When they got back to their room, Lisbon kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief. "Thank God." She glanced around the room. "Um. Patrick. Do you hear a mosquito in here?"

"Let me check." Jane ambled around the room. "Ah—yes. I think I hear it, too. It's over here by this clock on the mantel." He inclined his head meaningfully at a clock right next to the place where they'd found the bug in the flower arrangement the night before.

Lisbon grimaced. "Can you take care of it, please? I don't want to be thinking about it all night."

"Certainly." Jane found the newspaper from that morning, made a show of chasing the invisible mosquito, then swatted the clock with all his might.

"Did you get it?" Lisbon asked anxiously, coming over to stand by his side.

"Yep," Jane said, gesturing to the demolished surveillance device and the ruins of the clock at his feet. "Same kind as yesterday."

Lisbon shuddered. "I was hoping our peeping tom had seen the error of his ways and given up."

"He must feel you're worth the risk. You underestimate your appeal, my dear."

"My appeal? What about yours? Our peeping tom could be a woman, you know."

"Statistically unlikely." Jane frowned at the clock. "Besides, this feels like a male kind of creepiness. Female creepiness has a different air altogether."

Lisbon decided not to argue the point. "Whatever. I'm getting ready for bed."

She changed into her shorts and t-shirt in the bathroom. When she came out, Jane had already changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt and was turning down the bedcovers.

He straightened when he saw her. His eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he raised them to meet hers. He cleared his throat. "Did I, uh, did I tell you that you looked beautiful in that dress tonight?"

Lisbon flushed. "Well, you did give me a 'wow.' That pretty much conveyed the point."

He kept his eyes on hers. "You looked beautiful in that dress, Teresa."

"Thanks, Jane," she whispered.

"Seriously. I thought I was really getting away with something, putting myself in charge of wardrobe for the weekend. But I was just thinking…" He shook his head. "Sometimes when I let you be in charge things work out better for me than I imagined possible."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "When you let me be in charge?"

"Let's not spoil the evening by arguing," he said hastily. He took a step closer to her. "Point is, you looked amazing."

Lisbon's throat was dry. She took half a step towards him. "You looked pretty handsome, yourself."

"But now you're wearing this ratty t-shirt and shorts and you've washed off all your make up," Jane said, taking another step closer to her. "And you look just as beautiful, if not more so. How is that possible?"

"You're exaggerating."

"No." He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. "I'm not."

She looked up at him, helpless against his touch. "Jane…"

"Teresa," he said, his voice low. "I really want to kiss you right now. May I?"

Lisbon swallowed. She knew what he was asking. No cameras. No one to put on a show for. No promises about tomorrow, but still—no excuses. If she said yes, she'd be acknowledging that she wanted this—not for the good of the cover, but for herself. She exhaled a shaky breath. "Yeah. Okay."

He traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. "You've scrambled my brain entirely, you know that? I can't think straight when I'm around you. Or when I'm away from you."

Lisbon licked her lips. "I know the feeling."

He stepped closer, tipping her face up to his, then bringing his mouth to meet hers. His kiss—so soft and tender. Reverent.

Lisbon, who'd been expecting a firestorm of desire like the one that had taken them over last night, was unprepared for the gentle sweetness of this kiss. Her heart was too full—it was threatening to brim over. She'd never felt so—treasured. Not like a prize or a trophy, but as though no one had ever clearly seen the pieces of herself that were fundamentally her, Teresa Lisbon, until this moment. As though he were the first one to see her true, essential self, and that he valued beyond anything on earth even those parts she herself might find wanting.

She reached up and wound her fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, wanting more of him.

Jane made a noise in the back of his throat and buried both of his hands in her hair, cradling her head in his hands as he deepened the kiss.

And then it was the firestorm again, but this time she was conscious of it building. His hand dropping to her waist stoking the embers. His thumb across her hip spreading a trail of sparks. The long, hot press of his body against hers causing the flames to roar to life. And above all, his mouth against hers sweeping her up in a maelstrom of burning need—need for his touch, his taste, his skin under her fingertips, need for him. All of him.

They staggered to the bed and fell on top of it not through any conscious decision or thought process, but rather an instinctive mutual understanding that the bed would let them press themselves closer. To feel each other's weight, as though no fevered touch of the hand would be enough without the physical press of bone and muscle to imprint their shape upon the other.

Jane kissed her like he was planning to make a lifetime study of her mouth. Like he wanted to learn every gasp and hiccupping breath elicited when he kissed her sweet and soft or deep and long. Measuring time by the cadence of her heart, measuring space by learning the shape of her, his left hand in her hair, the fingertips of his right hand trailing down her neck.

Lisbon kissed him back, her hands framing his face, luxuriating in the barely there rasp of stubble under her fingertips as she drew him closer.

"Teresa," he gasped into her mouth. He slid his hand down to her bare thigh, pulling her leg over his hip in an echo of the way he had the night before, when Sevechenko had caught them together in the hallway. "Teresa." He kept kissing her, so overcome he couldn't seem to complete a thought. "You're so…"—kiss—"you're so…"

But Lisbon never found out what she was, because the memory of Sevechenko smirking at them in the hallway yanked her rudely back into reality.

She sighed in frustration and disappointment. "Jane."

He kissed her again.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed at him half-heartedly. "Jane, we need to stop now."

Jane groaned in disappointment and buried his face in her shoulder. "Really?" he said into her shoulder, his voice muffled.

She permitted herself one more caress of the curls at the back of his neck and then pulled her hand away. "Yeah."

Jane sighed and rolled off of her.

"Sorry," she said, apologetic. "I just—don't think this is a good idea. After where we left things earlier, I mean."

Jane scrubbed his hands over his face and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself down. "I understand."

"I don't want to—to pretend everything's going to be okay," Lisbon said unhappily.

Jane grimaced. "I definitely don't want you to pretend anything when you're in a bed with me."

Lisbon smiled wryly. "I guess neither of us really have our heads on straight, huh?"

"Yeah," Jane said gloomily.

She nudged his leg with her foot. "Cheer up. The illusion was nice while it lasted, wasn't it?"

Jane passed a hand over his eyes. "I'm just so tired."

"It's been a long day."

"That's not what I meant. I'm tired of…of restraint." He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. "I'm tired of holding myself back from you."

Her heart fractured. "But I need you to," Lisbon whispered. "Because if you don't, and you leave, I'll break."

He reached out and took her hand, then kissed her palm. "I don't want to bring you pain, Teresa."

Too late for that. She had a physical pain in her chest—the fault lines where her heart had already cracked would shatter her whole being if they received that final, critical blow. "I know you don't, Jane. But sometimes you do anyway."

He sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just want you to know—Teresa, if I were free…"

"Those prison walls are only in your mind, Jane," Lisbon said quietly.

He went quiet. "Yeah," he said tersely. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Lisbon turned onto her back and blinked back her disappointment.

They lay there staring at the ceiling in silence for ten minutes. Then Jane turned back to his side and said, "Look, I know we aren't—that we're not—that we can't—but can I make a request?"

He'd already made one request and look where that had gotten them, she thought. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Just for tonight-can we please stop pretending we're platonic co-workers sharing a bed?"

Lisbon frowned and turned her head to look at him. "If we're not that, and we're not the other, where exactly does that leave us?"

"I was hoping, well—" he looked sheepish. "Friends with cuddle benefits?"

"You want to cuddle?" Lisbon said, eyes round.

"Yes," Jane said with certainty. "Very much."

"I don't know, Jane," Lisbon said reluctantly.

He hit her with puppy eyes. "Please?"

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Pretty please?" Jane tried.

Ridiculous man. "Fine," Lisbon sighed. "But no funny stuff."

Jane slid over to her side and gathered her in his arms. "No funny stuff."

Lisbon turned so he could spoon her properly, then settled back against him.

This was just how they'd woken up that morning, she realized. Snuggled up together. It had felt so safe and warm this morning, but now, after the events of the day, and the many, many kisses, it was torture. The tiniest taste of heaven, with the sure knowledge that if she reached for even the smallest bit more, the gates would slam closed in her face.

She was still worked up from his hot kisses. Having his warm body wrapped around her was not soothing her. Instead, it was agitating her back into a state of lust with no means of remediating the problem.

Lisbon scowled into her pillow. "This sucks."

"You're not finding the experience entirely satisfying?" Jane said, nuzzling her hair.

She resisted the urge to swat him away from her neck. "No."

"Don't worry, Teresa," he murmured into her ear with a sly smile. "I promise, I'm going to make it good for you."

She squirmed against him. "God dammit, Jane."

He did not loosen his hold. "No, really. I'm going to make you feel warm and relaxed and safe, I promise. You're going to have an amazing night's sleep."

"Not happening," Lisbon said through gritted teeth.

"Have a little faith, Lisbon."

"If you even think about hypnotizing me—"

"No hypnotism," Jane promised. "I'm going to tell you a bedtime story."

Lisbon snorted in derision.

"Once upon a time," Jane began, undeterred. "There was a brave, kind knight named Teresa."

"Oh, brother," Lisbon muttered.

He ignored the interruption. "Teresa was strong and smart and sarcastic. She was the bravest knight in the land. But I'm afraid she was also a workaholic. She didn't take enough time for herself because she was always too busy capturing killers and knaves and throwing them in the dungeon. She had a loyal team of fellow knights, and they followed her because she was the toughest and smartest of them all."

"The plot of this story stinks," Lisbon commented. "You've used about five thousand adjectives already and there hasn't been any action yet."

"Ssh, be patient," he admonished her. "Now, where was I?"

"One day, Teresa hired a handsome, charming consultant to help her capture the killers. He was a bit of a knave himself, you see, so he focused mostly on the killers and left the rest of the knaves to her. The handsome consultant had a problem, though. He had a hole inside himself. Teresa saw that, but she decided to work with him anyway. And somehow being around her made the hole better. But the consultant had a quest, and he didn't think the hole could get completely better until he fulfilled that quest. Teresa didn't approve of the consultant's quest, but she was too kind to throw him out on his ear entirely, and so they worked together. And the consultant started to make non-quest-like excuses to hang around her fortress, usually involving tea or ice cream, just because he liked being around her."

"And then one day they were sent on a quest to catch a particularly dastardly knave that required them to spend even more time together. And the consultant was secretly pleased because he always wanted to learn more about her and this would be a golden opportunity to do so. But then something truly terrible happened."

"Terrible?"

"Yes," Jane said. "She kissed him."

Lisbon scowled. "You're saying the kiss was terrible?"

"The kiss was magnificent," he corrected her. "Earth-shatteringly amazing. But the fact that it happened in the first place was terrible, because it made the consultant forget why he needed to keep the brave knight at arm's length. So he got scared and did several foolish things, but they kept talking and they went to a ball together and after the ball he asked for another kiss. And the brave knight said yes. And then she made out with her consultant on the hotel bed and he was so, so happy."

He took a deep breath. "And it was okay that he didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow. He hated that he couldn't promise her the moon and the stars or even mundane things like not murdering anyone in cold blood, but he was happy anyway because he'd learned he could still love again and that made him feel whole for the first time in longer than he could remember. He wished he could give her a gift of equal worth, but even ten ponies wouldn't have been enough and all he could hope for was that she didn't hate him for being a worthless knave that could never repay the kindness she'd shown him."

He could still love again. "She doesn't hate him," she whispered.

Jane kissed her hair. "I'm glad."

She was silent for a moment. "He was happy?"

He gave her a little squeeze. "So, so happy."

"Happy," Lisbon murmured, relaxing into him.

She supposed the story wasn't so bad after all, she thought, and drifted off to sleep.