A/N: I forgot this one's pretty brutal on the angst front, too. I guess I will have to brace myself for an onslaught of virtual vegetables coming my way once more. Next one is maybe a tiny bit better? Maybe? Hope you are all well despite this extra helping of misery I am piling on your plates. There are happier times ahead, I promise! Hopefully on multiple fronts. But I can guarantee a happy ending here, at least. Eventually.

xxx

The next morning, Lisbon woke to find Jane watching her from his pillow.

"Hey," she muttered.

"Morning," Jane said, still watching her as though he were afraid she might disappear. "Thank you for staying last night."

Lisbon couldn't think of anything to say while he was looking at her like that besides, "You're welcome."

Jane cleared his throat. "We should probably, uh. Talk some more."

"Yeah," she said, holding his gaze.

He must have seen something in her eyes that he found encouraging, because he brightened visibly. "Can I make you some coffee?" he said hopefully.

"Yes, please," Lisbon groaned, burying her face back in the pillow. She felt like she could have slept a hundred years.

She closed her eyes, intending to sleep until Jane had finished preparing her coffee, but it was no good. Anxiety about the impending 'talk' filled her chest and kicked her brain into overdrive. Tired overdrive. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed.

After showering, she shuffled into the kitchen and accepted a piping hot cup of coffee from Jane. Jane's fingers lingered over hers as he passed the cup to her.

Lisbon shifted and subtly drew her hand away. "Thank you."

Jane's eyes dimmed.

Damn. Of course he'd noticed. But she still felt raw, exposed. She wasn't ready to accept his touch, no matter how light or casual. It had been different last night, comforting him in the dark. Today that brittle feeling had crept back in, as though the smallest gesture could cause her to shatter and break.

Jane regrouped. "You're welcome," he said, making an effort to mask his disappointment. He took a deep breath. "So about that talk—"

Lisbon's eyes strayed to the kitchen clock. "Oh, crap," she said, looking at the clock in dismay. "I'm gonna be late for work."

Jane's face fell. "Oh." He looked at the clock as though it had broken his favorite tea cup. "Tonight?"

She grimaced. "I don't think I can promise that—I'll probably be working late tonight."

"Okay," Jane said, determined. "Just let me know where and when."

"I will," she promised.

Jane's jaw tightened, as though he didn't quite believe her. "I made you a lunch," he said tentatively. "Do you want it?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully.

Jane seemed encouraged by this. "And breakfast," he added. "It's all in the bag here," he said, gesturing to a paper sack on the counter.

"Thank you." Then, feeling this was inadequate, she added, "I'm going to stop by the hotel on my lunch hour." She cleared her throat. "You know, to check out."

Jane brightened again. "Okay," he said, his eyes shining at her. "That sounds good."

"I'm not trying to blow you off, Patrick," she said quietly. "I just—have a lot to do today. I want to have that talk with you when I don't have this other stuff distracting me."

"I understand," he assured her.

"Will you be around tonight—if I get done early, I mean?"

He looked at her with the soul inside out look. "I'll be here."

Xxx

Lisbon went to work torn between irrational elation—there was no reason to feel that happy just from having slept next to someone for a handful of hours—and lingering anxiety over the conversation yet to come.

Dammit, she thought when she sat down at her desk. She stared at her email unseeing for ten minutes. She should have blown off work and had that discussion with Jane that morning just to get it over with. But she had to be in the rundown meeting that started in five minutes or she would miss her chance to pitch her story for tomorrow's edition. After everything she'd put into this, she didn't want to give the police a chance to beat her out of the gate with a press release tailored to promote their own version of events.

She went to the meeting, determined to put Jane out of her mind. She just needed to get this story out, and then she could worry about the status of her relationship.

Luck was with her that morning—Hollis, the managing editor, was in attendance and was thrilled by the work Lisbon had done. Givens sat with his arms crossed over his chest and scowled while Hollis praised her initiative and gave her the green light for the story.

The rest of the day, Lisbon frantically wrote. She filed her first copy, then went to the police station to hang around in hopes of finding out whether the police had had any luck interrogating Durst and Thorpe. After conversations with several officers on duty, she learned to her satisfaction that the police had brought both men in for questioning that afternoon. However, the officers were frustratingly tight-lipped about the progress made in the course of the interrogations. Lisbon went back to the office and wrote some more.

She got back to the house around ten that night. Jane was waiting up for her.

"Hey," she said wearily, dumping the bag she'd retrieved from the hotel earlier by the door.

"Hey, yourself," he greeted her. "Did you get a chance to eat earlier?"

She bit her lip. "No," she admitted, half-guilty and defensive for no reason. Jane always scolded her for forgetting to eat.

"Leftovers in the fridge if you want them," he said simply.

She blew out a breath. "Thanks."

She went into the kitchen and found a plate of lasagna and green beans waiting for her. She put them in the microwave.

Jane followed her into the kitchen. "So I take it you've made progress on the Ramseth story?"

"How did you—" Lisbon stopped and shook her head. Of course Jane would have figured out what had her so preoccupied. "Yes. The first article comes out tomorrow."

Jane raised his eyebrows. "The first article?"

Lisbon explained about the corruption angle and her suspicions about Durst and Thorpe while she ate. It was a blessed relief, talking to Jane about murder. Everything had been so much easier when their conversations had primarily revolved around killers and death.

Lisbon remembered the avalanche of things unsaid and acknowledged to herself that was a lie. The not saying things had its own price.

"Do you still want to talk?" she said abruptly. "I mean, about—" she gestured between the two of them.

Jane looked at her closely. "You're not too tired?"

Lisbon shook her head. "No. I mean, I am tired. But I want to get this over with."

Jane winced.

"I mean," she said, correcting herself hastily. "I don't think I'll be able to rest properly until we have this conversation."

Jane took her empty plate and put it into the sink. "Very well." He fiddled with the silverware unnecessarily for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was planning."

Lisbon sighed. "Yeah, well, that doesn't do me a lot of good, Patrick, unless I know you're not going to pull something like that again."

"I won't," Jane said immediately.

Lisbon pinched the bridge of her nose. "How am I supposed to believe that?" she asked quietly. "You've done the exact same thing to me a thousand times."

Jane looked down. "I'll do better."

This was taking them in circles. "So despite you lying to me on a daily basis for ten years, now I should believe you? What sane person would take that bet?"

He cringed. "I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking," she said sharply. "You were thinking that everyone around you is a chess piece, there for you to move around at will."

"I wasn't thinking that—" he protested.

"You were," she argued. "You weren't thinking about the pieces on the board, you were only thinking about how you could move the pieces to bring about the outcome you wanted. And there's no need to tell a pawn where you're moving it, or why, is there? It only exists to serve your broader purpose."

"I don't think of you as a pawn, Teresa," he said sharply. "You know I don't."

"No? You could have fooled me. I suppose it would be terribly inconvenient for you if one of your pawns pointed out a flaw in your plan. If that pawn objected to being moved about without any say in the matter. If that pawn actually stood up to you and resisted going along with one of your insane schemes because someone might get hurt."

"It's not like that," he said angrily. "I made one mistake—"

"One mistake?" She laughed bitterly. "There were an awful lot of straws that came before the one that broke the camel's back, Patrick."

He recoiled in alarm and backtracked hastily. "Okay, yes, I've made a lot of mistakes—"

"But you never learn from them!" she said, goaded. "You just keep doing the same damn thing over and over."

"I won't," he said desperately. "I won't do anything like that ever again. You have my word."

"Your word? What is that supposed to be worth to me, after all the lies you've told me? After all the times you've left me to deal with the fallout of one of your plans while you skipped happily off to the sunset? God, you're so secretive and controlling! Are you even capable of behaving like a normal human being?"

Jane's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right," he said, his voice hollow. "I don't know how to be a normal human being."

"You broke my trust, Jane. And I feel like—" she broke off, unable to express in words the level of torture she was going through, torn between the depth of her feelings for him and the hopeless conviction that he would never stop hurting her through his need to control his surroundings. She dashed at her eyes. "I love you so damn much," she said miserably. "But I just can't keep going through this. You—do you have the faintest idea how worried I was for you when you were in Vegas? And then to find out that you were pretending, the whole time. That in six long months, you couldn't take thirty seconds to let me know you were okay? And then now—after everything we talked about—that you would let me think Scalzi or Red John had taken you, because you didn't bother to think about what your clever stunt with the fake kidnapping would do to me? Do you have any idea what it's like to love someone so much and be so completely unable to trust them?"

"No," he said miserably. "I have no idea. I've never loved anyone I couldn't trust." He said quietly, "I know you have no reason to believe in me, after all the times I've lied to you in the past. I know I have to earn your trust. I don't expect it to happen overnight. But if you'll let me—I'll earn it back, Teresa. Day by day. One day at a time." He raised his head. "I'll fix it," he said desperately. "Just tell me what to do and I'll fix it."

"That's the thing, Jane." She looked down, equally miserable. "I don't know if there's a way to fix it."