A/N: Okay, so let me be honest with you all. This chapter is unfinished, it's the last 4,000 words I wrote for this fic a few months back. I cannot see myself finishing this story, so I thought I would at least upload what I've already written.

First, though, I wanted to thank you all for sticking with this fic for so long and I know this ending isn't what I (and you) had in mind. I will always remember writing this fic for all of you fondly, updating it definitely was one of the best memories I'm going to have of 2020. I've never written a story before that so many people enjoyed and I'm very grateful for all the love and support it received.

I haven't been able to write anything for months, however, and that's mostly due to me beating myself up for not finishing this. I want to move on to other things and other writing projects, so that's the reason why I decided to make peace with this fic and give you one final update, even if it's unfinished.

Again, I am beyond grateful to everyone who stuck with it for so long. I love each and everyone of you! Thank you so much for reading and commenting and encouraging me to become a better writer. Writing this fic and receiving your feedback on it helped me improve so much and become more confident in the things I'm creating and I hope that this short chapter will serve as a kind of peace offering because the last thing I wanted was to upset anyone with the lack of updates.

Anyway, I'm rambling. I hope you guys enjoy finding out what happened after Lisbon asked Jane to come to bed with her.

Chapter 11 – Teresa

Jane squeezed her hand again, then smiled softly, a smile that carried so much meaning she knew she didn't have to use any words to make herself understood. He nodded.

Lisbon stood up and he followed, not letting go of her. The rain was still pattering against the French doors, the wind was still whipping through the trees behind the pool, but the thunder was only a distant rumbling now, like the memories of the events that had brought them to this point were barely present anymore. Lisbon led Jane up the stairs, like she had done only three days before when he had been too drunk to walk. Now he was following her without complaint, without missing a step, without Lisbon having to tell him to tread carefully.

Three days ago, they had gone to Jane's bedroom. Without thinking about it, Lisbon picked her own this time. She wanted to be on familiar ground for this, so she would be able to give Jane her full attention. Again, Jane didn't dispute her decision. They seemed to have come to an understanding that this was their shared bedroom for the time they had left in Key West. Lisbon made Jane lie down on the bed on his back, a position she knew would cause him the least amount of pain; then she lay down next to him, on her side, facing him, one arm slung across his chest. Jane turned his head to the side, so he could look at her, but neither of them felt the need to talk. They were just breathing, listening to the rain, enjoying each other's company in silence.

There wasn't much left to be said.

The patter of rain against the windows of Lisbon's room was a soothing sound. She loved the rain, and she loved falling asleep listening to it, curled up beneath a warm blanket. It reminded her of a simpler time, of summers spent on her grandmother's farm, of long car rides and cheap, sweet ice cream. She never had trouble sleeping when it was raining.

But sleep was the last thing on her mind right now. The first thing was Jane's wellbeing.

She couldn't stop looking at him, at his sun-tanned face, his neck, his inquisitive eyes that had hid so much from her in the past but were now an open book. Not once did he look away, and it would have made her uncomfortable under different circumstances, would have made her snap at him, but this was different. He wasn't challenging her, pushing her, shutting her out. He was letting her in, showing her how much she meant to him with just a single gaze. And she thought about how she felt about him, allowed herself to feel the emotions, embrace them, and their power took her breath away.

She loved him; she was sure of it. Had loved him for years, since before she had met Pike, before Jane had come back from the island, even before he had killed Red John and left her. Only, she had never dared to put a name to this feeling before, afraid it would push him away, afraid it would change too much between them. After all, wasn't it better to go on as before but still have each other, than try to make something work that could never be and lose everything in the process? And she had been right, to some extent: Everything had changed, and yet they were still the same, they were still Jane and Lisbon, Patrick and Teresa.

Despite everything, despite Jane's injuries, despite the exhausting day, despite this being new and unpredictable, a feeling stirred in Lisbon, one she had been trying to control for the last day, ever since Jane had kissed her on the boat. She wanted him, well and truly wanted him, and it went beyond having fun and finding release. She wanted to show him how much he meant to her, since she couldn't put it into words yet. She wanted to make him feel good, to show him he could trust her, to get to know a side of him she didn't know yet. She wanted him to lose himself in her touches and kisses, to whisper her name hotly against her mouth, to let go. But she couldn't do any of this now because he was hurt and it would be painful for him, no matter how much he might enjoy it. No, she needed to wait for a few more days before the pain in his side had lessened.

"You're allowed to breathe, you know," Jane said after a while. "It won't hurt me."

It was the first time he had spoken since she had tried to patch him up in the kitchen. His voice was softer than she had remembered. And had she really forgotten what it sounded like in those fifteen minutes since he had spoken last?

She took a deep breath that turned into a light laugh. "Sorry, I was thinking."

His eyes were full of warmth, like she had never seen them before. "What were you thinking about?" he asked curiously.

"Guess," Lisbon said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Easy," he said with a smug little laugh and turned his head to look at the ceiling. "You were thinking about kissing me."

"And what makes you say that?" Lisbon teased, eager to hear how he had come to that conclusion. She moved closer to him and pressed the entire length of her body against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Because I've been thinking the same," he answered, and it sounded so smug Lisbon had to laugh.

"Well, what a lucky coincidence," she said, catching her breath.

His lips were soft and warm, but they tasted like iron. She kissed him slowly at first, brushing her lips against his, making sure she wasn't touching him anywhere it could hurt him. But Jane wanted more, and he soon urged her on with small bites that elicited quiet gasps from her. Only this morning, she had wanted him to be like this, had needed him to be like this, had needed him to leave no room for doubt about what he wanted the kisses to turn into. But now she wasn't so sure anymore. Now it was she who wanted to take things slowly, who didn't want to cause Jane any more pain by not being able to hold back. Because if he continued to kiss her like this, leaving a tingling sensation everywhere his lips touched her, she wouldn't be able to restrain herself, despite knowing he was injured.

But then Jane's hand was in her hair, pulling her close, and he was all teeth and tongue, and she couldn't hold back anymore. She pushed herself up and straddled him again, a habit she was quickly getting used to, then leaned down and kissed him, while his hands were tangled in her hair, keeping it out of her face, but also holding her in place with a firm grip, signaling her that this was all right, that this was exactly what he wanted.

"Teresa," he mumbled, breaking the kiss, pressing his mouth against her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her throat, anywhere he could reach. "Teresa," he said, again and again, and it sounded like a mantra, and her own name sounded so foreign to her ears she stopped associating it with herself and came to accept it as a caress, a term of endearment. He didn't need to call her honey or babe or sweetheart. Teresa was enough.

She returned his kisses, brushed her lips against his prickly jaw, against the hollow of his throat, and then down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt once more along the way. She knew she should feel frustrated having to do it again, but she enjoyed it even more now because she could cherish it. Despite everything, despite his kisses and caresses, despite his hands still being tangled in her hair, despite how every time he touched her skin she felt like she would explode, she was more in control of herself than she had been in the hallway after he had pressed her against their front door and kissed her senseless. Their front door … there really wouldn't be any his and hers in future, just theirs. and a

The wind was dying down and the thunder was only a distant rumbling now, and she could hear Jane panting, could hear him moaning from time to time, sounds she had missed the first time, and she immediately was addicted to hearing them. It was impossible to control her own breathing, her heartbeat, her hands that were eagerly exploring every newly exposed spot on his chest, her lips that were following her hands, claiming him all over again. She would never tire of this, no matter how many times they would be with each other this way.

By the time she was done unbuttoning Jane's shirt, her hands were trembling, but she was determined to continue. Before she could finish unbuckling his belt, he grabbed her wrists, making her groan in frustration and irritation. She was eager to push on, to finally see this through. She couldn't let him stop her again, she was too wound up, too on edge for that.

Before she could complain and tell him what she wanted, he sat up, bringing them closer together and making her heartbeat flutter. "You always take care of me," he mumbled, then pressed a kiss to each knuckle of her left hand. "Let me take care of you."

Lisbon nodded, a shiver running down her spine, her resolutions forgotten at this promise. He continued kissing the back of her hand and then made his way up her arm, never breaking eye contact. It was obvious he wanted to draw this out, wanted to make this last as long as possible without them going insane with longing, and it was so different to every other time she had been with a man that she needed to tell him; she needed him to know.

"Jane," she said softly, barely disguising a moan as he kissed along her collarbone. When he didn't stop, she added, "Patrick," insistently.

That made him pause. "Is everything all right?" he asked, drawing back, but not letting go of her hand.

"I need to tell you something," she said, drawing in a deep breath.

"No, you don't," he interrupted her, squeezing her hand softly. "I know."

"How could he possibly know?" He couldn't, despite his ability to read people, despite knowing her better than he knew anyone else on this planet. He couldn't, not without her saying the words.

He cupped her cheek. "You don't need to tell me anything. I know how difficult this is for you. For the both of us. Just don't think for a while, okay? And no more talking."

No, that wasn't it. It wasn't difficult for her, not at all. It was the easiest thing she had ever done in her life.

"Jane," she protested, but he shut her up with a deep kiss and when they broke apart, she realized he had opened the zipper at the back of her dress without her noticing.

He smirked proudly and she shook her head lovingly and kissed him back, sucking at his bottom lip, which made him gasp in surprise. To distract her and regain control of the situation, he pulled away and unhooked her bra while locking his eyes to hers. Through her arousal, Lisbon could feel an undercurrent of nervousness, and she knew she had no reason to feel this way. This was Jane, she could trust him. But she had expected their first time to be rough and fast and over too quickly; she hadn't expected Jane to take his time to gaze at her while undressing her slowly. It was intimate, not desperate and rampant, much more intimate than she had expected, almost too much so.

Jane, sensing her discomfort, let go of her and slipped out of his own shirt before pushing the dress of Lisbon's shoulders and tossing her bra aside. Before Lisbon could start overthinking this again, before she could come up with a plan to take charge, he softly pushed her down until she was lying beneath him, her head comfortably resting on the pillows. Then he lifted her hips and pulled off her dress completely, trying to hide a pained expression.

She noticed though, because how could she not when all her attention was focused on him. "Careful," she whispered, starting to sit up.

"Lie down," was his response, his voice rough.

She obeyed, and he rewarded her with a kiss to her inner thigh that made her shiver. Then he was on top of her, leaning on his uninjured side, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"I need you to trust me," he said suddenly.

"Why?" she asked out of habit. Years of living with him had conditioned her to question his every step.

Instead of giving her an answer, he touched her. She was still wearing her underwear but feeling his fingers pressing against her so unexpectedly made her hips buck. She bit her bottom lip, so she wouldn't embarrass herself even more by moaning, but when she saw Jane's eyes grow dark with lust at feeling the heat between her legs, she realized there was no reason to feel embarrassed. She wanted him to let go, but she needed to let go in return because he wanted her. He had waited just as long as her to see her come undone and know he was the reason for it, and she wanted to give this to him, even though it would take her a lot of effort to open up to him like this when there was so much tenderness in his gaze and touch.

It went both ways. She was affecting him too, just as he was affecting her; there was no denying it. Even though he acted calm and in control, she could see it in his eyes, in the rapid pulse beating against his neck, could feel it in the way he moved two of his fingers across the fabric of her underwear with light pressure.

She moaned.

His mouth opened slightly as he gazed at her in wonder and increased the pressure.

She moaned again, louder this time.

A quick tug on her underwear, and she was completely naked, and Jane's hand was caressing her thigh, moving higher up, his eyes on her the whole time. She was determined not to close hers now, as she watched him, watched as his hand came closer to its destination, watched how his eyelids fluttered, how his chest rose and fell in anticipation, how he fought with himself, wrestling down his own needs to focus on her.

And when he touched her, when his fingers found heat and wetness waiting for him between her thighs, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers, swallowing her moans. She shivered and strained and pushed her hips upwards again, and he didn't hesitate to give her what she wanted. Two fingers were inside of her, thrusting deeply, then three, and Lisbon was glad they were alone in the house because the sounds she made were loud enough to echo through the room. Jane moved his fingers in and out of her slowly, his eyes on hers. And he had told her to stop thinking, but she couldn't, not when she finally had what she had always wanted, not when he made her feel like this, like she was the only person who mattered to him. She thought about how it had been worth it, worth the wait and the longing and the heartbreak; it had been worth it because every single second she had spent pining for him, she had spent unsure and undecided and hurt, had led to this very moment, to her lying beneath him, panting and moaning and pressing into his touch, to him above her, taking care of her, looking after her. And she wouldn't change a single thing about it.

But then his fingers were gone, and she complained, not with words but with sounds and looks. He only pressed a quick kiss to her nose and then moved lower on the bed until he was between her legs. He only flinched slightly trying to find a comfortable position, then kissed her thighs again, nibbling at the soft skin, before dipping his head and tasting her. Any sound her body might have wanted her to make died in her throat. Seeing him like this, between her thighs, was too much, not to mention the fact that his mouth was on her, that his tongue was caressing her until her thighs were quivering, until her breath came in short, hot gasps. And then he looked up, fixated his eyes on hers, and she stopped breathing altogether, she stopped moving too, and her entire world was narrowed down to the look in his eyes.

He had looked at her with lust and devotion and hunger during the last twenty-four hours, with desire and want and love, but never like this, never like he wanted to devour her.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she let her head fall back as she moaned loudly and raised her hips again to be closer to the warmth of his mouth and tongue, but he used one hand to push her back down and hold her in place as he took the hint, increasing the pressure and speed. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, held him in place, and then she could feel him moan against her. It was the final straw, the one thing she had needed to push her over the edge, and when she came, her ears ringing, her breathing ragged, he curled his hands around her thighs and held her, continuing to caress her until she folded.

He remained where he was while she was trying to catch her breath, staring up at the ceiling. She felt exhausted, yet not sated. There had been too much buildup to this for her to feel anywhere close to satisfied. But she knew this wasn't over, and that thought calmed her and grounded her. Jane wouldn't be going anywhere, he wouldn't leave her, and they could do this as often as they wanted, until they were both too exhausted, too spent to overthink anything.

Lisbon reached out for him and pulled him up until he was lying next to her, their legs tangled together, and when she kissed him, she could taste herself on his lips. She immediately felt turned on again and pressed herself closer to him, feeling like they had opened a floodgate. Everything came rushing out, everything she had been holding back for years, and she could feel him trying to catch his breath too, but he welcomed her kisses and returned them eagerly. She had wanted to kiss him slowly, to caress him, but she couldn't, not when it was suddenly him who was straddling her, not when his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes clouded over. Her hands were in his curls, holding him in place, her nails scraping against his scalp, eliciting heated breaths and subdued moans and hoarse pants.

Lisbon could feel him grow impatient by the way his kisses urged her on, and she couldn't blame him. If anything, she welcomed it; she wanted him to let go, she wanted him to let her make him feel good for a change, and when she pushed one hand between them to unbutton his trousers, he let her, didn't stop her like he had done this morning. His skin was hot to the touch, it felt like he was burning up, and maybe he was. But when he moved off her quickly to pull down his trousers and underwear, his movements where so decisive and calculated that even his injury seemed forgotten.

Then he was on top of her again, and she could feel his naked body on hers, his lips on hers, their combined breaths creating the most beautiful symphony she had ever heard. They kissed and kissed until even breathing seemed unimportant. Then she felt him shift and suddenly he was inside of her, filling her, stretching her, and she groaned and bit down on his collarbone, waiting for him to catch his breath and start moving. But he wanted to make even this about her, tried to stay in control, and when he finally moved, it was slow and deliberate. Their foreheads pressed together as she held him in place, a hand on each side of his face, but she knew he was holding back, most likely for her benefit, because she could feel how much he needed to find release in the way his whole body seemed to tremble.

She wished they had talked about it after all. It wasn't enough he was insisting she shouldn't overthink everything and let go, she could see he needed to do the same. He needed to stop thinking about her for a change and start thinking about himself. She wanted him to take what he needed, to use her until he finally found release. But she didn't know how to tell him all of this without him losing focus, so she kissed his neck, working her way up to his ear, and then whispered, her voice low, "Let go, Patrick."

He did.

And she did too, and it only took her three more thrusts to come again, and he followed shortly afterwards, his teeth buried in her neck, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, and then she heard him loud and clear, even if a bit breathless.

"Fuck, Teresa."

Her name had a very different connotation now.

The rain had stopped, and the evening sun had come out, so the light in the bedroom had a slightly pink hue to it. His ribcage still hurt, and his nose was tingling uncomfortably, but Jane didn't care. All he cared about was the woman curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder, her fingers drawing random patterns against the skin of his stomach, her breath tickling his neck. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he didn't want to disturb her, not when they were finally at peace, not worrying about what the other wanted and if they were crossing a line, because they were finally on the same page. He could finally hold her after making love to her (or should he say she had made love to him?), and he usually wasn't one to use corny phrases like this, but he couldn't think of another way to describe what they had done.

He had told her before that he loved her, three times in words, countless other times in gestures and small touches and stolen glances. But having her beside him like this made him want to say it over and over again until she stopped him, one way or another. He needed to say it every day for the rest of their lives and he needed her to hear it every day for the rest of their lives. But he held back, determined to let her take the first step, set the pace, talk about whatever came to mind. Lisbon, however, didn't feel like doing anything. She was content lying cuddled up to him, naked, enjoying the warmth of his body, matching his steady breathing, watching the clouds outside on the sky drift by.

"You're hot," she finally said and rolled onto her side.

"Thanks," he replied. "You too."

She blushed, which was endearing, her being bashful now, after what they had just done. "I meant your body temperature," she clarified.

"I was talking about something else," he insisted.

"Jane, there's something I need to say." She sounded suddenly serious, and for a wild moment he panicked, because he thought she was about to say she regretted everything and wanted to be with Pike instead of him, but then she took his hand into hers and rested it on her stomach, their fingers intertwined. "But you have to promise me you won't make fun of me."

A sudden sadness came over him. "You need to get this idea out of your head," he said, squeezing her hand. "I have never and will never make fun of you for the way you feel."

He could see her thinking, knew she was trying to recall an occasion where he had done that so she could hold it against him, but there was nothing for her to remember because he had never done it.