Okay, firstly (honestly, this is more important than the UPDATE!) there's a beautiful Australian show called Spirited, starring Claudia Karvan and Matt King, that Foxtel has axed after only two seasons despite that it was the most-watched Australian show on Pay TV. Please help Australians save the show by signing the petition at ... Go there now, then come back and read my chapter. It can't wait :)

Right, back to business. I haven't updated in a while (shouldn't be updating at all, Year 12 exams in two weeks-EEEK!) but I really needed to write SOMETHING to distract myself from the Spirited situation. I'm aware it's slightly OOC, but hey, it could happen. Thanks so much to Aimlessly Unknown for the quote, this only took me three hours to write which shows how excited I was about it.

I'd much rather own Spirited than Mentalist right now, but nope to both.

Chapter Eight

You'd think the woman waits on the man, having always been told as such, and yet-more often than not-the man is left waiting for the woman who is waiting for him. –Alexandra Patrickson

It was a few months before Jane could open his eyes and see change.

Not in him, oddly enough, at least not at first. On reflection, he often wondered if maybe it was because he'd been numb, drifting through time in sheer disbelief that he'd come out of his past with life at all. In moments of madness, he found it less painful to simply believe that Red John was still alive. That his tirade wasn't over, that the rage hadn't just shed him like skin the moment he'd won…

No, he could hardly be expected to feel changed when he barely remembered how to feel at all. But his observational skills had not been damaged, and rather surprisingly he'd begun to see change in the people around him. It was subtle, to begin with; Cho's raised eyebrows, Rigsby's doubletake, Grace's smile when she thought he wasn't looking. But as the weeks passed, their relief became more and more obvious and it suddenly occurred to Jane that they'd been tiptoeing around him for ten years, and he'd never once noticed.

The biggest change was in Lisbon. In the beginning, she'd looked at him like he was a complete stranger and he found himself utterly unprepared for how much it hurt. He'd expected her to be angry, bleakly hoped she would empathise but never once thought that she might categorise him as she had. Like he wasn't nor had he ever been her Consultant, just one of the many murderers she'd fit into her life.

Day by day, however, he found that he couldn't mistake the lightness that began to radiate from her, shining so brilliantly in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Jane saw her smile more often, felt the warmness in her words and it dawned on him that the Lisbon he'd known before was not the Lisbon that so captivated him now. No, this was Teresa, or as much Teresa as she'd been able to rescue from her childhood. Calmer, less kentankerous; granted, he had eased up on the cunning plans and the mind tricks. He didn't know whether it was because he was tired of pretending, or because he no longer needed the drama of it all as a fierce distraction.

He'd told her once, how nice it was that she didn't want to punch him in the face quite so often. She'd laughed, the sound sending a rush down his spine, and then she'd told him, 'I'm not the only one who's changed, Jane.' At the time, he'd assumed she was referring to the rest of the unit but her words had prompted a curious glance in the mirror. He wouldn't ever forget the shock, of barely recognising the man who looked back from the glass, with the same lightness that shone in her. The same old guilt in his eyes, but faded to a faint twinge he decided he would take in exchange for the fact that his walls were down, for the first time in a decade.

They'd become undeniably closer, he and her. Her and he. Somewhere along the way, they'd shifted from two opposing forces to…well, he wasn't sure of the definition, but he was adament that it was better than before.

Everything was better than before, and this was what shocked him the most.

She'd had a terrible day. Murder was often quite the simple thing to solve but the current case had proved to be all dead ends and frustration, and so he decided he would take her out for dinner. 'I know this great Italian restaurant,' he told her, 'you'll love it,' and four months ago Lisbon might have protested but today she just smiled wearily and followed him to the elevator. He'd taken her out many times before and had quickly discovered how fond she was of foreign food; many times she had thanked him for the night, and he'd brushed off the gratitude. What he would never tell her was that it was as much a therapy for him, to watch her eat her food with a tenderness and an intimacy he couldn't hold back, nor could he ever have expressed at work.

If he could think himself intact enough to be worthy of love, he might claim he was falling.

They swept through dinner with an easiness he revelled in, and when the manager began shooting them impatient looks Jane sighed in annoyance, and asked for the bill. He'd noticed the grey clouds looming overhead beforehand, and so it wasn't the heavy rain that surprised him, but Lisbon's reaction to it. Unmoving, she tilted her head toward the sky and closed her eyes, letting the water fall over her like a cool blanket. Jane found himself unable to pull his gaze away, drawn to the wonder of her like a magnet; eventually, he had the presence of mind to tug at her hand and she came back to him with a grin.

It took them several minutes to reach his car, by which time they were both saturated. The Citroen, being a vintage model, lacked a powerful heater and within moments Lisbon was shivering.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

'For what?'

He gestured to the heater, and she shook her head, smiling. 'Don't ever apologise for your car,' she said.

'It's a dinosaur.'

'It's vintage,' she corrected him. 'And it says everything anyone ever needs to know about you.' Jane glanced over and caught her gaze then, a gentleness in her face that again held him transfixed, this time for so long that, unbeknownst to him, he'd begun to drift the car right. It was the blaring horn of a truck that snapped his gaze back onto the road, and suddenly he was glad of the dark because he could feel a blush in his cheeks, hastened all the more when Lisbon started laughing.

'Oh, I finished that book you gave me,' she announced a few minutes later, as he turned the car into the parking lot beside her building. Jane vaguely remembered; he'd decided for some reason that she needed to 'appreciate literature more', and subsequently shoved Austen's Northanger Abbey in her face.

'How was it?' he asked.

'Crap,' she grimaced. He feigned shock, and she smiled.

'I didn't understand it. I like my books in English, thanks.'

'You are so anti-culture that it hurts,' he told her.

'All I know is that I can't stand it staring at me all the time. Please take it out of my apartment, get it away.'

They continued bickering about literature all the way to her door, but it was playful banter and Jane had come to cherish the way her comments were so naturally complimentary to his. Still shivering, it took her many tries to fit the key in the door and a few moments later Northanger Abbey was in Jane's hands. Lisbon stood merely a foot away, a puddle of water slowly forming at her feet.

'Thanks,' she said softly, and he smiled.

'Anytime.' It was at this point that he would usually mumble a goodbye and head for the door. But the sight of her, dripping rain and beautiful, was a temptation he didn't have the strength or will to resist. Painfully slowly, he raised his hand and let his fingers brush down one side of her face; her eyes gently fluttered closed and the desire to kiss her became so powerful in that moment that he very nearly gave in.

But Jane wasn't blind. He saw the desire in her face too, burning over the surface, which for most men would have been more than enough. But underneath this desire, he saw all too clearly the walls she had built so precariously, formed from twenty-five years of protecting herself. And he knew these boundaries would not be brought down overnight, having attempted the very same thing in himself. It had taken months to relearn how to trust, how to let people in without giving in to the pressing urge to run. Lisbon might be lighter, softer, willing to be his, but he knew it wasn't enough. Not yet.

And so Jane let his hand drop. She opened her eyes with a faint confusion, which became understanding as she read his expression. Somehow, in the race from aloof and untouchable to human and wanting, he'd overtaken her. And he'd wait for her to catch up, whether it took weeks or months or the rest of his life; one day, he was sure, he'd be strong enough to break down her walls and there'd be nothing in between them.

'Night,' he murmured, smiling wistfully. Lisbon returned the expression.

'Night.'

Jane left her apartment incomplete, not due to emptiness but because he left a little of himself with her, a deposit of sorts, a promise that gave him hope.

Thanks for reading, I'm good for quotes (only two chapters to go) but I'm always up for more.

TAJ :)