Author's Notes: A somewhat longish chapter. Thank you yaba for your tireless efforts!

Thank you reviewers for leaving me a note: lisbon69 (Ah yes, I haven't seen the movie before, but saw the trailer. The guy looks good in work clothes lol!), shopping-luva91 (You may need to wait a couple of chapters to answer that question…), jamielouise (Thanks for leaving a comment! Glad you liked my stories!), Simonisthecuttestmentalist, mwalter1 , The Lonely Fox, Ebony10 (I am very gratified by the use of "poignant" in reference to my writing!), Penelope charmosa (Thanks!), xxxBekaForEvaxxx (Not at all! And yes, you might see another reference to it in the future…), Hikaru Ceres (Thank you very much!)

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Chapter 14

Tuesday started out normal enough, with the exception that Jane now was tentatively living with Lisbon. He had mentioned something about conserving water rather slyly to which she rolled her eyes and responded that he could just not take a shower. Besides, he had no offering of coffee and it was difficult enough trying to survive the morning drive to get to the office and the break room sludge.

He was summarily locked out of the bathroom.

Lisbon arrived at the office first; no one from her team had yet arrived. She checked her watch, 'Hm, made pretty good time today,' she thought, despite now waking up next to someone in bed. She wondered what he was doing; he could theoretically arrive earlier than her with how he usually drove if they left at the same time.

She slid into work mode, hanging her dark blazer on the coat tree and settled into her office chair. Her desk phone rang and she picked it up, answering.

"I know."

Lisbon sat frozen, chilled by the simple words and the abrupt hang up right after them. The handset was still held to her ear, hearing nothing but beeping. She set the phone down slowly, her stomach churning. Who was that? It was definitely a man's voice, but in the suddenness of it, she could not identify it. Was it a threat? It wouldn't be the first time she received a threat by mail or phone; it was an inevitability that all law enforcement officers faced after a period of time, especially with all the arrests she had made in her career. The fact that the words used were "I know" was more disturbing than an outright threat against her life. What did they know? What were they going to do with what they knew? Who was it? She blanched, feeling sick, her lips cold. Was it Red John? Did he know about her and Jane?

Lisbon tried to calm her mounting panic, swallowing against the rising bile, heart trying to burst up her throat. No, it wasn't his style, right? He left notes for Jane to find, or directed at Jane to taunt him, he didn't make personal phone calls. Right?

She wasn't naïve, she had thought of the possible implications of being with Jane, was certain he had thought it through. The serial killer knew when the case had been taken away from Lisbon's team, had "returned" it to them by killing Bosco and his team. He had his inside sources, so whether or not they developed this sort of relationship, Red John clearly showed and probably reveled in the fact that he had easy access to them all. They couldn't think too much on that and let it rule their lives, always looking over their shoulders, because nothing could change that the killer was out there, toying with them. The reality was that he could stay out there for years, possibly never to be caught, but life went on, it had to.

Lisbon was shaken out of her catatonic state when her door swung open, a cup of coffee came in, followed by Jane's smiling face. His smile fell almost immediately upon observing Lisbon and he quietly closed the door behind him, "What's wrong?"

Her eyes flicked up at him, his concerned eyes searching, she then glanced down at the cup in his hand just to look elsewhere, to think.

"It's nothing," she said instinctively.

"It certainly is not 'nothing'. Something happened," he insisted, then glanced at her phone, "Someone called and said something? Don't lie, your eyes were dancing around the phone."

"Don't worry, it was probably nothing," she said, trying to sound her usual self, recovering a bit from her ill feelings.

"Teresa, you don't always have to do everything by yourself, let me help," he continued, having placed the coffee on her desk, approaching her.

"Stop right there," she said sharply, looking pointedly to the partially open blinds of her office. Stepping more into her role of authority, a shield of sorts against tumultuous feelings, she said, "It's not your concern, I'll log it like usual and someone else will take care of it. Nothing for any of us to handle."

Jane made a dissatisfied noise, but couldn't really say anything to that. Then a question presented itself, "Do you get many threats?"

"At least one every few months during a good year," she said matter-of-factly, as if it was a normal occurrence; she was actually playing it down. She received at least a threat or two every month, usually in paper form, not something he needed to know though. Most threats were benign and had been dealt with by other officers. Though, by the way the consultant was looking at her she knew he saw straight through the white lie meant to reassure him.

"Fine."

His mouth was pressed together in aggravation and he threw up his hands, leaving her office and making his way to his couch, sitting on it and swinging his legs up, immediately crossing his arms tightly over his chest and closing his eyes facing the back of the couch. Lisbon sighed. It looked like it would be a long day.

***

"JANE! What the hell was that?!"

Lisbon was tromping after her wayward consultant after he had verbally assaulted the grieving mother of a murder victim. The victim was a thirty-six-year-old man who lived in his mother's basement, spending most of his days on the computer or at the local comic book shops that hosted tabletop war games. He was found dead in the woods.

Through the course of the interview with the victim's mother at her home, Jane had become increasingly irritated, finally going off on the mother, asking how she could indulge her son so much. He accused her of heaping the guilt of her failed marriage on her son, feeding him enough trash to cause his obesity, and facilitate his slothful lifestyle, greedily keeping him as a child forever who stayed dependent on her, not allowing him to grow up and move out. In essence, allowing her son to become a failure.

Lisbon had tried to stop his needling accusations which had caused the older woman to wail and scream. Jane had turned and left after saying all that he had wanted, Lisbon hot on his heels after apologizing for his behavior, not that it mattered. She was already feeling a headache rising to the fore, anticipating calls from the woman's lawyer, Public Relations, possibly even the District Attorney.

The senior agent chased down Jane at the sidewalk, grabbing his arm and roughly turned him around; he shook her off, but didn't walk away. His hands were firmly in his pockets and he gazed off to the side, squinting in the bright sunlight.

"Jane, regardless of how you feel about that woman's lifestyle choices she is nonetheless a grieving mother who had just lost her only child. You cannot speak so callously, you need to be more sensitive, or at least keep your mouth shut!" she reprimanded, her own arms crossed against her chest.

She seemed to be waiting for something, some acknowledgment that he got the message that he understood and wouldn't do it again (even if she knew it was likely to happen again in the future). He finally faced her, his icy gaze almost causing her to take a step back.

"I'm tired of all the time so many people waste," he finally said. Jane pulled a hand out of his pocket to point an accusing finger at her, "and why won't you tell me what happened? Anyone threatening you is damn well my business."

She was startled by his words; this was a side of him she rarely saw. Intense and angry. It was often easy to forget that the same man who smiled everyday at everyone, who slept on the couch through informal meetings, who brought coffee and donuts for the team, was also the same man who had so coolly told her how he was going to end Red John's life as he did with his wife and child. This wasn't about them though, it was about his unprofessional attitude, which yes, may be linked with what happened this morning, but shouldn't be and he had taken it out on an old woman.

"Jane, I need to you apologize to that poor woman for your inexcusable behavior. It wasn't fair to her," Lisbon firmly told him. She held his gaze steadily in a stare down that even Cho would have felt uncomfortable in. She began to fear that he wouldn't back down when he finally blinked, something in his stance changed; it wasn't exactly that he had relaxed, but something, a shift, had occurred. His face was blank; his eyes no longer cold, but not warm either.

"Fine," he said, walking past her, back up to the house. She was beginning to hate that word.

***

When they got back to CBI headquarters, the rest of the team knew it. Lisbon had just stormed past everyone and straight to her office, just stopping from slamming the door since it and the surrounding walls were made of glass, but there was still the swishing banging of the blinds from the abrupt movement. The team then spotted Jane seemingly strolling in.

Rigsby couldn't help himself, "What did you do this time?"

Jane ignored him and went to his couch, laying down on it and closing his eyes. Rigsby traded meaningful glances with Cho and Van Pelt. One didn't often witness a comment less Jane after the advent of a storming Lisbon. This was bad.

Lisbon was slamming things around in her office; she was seething. She had thought Jane had gone back in to apologize, but instead she had found him hypnotizing the woman, suppressing her memories of the incident, or at least confusing the woman as to their presence. By that point Lisbon just blew her top, excusing them and hauling Jane to the car. She had briefly contemplated leaving him there to call a taxi back, but didn't want to risk that he would do something else to the woman when left to his own devices.

She was so angry she couldn't say anything to him and just drove back to the office, hearing only the buzzing in her ears, the pounding of blood in her head, a migraine forcing its way, no longer simply impending. She just didn't know what to say to him, had given up on saying anything. Nothing she said would change what happened, nothing she said would likely change his behavior in the future. She needed to cool off before she broke something. If only he would look the slightest bit repentant.

Lisbon finally slumped at her desk, pulling open a drawer and digging out her migraine medicine. After swallowing the pills, she just rested her forehead against her hands then tried massaging her temples.

What did she see in that man? She knew she needed to cool off so that she wouldn't make any rash decisions. If only her boyfriend at home and the consultant at the office were two different people, she could gripe about him and let the boyfriend try to soothe her. No such luck, another reason why she had originally objected to office relationships aside from regulation books. Where did the office end and home begin?

There was no way she could actually try to leave "baggage" at the door when she went home, especially when that "baggage" was now living with her. The only other men that could help soothe her currently was in the form of a tub of ice cream in her freezer, just begging for her to go at it with a spoon, that or a bottle of wine. Maybe both. She could annex her living room for "girls only" and wine and dine by herself in front of the TV. That was only wishful thinking she was sure, but she could try.

The day was only half way over, it was just dragging on, though she wished it would end already. The migraine wasn't going away.

There was a soft rapping at her door, the sound sending spikes of pain through her forehead.

"Come in," she called out, bracing herself for more painful noise.

"Boss?" it was Van Pelt, "We have a lead."

Lisbon held in a sigh, fingers still pressed against her head, she looked up, "Okay, give me a moment, I'll be out there in a couple minutes."

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, no longer the subordinate, but a friend. The younger woman's eyes held the concern she had been feeling since Jane and Lisbon returned from questioning the mother.

Teresa finally let out the sigh she had been holding, "Thanks, I'll be fine. Just need a moment."

Grace nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile, "Okay, we'll be out there."

The door quietly clicked shut. Lisbon took a moment to collect herself and assess the pain in her head. She felt that there was a slight difference already, took a slow breath in and exhaled just as slowly. She needed to get back to work whether or not the headache remained.

***

Lisbon finally arrived home, and after spotting Jane's Citroën parked out by the sidewalk had a fleeting fancy of driving away. Despite the medicine she took, the migraine had remained, if not as prominently as before. She caught Jane shooting her concerned looks throughout the afternoon, annoying her. If he got so worried about her headaches why didn't he stop and think? Stop, think, and respect the proper way to do things. Didn't he realize that half her headaches at work were caused by him?

She slowly made her way to the door, bracing herself. If she and Jane could just ignore each other this evening, that'd be fine by her. She took a breath and unlocked the door.

Stepping through the doorway, she immediately noticed Jane preparing dinner in the kitchen. He looked at her with a small smile, her ridiculous apron on him, chopping vegetables. She closed the door and set her keys, gun, and badge on the table. Wordlessly she headed upstairs. She just wanted to take a long bath and go to sleep, erase this whole day and her headache.

In the bedroom, she noticed that her sleepwear was folded and on the bed. She pulled off her blazer and hung it in the closet before picking up the folded clothes. When she opened the bathroom, steam escaped and she noticed a towel set out on the bathroom counter and candles lighting the room. She could smell the soothing bath salts in the air. The bathtub was full of hot water. She almost wanted to weep. One would think it was because she was touched, but in it was a sense of deep frustration. Did he think preparing a bath, making dinner, absolved him? He always tried to patch things up after he had pissed her off. Yes, a hassle free night is what she needed, but she wouldn't have needed it if he had just stopped and thought of her welfare before the whole debacle.

It was relatively easy to clear her mind once she started her bath, the dim candle lighting, no sounds but the lapping water, the clean, warm scents of bath salts. It was all soothing. She didn't leave until her fingers and toes had pruned with the water turning tepid. She hadn't forgiven Jane yet, but most of her migraine had been soothed away. Now the time came for some sleep to eradicate it.

***

Jane sat at the table, spaghetti growing cold on their place setting for Lisbon and him. It was way past time that she should have finished her bath. He had heard doors opening and closing. Maybe she went straight to bed just to avoid him. He knew she had been experiencing a migraine that day, he hadn't particularly helped with that, but he had hoped she would talk to him.

He left the table and walked slowly up the stairs and to the bedroom. He could tell the lights were out, the bathroom door was open and dark as well. He pushed open the door, the curtains had been drawn, though sunlight still gave the room dim light. Teresa was on her side of the bed, hair slightly damp and strewn across her pillow. Patrick made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge in front of Teresa, who was laying on her side. The mattress dipped down with his weight and he watched her face, eyes were closed.

"Teresa, I know you're awake. Aren't you hungry?"

Silence reigned in the room. She was clearly trying to ignore him and kept up her façade of sleeping.

"I know you're mad at me," he said, speaking to her with a small smile. There have been previous times she had been angry with him, before they had a formal relationship beyond that of consultant and supervising agent, and at her angriest she had stayed that way for days, usually ignoring, (or tried to), leaving him at the office when a case or lead came their way (again, tried to), and with little things like paper frogs and donuts he had extracted a smile from her, even if it wasn't full forgiveness. She had stayed angry at him for up to four days before finally giving in, letting it slide.

Today, though, he was concerned for her because of whatever call she had received that morning. She had still been a bit pale when he had arrived with her coffee. Knowing there was a threat against her did not settle well with him at all. If she had at least shared it with him why this one of several threats was the one to affect her, he would be more pacified.

"Just tell me about the threat you got on the phone this morning," he said, no longer able to hold it in anymore.

" 'I know'."

" 'I know' what?" asked Patrick, leaning in, seeing Teresa was staring ahead.

"That's it. It was all he said and it worries me," she explained.

"Why don't you come downstairs and eat something before you sleep," he urged, placing a hand on her side.

Teresa moved away, finally looking at him, "I'm still mad at you and I just want to sleep off this headache. You can eat by yourself."

With that she turned her back to him and closed her eyes, waiting for him to leave. He was very still for a long moment, but he did slowly stand up. She could almost feel the shadow fall over her before feeling Patrick kiss the side of her head. She heard his footsteps leave the bed, the door lightly swishing over the carpet and it closing, his footsteps creaking down the stairs and fading away.

***

Eating by yourself when the person you were living with was present in the same house, mad at you, wasn't a very nice thing to experience. It had happened before with Lisbon a couple times the past few months, and it had happened before when he had been married, but each and every time he never got used to it and he always lost most of his appetite. Food always was cold and always tasted subpar. He almost ate half of his plate, pushing much of the pasta around, then sighed. He covered both plates and placed them in the fridge. No use wasting food.

So it was a man (or possibly a woman with a voice modifier?) who had threatened Lisbon with only the words "I know". Very vague. She must have wondered if it was Red John, safe to assume with how entrenched they were in his case from Jane's family tragedy, Hardy, to Bosco and his team with Rebecca, from within. But he felt it wasn't Red John's style. He would likely have taunted them with a message, an untraceable e-mail or a note encoded in a riddle, boasting of his superiority, maybe even directly threatening Jane to take Lisbon away.

So who else could it be? He needed more information. Maybe he could get Grace to track Teresa's incoming phone calls. He could never be too protective of his loved ones.

He had called a surprised Van Pelt and asked her for phone records of calls made to Lisbon's office that morning. The young woman had been confused and then more than hesitant. He assured her it was for the safety of Lisbon. It didn't take too much to cajole her into agreeing, but she refused to check that night, only promising she would do so first thing tomorrow morning.

Jane wasn't completely satisfied, but she hung up before he could fully note his displeasure. He just muttered to himself after turning off his phone. No longer hungry and having taken care of what he could for now, he was at a loss as to what to do. He had already snooped through Lisbon's many leadership books, found a couple of her romance novels hidden behind a few of the self help books. More would be forthcoming in her bedroom. Normally he would be enjoying Lisbon's company right about now. At least he wanted it to be "normally". In reality, normally, during the weekdays he would be working on the Red John case, looking over his notebook obsessively, making sure he hadn't missed anything though he knew his notes by heart. He would take a look at what Cho was currently reading, go to the darkened kitchen and maybe sample someone else's food left in the fridge, go into Lisbon's office and sit in her chair for a while. Or he would drive around all night, go watch the stars. Sometimes he went to his old house when he ran out of all other options, to sleep briefly before a new day began.

Now he was actually living with Lisbon, not just on the weekends. He looked out. The sun was starting to set, but he could walk around for a bit until it was dark, just for something to do. Maybe he'd become tired. He could always go for a drive.

***

It was nearing one after midnight when Jane arrived back home. He quietly made his way to the bedroom, having stopped to brush his teeth. He was pretty certain he'd be able to lie still in bed now after all the driving he'd been doing, maybe even sleep.

Patrick slowly entered the bedroom, it was almost completely dark, the barest amount of orange light snuck in past the curtains, a street lamp. He quietly changed his clothes and carefully slipped into bed. Teresa was still facing his side of the bed, face in his pillow in fact. He moved in right next to her, laying on his back and turned his head to face her. He frowned when he noticed that his pillow was damp. Just to confirm his theory, he ran gentle fingers across Teresa's sleeping face and felt the traces of dried tears.

He hurt for her and gathered her sleeping body up against his, pulling the covers up and more securely around them, gratified with her instinctive desire to curl into him. He'd like to think that she recognized him in her sleep, though that was likely to be wishful thinking.

Were the tears from a nightmare? He guiltily imagined that the tears were a result of her frustration with him and possibly wondering if he had left her, she may have heard him leave the house. He wouldn't find out until she woke up.

About an hour later, he felt her stirring against his chest and waited. She was probably only half awake, he felt her hand press lightly against his chest as if to confirm that it was indeed Patrick she was laying against and not some phantom man that her sleeping mind had produced. Her right arm snaked around his chest and to his back as she pressed her body against him tighter than the relaxed hold he had on her. It was as if she was trying to occupy the same space as him. He gently rubbed her between her shoulder blades, hoping she would relax and go back to sleep. She did eventually relax and go back to sleep.

It was a good reminder that she really did want him to stay with her. He knew it, she just wouldn't say it.

***

Wednesday morning Teresa awoke feeling warm, completely rested, and headache completely gone. She noticed the firm body she was laying against, her mind in an almost happy haze. Then she remembered the previous day. The threat, Patrick's behavior, her subsequent migraine and frustrated anger, coming home to a prepared bath, hearing him leave and the resulting tears. She vaguely recalled what had seemed dreamlike, but realized it must have actually happened, the remembrance of finding him holding her late in the night.

Teresa indulged herself for a moment; the side of her face pressed into Patrick's chest now, his masculine scent surrounding her. His slow and steady heartbeat and breathing was very relaxing. She knew she had quite a bit of time before the alarm clock went off considering how dark it still was in the bedroom and how early she went to bed.

She carefully pushed back, looking up at Patrick's sleeping face and she knew from experience in the office he was actually awake. She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at him. Patrick opened one eye cautiously, a small smile curving his lips in the grey darkness, "I was hoping you would ravish me if you thought I was asleep…"

Teresa gave him a hard stare then sighed, lying back down beside him, this time on her back, her head resting on a pillow. She felt his hand find hers, encasing it in his larger palm, bringing the back of her hand to his lips then to his chest, holding it there.

"Still mad at me?"

"Do I need to answer that?"

"Want breakfast in bed?"

Teresa closed her eyes, "Patrick, do you honestly believe that I'll just forget what you did yesterday to that woman just by giving me breakfast? By preparing a bath for a migraine caused in large part by you and your actions? Can't you just not do those things that cause problems in the first place? It would cut my stress down significantly if you just would."

She was certain that he would either remain silent or wave it off. Instead he spoke seriously just as she was preparing to push herself up to get out of bed, "I can't promise to stop my… style of investigation," he worded diplomatically, "but I can promise to try to minimize it whenever I can, but only if you promise to share your problems. I want to know when you receive a threat; I want to be there for you."

"Patrick, even I don't know all the threats I receive, the CBI receives mail everyday threatening people who work there and there are workers who filter them, log them, and evaluate their validity. I think it'd bother you too much if I told you of every one of those that got past them to me. There's nothing you can do about it," Teresa reasoned.

"I still want to know, I want to know what's bothering you," he insisted.

"You bother me," she retorted.

"See? Don't you feel better after telling me that?" he teased, facing her.

"Patrick, this isn't funny. You aggravated then hypnotized a grieving mother; you didn't even have a good reason to, only because you were angry that I didn't tell you anything about the threats. I need you to be a professional," she said sternly.

"And I need you to loosen up," he shot back, trying not to tense up in preparation for the storm he was almost certain would come. He really wasn't trying to make her blow up, but it was what he was good at, on purpose or not. He heard another heavy sigh. It looked like he would survive to live another day. She had yoga tonight with Grace; it would be very beneficial if they didn't have an out of town case today.

The alarm went off and Teresa sat up, leaning over to turn it off. She stayed sitting up a moment, studying the door ahead then turned back to look at Patrick who had partially sat up, leaning back on a hand. Their eyes connected.

"If I promise to tell you about things that really worry me, because if I told you about every little thing neither of us would get any sleep," she provided, halting any protest from him, "I want you to promise to reduce the amount of weekly infractions against the regulations. I know you won't stop, but can you try to bring it down? I don't like listening to and calming down so many angry lawyers, officers, and witnesses as much as you think."

Patrick seemed to consider it and just when Teresa was getting impatient and ready to leave the bed he said, "I'll try."

She nodded and got ready for the day.