Thanks so much for the fabulous feedback on the latest chapter! We see a little forward movement on most fronts - though perhaps a step backward in getting Tommy back safely... Either way, we're definitely entering the final stretch of our story. So, without further ado, I bring you...

Chapter Twenty

Though Jane had deeply regretted doing so, he left the Aston Martin in Emmett's able hands, trading it in for something a bit more nondescript. Emmett's idea of nondescript and Jane's idea of nondescript, unfortunately, were markedly different – his old friend stuck them with a beaten-down Chevy pickup truck with a barely functional air conditioner, worn shocks, and a terrible radio.

It was clear from the outset that it would not be a good trip.

They crossed into Mexico without incident at just after three a.m. Friday morning. The drive from LA to Loreto was nearly thirty hours in optimal conditions – and they were admittedly not facing optimal conditions, particularly since they were forced to stick to less well-traveled roads in order to avoid the police. Jane knew a few shortcuts along the way, however, and by his calculations they still had plenty of time to get to Ellie's appointed destination within the timeframe she had designated.

Lisbon alternately slept and stared out the window in stony silence for most of the night. At ten o'clock that morning, the sun was up, the air conditioning was shot, and the cab of their pickup was blazing. Lisbon sighed and moaned and tossed and turned until Jane looked over at her with eyebrows raised.

"You know, you can sigh all you want, but it won't get us there any faster."

"Let me drive. I feel like I'm on some carnival ride with you – are you aiming for every pothole in the road? Jesus, it's hot."

"Look on the bright side, Lisbon – at least the heat's from the weather now, instead of your insides cooking with fever. That's something, isn't it?"

She barely grumbled a response.

"Why don't you change into one of those outfits Emmett's friend loaned you?" he suggested. "It's no wonder you're warm – jeans and a t-shirt are too much clothing for a day like today."

"You're one to talk. What the hell are doing in a suit?"

She was right, actually. At the moment, he was in his usual work attire, though he'd set the jacket aside some time ago. Rolling up his shirtsleeves hardly provided any relief at all in the heat of the day, and he felt damp and cooked and utterly uncomfortable.

"We'll just have to make do for a bit longer – there's a little resort town I thought we could stop in tonight, and then we'll head out refreshed tomorrow morning. We'll easily be in Loreto by Saturday evening. Here – take the wheel for me."

He'd no sooner said it than he let go of the steering wheel, forcing Lisbon to dive across the bench seat to keep them from heading into oncoming traffic – which at the moment consisted only of a decrepit VW bus barreling along at an alarming rate.

"Jane!"

He deftly unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and neatly folded them while Lisbon continued to steer and curse at him. Stripped to his t-shirt once more, he felt better immediately. He took the wheel again, and nodded toward Lisbon.

"All right – your turn. What about those cute little cutoffs she gave you? I expect those would be very flattering."

"Yeah, right. Because I want to show my ass cheeks to all of Mexico. It figures that the only women your friend would know would be strippers."

"They did look a bit short," Jane agreed reluctantly. "What about that summer dress – the little cotton number? That would certainly be cooler than what you're wearing."

She pouted, contemplating this. He kept one eye on the road and one on her, amused at the way she scanned the horizon for a likely stopping point. Before she could ask, he preempted her request.

"If I can change while driving, you can certainly change while riding. Go on… It's not as though we have any secrets any longer."

He glanced at her with a devilish grin. She blushed to the roots of her auburn tresses, gazing at him with murder in her pretty green eyes.

"I hate you."

"Oh, nonsense. Who else would break out of jail, steal vehicles, and risk his life and freedom to save your prodigal brother? Face it, Lisbon – you love me."

She did her best to dash the smile playing at the corner of her lips, choosing instead to busy herself with changing. Jane didn't miss it, however. While he continued driving them ever southward, she dug through their things until she found the clothing Emmett's very sweet stripper friend had provided.

"Don't peek," she instructed.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

After a good bit of thrashing – and only one or two entirely inadvertent glances on Jane's part – Lisbon managed to get out of her old clothes and into the surprisingly demure summer dress Jade had given her. He watched in amusement as she wrestled with the hem.

"Problems?"

"I'm at least six inches shorter than Jade, and this thing barely reaches mid-thigh. What the hell did she use it for, a belly shirt?"

"You're being dramatic – it's almost to your knees. And it's actually quite becoming."

"Yeah, the blue really brings out the purple in my bruises."

He fell silent, out of ideas as to how he might placate her. After a few more miles of driving with nothing but a static-filled Mexican radio station to keep them company, she suddenly touched his arm.

"I'm sorry."

He glanced at her, then turned back to the road. "You're not a very good traveling companion," he noted.

"I know – I've been a complete bitch from the time we left L.A, and you've done nothing but try and help me through this whole thing. So… From here on out, I'll try to be nicer."

He suppressed a grin, already wagering in his head just how long this new leaf might last. Half an hour, tops. Though if he committed himself to the task, he had no doubt he could break her resolution in mere minutes. Not that he wanted to do that, of course. Still… It was such a dull ride.

"Have you spent much time in Mexico?" she asked politely. Her legs were folded beneath her, and she'd put her hair up in a becomingly messy bun, soft tendrils of hair framing her face. Bruises aside, she actually looked quite pretty.

"Oh, you know," he said vaguely. "What about you?"

"I've been to Tijuana a couple times. And there was a training retreat I went to in Puerto Vallarta a few years back. What do you mean, 'oh, you know'? Obviously I don't know, or I wouldn't have asked. What about this place you want to stop at?"

The truck hit a particularly deep pothole just then, jolting Lisbon so hard that she bumped her head on the roof of the truck. Jane looked at her ruefully as she rubbed her temple.

"Sorry."

"When was the last time you were there?"

God, the woman was relentless.

"When was the last time I was where?"

She glared at him. He glanced at his watch discreetly. Less than six minutes had passed since her vow to be more pleasant.

"Los Mochis," he said, "is where we're going." He paused, not certain how much he cared to share. "After Angela and Charlotte were killed, I spent some time in Mexico – just traveling, exploring the coast. Looking for…" He stopped. It was difficult to explain. Lisbon merely nodded.

"Trying to climb out of the bell jar," she said.

He glanced at her, unable to conceal his surprise.

"What – you don't think I've been there?"

"No," he said, after a moment's thought. "I just wouldn't have thought…"

"I'd get the reference?"

"Don't get so defensive, Lisbon. Sylvia Plath just seems a bit… depressive, for you. Despite your understandably sour state at the moment, you generally strike me as someone who prefers a more positive outlook."

"Yeah, well… I had to read it in high school," she admitted reluctantly. "And you're right – it was a little dark for my taste."

Despite being bound for the coast, the route Jane had chosen was a bit inland – the result being miles of barren landscape, broken only by the occasional deserted-looking town, or the rare gas station. They fell in behind an aged camper van barely breaking thirty miles an hour. Jane downshifted and sped out in front.

"You're sure we have time to stop somewhere tonight?" she finally asked, as he pulled back into the right lane. Lisbon was gripping the dashboard, clearly taking great pains not to criticize his driving.

"We have to sleep somewhere – I'm certainly not up for spending the next twenty hours in this truck. Are you?"

She shook her head sullenly. "God, no. We just can't be late."

Their reasonably peaceful streak lasted until three o'clock that afternoon. Jane had just taken the wheel again, after a fitful nap with Lisbon at the helm. The instant the cell phone Ellie Jennings had left for them rang, they both sprang to attention. Jane answered before Lisbon had a chance, putting it on speaker without being prompted.

"That was quite a detour last night," Ellie began, the moment Jane said hello. "I was beginning to worry."

"We're still on schedule," Jane said calmly. "It wouldn't have been necessary if your friend had left Agent Lisbon here in better condition."

Ellie chuckled, her voice almost musical. "That was unfortunate. It was your doing, though, Teresa – you'd do well to learn here and now that fighting Jack almost never makes things easier on a person. Particularly women… He's a bit of a brute, unless you know how to handle him."

"I want to talk to Tommy again," Lisbon interrupted before the conversation could go any further.

"I don't know," Ellie said. "He's not doing that well, I'm afraid. Though I believe he's looking forward to seeing you."

"Please," Lisbon said. "Just let me talk to him."

Seconds later, there was a choked gasp on the line – as though someone had just been splashed with cold water.

"Terri?" Tommy's voice came over the line. Any peace Lisbon had shown over the course of the day vanished. She was near tears, her eyes frantic. When she spoke, however, her voice was astonishingly controlled.

"I want you to do whatever she tells you, okay, Tommy? Don't try anything – just wait for me, you got it?"

"You don't have to fight my battles for me anymore, Sis – "

The sentence was cut off as Ellie took the phone.

"We're keeping him comfortable, of course – but you know how it is," Ellie said.

Jane glanced at Lisbon again. Whatever was coming next wouldn't be good, he had no doubt. Sure enough, Ellie laughed brightly before she continued.

"It's always hard to know with junkies – how much is too much, how much is too little. I suppose all you can do is hand over the needle and hope for the best. We thought we lost him last night, but here he is – back again, good as ever. More or less."

"Look, you psychotic bitch," Lisbon bit out. Jane looked at her in alarm. "You think this is really gonna go your way? If you hurt my brother…"

She fell silent at Ellie's laughter.

"She's quite the spitfire, isn't she, Patrick?"

Jane put his hand on Lisbon's knee, attempting to quiet her.

"You think I haven't put together what's going on here?" Lisbon continued. Jane pulled over to the side of the road.

"Lisbon," he warned.

"What's going on with what, exactly?" Ellie asked. There was an edge to her voice now, the easy control of before clearly being pushed to its limits.

"You visited Kristina Frye before you killed her – a few times, actually," Lisbon continued. "You were trying to contact Red John – but you couldn't do it. That whole crazy scene, the way you cut Kristina into pieces… You lost it. Because as much as you cared about Red John - "

"Lisbon!" Jane cut her off. It was too late, though – the damage had been done. He could tell by the silence on the other end of the line. So could Lisbon. Her face had gone ghastly white, her eyes wide as she realized the implications of her loss of control.

"Jack!" Ellie called, as though to someone else in the room. "Bring Mr. Lisbon to me."

"No!" Lisbon shouted, the word wrested from somewhere deep. "I'm sorry – Please," she begged. "You can have me, as soon as we get there. Do whatever you want to me."

"Ellie, listen to me," Jane attempted to intervene.

"No! You listen to me, Patrick, and listen well. This is my game – not yours."

Before he could hang up the phone, there was a sickening sound – soft and wet, like someone carving meat, followed by a protracted scream. The line went dead.

They sat in the cab of the truck in stunned silence, Jane's usual composure at its breaking point.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded. "I told you – she has the cards. You nod, smile pleasantly, tell her whatever she needs to hear – "

"I know," she said. "You're right, it was stupid." Her voice had gone dead, her eyes glazed with shock. He would have given anything if she'd fought him on the point. Jane's anger subsided as he watched her struggle for breath. "She's gonna kill him."

Before he could respond, Lisbon leapt out of the truck and ran as far from the sound of her brother's torture as she could get. He looked away as she stopped at a palm several yards from the truck, bent, and heaved the meager food she'd eaten over the course of their travels, onto the dusty ground.

If it were anyone else, Jane would have been dying to run the other way - he loathed forming deep attachments, despised emotional displays. Lisbon, however, seemed to be the exception to that rule. He waited patiently in the truck, giving her the space she needed. Not for the first time, he considered what it would do to Lisbon if her brother didn't make it out of this alive – a very likely scenario, given the conversation they'd just had with Ellie.

Lisbon pulled herself together and returned to the truck, her back straight, a new spark of determination in her eyes. She retrieved a bottled water from the back of the truck, rinsed her mouth, and spat. Then, she looked at Jane.

"Whether Tommy lives or dies, I'm not stopping until this bitch is behind bars," she said.

Despite everything, Jane felt himself lighten at her words. It was the old Lisbon – tough as nails, a staunch believer in freedom and justice and the power of positive thinking. He smiled.

"That's my girl. Now, in you go. Just a few more miles and you'll be able to smell the ocean."

He put the truck in gear and got them out on the open road once more. They'd only been driving a few moments before he felt Lisbon's hand on his. He glanced at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze - never acknowledging what he knew was a momentous step for her. She wasn't feverish; she wasn't placating him; he wasn't the one reaching out. No. This time, Lisbon was the one seeking comfort. He squeezed her fingers gently, running his thumb along the back of her hand. They traveled that way in silence - their hands intertwined, resting lightly on the gear shift between them - as Jane drove them onward, toward the healing sea.

They reached Los Mochis at just past seven that night, cruising along a stretch of palm-lined highway with the deep blue Pacific now in sight. It had been a dark four hours of driving despite Lisbon's roadside epiphany, with little conversation to lighten the mood. By the time they crossed the city limits into the little resort town Jane had frequented over the past several years, he was aching to get out, stretch his legs, and get a break from all that tension.

Even in July, Friday evening in Los Mochis had a festive air. Jane chose one of the more expensive hotels on the main strip, explaining that they would have no such options in Loreto. Despite Lisbon's protests, he insisted on the two of them sharing a room, explaining the decision away by saying he didn't have enough cash on hand to justify another option. Lisbon wasn't fooled, however – he simply didn't want her on her own tonight, and she knew it full well. The fact that she didn't argue the point made it clear that she wasn't keen on being alone, herself.

Their third-floor room consisted of two single beds, a large television, bath, and a balcony looking out over the water. Lisbon claimed the shower first, while Jane turned the air conditioning to high, called for room service, and flopped down on the bed closest to him. His back and shoulders ached, but otherwise he found himself faring quite well. He'd never minded a good road trip, really… He just wished the circumstances for this one were different. In the right frame of mind, he was willing to bet that Lisbon would be a fun travel mate.

The woman in question came out twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around her, her skin glistening from the shower. Jane did his level best to avert his eyes as she selected one of his clean shirts from his suitcase and returned to the bathroom.

"Why don't we take a walk around town after I've showered," he suggested, calling after her. "Between Jade and I, we've hardly given you the best choices, wardrobe-wise. We could pick something up at one of the local shops."

"I don't need anything," she replied, calling through the bathroom door. Still… At least she'd spoken. That was some improvement.

"Oh, come on. I'll buy. We'll have some dinner, pick out something new..."

"Right. Because I've gotta look my best when I go pick up whatever pieces of Tommy are left on Sunday."

He wasn't quite certain how to respond to that. After a second or two, he decided on levity. "Well… They say there's an outfit for every occasion. This would certainly test that theory."

To his relief, Lisbon actually laughed dryly. "It could be a whole new line this fall. Kidnap couture."

"I can see the runways now," Jane mused.

Their banter was cut abruptly short by what sounded like a cry of pain coming from the bathroom, followed by a crash and a series of curses.

Jane got up quickly and knocked on the door. "Lisbon, you're supposed to save the strenuous activity for Sunday. What on earth are you doing in there, woman?"

The door opened an instant later. The towel she'd been wearing had been replaced with his dress shirt, hanging about mid-thigh. The bandage on her cheek was half-on and half-off, though it appeared that while trying to remove it she'd torn the skin. He shook his head.

"I told you you should have let me do that this morning," he said. "Come on, now – in you go."

He ushered her into the bathroom, where several bottles of trial size shampoo had been hurled across the room in her frustration. He managed to avoid smiling – if only to save himself from her wrath – but couldn't help shaking his head at her.

"How are those anger management classes coming along?"

"Bite me. Can you help me or not?"

"I can certainly try." The bathroom was spacious and well-equipped, with a long vanity and two sinks. Jane patted the countertop. "Here – hop up."

To his surprise, she did so without argument. He tucked her hair – still wet from the shower – behind her ear, situated himself at her left side, and studied the bandage.

"Just pull it off, Jane."

"It may sting."

"No kidding. Just do it already."

He sighed. "Patience, Lisbon. Honestly. Let's count it down, shall we? Three, two…"

"Oh, for crying out – Ow!" she shouted, when he pulled the bandage away an instant later, in one smooth motion. "Jeez, Jane. Thanks for the warning."

He lay the used bandage aside, and surveyed Emmett's handiwork. Lisbon sat in front of him in his dress shirt, not buttoned nearly as high as it should be in polite company, her bare knee brushing against his thigh. With some effort, he focused on her injuries.

"Emmett did a good job," he murmured approvingly. He picked up the tube of antiseptic his old friend had sent with them and poured some onto a cotton swab.

"It'll leave a scar," she said unexpectedly, as he cleaned the affected area. He murmured something that could have meant anything, giving her the space to continue.

"I mean – not that I care," she added. "If the worst we get out of all this is a scar…"

He traced the jagged line down her cheekbone with his index finger, studying her.

"You could get it repaired," he said. "Plastic surgery being what it is these days… Insurance might even cover it." The offer to pay for it himself was on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely refrained. She merely shrugged at his suggestion.

"Whatever. It's not like I was stopping traffic before."

He chuckled at that. "Oh, I think you'd be surprised how many pile-ups you've left in your wake, Lisbon." She flushed slightly, but made no comment. "Does it hurt much?"

She shook her head, withdrawing to her own thoughts as he re-bandaged the site. When he was finished, he remained where he was a moment longer – suddenly acutely aware of her proximity, the warmth of her body. He leaned in and kissed her cheek gently.

When he pulled back, she was watching him.

"All better," she said quietly. He recalled their conversation the night she'd gouged her hand in his apartment, and smiled his appreciation at the reference.

It was more than time for him to withdraw, but for some reason he couldn't seem to gather the resolve to stay away. Lisbon was still looking at him – half guarded, half… something else, that was dangerously close to desire. She swallowed, and Jane traced the movement in her lily-white throat. Instead of moving away, he moved just a shade closer.

Lisbon's hands fell to his shirt-front, pulling him still closer. Their eyes held for a long, long instant, before she leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn't like the first kiss – at Ellie's greenhouse, when he'd just fallen apart, and she'd been there to pick up the pieces, as it seemed only Lisbon could. She tasted like toothpaste and the cool clean of an overdue shower, her body pressed to his as she wrapped her arms around him. Her legs were parted, Jane standing between them, and he found himself straining against her, feeling her heat, overwhelmed at a surge of desire like none he'd felt in years.

His tongue slipped past her lips, her body arching up to meet his, her small, firm breasts pressed to his chest. Jane had little doubt that – however ill advised – he would have taken her then and there, on the bathroom counter, had they not been interrupted by a knock on the door.

He pulled back reluctantly, bracing himself for another right hook. Instead, Lisbon merely looked dazed.

"I ordered some food," he explained, nodding toward the door. "I expect that's who's come calling."

"Oh – uh, okay." She nodded slowly. Jane took a step back, allowing her room to hop to the floor.

There was a moment of awkwardness as they remained in the close space, before she offered a stilted laugh.

"I'll just, uh… You know. Grab the food. If you want to take a shower…"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course. You eat. I'll just get washed up, and be out in a bit."

"Good," she said, also nodding. "Good plan." She hurried out of the bathroom like her tail was on fire, while Jane prepared himself for a very cold shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, his blood was once again flowing to more rational locales. He'd even composed a very reasonable speech as to why what had just happened, had happened, and all the reasons that they shouldn't allow it to happen again. It was unlikely that he would need to use it, however, as he was certain Lisbon had already composed exactly the same speech herself.

Lisbon, however, was fast asleep on one of the twin beds. Her shirt hitched up slightly at her left thigh, giving Jane a glimpse of her shapely bottom before he averted his gaze. He helped himself to the food he'd ordered – which, he noted, Lisbon had left largely untouched – and retired to his own bed.

It was barely eight-thirty. He was wired and aching from the long drive, a physical release of some kind obviously necessary if he hoped to get any sleep at all. As he lay in his own bed, his thoughts returned unbidden to the feel of Lisbon's body against his, the way she'd tasted… The way she'd felt in his arms. He sighed heavily, got up, and quietly slipped from the room in the quest for a distraction.

He returned an hour later, dripping wet from a much-needed swim in the hotel pool, and set two shopping bags down in the corner of the room. Lisbon was still sleeping peacefully. He toweled off, changed into his pajamas, lay down, and this time was asleep before his head hit the proverbial pillow.

When he awoke, the room was dark. Jane lay there for a long moment, disoriented, as he tried to remember where in blazes he was.

The hotel. Los Mochis. Tommy kidnapped, Ellie madder than a hatter. And Lisbon, wearing Jane's shirt, pressed to him until he was hard as a sixteen-year-old.

Right.

He listened for the sounds of Lisbon breathing, under the roar of Friday night partygoers outside and the constant hum of the air conditioner. Music was playing a few doors down – something loud, with an appropriately Mexican flavor. Jane smiled at the sound of laughter outside. It was good to know someone was enjoying themselves.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark and his ears became better able to disseminate the sounds around him, however, Jane's good humor vanished. He turned on the bedside lamp with mounting concern, and stared unhappily at the empty bed a few feet from his own.

Lisbon was nowhere to be seen.

It didn't take long to find her, sitting alone at the end of the hotel bar downstairs, with several drained shots of whiskey in front of her. She still wore his dress shirt, now with jeans and sandals, her hair pulled back. She looked up with a hearty, welcoming smile when Jane approached.

"I know what you're going to say – " she said, before he'd so much as opened his mouth.

Despite himself, he couldn't squelch a smile. "Now who's the psychic?"

She motioned wildly to the bartender, an aging Latina woman with a hard smile and eyes that lightened considerably when she saw Jane.

"Esmerelda, this is Jane. My… Consultant. He used to be my consultant, anyway. Now we're all on the run, so God knows what he is anymore. You want a drink, Jane?"

"Coffee for the lady," he said. "I'll take a beer."

Lisbon looked at him in surprise. "I didn't think you drank beer."

"Only on special occasions. May I?" he asked, indicating the seat beside her.

"Why not?" she said expansively. "Mexico's still a free country, right?"

He sat. She proceeded to stare into her shot glass for so long he thought she might have forgotten he was there. Finally, she turned to face him.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"Evidently."

She chuckled at that, fell silent for another long moment, and then downed her last shot of whiskey before she spoke again.

"'Til this trip, I didn't think you slept. Except on the CBI couch, anyway. Or ate. You were like Batman." She looked at him with comically narrowed eyes. "Maybe not Batman. You don't have cool enough stuff."

"Says you," he said, sipping at the beer Esmerelda brought.

"But it turns out," Lisbon continued, not even acknowledging his comment, "that you're… normal. Sort of. You snore. You leave those little hairs in the sink when you shave. Sometimes, you even forget to put the toilet seat down."

"Sorry," he said. "I'll try to be more considerate."

She waved off his apology. "I grew up with guys – the rule in our house was leave the seat up." She picked up her shot glass, realized it was empty, and set it down again.

"Esme..Esm – Bartender," she finally said, when the name proved too difficult. "I ran out of shots. Hurry."

Instead of whiskey, Esmerelda brought a steaming cup of coffee for Lisbon, who eyed it as though she'd just been handed a hot cup of intestines.

"What's that? I didn't order that. It's the middle of the night. Who the hell orders coffee in the middle of the – " she stopped mid-sentence, and turned to Jane with a look of pure wonder on her face. "Jane."

He did his level best to keep a straight face. "Yes, my dear?"

"We're in Mexico."

"That is the rumor."

"You know what we should do? I mean… Before we drive another fifteen hours and face off with a psychopath for no reason, because we both know my little brother's gonna be lying there dead when we get there, because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut…" She stopped, and stared morosely at the bar.

To her credit, Esmerelda looked no more concerned than if Lisbon had just recited her favorite recipe.

"Why don't we head upstairs, Lisbon – "

"We should go swimming," she said suddenly, rallying once more. "There's a beach – just over there." She pointed to the back of the bar. Jane adjusted her arm, to indicate the stretch of sand and surf to their west. "Right," she nodded. "Right there. I bet the water's nice."

"It might be a little cool," he said reasonably.

She frowned. "You know who'd go swimming with me, if he was here?"

Jane raised an eyebrow at her, curious as to where this might be leading.

"Detective Montrose. We had a date, you know. And I missed it, all because of this…" she stopped, as though at a loss as to how to summarize the events of the past week. "Thing. Figures. He's hot, too. Great shoulders."

"If you like that sort of thing," he said, perhaps just a bit sulkily.

"Like what sort of thing? Tall and broad shouldered? Somebody with a steady job who's not always breaking the rules and trying to get himself killed?" Her voice rose just a smidge. "Y'know what? Screw you, Jane." She leveled a glare at him from her barstool. Esmerelda and several patrons looked up interestedly.

"Screw you and your suits and your million dollar smile and your…" she gestured wildly at him. He leaned back to avoid her rabid gesticulations, trying hard not to show his amusement. "Your… ass that won't quit, even though I bet you've never done so much as a push up, your whole life."

She fell silent. Jane waited a second or two before he said agreeably, "I never said I wouldn't go swimming with you."

She shook her head. "Forget it. I'm not in the mood anymore." She stood suddenly.

"Off to the beach?"

"Nope. Bed," she announced unexpectedly. "I've had enough."

He couldn't conceal his surprise. He'd never much cared for tending to drunks – even cute ones – and in his experience, few of them ever had the sense to call it a night of their own accord. But Lisbon tossed several bills on the bar, slurred her thanks to Esmerelda, and lurched to the elevator. Jane could do little but follow in her wake.

She was silent on their way up to the room. After her outburst in the bar, it was clear that she was taking great pains to keep herself in check around him. When the elevator stopped at their floor, he started to get out. She stopped him with a hand on her arm.

"Jane," she said seriously. The fact that her hair was askew, her face flushed, and her eyes glazed with alcohol, made her gravity fairly adorable. He managed to keep a straight face.

"Lisbon," he returned.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she said. She kept her eyes level with his.

He nodded. "I think that's probably for the best."

"Right. Because we work together," she said. "And we're just friends."

He hesitated. Would she even remember this, in the morning? He moved closer, brushing the hair from her face. She blinked, and swayed just slightly.

"No, actually. In fact, I think the work place would be much more interesting if more colleagues had illicit trysts. Perhaps not more functional… But definitely more interesting. And certainly not because we're just friends." He rolled his eyes. "What an absurd thing to say. Would it make more sense if we were enemies who slept together? I won't sleep with you, because you're drunk. And your brother's in danger. And it wouldn't be the right way to do things."

"It would be very sophomoric," she said. She giggled, in a most un-Lisbon-like way; he realized after a moment that she was making fun of him.

"I merely think it would be a wasteful way to end eight years of abstinence," he said. He looked at her pointedly, with a wicked smile. "No, Lisbon. When we sleep together, you're going to remember it. We both are."

She blushed, just faintly. Before she could respond, Jane steered her from the elevator to the hall to their room. He expected a struggle of some kind – some continued flirtatious exchange, perhaps even a battle of wills before they ultimately chose separate beds and Lisbon sobered up.

Instead, Lisbon promptly went in and used the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and returned to her bed clad in only his dress shirt. The alcohol's effects seemed to have faded considerably, leaving her seeming serious and just a tad lost. She climbed under the blankets and reached for the light.

"I'll leave some water and aspirin on the nightstand," he said. He was still standing in the doorway, not certain what had just happened.

"Thanks," she said. She turned off the light.

Jane went into the bathroom and got back into his pajamas. It was two-thirty in the morning, but the party was still going strong outside. He studied himself in the mirror, and thought back to Lisbon's words in the bar. She'd had a date with Montrose… He hadn't known that. When had they arranged it, he wondered?

She was right, of course. Montrose would be a good match for her – someone solid, stable, eager to please. Someone with considerably less baggage than Jane had. He poured a cup of water and fished some aspirin from their travel bag, turned off the bathroom light, and had just settled under the blankets when he heard Lisbon shift in the bed beside his.

"Do you think she killed him today?" she asked quietly.

Jane considered this for a moment. "No," he finally said. "She'll keep him alive until we get there."

"So she can kill him in front of me," she said. There was no emotion in the statement, no tears behind it, but Jane could tell just how deeply they affected her, regardless.

"It's possible," he agreed.

Several seconds passed, during which neither of them spoke but he could sense, somehow, that she was awake. Still considering this.

"I don't know how to live with that," she said. It was a problem she was working out, he knew – nothing she would cry over right now… Simply an incomprehensible scenario that she was trying to grasp.

"You don't, at first," he said simply. "And then… Suddenly, you have. You've survived. And life is never the same again, but you learn to take things moment by moment. Appreciate the small things – the taste of a fresh orange, the smell of the salt air…"

"A stolen kiss in the bathroom?" she asked.

He grinned. "Oh, that's not even in the same category, Lisbon. Now that's living. Particularly the way you taste."

She laughed – that whiskey-in-the-morning, sandpaper laugh that he'd come to love. He closed his eyes.

"Patrick," she said, a few minutes later.

"Yes, Teresa?"

There was a long moment of hesitation, while Lisbon struggled with that innate need to keep things bottled up tight, to guard her feelings at all cost. She took a breath.

"Thanks for looking out for me. You're a good friend."

"My pleasure," he said honestly. "Now, try to get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow."

Another few minutes passed before he heard her breathing even out. Jane lay on his back staring into the dark, silently going over everything that had happened in the past few days. He smiled at the sound of a woman's laughter outside – soft and lilting, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. He could smell the ocean and, beneath it, the scent of Lisbon's shampoo – cinnamon and spice and everything nice - drifting to him from just a few feet away.

They would stop Ellie. They might even save Tommy, in the process. Whether they did or did not, however, Jane would be there. He'd see her through, whatever they faced. Which was far more than that freakishly broad-shouldered Detective Montrose could say.

TBC

The next chapter will be up on Thursday, when we get a glimpse back into Lisbon's point of view on all of this as they make the trek to Loreto, reunite with some old friends, and the sparks really start to fly as she and Jane prepare for the final face-off with Ellie. Thanks as always for reading, and don't forget to press the magic button with your thoughts!