointment."
"Meh. What's the point? All my bandages are off, I'm healing fine. Why do I need a doctor to tell me I still can't see?"
He could hear himself sounding bitter, depressed, despite his delight in Teresa and Charlotte's presence in his life. And he hated himself for it. Loss of sight was nothing compared to losing someone you loved. He should be reveling in the second chance he'd been given, not pouting on the couch like a spoiled child.
"Enough feeling sorry for yourself," Teresa chided, reading his mind for a change. "You're not dead, just blind. And I still have faith it's only temporary."
He tried to soften his tone. She didn't deserve the brunt of his foul temper.
"I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated."
She rested her small hand upon his.
"Don't lose hope, okay? And speaking of that, I've been thinking. You're bored. I know men sometimes gauge their personal worth by their jobs. I think you should start setting up appointments for giving psychic readings or shows, or whatever you want to do. Wouldn't being blind just add to the mystique of it all? Make you seem even more extraordinary?"
Jane frowned. "Well, in theory it would, if I were an actual psychic. But since I'm really just a fraud, I have to rely on what I see in order to feed them the bullshit they want to hear."
She was quiet a moment, taken aback by his sullenness. But she wasn't giving up.
"I could help you-be your eyes."
"What?" he said in disbelief. "You mean be my shill?"
"Well, yeah, I guess that's what you would call it. I'd watch the crowd, maybe talk to you through an earpiece—"
"I don't think you know what you're saying, Teresa. You would be essentially grifting people. You're not cut out for such dishonest work. You're going to be a cop, for God's sake." He sounded completely disgusted at the notion.
"It would only be temporary, until your sight—"
"It's not coming back," he interrupted. "We all just need to accept that this—" and he gestured with his red and scarred hands to his eyes—"this is to be my lot in life. My just desserts. Nothing that I didn't have coming to me, after the way I've lived my life."
She was quiet now, hurt no doubt by his rejection of her help, by his pessimism. But maybe this was good. Maybe he could correct his error of letting her back into his life, by preparing her for the time when his savings ran out and he would have no choice but to let her go. When that time came, he would be forced to go live with the carnie folk, rely on them to help take care of him and Charlotte, figure out some way to make a living. Until then, he really didn't have the heart to let her go. He was selfish that way.
"Is it time to go Miss Lisbon," asked Charlotte, entering the living room with her sweater and a new doll clutched to her chest. "Elsa and I are ready."
"Yes, we all are," Teresa brightly, meaningfully pressing on Jane's hand.
Jane made himself smile at his daughter, though that usually wasn't something he had to force. "Yes, let's go. No sense putting it off…"
Teresa frowned, but she helped Jane on with his jacket and they left for his doctor's appointment.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane had barely spoken since he had come out of the exam room on the supportive arm of a male nurse. When Teresa asked if he needed anything, perhaps a new prescription, he merely shook his head glumly. Even when they stopped at an ice cream parlor for Charlotte's promised treat, Jane wanted nothing to eat. This was unlike him. Ice cream could generally raise him from his occasional doldrums.
Even Charlotte noticed his mood, calling him a grumpy pants before taking the last bite of her soggy cone and running to play in the shop's attached playground. Teresa finished her own ice cream cone in silence at a nearby picnic table, listening to the sound of the children playing while staring sadly at Jane.
"What did the doctor say," she asked finally, when she could bear it no more.
He was quiet so long she wondered if he planned to answer at all.
"He says there's no reason I'm unable to see. My eyes are pretty well healed…"
"And he offered no possible explanation?"
"No. More folderol about giving it time."
"Well, did he sound like he was giving you false hope?"
"It's hard to say. Not like I'm psychic, you know."
She watched him adjust his sunglasses and turn his head toward the playground. Apparently this was the signal that he was finished with this conversation. Suddenly, Teresa was furious.
"Stop this right now," she bit out. "You're being a complete idiot. Even your daughter is catching on. If you think I'm going to just sit here and watch you—"
"Then don't," Jane snapped, his own anger low and dangerous. "You're free to go anytime. Just be so kind as to drop us off with Pete and Sam, and there will be nothing more to worry about. Go back to your own life and forget all about us. We'll be fine."
If he hadn't been recently injured, Teresa would have gladly punched him in the nose. Her right hand even formed a tight fist in instinctive readiness. She took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down, to look at his behavior objectively before she blew up and said things she might regret. He was angry, and rightfully so, but mostly, she realized, he was frightened. She looked down at her hand, allowed it to loosen and open in her lap.
"I'm not falling for this poor me act anymore," she said calmly. "I've felt you trying to push me away lately. You think I can't handle being with a man who can't see? Well, actually, there are all kinds of benefits to that when you think about it. For one, I'll never have to worry about fixing my hair and makeup around you. I can dress like a complete slob if I want. For another, I can stick out my tongue or flip you off whenever I feel the urge, and you will have no idea."
She saw the slight quirk of his lips.
"Well, that's mature," he said, but his tone had lost some of its edge.
"You won't be able to see me roll my eyes at you, or see the grocery bill, or whether I've vacuumed the floor…"
Jane's hand snaked out across the fiberglass table until she met him halfway. He directed his head toward her, laced his scarred fingers with hers. His other hand rose tentatively to touch her cheekbone.
"But I also won't be able to see how your green eyes flash when you're angry with me."
His fingers slid down to her lips, traced the bottom curve with one finger. She held her breath as a wave of heat suffused her body.
"I won't be able to see your beautiful dimpled smile that made me feel like someone punched me in the gut. I won't be able to help you put a puzzle together with Charlotte, or read her a bedtime story, or see how beautifully my own daughter grows up. Will she continue to look like me, or will there be some of Angela there? I won't be able to tell. So forgive me the self-pity," he finished in resignation. "And you might also want to start looking for another job."
He dropped his hand and her breath came out in a rush. He turned away from her, focusing again on the general sound of children playing.
As much as she wanted to respond to each anguished point, as well as to his attempt at getting rid of her for good, she recognized that he was not in an emotional place where he was open to listening to her. But being the person she was, Teresa couldn't resist having the last word in this discussion. She got up from the table and stood beside him, her hand falling to his shoulder. She felt him tense.
"There are different kinds of blindness, you know," she said softly.
With a gentle squeeze of her hand, she left him to go collect Charlotte.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sometimes Jane really missed the cavernous emptiness that had been the Ruskin mansion. In this small apartment, there weren't many places to hide, particularly from oneself, not to mention from a woman he was tragically in love with. And there was not a drop of alcohol in the whole damn place with which to deal with these newfound, unwanted emotions. He would have to ask Pete to remedy that next time he dropped by.
It was nighttime now, a fact Jane knew from the lack of warmth emanating from the living room window, and the subsequent good-night kiss from Charlotte. She sat in his lap for a moment in her pajamas, her hair still damp from her bath.
"Don't be sad, Daddy," she said. "Miss Lisbon said we have to have faith that you won't be blind anymore."
He didn't have the heart to tell her that their faith was misguided. The sooner they all accepted his plight, the better.
"You are a very kindhearted girl," Jane said, lovingly kissing her forehead. "And I love you more than my two eyes, or my two hands—"
She giggled. "Or your two feet?"
"Definitely more than those stinky old things."
"Or your two ears?" she asked, continuing the game.
"My what?" He held a hand to his ear in exaggerated deafness.
"Your ears, Daddy," she said, making her voice louder to be heard.
"Oh, my steers? We don't have any cattle, Princess." She laughed in complete hilarity.
"What about all your teeth?"
He sucked his lips in over his teeth, in a semblance of a toothless old man. "Eben my teef."
And so it went on, with his ribs and his knees and everything Charlotte could think of that he had more than one of. By the time Teresa led her off to bed, the little girl was exhausted from laughter. Teresa too had chuckled from the sidelines at their antics. Both father and daughter had a knack for humor and showmanship. They might consider taking their act on the road, she mused, as she tucked the child in and helped her say her prayers.
With Charlotte safely ensconced in her bed, Teresa passed through the living room on her way to her own bedroom.
"Good night, Mr. Jane," she called. "If there's nothing else you need, I'll be in my room for the rest of the evening."
"Good night," he said absently, and Teresa made it all the way into her room before the tears began fall. He had lapsed completely back to the cold man she had first met, allowing his anger at the world to shield him from any chance of happiness—except of course, when it came to Charlotte.
Teresa wondered how long it would be before he couldn't help displaying his emotions even around his daughter. Already, the girl was bright enough to sense he was unhappy. If he wasn't careful, Charlotte would start blaming herself for his sadness, would try to do whatever she could to please him. Teresa understood that feeling all too well, for she'd been there with her drunk, angry, and depressed father, how she began to take on his burdens as her own, even the burden of guilt. She would point this out to Jane tomorrow, she told herself. If she couldn't successfully appeal to hope and faith, maybe he'd respond to a heavy dose of reality.
She ached for him, because she understood his fear of what his life might be now. And despite her abiding faith, that faith was being sorely tested, for she feared for Charlotte as well. Along with that she selfishly mourned the loss of what might have been between them. She loved him.
Teresa couldn't pinpoint precisely when it had happened, but she knew beyond a doubt that she did. She reached into her heart for the boundless supply of hope she could usually find there, but as each day had passed, she could feel it slipping away, a little at a time, and she vowed in that moment that she wouldn't let that happen. No matter what became of Jane, she wouldn't let herself become bitter and pessimistic.
Dropping to her knees on the carpeted floor, she prayed harder than she could ever remember praying, her throat choked with desperate tears.
"Please God, free Patrick from this burden. Restore his faith in life. Give me the strength to help him through whatever comes…"
And somewhere in her heart, Teresa knew God had heard her, for a profound peace settled over her. She desired nothing more than a long, hot shower to take away the residual tension of the day, confident now that tomorrow would be better.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The light from the window awakened him, and Jane found this fact extremely annoying. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, and his neck had a crick in it from the flat throw pillow beneath his head. He moaned a little and opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light of morning.
With a sharp cry, he sat up. He blinked again, and for the first time in a month, the world came into focus. He rose, barking in pain as he stepped on and broke his discarded sunglasses. But he didn't care. He went excitedly to the window, gasping in wonder at the beauty of the rising sun sparkling upon the distant river.
"Teresa."
He breathed out her name like a prayer of thanksgiving.
He turned from the window, weeks of maneuvering in the dark taking him unerringly to her door. He didn't bother knocking, or being quiet. He moved to her bed and stood for a moment, taking in her sleeping form like a child would admire his gifts on Christmas morning. Her dark hair was a mess upon her pillow, the blankets low on her back, revealing a white tank top with no bra. She was lying on her stomach, the one creamy cheek he could see flushed with sleep, her mouth open slightly as she breathed deeply, in an out.
"Teresa," he said again, but her name came from his dry throat in an unrecognizable croak.
He sat on her bed and kissed that rosy cheek. She stirred immediately.
"Patrick," she said dreamily.
He kissed her again, this time at the corner of her lips.
"Patrick?"
She turned her face to look at him, disoriented to realize that no, he wasn't a dream. Her other cheek was creased by the pillow, and her breath in the morning was far from sweet. Her hand came up to her mouth self-consciously.
"You're so beautiful," he said, eyes glistening. He bent and, nudging aside her hand, took her mouth anyway.
It was in the midst of his passionate kiss that she realized that when he'd called her beautiful, he'd been looking at her—really looking at her. His green eyes had been bright with tears and an emotion she hesitated to name. She turned her face away so she could find out if she'd only imagined what she'd seen. Merely detoured by her evasive maneuver, his mouth moved to her cheek, then her neck, his lips hot and seeking, his hands drifting down to her breasts.
"Teresa," he said again.
But Teresa had other ideas. She put her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head so she could look into his face. His eyes were no longer dull and sightless, but smiling brightly down into hers. She hadn't been dreaming after all.
"Patrick? Can you see me?"
He swallowed. "Yes," he said. "And I love what I see. I love you, Teresa. For never giving up on me, even though I've been a complete ass at times. For having faith when I had lost all hope." He kissed her gently. "I love you. And if I haven't screwed things up again, I never want you to leave. Stay with me. Live with me. Help me take care of Charlotte. Let me take care of you."
"I never had any doubt," she said, her own eyes filling with tears. She gingerly touched the faint shadows beneath his eyes, traced his thick blonde eyebrows.
Jane's eyes narrowed. "Liar," he teased.
She blushed. "Well, maybe a little, when you became so beastly I wanted to sock you in the nose."
He grinned. "What stopped you?"
She shrugged. "Well, you'd been injured…"
Jane chuckled. "I'll have to remember that the next time you're mad at me. Hurt myself first before you have the chance."
"You'd better not," she said vehemently. "If I even suspect—"
But he silenced her with another kiss, and soon she forgot every chastising word she'd been about to say.
"Tell me you love me," he said against her lips, a few blissful moments later.
Teresa's heart was by now pounding loudly in her ears, each beat only confirming how in love she was with this charming, infuriating, amazing man. But there was no way she'd be bullied into admitting her feelings one minute before she was ready.
"You can't boss me into loving you," she said. "These things shouldn't be rushed. We've only known each other a few weeks…"
He shook his head in amused exasperation. "You are truly the most stubborn woman I've ever met in my life," he said, but his words came out like a romantic ode, and one finger traced the golden cross at her throat.
"But you love me anyway," she said with an impish grin. He lovingly kissed each dimple.
"You're never going to let me forget I said it first, are you? You're going to hold out on me as long as you can, just so you can passive-aggressively exert your considerable power over me."
"When—if I ever tell you I love you, it will be at a time of my own choosing. You'll just have to be patient."
And she gave him an altogether unsatisfying peck on the lips before attempting to disentangle herself from beneath his body. But he held her down with his greater weight.
"I can see now. Doesn't that deserve some celebration?" He moved his hips wickedly, persuasively against hers.
She blushed at the blatant sensuality in his gaze, in the hard length resting between her thighs. "Isn't that what we were just doing?"
"Don't answer a question with a question."
"Again with the bossiness. You know, someday I'm going to be an FBI agent, with a hundred men rushing to follow my orders—"
"A hundred?" he interrupted skeptically. She ignored him.
"—so I think you should show a little more respect."
"Oh, I respect you all right. I'll worship every curve of your wonderful body, fulfill your every desire, obey your every command—just give me those three little words and I'll be putty in your hands."
His expression had become serious, and she could feel his heart beating rapidly against hers in anticipation of her answer. Suddenly, she was tired of holding back, tired of denying herself what she most wanted in the world. She took a deep breath.
"I—"
"Miss Lisbon! Daddy!"
Jane rolled immediately from her body and was standing by the bed faster than Teresa had ever seen him move. At the same time, Teresa pulled the blanket up around her chest and helpfully tossed him a pillow. Holding it to his crotch, Jane silently cursed himself for not shutting the door behind him, just as Charlotte, pajama-clad and carrying her doll, walked through the open doorway.
"There you are!" said Charlotte. "Elsa and I are starving. May we please have pancakes?"
She looked from her father to Teresa and stood still, intuitively sensing the change in the air. Her green eyes suddenly widened.
"You're not wearing your sunglasses, Daddy."
"No, I'm not," he said, smiling proudly. "What do you suppose that means?"
"You can see!"
Instead of running to him, however, she ran to the bed and climbed into Teresa's arms.
"You were right, Miss Lisbon! You told me if I prayed very hard God would listen. And He did!"
"Yes, sweetheart," she said, meeting Jane's eyes over his daughter's small shoulder. "He always does."
I love you, she mouthed to Jane. She was pleased to see his eyes soften with returned affection.
She supposed this had been as perfect a moment to tell him as she could have ever wished for.
Epilogue
Two months later…
They eloped to Hawaii, just the two of them. The ceremony was on the beach at sunset, with traditional leis around their necks, flowers in her hair, their feet bare in the sand. After the ceremony, Jane carried Teresa over the threshold of their hotel room, his mouth fused to hers the moment he closed the door with his sandy foot. He didn't set her down till he reached the bed.
He began at once to work at the buttons on the bodice of her white gauze dress, while she laughed, pushing his hands and mouth away.
"Patience," she said breathlessly. "I bought an entire trousseau-at your insistence, I might add."
"I was an idiot. You won't need any clothing at all for the next five days."
She managed to fake him out and zig when he zagged, landing on the floor and practically running to the bathroom to escape him. He leaned his head against the closed door, breathing heavily.
"We've been waiting for two months. I'm finding it very uh, hard, to wait any longer, now that I obeyed your wishes and made an honest woman of you first."
"So you can wait five more minutes," she called through the door, as she slipped off her wedding dress and grabbed the white penoir she'd hung on a hook.
In truth, waiting to marry had been extremely difficult for her too, even though everyone—her brothers, his friends-called them crazy to be jumping into marriage so soon. Jane was of the carpe diem mentality, having known firsthand the ephemeral nature of life on this earth. And for the first time in her life, Teresa went with her heart first, and not her brain, willingly accepting the risk, finding that every day since his sight had been restored she had been more certain that she could never love anyone more than she loved Patrick Jane. On this basis alone, she could think of no reason to wait. Her college expenses would no longer be a worry, Jane had assured her. He wanted her to pursue her dreams.
She shivered as the cool silk slipped over her head, the thin straps settling on her shoulders. She fluffed her hair, powdered her nose, adjusted the pink hibiscus behind her ear. Her cross caught the light as she studied herself in the mirror, and she pressed her fingers to it, pleased with herself that she had honored her God and her mother by waiting.
Another chill coursed through her, even as she donned the matching robe, and she found she was suddenly, intensely nervous. Jane would be gentle, of that she was certain. But she wished she'd had her mother here to give her last-minute advice, that her father had been alive and sober enough to have walked her down the aisle. A tear slipped from her eye, and she hastily wiped it away, then retouched her makeup. This was not a day for sadness or regrets. She had married a beautiful, endlessly complex man who challenged her mind and captured her soul.
With him came an amazing daughter who would continue to be the center of their lives. It had been a crazy six months, but Jane's tragic past was behind them now, and in the words of her mother (and Irving Berlin), there would be nothing but blue skies from now on.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane opened the sliding glass door to the balcony overlooking the ocean, breathing in the fresh air of a tropical paradise, willing it to calm him. But it was exceedingly difficult to find peace when he felt more excited than he'd ever been in his life.
He had loved his wife—his first wife—but this second chance was a gift he would not waste this time. He had managed to overcome so many horrible things, only to come out on the other side to a happiness he feared could vanish at any moment. Because of this, he was going to try his best to be the man Teresa deserved, a father Charlotte would be proud of. He wanted to live now with no further regrets.
He would use his gift of insight to help others, whether it was the police, or by being a sort of life coach. He no longer claimed to be a psychic, calling himself a mentalist instead, using his mental acuity and even his skills at hypnosis to help improve people's lives.
Some of his former private clients had balked at his new methods, insisting he attempt to look into their future or communicate with their lost loved ones. He told them he could only give them advice now, could tell them the likely motives of their husbands or wives, help them quit smoking or choose the job that would fit them best. He'd lost some clients, but gained others, reworked his show by being more aboveboard with the source of his talents. The house had not been nearly as full lately, but at least he would return to Charlotte and Teresa with a clear conscience.
What's more, he could let Angela go now, knowing there had been justice for her death, that he was now in the emotional position to raise their daughter properly. And he knew in his heart Angela wouldn't want him to be doing it alone.
The remains of the Ruskin mansion had been bulldozed; the stones that weren't charred had been hauled off to a quarry to be used in someone else's home. Had he been a more spiritual man, Jane would have hoped they would not be cursed or haunted by the ashes of those who had died there. He'd salvaged what few personal items he could from the house, but there was little left that wouldn't be a reminder of the horrible time he'd spent there.
With testimony from the doctors at Lorelei's mental institution, the deaths there were ruled accidental, and the inquest never contradicted his account of what had happened there. The only others who knew the secrets of that house were Pete and Teresa, and he trusted them implicitly to keep them.
The dead would forever hold their peace.
"I would come out there," called Teresa from within, "but I'm afraid someone would be able to see through my nightgown."
Jane came back inside in a flash, and he beheld his gorgeous new wife in blatant appreciation.
"Well, that's one way to call me in to dinner," he said with a grin. "Wow."
She blushed. "Well, you picked this out."
"And boy do I have good taste."
She rolled her eyes, but laughed, as he'd intended, relaxing them both a bit.
"Would you like some champagne?" he asked, moving to the ice bucket on a nearby table, where a pretty bottle chilled just for them.
"No," she said. "It'll just go to my head. I haven't eaten."
He frowned. "I'll call room service."
"I couldn't eat a thing. I might throw up."
"Well, that's a lovely vote of confidence," he said dryly. He walked toward her, taking her cold hands in his, felt the reassuring smoothness of her new white gold wedding band that matched his own. "Don't be afraid; I've done this before. I promise it will be incredible."
"How can you make such a guarantee?" she asked skeptically, but her pulse escalated at his touch, contradicting her words.
He released her hands to glide his up to her shoulders, slipping them beneath the silky robe. He slid off the soft garment, allowed it to puddle at her feet.
"Oh, yes. I believe I can. Now," he said, his eyes boring intently into hers. "Where were we?"
He removed her gown slowly, starting from the bottom, kissing his way up as each patch of supple skin was revealed to his touch, to his heated gaze. He felt her legs begin to shake, felt her holding onto his shoulders for dear life when he kissed one soft inner thigh. He looked up at her face, relishing the passion he already saw there. With a small smile, he leaned forward, burying his face between her trembling thighs, parting her with his tongue.
He pleasured her with his hands and mouth until she sobbed his name, eyes squeezed shut, her fingers unconsciously tugging at his curls. Reverently, he kissed her upon her soft thatch of dark hair before carrying her limp body to the bed. Still in a daze, she barely moved as he stepped back to remove the new suit he'd had specially tailored in San Francisco.
She seemed to awaken from her stupor as he stood before her in only his boxers. She sat up, resting her hands tentatively on his waist, looking up at him with bright eyes.
"Let me do that," she said.
She took a page from his book, slipping her hands beneath the legs of his underwear, caressing his firm behind before trailing her nails to the front again, to the baby soft skin where his thighs connected to his torso. She was pleased when he shivered, his stomach muscles tightening before her eyes. Taking him completely by surprise, she pressed her open mouth to his hardness, breathing hot air into the cotton surrounding him, delighting when he moaned his approval. He became harder still.
After a few more moments of delicious torture, Jane decided he could no longer endure her playful experimentation. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Taking matters into his own hands, he stripped himself of his last garment, and covered her body with his. The feeling of skin upon skin was indescribably wonderful, and they both groaned with pleasure. Jane kissed her mouth deeply, drawing from her another moan that hummed against his lips. Moving lower, he drew the tip of one breast into his mouth. She shuddered and held him there while he gently nipped and laved each tight nipple until she thought she would go insane. She was no longer afraid or nervous—she wanted him inside of her with a primitive longing she couldn't explain had she even the coherence to try.
"Are you ready?" he asked raggedly, his mouth moving to her ear.
"Yes," she breathed.
"Bend your knees," he directed, sweat forming on his brow as he struggled for patience.
When she'd complied, he reached between them, poised himself at her entrance. They both knew he was about to hurt her, and she suddenly tensed.
"Shhh," he crooned.
He kissed her again, and the moment he felt her relax, he joined his body with hers. She gasped at the burning pain, and his hands came up to rest on either of her flushed cheeks. He was breathing heavily now, his endurance at a razor's edge.
"Are you okay?" he managed.
"Yes."
He remained still a moment, allowing her to adjust to the sensation of his filling her, before he slowly withdrew. Instinctively, she raised her hips to draw him back, and Jane abruptly and willingly lost his battle with control.
He found happiness and release in her body, but mostly, Patrick Jane had finally found peace.
THE END
A/N: I don't know when or if I will ever write another "Mentalist" story, but if this is the last, please don't be sad or question my devotion. I have written around 125 tags, stories, collaborations and AU's for this fandom, spanning five years. I am satisfied with my contribution, and will forever love this fandom and this show. I am more grateful than you know for those who have read and reviewed, along with those who have silently enjoyed my work. This experience has made me love to write again, and perhaps has given me the courage to write for my own original characters. Wish me luck.
Currently, I know no other show that inspires me to write fanfiction, but I'm hopeful that might happen again sometime. "The Mentalist" is a very special show, as you all well know; it will be very difficult to replace in my heart.
So thank you again, loyal readers. It has been a joy to write for you.