I'm planning on writing one last chapter. Sorry this one is so short! Hopefully you like it. Thanks so much for the follows, favorites and reviews! Keep telling me what you think: I love it :)

xxxxx

"It's time that we face the facts and decide what we're going to do about it." Jane announced, gesturing for her to sit.

Lisbon collapsed into her wheelie chair with a look of exasperation.

"We've already established that I love you. And I'm pretty sure we've just established that you love me."

"So, now we're supposed to be one big happy family?" Lisbon sneered.

"Would you knock off the tough girl act?" He asked with a grin, grabbing her chair and pulling it so she was directly in front of him; their knees lightly touching. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Ha! You?"

"See what I mean? You just go straight for the heart." he placed his hand on his chest with a dramatic flourish.

"Sorry."

They were both silent, staring each other down.

"Teresa." Jane said, drawing her name out softly and leaning forward. He gently ran his hands up and down her calves.

Lisbon shivered, her resolve cracking into a million pieces.

"What?" she whispered.

"Do you love me?"

A long pause. An annoyed huff. A small sniff.

"Yes."

"So what's holding us back?" He questioned.

"From what?"

He leaned forward, hands on the arm rests of her chair, lips a centimeter from her own.

"This." he breathed as he closed the gap between them and pressed his warm lips against her own. He was tentative, waiting for her response.

This is it. She realized. This is where he gives me one second to make a choice that could affect the rest of my life. My response will be the answer to whatever he's asking me.

With Jane, it had always been about actions. He had lived his entire life as a con-man; a psychic who manipulated words and emotions for a living. He knew that words could mean anything you wanted them to. Words had gotten his family killed.

Actions were the important thing. The hug he gave her meant more than the whispered words "love you." The team defending him with guns drawn meant more than a phone call to see if he was all right. Personally catching Red John gave him more peace than hearing that others had put him justice.

Yes, Patrick Jane was a man of action.

She remembered what he has told McKaye yesterday about the painting: "Manet painted it as a gift for his brother's wife; his forbidden love. He couldn't express his love for her in words, so he did it in a different way."

She had sat in the backseat overwhelmed by the feeling that this statement was meant for her. It was his silent explanation, when all else had seemed to fail. Every time he lied, every time he walked away: it had been out of love. Sure, sometimes it had been mixed with selfishness and his personal thirst for revenge, but in his mind, he had been protecting her from a serial killer and guarding himself from being destroyed. Again. He hadn't been able to find the words to tell her that he loved her in the midst of all that pain. But he had shown her in the only way he had known how.

And now here he was- this beautiful, crazy, secretive man- laying everything out on the table, asking her to make a choice. Everything in their relationship had climaxed into this one moment, and he wanted an answer.

Even as these thoughts flashed through her mind she felt him slowly start to pull away. Lisbon quickly grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled him back. Hard. The force set her chair to wobbling. She leaned into him, crushing his mouth against hers, breathing in the faint spice of cologne that hung around him. She tasted the sweetness of his lips and made sure he knew her answer. Yes, she said with everything inside of her. Yes.

Jane leaned in close, putting his full weight on her chair. She was lost in his eyes. Mouth lost in his lips. Fingers lost in his hair.

Lisbon suddenly felt a flying sensation in the pit of her stomach as her chair shot backwards and ricocheted off the desk behind her with a violent jolt. She slammed her feet down on the ground and sat motionless; briefly stunned. What just happened? she wondered, blinking her eyes. Teresa looked down to find Jane lying face down on the floor, groaning.

"I think I have whiplash." She moaned, slowly standing. Her knees wobbled beneath her; whether from the kiss or her adventure across the room in the hands of her chair, she couldn't be sure. She was inclined to think the former.

Jane rolled over onto his back and gave a pathetic whine. He looked like a little boy, with his curls all a-mess and his face twisted into a theatrical expression of pain. She towered above him and crossed her arms, trying to look stoic, but she could feel the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Moments later she sank to the floor in a hysteric fit of laughter. Jane propped himself up on one elbow and feigned offense at her apparent lack of concern.

She paused for a moment and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before bursting into laughter again. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to get herself under control.

"It's ok. Don't worry about me over here. I'm fine." He grumbled.

"Oh, I know you are." She said with a grin, resting her palm against his cheek, and kissing him slowly.