FIVE

Back in her hotel room that was bathed in muted tan and pink florals, Teresa found herself pacing back and forth. Focus, she coached herself. There's no reason to be nervous. Just change and head over there. Since joining the FBI, she had learned to always pack a favorite pair of worn-in jeans, trainers, and a comfortable shirt just in case she was ever left with free time on her hands at any given location. This trip she had an eggshell white sweater to pull on with her jeans, and she sighed, grateful for its familiar softness. Whatever Jane had in mind for the night, one thing, at least, would remain comfortable. Safe.

As she paused to check her hair and make-up for the umpteenth time in the big mirror that hung over a peeling faux-wooden bureau, Lisbon cursed Jane and his ability to affect her like this. Since he had re-entered her life, he had been... almost gentle with her. Jane Light, she would inwardly chuckle. But for weeks now she had struggled to understand this side of him that was more open and yielding, more intent when he focused his attention on her. Was it newfound appreciation of her following two years of absence? With Fischer and Abbott at the helm, was he somehow more comfortable being able to relate to her as a peer?

Or was this nothing more than what Patrick Jane looked like away from the torment of Red John?

For more than ten years, Teresa had not always been able to distinguish between his general amiability and more meaningful affection, both when it came to herself and to others, and it hadn't been much different in the months since their reunion. But last night, any doubt about where he meant to fit her into his new life vanished. Last night, he would have kissed her.

So she'd bolted. And she wouldn't apologize for it, not to him or herself. He had the upper-hand. She knew there was little she could hide from him, that he was able to make his decisions with an awareness of how she was feeling without her even meaning to give anything away. She, on the other hand, needed a chance to let it sink in that the warmth in his regard for her, the affection she could see in his eyes, wasn't purely a reflection of their enduring bond.

That he wanted more from their relationship.

That tonight's invitation, his insistence on seeing her earlier than usual, almost certainly had everything to do with a wish to broach the subject of them.

Lisbon resumed pacing.

Trust me, he'd implored her again today. Trust him. How could she trust someone who had spent most of their friendship keeping secrets? Using his abilities as an advantage over her more than once?

But God help her, she did. She trusted him. She trusted him because for all of the worry and challenge and frustration that he brought with him, Patrick Jane was trustworthy. He had never pretended to be anything other than what he was with her. He had never tried to convince her that he was honorable, or easy, or anything but a single-minded man on a mission for retribution, despite her having made no secret of harboring disdain for his bloodlust.

No, when it came to a man like Patrick Jane, she had come to realize that the question was not a matter of trusting him. The question was, could she trust herself? Did she have the capacity to love with dignity a man she would never be able to contain? Someone whose ego and enthusiasm were sure to get ahead of his good sense? Whose greatest vice was his difficulty loving on terms other than his own?

She'd spent her whole life trying desperately to build stability around herself. The day Teresa had learned her mother would never tuck her in again, that was the last day she'd stood secure and protected on a solid foundation built for her by another. From then on out she'd been clawing at rock with bare hands, trying desperately to construct all by herself something firm and steady under her and her brothers' feet. Her father, in grief he let fester into rage, forced her to start all over time and time again until he, too, was gone. Yet somehow, shaken and wounded though she was by the end, she had indeed managed to forge her own solid ground to stand on. And to keep anyone from taking this one from her, she built around it a wall.

Jane had long managed to get close enough to shake that foundation, chisel away at the edges, but she had yet to truly, completely let him in. She'd been close, before... before McCallister and the Blake Association. Before Jane finally found his vengeance and ran away from her for good. When she closed her eyes, she could still remember the disorienting combination of warmth and chill between the setting orange sun and the ocean breeze, between Jane's sweet words to her and the taillights of his car. But she understood him, understood that the actions he took didn't speak to his regard for her so much as to his drive to take down Red John with as little collateral damage as possible.

That was something else about Patrick Jane, Lisbon smiled. She thought of the way he'd crushed that figurine today at the Browder house. He'd allowed her to keep her composure while he crossed the line, however insignificantly. Jane had never made any secret about his desire to protect her, to know she was safe, to make her happy. It was why she had lowered her walls in the first place, had started to let him in-

And like she'd always feared, her solitary foundation, the one she'd worked so hard on and had protected so well, was nearly swept away from her. Jane left. Her career crumbled. Her friends scattered.

She'd hung on, though, like she always did; made it through in one piece, began rebuilding once more. She'd even welcomed his presence back into her life. But to turn around and love Jane now, to give herself over to him completely, would require her to throw up her hands in surrender and leave herself once again vulnerable to him. But how many times could her mettle be tested? God, when he'd disappeared in New York to create that damn list...

And Jane wasn't her only concern; it was not with friendly interest that Kim Fischer had pried into their relationship months ago, all but asking whether Jane was adamant about reconnecting with a partner... or a lover. That conversation had made it apparent that there were those at the FBI who were paying attention to her personal life, already making assumptions about her. Lisbon didn't doubt there were people who thought her sudden promotion from small town sheriff to Special Agent was not only unearned by her, but secured by a pardoned felon, no less. They weren't entirely wrong, of course, as Teresa never would have crossed paths career-wise with the FBI were it not for Jane. But she hadn't worked her way up through the ranks of the CBI on anyone's coattails, or in anyone's bed. She was a good officer, made better with him by her side. So, really, if they brought their solve rate to the FBI, sheep-dip what anyone thought about her, she supposed.

Especially if they were already choosing to think it.

Thirty-two minutes later-fashionably late, Lisbon smirked-she pulled her car onto the dirt road that would lead to Jane's Airstream. She saw in the distance an obnoxiously bright glow where the trailer was parked.

"Oh my god..." How long could the generator that powered his trailer keep this going?

There were lights everywhere, thousands of tiny, sparkly white holiday lights that had been strung from tree to tree around his campsite. A campfire cast a yellow glow in the center of it all, and on every surface, from a stump, to a cooler, to the picnic table, tea lights made the lower half of this dazzling scene twinkle like the string lights above. When she opened her door after parking next to the tan pickup, Lisbon could hear soft orchestra music playing. Was he serious?

"Uh, Jane?" She called out, tentatively walking toward the illuminated spectacle before her.

"Teresa!" She was coming up from the back side of the RV, and he popped out from somewhere in front of it, nearly in silhouette due to the sheer number of lights behind him. As she got closer, she could only imagine how much effort Jane put in to creating this display judging by his hair having freed itself from his usual tight style, blond curls now falling over his forehead. He was dressed as casually as she in jeans and a thin gray sweater, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

She stopped in front of him, and, taking in the lights, the candles, the campfire, him-crap, he looked good-suddenly felt shy. "Hi."

Jane smiled down at her, starting to feel a bit bashful himself now that she was actually here. "Hi." He breathed, barely above a whisper.

"So, what is this?"

"This is... it's just you and me. Don't even think about it." He shoved jittery hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Neither one seemed to know what to say. Lisbon decided maybe he was right. She'd done enough thinking. For years, she'd done enough thinking. Maybe she could stop, at least for a while, and enjoy whatever changes would take place tonight. "Um... I think I was promised food on your tab."

"Yes, that you were, I didn't forget." He seemed grateful for the reprieve of having to explain himself right that moment; denial would serve the two well until they became a little more comfortable with... this. The her and him, he'd said.

Jane led her to the picnic table, and from amidst the tea lights lifted up two thin branches about the length of yardsticks. Close behind him, Lisbon's mouth dropped open when she saw what was on the end of each one.

"Hotdogs?"

"Over a campfire. You can't camp and not cook your hotdogs over a fire, of course. Here," he extended one speared link out to her. She took it, speechless, and together they made their way to the fire and held their respective dinners out over the flames.

They stood side by side not speaking for a few minutes, the only noise coming from a little speaker attached to his phone where it sat nearby on a folding lawn chair. Roasted hot dogs and string music... "This is silly, Jane."

"What's wrong with silly? You need a little silly, keeps the spirit young."

Lisbon brought her hotdog to within inches of her face for inspection. "Mine's done."

He made a strangled noise beside her. "Yours was done. Now it's just burnt. For some reason I thought you knew how to cook."

She rolled her eyes. Whatever. "Did you remember rolls?"

Hotdogs-with rolls, of course, what did she take him for?-potato chips, and a bag of marshmallows toasted two by two over the fire made up their dinner. Jane and Lisbon relaxed in lawn chairs that sat low to the ground, easy banter and debate between them, the way it always had been. They'd finished their meal at least an hour before and now just savored each other's company under the night sky and lights that hung from the branches above them. The tea lights had long ago all burned out, and the campfire, too, was dying down, no one having bothered to feed it some twigs while they enjoyed their own supper.

Jane felt a knot in his chest as he looked at Lisbon. She was open and animated, having given in to the fun of the evening not long after arriving. He hoped he wasn't going to cause her to retreat now, but he wanted to hold her, to feel her near him. Being able to have her near enough to reach out and touch was not something he took for granted anymore. "Dance with me, Teresa."

She slowly shook her head. Not to say no, but as if to clear away a fog to discover she was actually alone in her room instead of out here with this man, this man she knew completely yet hardly at all, who had intentions for the evening that weren't exactly vague. Still, "Jane, what's going on, here? What are we doing?"

"We're being us. We're good at that." He stood and offered his hand to her. "C'mere. Don't think. Not yet."

She didn't resist any further and allowed him to pull her flush against him. He could feel her pulse fluttering wildly in her wrist as her right hand slid into his left, but where he had anticipated her being tense, she melted into his arms and settled her cheek on his shoulder.

Once, they'd been exactly like this before, years ago. He'd been teasing of her then, beginning to notice the change in her regard for him. At the time he wasn't yet willing to accept Lisbon's love, but every so often, like a night at the prom, he'd permit himself little tastes of what it would be like to romance her. He'd regretted goading her into that dance the moment she'd pressed against him, completely overwhelmed by how he felt with her in his arms safe and warm and alive. He'd fought closing his eyes and giving in to the emotions that tried to bubble up through him. He wouldn't let go of his responsibility to his family... he wouldn't just stay here, where the whole world maybe wasn't as bad as everything he had been through and seen suggested... he wouldn't just stay here, with her...

Jane brought his thoughts back to the present, trying to take his own advice to not think. He needed to look forward. Forward, where he could welcome everything he felt. He pressed his face into her hair and allowed the emotion he'd denied himself so long ago to just wash over him. He heard her give a faint hum and briefly tightened the arm he had around her waist in answer. They stayed like that for a long time, swaying slowly to the instrumental music he'd chosen earlier. Patrick had hoped it wouldn't be too kitschy for the evening on top of the lights and candles he'd gotten up early that morning to hunt down at a local department store, but now he was just grateful for the mindless calming, sentimental effect it had.

Time passed unmeasured, and he began to wonder the wisdom of it with there still being work for her to do the following day. Was it already the following day? He pulled back from their embrace, and forwent any reservations about the hour once Lisbon looked up at him. Her eyes were damp, glittering with the reflection of the thousands of tiny lamps he'd hung for her. He realized they both had tears running down their faces. This whole evening, this was huge. It changed everything and meant everything, and they both knew it. There was no backing out now.

"You're beautiful," Jane choked out, unable to help himself.

When she let out a nervous laugh and looked away from him, he gently swiped her wet cheek with his fingers. "Don't get shy on me," his voice cracked, and his chest was aching. He watched the way her eyes darted between his own and whatever she found so interesting behind him, probably an escape route. "Teresa..." he started, "Lisbon... Teresa... I never pictured trying to..." He paused to try and gain his composure. "I wanted to get you something fine and take you somewhere impressive. I wanted you to be able to look around you and see just how much you mean to me. But then it occurred to me that as lowly and unrefined as this... as this 'stupid' trailer is, this is what's a big part of our future, Lisbon. This is our starting point." His smile was tremulous and he ran his fingers over her cheek again.

She closed her eyes to steady herself, and when she opened them, she wasn't looking away from him anymore. "Patrick..." she tested the feel of his given name on her tongue.

"Patrick?" He grinned, surprised.

She didn't want to dwell on it, still uncertain of the taste. "You could have consulted me on the trailer if this was gonna be a 'we' thing."

Again, she surprised him, and he was struck with a wave of tenderness for her. He could see how tense she was, that she was fighting an urge to run. But at some point, having had a chance to consider him after he had made his intentions fairly clear yesterday, she chose him. And here she stood, not shutting him out, but bravely letting her heart lead her despite some part of her instinct still telling her to retreat to safety. He was proud of her, and he sniffed back a fresh round of tears.

"You really don't like it?"

"Well, I didn't say that-"

"Is there something you would suggest instead? The motel wouldn't work, I should warn you I'm a screamer."

Lisbon's eyes widened and she blushed. "I... will keep that in mind." They shared a smile, but then she grabbed the fingers of his left hand, humor set aside, for now. "Jane, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." At her serious turn, he sobered too.

"Promise you will always run back. To me. Tell me I can count on that."

"Lisbon, I'm not running away anymore. I'm not." He insisted when she started to object.

"Patrick. Promise me." She said, her voice husky from tears and nerves.

Oh, she was absolutely stuck with him if she was going to keep saying that name like... that. Christ. He took her face in both of his hands, thumbs brushing the soft hair at her temples. She looked up at him, wide eyes full of trepidation. "I know sometimes it took me a while, but since the day I met you, I have always run back. I will always run back to you. Trust me," he murmured, and, not being able to wait any longer, pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was gentle, chaste, withholding. After a heartbeat, or rather at the pace his heart was presently going, a thousand heartbeats, Jane drew back to look at her, to make absolutely certain they were on the same page. Despite his intentions to go slowly and take the time to properly woo her, when Lisbon leaned toward him trying to keep their connection, the floodgates opened. He pushed his fingers further into her dark hair and pulled her mouth to his in a hard, brazen kiss. Not breaking contact with her lips, Patrick backed her up until she was pinned between his body and the cool metal of the Airstream.

Emboldened by his intensity, refusing to hold back, Lisbon returned his kisses. Her trembling hands ran over his hair, his back, and into his hair again. When he trailed his lips across her jaw and down her neck, she couldn't hold back a moan, making him smile against her. His right hand left the soft skin of her cheek to begin sliding down... down past her shoulders, the curve of her waist, down on a mission to do something else he'd waited a long time to do, and, finally, his palm reached her denim-clad bottom.

Everything went dark.

"Oh," Jane lifted his mouth from where he'd been gently teasing her neck. He was breathless. And sheepish. "Generator's out."

Lisbon snorted.

END

Final A/N:

I wonder what a wooing Jane really looks like? To be honest, I have trouble picturing what the writer's behind the show would give that quirky character to do once he really set his sights on Lisbon. I only know he told her he wouldn't seduce her over a meal, so instead I tried to think of something more that was slightly grandeur, a little cheesy, and a lot sentimental, kinda like Jane.

As for Lisbon, as strong as she is, I allowed Mashburn and Jane's opinion of her ("You have a damaged intensity that's quite attractive,") influence my portrayal. That she doesn't always go into everything with complete confidence is a wonderfully human side to her character that I wish was explored more in the series.

Thanks so much to everyone who made it this far and hope you enjoyed my little character study!