Thanks again to reviewers, favouriters, alerters and all other people who are reading and taking an interest in my little story. If I could, I would send a Patrick Jane (bearing emeralds) to all of you…
Disclaimer: The only things I own related to 'The Mentalist' are copies of both seasons on DVD. That is all.
Rating: T for frequent mentions of adult themes.
This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. What could be more important than the morning after the Jisbon-y night before?
So here's my take on it.
*crosses fingers*
I hope you enjoy!
It was almost ironic in a way. How many times had she fantasized about ending up in a situation just like this? Waking up in the arms of a handsome man after a night of passion, it was every woman's dream come true. And if she put aside all her doubts for just one moment, she had to admit; her fantasies had nothing on this.
She could hear his slow, deep breathing, his arms tight around her. If it weren't for the fact that sleeping with him had been so wrong, on so many levels (professional and otherwise) this would have been sort of…perfect.
For a law enforcement worker, the issue of the work/life balance was a difficult one. Making time for a social life was harder, due to the erratic work hours and the simple fact that whenever you did manage to score yourself some precious downtime, your main priority was sleep. And everywhere you looked around you, people were falling in love, getting married, having children.
Lisbon had seen many cops she'd known try and fail to get their jobs and home lives to coexist. From what she'd seen, she'd long since come to the opinion that it simply couldn't be done. Sooner or later, something had to give.
For her though, it had always been fairly straightforward. Her job won out every time. She had worked too hard and too long to let everything slip away from her now. And to date, she'd never regretted that decision.
But it was a lonely way to live. There were an awful lot of Saturday nights to be had in front of a television after all the old friends she used to have had finally given up on her, and stopped calling. That had hurt, but she never resented them for it. That was the life she'd chosen. And her romantic life had certainly suffered its fair share of droughts. Again, she had nobody to blame but herself.
But at the end of the day, no matter how hard she tried to repress it, she still had needs. Be it days, weeks, months, inevitably the moment would come when it all became too much, and she'd have to 'break the drought.'
She'd always been ashamed of herself for that, having to go prowl through a bar somewhere, for a complete stranger just so she could be close to another human being for a few hours.
But she'd never before broken the drought in a fashion quite as spectacular as last night. She'd sunk to a new low, losing her mind completely, forcing the clash of her personal and professional lives that she'd spent her entire career trying to avoid.
She'd more or less thrown herself at Jane, her subordinate no less, (and while it couldn't be said that he was completely blameless in this, as far as last night went, she had definitely been the instigator.)
But oh, it had felt good. It was like all the years of dancing around each other and unresolved issues, and deep-seated attraction, and both loathing and lusting after him in equal parts had added fuel to the fire for her. And, ambushed or not, he most certainly had not been complaining either.
It had been a memorable night. But they shouldn't have done it. Because now things between them would be even messier than before.
Sex had a way of making complicated situations just that much worse.
The other side of the bed was empty. Waking up from the best night's sleep he had in years, Jane immediately noticed that the bed was missing something very important.
A brunette, petite, green-eyed something, to be precise.
How had she done it without waking him? He wondered, half disappointed, half mildly impressed. He'd been looking forward to waking up with her in his arms, and he'd especially liked the idea of her being the first thing he laid eyes on this morning.
He was reminded of the time he'd been temporarily blinded, and after several days of darkness, he had finally taken the bandages off to see Lisbon in the doorway, bathed in the early morning light, peering anxiously in at him. The smile that had graced her face, once she'd realized he was okay remained, to this day, one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.
But no, somehow she'd slipped away this morning, the little minx, leaving him all alone in a bed that he now thought was just too big for one person. He reached for his boxer shorts. Time to go locate his runaway lover.
He found her in the kitchen in a red satin robe, gazing out the window. Predictably, there was a cup of coffee next to her, but a quick glance at it told him that she probably hadn't taken so much as a sip. But coffee in the morning was part of her routine, a routine that had been so disrupted by last night he suspected that she wouldn't have been able to stand it if it varied any more.
"You know, when trying to avoid the morning after of the one-night stand, the general practice is to leave the house, rather than hang around in the kitchen."
He thought he saw her start as his voice broke the silence. Slowly she turned to face him, clutching the robe to herself in a death grip.
"There's no need for modesty Lisbon," he chuckled. "I've already seen you naked."
"Shut up!" she snapped. "This isn't a joke."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I had something far more charming and romantic prepared to say to you this morning, but imagine my horror when I opened my eyes to see you'd skipped out on me."
"I needed to think," she said, defensively. "And being near you was…distracting."
"How can it be distracting to be near the person you're thinking about?" He knew he shouldn't be goading her this early in the morning, but he did it on reflex now. It was out of his control.
Mostly.
"Who said I was thinking about you, anyway?" she said, quickly taking the bait.
"Oh please, if you weren't lying there rehashing last night over and over in that pretty little head of yours, Cho's a circus clown."
This conjured up a mental picture of their friend with his usual poker face, wearing a green wig and oversized red nose. Jane snickered to himself, and he noticed that though she was trying her hardest not to, Lisbon too had cracked a tiny smile. He made a mental note to tell Rigsby and Van Pelt about that one once they got back.
"If it helps," he said, pushing the image of Clown-Cho out of his head. "I've been thinking about you a lot too."
She didn't like the gleam in his eye as he said this, slowly coming towards her.
"In fact," he went on, in a low voice. "I've been having trouble getting you out of my head for quite some time." He came even closer now and she knew exactly what was on his mind. He leaned in and kissed her, and there was only a split second's thought in her mind of trying to stop him before she succumbed yet again. For a woman who prided herself on her independence and assertiveness she thought, she sure could be easily swayed.
He held her tightly by the waist; his hands warm on her skin through the thin robe. Her arms reached up to encircle his neck, pulling him to her, deepening the kiss. Then he pushed her back towards the counter again, pressing his body against hers.
Clunk. She brushed against the coffee cup, which tipped over and spilled all over the bench, and the sudden noise made them quickly break apart.
Lisbon cursed herself as she tried to clear her head. This was the fourth time they'd kissed, and he was still able to take her breath away. How had he gotten so good at it that every time felt like the first time?
"You see?" said Jane, smirking at her in that totally insufferable and yet unbelievably sexy way. "That was just a taste of what I had in store for you if you hadn't done a runner on me."
She had to admit; there were much worse ways to start the day than by being kissed like that by Patrick Jane. But that was beside the point. The little tinge of red coloured her cheeks and she averted her gaze from his.
"Jane, last night was a-"
"Mistake," he supplied. "And it should never have happened, right?"
Her eyes snapped up to meet his again.
"How did you-?"
"Lisbon, I've known you long enough now to know that whenever you take an emotional step forward, your MO is to immediately want to run about forty steps back."
She couldn't deny it, and they both knew it. Over the years, they'd gradually been getting closer and closer, and she'd fought it every step of the way. But, she reminded herself, so had he. He'd done everything in his power to try and shut her out. And now he had the nerve to accuse her of being the only emotionally unstable one here? She didn't think so.
"Hypocrite," she snapped, savagely. "Giving me lectures about emotional maturity when all I've ever seen you do is wallow in your own self-pity."
"How is that any worse than your preferred coping mechanism of drowning yourself in work?" he countered. "But I suppose that you do have a point. It seems we're about at the same level." He was looking at her so intently now, she felt as if he were actually trying to read her mind. It was unnerving.
"Well, while we're in a sharing mood, do you want to know how I feel about last night?" he asked.
Oh no. He was using that tone, the one he only used when about to say something serious. And to be quite honest, she was petrified of what she might hear.
"I don't regret it," he said sincerely.
"Well I do!" she said.
"But why though?" he asked, his gaze probing hers.
"Because we work together!"
"But is that the only reason? Just think about this, Lisbon. If we had met under different circumstances, somewhere other than the CBI, would you still regret what happened last night?"
She thought about it. What if she and Jane had met at a bar, or a restaurant, or at the supermarket? What if she'd known nothing about his family or Red John and only judged him on the carefree, forever-smiling facade that he presented to the public? Would she still have slept with him?
Probably. She'd always been a sucker for a killer smile. And she knew from experience that it was very difficult to say 'no' to Patrick Jane without sufficient practice.
But would it have meant anything?
No.
It would have been a night of meaningless (albeit satisfying) sex; and they would have parted ways the next morning. And that would be it. They would probably have never laid eyes on each other again.
She would never have to gotten to know the man that lay behind the mask. His phone number would never have been saved to her speed-dial. And he certainly would never have become one of the most important people in her life.
She wouldn't have fallen for him if it weren't for the CBI; that was for sure. It had been a long, hard road for them to get to where they were now; a road with many fierce arguments and much pain along the way. Had they not been constantly thrown together by their jobs, she would never have taken the trouble to find out the kind of person he really was, and would have simply written him off as a cocky, time-wasting jerk.
It was the ultimate catch-22. The CBI, the same place that had brought them together, also stood poised to drive a wedge into any relationship they might pursue.
It seemed that karma was having a good joke at her expense. She'd spent her whole career putting her job first, avoiding men and relationships; confident she'd never have to choose between business and pleasure. But apparently the universe had had other plans, and Patrick Jane had found his way into the CBI, her team, and eventually, her heart.
He was the forbidden apple tree in the Garden of Eden, sent to test her resolve to do what was right, and to tempt her into sin.
And now, countless arguments, several steamy kisses, and one even steamier night later, here they were, minimally dressed in a kitchen, miles away from Sacramento, work, and normality.
She'd been hoping her long silence would have spared the necessity of a response, but he was still watching her, awaiting her answer. But what could she say? She couldn't lie about it. He'd know.
"What do you think?" she found herself asking, a little snappishly.
His gaze never left hers, but it seemed to soften at the same time. The lines in his forehead relaxed as he smiled at her.
"Nice try."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on Lisbon, answering a question with a question? That's textbook deflection. And honestly, I'm a little insulted that you'd think you could throw me off that easily."
She hadn't really expected that to work. But it had been worth a try.
"If you're going to play mind games with me," he continued, "you're going to have to do better than that. Now please. Answer the question."
He was looking at her as if she were an uncooperative teenager, like she was deliberately withholding her answer just to toy with him. Didn't he understand how confusing this all was for her? Her head was telling her one thing, and her heart was telling her another.
She couldn't lie to him. She couldn't trick him or distract him. All she had left was the truth.
"If things had been different," she said. "I probably wouldn't have regretted it."
He beamed at her. "I knew it!" he exclaimed.
She watched him revel in the joy of being right, as he so often did, and it made her wonder if that was all he cared about right now. Was that all he had hoped to gain from last night, scoring another point against her?
"Jane, what was the point of making me say that?" she asked him, quietly. "It doesn't change anything. Things aren't different. They are the way they are. We still work together. You' re still a grieving widower. Last night was still a mistake…regardless of how I feel about it."
"And how do you feel about it?" he asked.
"What does it matter anyway?" she said, fretfully. "It wasn't even real."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't think it actually happened? Well, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but unless we were both having the same extremely vivid dream last night-"
"That's not what I meant," she cut him off. "We spent the whole evening pretending to be other people. We were wearing clothes that aren't ours, answering to names that don't belong to us. It was an undercover op that got out of control. That's it."
"You can't honestly believe that," he said.
"Everything's new and different, so we've latched onto each other because it's the only familiarity we have. I think we're confusing that with you know…other stuff."
"Lisbon," he said, softly, shaking his head. "That is the biggest load of crap I have ever heard come out of your mouth. We weren't confused; we both knew perfectly well what we were doing. Like it or not, we made a conscious decision to do what we did. And at the risk of sounding childish; you started it."
He looked at her as if daring her to contradict him. But she knew she couldn't. Because he was right. Nothing had happened to force her into kissing him; it hadn't been necessary to keep their cover. She'd chosen to do it. She'd let her lust and desire overpower all her better judgement, and now she had to pay the repercussions for it, whatever those might be.
He could see her searching for another excuse, but was pleased when she was unable to find one. At the very least, he wanted her to acknowledge that it had meant something. For him, it had been a huge step forward. It had proven to him that his feelings for her ran far deeper than physical attraction, and that last night wasn't just a manifestation of pent-up sexual tension.
And the reason he could say that with certainty was that as he looked at her now, he was just as in love with her this morning as he had been last night.
That was what he had been most afraid of, why he'd managed to resist Lisbon's many charms for this long. He'd been petrified that he'd regret it. That he'd shunted aside the memory of his wife for something that just hadn't been worth it.
No need to worry about that anymore.
And more than anything in the world right now, he wanted to tell her so. He tested the words out in his head. 'I love you.' 'I love you.' So easy to think, so difficult to say.
They looked at each other, neither knowing what to say or do. The atmosphere felt like it was vibrating with anticipation, like whatever happened next was going to define their relationship forever.
"Are you hungry?" Jane asked her, just to break the terrible, awkward silence.
She managed a small smile. Men. As if any woman would be thinking of her stomach at a time like this.
"Sure," she answered, though honestly, her insides were writhing like snakes.
"Why don't I fix us something while you go up and take a shower?"
She nodded, grateful for the escape, and exited the kitchen. When she reached the stairs, she cringed inwardly as she noticed that all their clothes were still there, where they'd been dropped in the hurry to get to the bedroom. With the microphones still attached.
Horror coursed through her with the speed of a bullet. Nick. How much had he heard?
She hurried back to the bedroom, grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table and punched in his number. The line rang, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to pick up or not.
"Nick Sheens."
"Hey," she greeted him, trying not to sound as terrified as she felt. "It's me."
"Tessie?" He sounded surprised. "This is early for a call. What's wrong?"
"Sorry to bother you," she said. "But I just realized we still have those microphones that you gave us."
"Yeah, I know," he said, casually. "I realized that just after you guys took off. Don't worry; you'll be using them again tonight anyway. Just keep them safe."
"Are they still transmitting?" she asked, as lightly as she could manage. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding with terror as she waited for his answer.
"Nah," he said. "As soon as I figured out what happened, I turned off the receiver."
The relief she felt as these words was so great that she felt like she had to sit down. She sank onto the bed, feeling like her knees were about to give out beneath her.
"Are you all right?" Nick ventured. "You sound a little weird. Are you sick or something?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine. Is something wrong?"
No, she thought. Just that she'd slept with her consultant last night, and that now she was torn between regretting it and wanting to do it again. Other than that, everything was peachy.
"I'm OK," she said to him, working hard to make herself sound credible. "Really."
"If you say so," he answered, sounding extremely unconvinced. "But take it easy today, OK? I need you at your best tonight. See you later."
The call ended, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was for anyone else to find out about what had happened last night, when she hadn't even figured out how she felt about it yet. She'd dodged a bullet on this one. They'd have to be more careful next time.
The panic set back in as the last thought sunk in.
Next time? There was going to be a next time?
It scared her how much she liked that idea.
As he mixed pancake batter, Jane listened hard for the sound of the shower upstairs. Silence. What was she doing up there? Brooding, no doubt, trying to rationalise everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours.
He couldn't say he blamed her. The last two days had been more mentally exhausting and emotionally draining than he ever could have imagined. He'd had to face up to things he'd been repressing for so long, he'd experienced every kind of emotion in the book, his relationship with the single most important person in his life had been turned upside down and inside out, and he couldn't be sure if it was for the better or the worse. But there was no stopping it now. The wheels had been set in motion the night he'd first kissed her on the couch.
Their futures, whether they be together or not, hung in the balance.
Lisbon stayed where she was until the smell of cooking tempted her from her solitary reverie. She arrived back in the kitchen to see the spilled coffee had been wiped up, and Jane removing pancakes from a hissing frypan and stacking them neatly onto two plates.
"Skipped the shower?" he asked.
"Dealing with a crisis."
"What, are we running out of hot water or something?" he asked, turning off the stovetop. "Because if you want to conserve water, we can always just take one together." He grinned at her over his shoulder.
"Stop." She aimed a glare at him.
"Just trying to be eco-conscious. Reduce my carbon footprint and all that."
"By trying to seduce me?"
He shrugged as he brought the plates over.
"I look at it as killing two birds with one stone. And don't take this the wrong way, but you are so very seducible Lisbon, with those big green eyes and untapped internal well of sexual frustration-"
"Stop!" she snapped, louder than before, pounding her fist on the table. "How can you be so casual about this?"
"Casual?" he repeated, as he put a plate down in front of her. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood a little. But don't go making the mistake of thinking that there was anything casual about what happened last night. It wasn't exactly an everyday event for me, you know."
The mood had suddenly shifted. All trace of humour was gone from his eyes now. But something didn't make sense to Lisbon. If it had meant so much to him, why was she the only one who was freaking out about it? He seemed totally unaffected by it as he calmly sat down and reached for the maple syrup.
He seemed to sense her watching him, and looked up to meet her gaze.
"There's no point stressing over what's already done," he said. "The only thing we can control is what happens next."
She looked down at her plate, but the mere thought of eating made her nauseous.
"So what does happen next?" he asked her, taking advantage of her silence.
"Well, you're the man with all the plans," she said, finding her voice. "What do you think?"
"I never planned on this."
"And you think I did? Of all the people I could've picked to throw away my career on, I chose the insecure, vengeful widower whose only life plan is to commit brutal murder."
Something in his expression hardened. "Firstly, you haven't thrown away your career. And secondly, it's a bit rich for you to be so judgmental, when you're not exactly the Most Eligible Bachelorette of the year yourself, at least not on paper."
She felt as if he'd reached over and slapped her. "What?"
"You drive yourself to the point of mental exhaustion. You've got trust issues, father issues, a misplaced sense of responsibility for practically everyone you know, a pathological need to try and fix everyone else's problems with little to no regard for the consequences for yourself…"
She sat stunned, as he ticked things off on his fingers.
"Face it," he concluded. "We're both screwed up."
This observation added yet another layer to their already way-too-confusing relationship. Teasing and nettling she was used to, but this brutal honesty bordering on downright cruelty, was a new one.
"That's how you see me?" she asked. "As some sort of control-freak headcase?"
It surprised her at how very hurt she was over these revelations. Jane had always made it crystal clear that any emotional attachment he had for the team as a whole would exist only as far as they were able to assist him in his cause, but a small, selfish part of her had always hoped that she might be the exception. All the time they'd spent together over the years, all the extra attention he paid her, the steady parade of expensive gifts that only ever seemed to find their way to her and not the rest of the team, surely that had to mean something. She'd always thought deep down, he must care for her at least a little. Obviously, she'd been wrong.
"When we first met, yes I did," said Jane bluntly. He was certainly pulling no punches today. "When I found out I was going to be working with your team, I made a point of finding out as much about you as I could. I asked around the bureau, and I managed to get a look at your personnel file."
"Those are supposed to be confidential!"
"I persuaded Minelli to look the other way."
"And by 'persuaded' you mean 'hypnotised?'"
"Don't be silly Lisbon," he said in a tone as if she had offended him greatly. "As if I'd ever do something so unethical."
She snorted, as he went on.
"Anyway, I had a clear idea of what you might be like in my mind, and when we were first introduced, you were exactly what I expected. The first few cases we worked, I confess, I thought you were the most irritating, intolerable woman that I had ever had the misfortune to meet."
She registered the use of past tense. "And now?" she asked.
"Well, I still think you're the most irritating, intolerable woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet." He smirked at her.
"And you're the most arrogant jackass that has ever walked the earth. But I don't tell you that."
"Actually, my dear, you do. Frequently." He chuckled. "But before you start getting all self-righteous and defensive, will you please let me finish?"
"Oh sure. Far it be from me to stop you before you've finished insulting me," Lisbon deadpanned. "Carry on. Please."
"The more I got to know you; the more I realised just how little your colleagues actually knew about you. No one ever mentioned how smart you are, for instance, or how brave, or your quick wit, or your moral integrity, or your tenacity. In fact I think I'm probably one of the only people at the CBI who sees just how unique you are."
Now she was really confused. Were these actual, genuine compliments or just cleverly disguised jabs now? She didn't know.
"The point is, I haven't been with anybody since my wife. I never thought there was anyone on the planet that could make me want to take that risk again." He held her gaze, it was almost hypnotic, impossible to look away. "I was wrong."
She searched his eyes for that telltale gleam that meant he was messing with her, but failed to find it. In fact, she saw the kind of sincerity that she rarely saw in him. Her heart fluttered. Could he actually have meant that?
Never mind. She couldn't let him sweet-talk her into anything. She had to stick to her guns.
"Please don't do this, Jane," she said. "This situation is awkward enough as it is. I'm your boss, there are rules, that's all there is to it. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"We can't keep ignoring these things, Lisbon. We've been sweeping things under the rug for ages, and look where we've ended up. Sleeping together on an undercover case. Not exactly professional, is it?"
She couldn't find a retort for that. He was right of course. He was almost always right.
"It's time to stop lying," he went on, as her gaze continued to pinion his. "To each other, and to ourselves. You know how I saw you when we first met, and you know how I've seen you since. Do you want to know how I see you right now?"
Did she? If she was being honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure. Her wish to not let things get any more unprofessional was battling with her desire to find out exactly what was going on in his head. In the end, her curiosity won out.
"OK."
"I don't see a police officer, or my boss, or my fake wife. All I see is an intelligent, confident, sexy woman who makes me feel like I never thought I could feel again. And I don't regret a single thing about making love to her last night."
She could feel the blush coming on, she could tell her heart rate must be speeding up. It was so, so hard to keep her head on straight with him saying such sweet things to her. But she had to do it. They'd both be better off in the long run.
"Jane, I'm sorry. I can't do this."
Back came his grin. "Liar."
"What?"
"Well you're about to tell me that you don't have any feelings for me and that last night was a one-off. I thought I'd let you save your breath and catch you out in the lie before you said it."
"For once in your life, will you just accept it when I tell you that no good can come of this!"
"I disagree."
"Of course you do."
"Oh Lisbon, come on, there's no shame in admitting what we both already know."
"No."
"It'll make you feel so much better," he said coaxingly.
"No!"
"Can you give me one good reason why?"
"We work together."
"We'll keep it a secret."
"Someone will find out."
"No they won't."
"And if they do?"
"We'll deal with it."
She hated the way he was belittling her like this. These were good, solid legitimate reasons and he was waving them away like they were just minor hiccups. But this was far from a joke for her. This was her life he was talking about.
"Fine," she said, lowering her voice. "You want a reason? I'll give you a reason."
"OK," he said. "But you better tell me the truth, or I'll know."
She took a deep breath. She had been so hoping that it wouldn't have to come to this. Why couldn't he just have left it alone?
"How do I know this is really what you want? Say you and I were to start something while we're here in L.A. We're in this little bubble here, shut off from our real lives. Right now, all we really have is each other."
He was way too close to her. She sat back in her chair so as to put a little more space between them.
"So what happens when we get back to Sacramento? We'll go back to work, things will go back to normal. And sooner or later we'll come across a Red John case." Jane hissed at the sound of his name. "It's like you put your whole life on hold when we get a Red John case. We'll fight the way we always do, then you'll get into that calculating, homicidal mindset you always do-don't bother denying it," she added as he opened his mouth to protest. "And to be honest Jane, when you get like that, you scare me a little. You take risks, and you put yourself and the team in danger. And then when we don't get him, you retreat back into yourself for weeks and you make me wonder what'll happen if you don't come out of it this time."
Jane listened in silence as Lisbon poured her heart out to him. He had no idea that she felt this way; she was absolutely right. Whenever Red John was in the picture, he could never think of anything else.
"And then sometime the day will come when we do catch up to him," she continued sadly. "And if you keep going on the path you're going, you'll either wind up dead or in prison. And then what do I do? I'll have jeopardized my career, and everything I've worked so hard for, for a man who doesn't even care."
This accusation finally gave Jane occasion to speak.
"Haven't you been listening to me, woman? I do care about you, more than you could possibly know."
"But you don't care enough to give up on this revenge plan, even though I've told you time and time again what the consequences will be. Have you even given a moment's thought to what it'll do to me if something happens to you? And that's only speaking as your boss and your friend. If I were your girlfriend, I don't even know if I could stand it."
It was as if her brain was like a dam, which had been storing up all these insecurities for so long, and suddenly the dam had broken, and it was all spilling out. She didn't think she could stop talking if she tried.
"And if that weren't enough, you still wear your wedding ring. You still love her, and you probably always will. And as long as we were together, I'd know that you wouldn't even be with me if she were still alive. I can't compete with the memory of your wife. She was the love of your life."
There were no tears in her eyes, rather a determined resignation as she held his gaze.
"Patrick, you are many things, but you are not a solid investment. As it stands now, if we were in a relationship the only way it could end is with somebody getting hurt. And it would probably be me," she admitted. "You can't ask me to put everything I care about at risk for something that can only end in disaster. I won't do it."
She stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back and picked up her untouched plate of pancakes.
For only the second time in his life, Patrick Jane was rendered speechless. Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that. She was one of the most private people he'd ever met, and here she was telling him about her feelings as if she did it every day.
She started to move away from the table, and instinctually his hand shot out, caught her free one and intertwined his fingers with hers.
"Teresa, I-"
She gently pulled her hand away from him.
"I'm sorry Patrick," she said, meaning it. "But you wanted the truth."
You guys hate me a little bit right now, don't you? :) Though I can't say I blame you, if I were reading this story, I'd hate me too. I had two possible ways for this chapter to turn out, one fluffy and one not so much. I couldn't decide, so I just started typing and let my muse pick for me. Guess she was in an angsty kind of mood…
But don't lose hope, Jisbon faithful. Sure, Lisbon said a lot, but there are also a lot of important things she didn't say.
Hopefully, you'll join me for the next chapter!