A/N: This chapter verges on "M", so please be advised. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Late Saturday night, Lisbon stood in the Special Crimes Unit bullpen, staring at the neatly folded pile of bedding and pillows stacked upon Jane's desk. The thin piece of foam he'd used for a bed was propped against a nearby wall. She also noted the familiar remote controlled toy helicopter, a deck of cards, two dress shirts, and a used cup and saucer that took up the rest of the space atop the rarely used desk, along with various office supplies he'd brought up to the attic for his personal use. LaRoche had apparently kicked him out of the attic for good.

An hour before, she'd given up trying to sleep, hating the uselessness of tossing and turning. She'd lain there for hours, alternating between reliving their confrontation of two days before, and imagining him knocking on her door, begging for forgiveness and confessing all of his secrets. Both were fruitless lines of thinking. With a sudden insight into what Jane must go through during his many sleepless nights, she's gotten out of bed, thrown on jeans, t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt, and driven to the CBI. She had to get out, and, work furlough or no, CBI HQ was the only place she really felt at home.

The lone night watchman waved her past, and she entered the building, heading first to Jane's attic hideaway to check out the damage LaRoche's so-called "spring cleaning" had wrought. She'd found, much to her surprise, that the sliding door was locked now with a shiny, new, military grade padlock. The sight made her eyes water. So much had been taken from Jane that this seemed minor by comparison, but nonetheless it made her suddenly angry at LaRoche that he could be so spiteful and petty as to take away one of the few indulgences Jane allowed himself in life. In an uncharacteristic burst of temper, she pounded the door as hard as she could in frustration. She went back downstairs, hand throbbing, but feeling a little better for having done something. That is, until she'd seen Jane's desk.

She wiped at her eyes and picked up a pillow, bringing it up to her face in the glow of his desk lamp. It still smelled faintly of his shampoo and cologne. Am I making a mistake, making him choose between me and Red John? Can I live with whatever choice he makes?

"Hey," said Jane from the doorway. She was startled, but not really surprised to find him there. She dropped the pillow and turned to him. He looked as haggard as she felt, and she realized it had been months since she'd seen him like this: unshaven, unpressed, generally unkempt. A pang of guilt swept through her.

"Hey," she replied. "You stalking me?" she asked, unable to resist falling into their usual banter. Old habits…

He grinned slightly. "Actually, this is just an incredible coincidence. I couldn't sleep, and The Couch has magical properties. It…called to me." He looked with exaggerated longing at the brown leather couch near his desk, upon which he'd spent many a lazy afternoon.

"Awww…that explains it. Well, I'll just leave the two of you alone—"

She moved toward the door, but he stood where he was, blocking her way. "Teresa. Can we talk, please?"

She sighed. "Are you ready to tell me everything?"

"No," he said simply. "But I miss you. When you weren't at your apartment, I got worried. I figured you'd come here. I just needed to see your face, to know you're okay."

"Well, you've seen it; now let me go."

He didn't move. "Wait." He reached for her hands, but she twisted them out of his grasp. She could lay him flat if she wanted to, and they both knew it. He dropped his hands with a frustrated sigh.

"Don't do this, Jane. I told you what I want, and I meant it. Let me go," she repeated.

"No. I can't."

"You're going to have to." She was pleased that her voice sounded so firm, given the way her pulse was pounding in her head. She turned and walked away from him, determined to use a different exit since he was childishly blocking this one. He caught up with her, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. Before she could protest, he drew her close, holding her by her upper arms, capturing her mouth in a determined kiss.

At first she resisted, struggling against him. She could easily have kneed him in the groin, but something held her back. Love, she supposed vaguely, as well as the instant lust that flared between them whenever his lips met hers. He held her head still, his hands moving to her hair so he could continue his sensual assault, and she abruptly quit fighting, her mouth stubbornly closed against his advancing tongue. Then, abruptly, he changed tactics, gentling his hold on her, nibbling at her bottom lip, slowing his entreating tongue to a lazy flick at the seam of her mouth.

She shivered, moaned, and opened her mouth. Her acquiescence brought about an instant renewal of his passion, and before either of them knew it, their hands began working in tandem, feeling hot skin beneath shirts, unbuttoning, unzipping, while their mouths remained fused and insistent. Neither of them could remember later just how they'd managed to land on the couch, but one thing had led quickly to another, and suddenly Lisbon was on her back, Jane inside of her, holding her wrists above her head as her hips rose to meet him, stroke for delicious stroke. Their harsh breaths and passionate groans filled the empty office, each of them in a frantic hurry to win this sensual race. His lips slid down her throat, nuzzling up her t-shirt to take one pert nipple between his teeth. She bucked against him, bringing them both to the brink of insanity. He repeated the process on her other breast, and with a long wail, she was done for, and he came quickly after.

They panted in aftershock, Jane's soft curls against her bare neck as he breathed harshly into her ear. A thin layer of perspiration covered their fevered skin. Neither of them could ever remember such an intense and swift release.

After a few minutes had ticked by, Jane released her hands, lifting himself up a little to relieve some of his weight upon her and to look into her flushed face and bright eyes.

"I can't lose this," he whispered desperately, lightly tracing her cheeks with trembling fingers. "Please don't leave me, Teresa."

She closed her eyes against the intensity of his, at the guilt his pleading eyes aroused in her. At that moment, she both hated and loved him in equal measures. She'd sworn to herself and to him that this wouldn't happen again, and with one kiss, she was putty in his hands.

"Get up, Jane," she said shakily.

"What?"

She opened her eyes, bravely meeting his. "I can't believe this happened. Talk about me using sex as a weapon. Did you think I'd just take this lying down—?"

He grinned wickedly. "I think you just did."

This time, she didn't ask; she pushed him off of her, and he landed in a surprised heap on the floor.

"Hey!"

Lisbon got awkwardly off the couch, realized her panties were around her ankles and pulled them up before she tripped. She reached for her discarded jeans and shoes, while he sat up on the floor against the couch, half-naked, shirt unbuttoned, a lazy grin on his face as he watched her fumble for her clothes and her dignity. In Jane's mind, he'd clearly won this battle.

"I'm so damn pathetic," she was mumbling to herself. Fully clothed again, she looked down at him. "I've allowed you to have too much power over me. Well, no more. That was our last hurrah. Unless we're on a case, you stay away from me or else—"

"You're giving me an ultimatum to your original ultimatum?" he interrupted, looking up at her in amusement. "Oh please. That ship has already sailed, don't you think? Just give up and we can go back to the way things were. You know I never tell you the whole truth about work stuff. I thought you'd accepted that about me when you told me you love me. We were perfectly happy before that bastard LaRoche stuck his nose into my business."

She stood dumbstruck a moment, trying to decide which outrageous contention to address first. Before she could formulate her rebuttal, however, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

"You love me," he said softly. "No ultimatums are going to change that. So it seems to me we need to agree to disagree and get on with the life we had together before we were so rudely interrupted."

She tried to ignore the tingles that shot up her arm from where their hands were joined, tried to ignore how amazingly sexy he looked, lounging so casually in his nudity, his hair tousled, his eyes slumberous from their recent passion. He was right; her ultimatum was pointless, but he was wrong to think that she could forget his lies of omission.

She squeezed his hand. "Yes, I love you. And if you loved me, you would trust me, it's as simple as that."

"Teresa—" he began, hating the sorrow in her eyes, knowing that he'd put it there but feeling too entrenched in his principles to do anything about it.

She gently released his hand, and he let his own fall away. He would let her go, for now. She no doubt needed to go off and lick her wounds, to re-evaluate how she was going to deal with the fact that she couldn't live without him.

"I'll see you Monday, Jane."

"Yes you will, Lisbon," he told her matter-of-factly.

He stayed where he was on the floor, watching her through the glass walls as she made her way down the hall toward the elevator. He heard the faint ding as it arrived and took her back down to the lobby. Jane stood up slowly, suddenly feeling his age. He wasn't a young man anymore, and the cold floor had made his legs a little stiff. He laughed when his back protested his bending over and picking up his underwear. A wave of tiredness overcame him, both from his exertions with Lisbon and from the last few sleepless nights he'd spent without her. He grabbed a pillow and blanket from his desk, switched off the single light Lisbon had turned on, and lay back down on the couch. He looked up toward the darkened ceiling, physically and emotionally spent, but in a good way.

Monday would be a game changer, of this he was certain. His plans for Jessie Lynch and J.J. LaRoche would come to a head, and Lisbon would be resigned to the fact that no matter their problems, being together was infinitely better than the alternative. As his eyes began to flutter close, he imagined he could still feel her warmth beneath him, still smell her sweet scent, still hear her soft pants as he moved within her. For the first time in days, Jane felt the comfort that only comes with complete contentment, and the feeling followed him into his dreams.

Monday morning…

If the jovial laughter was any indication, the team was happy to be back at work. The time off had been good for all of them, Jane thought as he greeted his coworkers in the bullpen. Rigsby and Van Pelt answered his teasing comments with gentle ribbings of their own. Cho, however, pointedly went back to catching up on his e-mail.

That's fine, thought Jane. He'll be thanking me when LaRoche is gone and Minelli is back in command where he belongs.

Jane went into the break room to make himself some tea, grabbing a raspberry filled donut while he waited for the water to boil in the electric teakettle. There was no sign of Lisbon, but her car was in the lot, so he imagined she was just avoiding him. He'd noticed the blinds on her windows were purposefully closed in a vain attempt to hide from the world. But that was alright with Jane; he had other things to focus on this morning.

The attack came from nowhere, just as Jane was reaching for the teakettle. It felt like he'd been hit by a Mack truck, his eye socket exploding in pain as the punch slammed into his face. He reached out blindly for the counter for support, but missed, bringing his empty cup and saucer crashing to the hardwood floor alongside him.

Jane looked up to see a suit-clad blob before him—it was LaRoche, looming above him, shaking in abject rage.

"Stay out of my personal life, you miserable son-of-a-bitch, or next time I'll take your fuckin' head off." His voice was low and clipped, but deadly serious. Jane's hand went instinctively to his eye as he looked past the madman to the redhead in the breakroom doorway. She was sobbing, her hands over her mouth in shock.

"Oh, hi Jessie," Jane said with a grin, which he quickly rethought as the nerve endings on the left side of his face reacted in protest. The sound of breaking pottery had brought Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho to the room, just as LaRoche stalked purposefully away.

"John!" Jessie called after him. She turned back to Jane. "I'm so sorry!" And then she followed her ex-fiancé down the hall.

"What the hell happened?" asked Rigsby, helping Jane to his feet.

"I uh, slipped," he said unsteadily. Rigsby helped him to the chair at the small dining table, while Cho bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken cup and saucer. Van Pelt rushed to the freezer for an ice pack, holding it gingerly to Jane's eye and cheek.

"Was that LaRoche?" she asked, her face grim.

Jane shrugged.

Cho dropped the broken shards into the nearby trashcan, brushing his hands together in finality.

"Karma's a bitch, isn't it?" Cho said, then left the breakroom without a backward glance.

A/N: Boy, that preview for the upcoming new episode looks amazing! Check it out on if you haven't seen it! In light of what we see in that, I can totally imagine LaRoche reacting to Jane in the way I showed in my story; watch the promo and you'll see what I mean. My next chapter will have much more fallout from Jane's actions concerning Jessie and LaRoche. Please review and let me know what you think!