A/N: Sprry for teh dealy in publishing this, but I've got stuck. I haven't been able to reach my beta, but I've deceided to publish this anyway, as it wouldn't make a lot of sense once the last two episodes will air (ergo, you'll get two or three chapters a week). So... here it is, still unbetaed. and if you are interested in checking out their honeymoon outfits, go to Polyvore and look for user elisabetta-negro. Love for sale should be up later today, while there's a good chance you'll not get the last chapter of "the wedding" until this Sunday (Italian time, btw). Anyway, without further ado...

When Teresa woke up, the sun was already up in the sky; from the light shining into the room through the big windows she guessed it could be late. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel about it: first, she didn't like waking up late, as it was so out of character for her, and she hated that she was starting her married life in such a way; BUT she was glad that Jane (because yes, he was still Jane to her) hadn't interrupted her beauty sleep. Yes, in the days previously to their marriage her doubts had evaporated, but it didn't mean she had been relaxed, because it was far from it.

Of course, she thought sighing, if Jane had woken her up as a preliminary she wouldn't have minded that much, but the previous day he had been such a knight in shining armor to put her needs (aka resting) before his own ones (aka his heavy, hard desire for her). Part of her had hoped to start the morning with either lazy morning sex or a good, old fashioned hard fuck (She was a woman- not a dead body), but Jane was nowhere to be found. Huffing, she fell on his side of the bed, feeling still his warmth and inhaling his lingering scent, Aqua di Parma Cologne.

There was something… heartbreaking about Jane wearing that perfume, as she had been the one to give it to him many years before, desperately trying to conceal a bit his homeless look. She still remembered that time; when she had given him the perfume, she had done so because she cared and wanted to fix him, but of course, she hadn't been brave enough to say so (even if she guessed Jane had always known.); she had preferred to conceal her real intentions, trying to appear rude and bored with him and his "attire"- kind of like giving scented shower gel to someone who stank.

But it had never been her case, because she had been fool enough to fall for him, again and again and again, and now, here she was, on the first day of her married life feeling already like one of those housewives from those old movies, women who seemed happy on the outside, that the world believed to have everything- and yet, the truth was another one: as much as she had wanted this marriage, part of her felt trapped in a love-less relationship, and was scared for her -their– future.

She was in love with Jane, and the idea of finally being together this way filled her heart with joy; but to scare her was the knowledge that he didn't feel the same; Jane loved her like a little sister, probably in the same way he loved Van Pelt; only, he wanted to have sex with her, too. But she knew it didn't have to mean anything; maybe she hadn't had "the talk" with her mother, but blessed Aunt Ruthie when she told her that men and women were very different when it came to the way they viewed sex; her aunt used to say that, despite what they said, women always left a small part of their heart when they slept with a man, didn't matter if it was just a fling, sex for the purpose of fun or a more serious relationship; women always put their hearts (and reputations) on the line.

Men, Aunt Ruthie said, were another pair of hands. It wasn't just because men couldn't fake their pleasure or always reached… ehm… completion when aroused. According to her, men could be "careless" even when the sex was even just fun, reaching completion and then, without thinking if the lady had, too, they turned on their side and fell asleep like nothing had happened at all. And that was when they didn't leave or asked for the girl to go out already.

Of course, both Ruthie and Teresa knew that there were good men, too, but the older woman always told Teresa to not believe what a man said during sex or when he really wanted to get into her panties; sometimes they didn't even do that on purpose, it was just that sex was a physical, biological imperative for them, no emotions involved. That, Reese, is why men have sex, and don't make love-usually.

Lisbon sighed. She hated to know that her aunt was right, and that Jane was the poster boy for that statement, with his continuous flirting and his passionate encounter(s?) with one Miss Lorelai Martins to get to Red John.

"Reese? You awake?" she heard his voice like in the distance, and when she turned in direction of the door, he entered in the room; he hadn't shaved yet (and she hoped he wouldn't- a three days beard was the sexiest thing she could imagine on any man.) and he was dripping water on the pavement; he was barefoot, a blue towel around his slim hips and with another one, in samest shade, he was tamponing his curls.

Teresa didn't answer. She couldn't: her mouth open in a silent "O", she shamelessly stared at Patrick Jane with close to nothing. Patrick Jane, the man who had worn old three piece suits for over a decade. Patrick Jane, the man who now had at least shirt and jacket always on to cover his upper body. Patrick Jane, the man she had seen shirtless just once in almost fifteen years, when paramedics were resuscitating him.

And now, the same Patrick Jane was standing at the feet of her- their –bed in close to nothing, tanned and slim and muscular in a way she couldn't believe possible, given his naps. Because he was her husband.

God. How much she wanted him.

"Ehm… a swim before breakfast, Lisbon?" he said, gulping, his Adam apple visibly beating against the skin of his neck, his eyes huge in shock like he was a scared animal. Teresa looked at him with huge eyes, darkened by desire, intrigued by his reaction. He was calling her Lisbon, and it was good. It meant he was scared of her, of how much he wanted her and to consummate their marriage.

She purred her next words to him. "Why don't you come here, instead?" she leaned back, looking like a sexy goddess. Her dark hair were in stark contrast with the pale red of the bed sheets, and she moved like she was sex personified, her hands going to the hem of her wedding dress and lifting it sensually until from his position Jane could see a hint of white lace between her legs. Teresa closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure, already foretasting things to come, but when she opened her eyes and turned to look at her side, sure to find Jane standing close to the bed, so close that he could have touched her… she found nothing, if not one of the towels on the floor.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she thought as she stood up and went in the bathroom, ready to change into her swim attire. She wasn't doing it because Jane had told her so: simply, she was filled with hormones and energy and other… stuff, and had to burn everything in some way. Normally, she would have gone to the firing range, but (a) she didn't know one nearby, and (b)she didn't have her gun. She couldn't even go to run, because Jane had told her from the start that they were going to the lake for their honeymoon, and she had decided to fill her case with sexy lingerie (which didn't seem to be very useful) and bikinis. So, really, it wasn't like she had a choice on the matter.

Teresa got ready in few minutes, choosing a flowered bikini in the nuances of pink and light blue, and took another towel; she looked at the things she had taken for the honeymoon, and quickly decided on a pair of flip-flops and a brown pareo with cream-colored Middle-Eastern decorations, and her sunglasses and the hat that Jane had brought for her. Technically, she didn't need anything like that- the seaside was just a few meters from them- but she wasn't sure if, once seen Jane, she would have stood there with him.

Still mad with him because he had refused her, Lisbon walked out of the building, without bothering with closing the front door; that he saw it: she didn't care- besides, maybe he would get the message loud and clear, that she was pissed off with him. But then, after a few steps, she saw him in the distance, sitting on the shores, the calm waves lapping at his feet. Elbows on his knees, hands crossed under his chin, eyes hidden by sunglasses, he seemed lost in his thoughts. Like many other times, he was a man at battle, and Teresa immediately berated herself for her behavior, her eyes glistening with unshed tears; the night before, Jane had wanted her, but he had been kind and considerate enough to give her that much-needed rest; that morning, she hadn't thought about what he could feel, in what state he could be, she had practically jumped him there and then, and when he had run away, she had been mad.

She felt a little guilty, a little less mad with him because of the (lack of) sex, but she still saw red- maybe Jane didn't really consider her his wife as he wasn't crazy in love with her, but they had been friends for a long time. He knew her. She knew him. And she had honestly thought they were long past the keeping secrets, avoiding talking about things, stage. For God's sake- how came he had candidly confessed her his plans for Red John like he was talking about the weather, but he couldn't explain her why he didn't feel like having sex with her?

Unless…

She and almost face-palmed herself as she went to seat at his side, mimicking his position; there was only one reason why Jane wasn't sharing with her what was troubling him; it had to be that thing he never talked about, he had always avoided sharing: his family- his real family, Angela and Charlotte. Something about them was giving him thoughts, had made impossible for him to join her in their bed. A memory, maybe?

She was opening her mouth, but then she realized that she didn't know what she was supposed to say, nor if she could discuss with him such a delicate topic. Her eyes went to the water, and dropping her stuff, without saying anything, she jumped in, head first, and swam, and swam and swam, until her lungs weren't burning. Only then, when she was finally far from the shore, she allowed herself to cry and sob. She had been an idiot. Had she really thought that marriage would have been easy with him because he had been an husband, once?

Jane wasn't simply an husband- Jane was a widower, widower to a woman who had been taken away from him with brute force, in a bloodbath that had destroyed his whole world. Jane had been Angela's husband, he had kept being that for over ten years after her passing, and in some way, he still was. Angela was always going to be the first wife, the third wheel in their relationship that they would, and could, never talk about. Everything was going to be new for Teresa, every experience in married life, but Jane would always remember that he and Angela had once shared the same things. Teresa shortly wondered if it wasn't why he had arranged the wedding on his own; maybe Angela had been the one to prepare their wedding, maybe he was scared that Teresa would have done something that would awake painful memories, or…

She didn't know. And she never would, because how could she ask him?

"Reese!" she heard calling, and when she turned, Jane was swimming in her direction. She quickly composed herself, and when he reached her, he took her in his arms, holding her like for dear life. Teresa embraced him, her hands running in his wet curls, and looked at Jane, really looking at him, trying to find an answer to her silent question; when he had called her, she had recognized the tone, and now she was seeing his eyes. Just a look, and she was well into the past, when they were back at the CBI; she remembered that hunted look, how could she not? It was how he looked at her when he was scared, when there was a chance she wasn't getting out of it alive, like when Tanner was going to kill her, or when one of Red John's minions had put a bomb on her body, or like when Red John had ambushed her, drawing a bloody smile on her face…

That wasn't just the expression of a man who kept people around for when he would eventually need them. He was a lost man, a man defeated by life and scared of being defeated again. How could she think he didn't love her? Of course he couldn't love her as he did Angela- she was his first love, the woman he had had a child with, the reason he was the man he was, standing right before her. Yes, he didn't love her as he did Angela- just in his own way, differently.

She smiled of a little smile, meant to reassure him, and gave him a peck on the lips, to reassure herself this time, that he was there and that he cared and loved her. .

"You scared me, Reese. Don't ever do that again. Never." He said, their legs touching under the water, his grip on her desperate and full of everything that he was, everything that he wanted to say but he couldn't yet. "Let's get back to the shore, all right?"

She nodded, and when they parted, he moved first, and she followed; when they reached the hot sand, they stood on the same towel, both on their sides, looking at each other; Teresa was in fetal position, while Jane drew imaginary pattern all over her sensible skin with a single fingertip, leaving goose bumps wherever he touched.

"Cold?" he asked, his breath hot and exhilarating as he spoke in her ear, his voice husky and full of sinful promises. This is it, Teresa though, we are going to be together.

She shook her head in a silent no, smiling, her expression malicious and sly, and she was about to say something that could make her look like she was a very sexual woman, when she gasped. Suddenly, a very smiling and laughing Jane was on top of her, tickling her as he used her towel to dry her all over. He leaned over her, and conquered her lips in a fiery kiss, as he moved to dry her core too, the cloth running over her bikini-covered sensible skin, igniting passion like nobody ever did before him. Teresa felt soon herself moaning and gasping in the kiss as Jane moved his hand expertly over her, knowing how to stimulate her without being too openly sexual. But she couldn't help but think that it was the sexiest thing she had ever felt, ever done, and soon she felt her inner walls contracting on their own accord. She left bright red half-mooned indentations on the skin of his back, and she bit hard on his lips, getting blood. Jane was moaning too, she could feel his breathing and heartbeat changing, and the heavy, hard weight of his desire against her leg as he dry-humped her without meaning to.

"Jane…" he sighed as her hand went to his shorts and she grasped his erection through the thin material. She rubbed him, and giggled like she had never felt more free before, but just when she was starting to enjoy getting to get close and personal with "Little Jane", her former consultant sighed painfully.

Anger filled her whole self as she recognized that Jane was again pushing her away, that again he was refusing and rejecting her; Teresa pushed him away, making him roll on the boiling sand, and stormed back in, running into their bedroom, without checking where he was or what he was doing. She was furious: why had he to be hot and cold? Why couldn't he made up his mind? Before getting married, he kept saying that he wanted her, and now, one second he was all worried and touchy-feely, and the next one he run away like a scared animal, like the mere idea of having sex with her was painful. She really, really wanted to be sympathetic, but his mixed signals were driving her crazy.

Falling on her stomach on the bed, she buried her face in the pillows, willing herself to not cry but failing miserably; she didn't want for Jane to hear her sob, so she bit the soft fabric hoping that it would suffocate the agonizing sounds that were escaping her throat, sounds she found alien and that she couldn't quite believe were coming from her.

Good Lord. The men in my life have really made a number on me, she thought. She stood there, in the same position, for a long while, she wasn't sure how much; then, a part of her brain registered a sound coming from the door and movement, but she was still too clouded by the onslaught of emotions to bring herself to care or react; it was like she was there, and yet she wasn't, a witness looking from above at the scene unfolding before her own eyes.

"Teresa?" Jane called her with a soft voice, more or less a whisper; only after he had spoken she registered he was at her side, and when she didn't gave him any sign that she had heard him, he went to sit on the bed at her side, tenderly caressing her wet hair while she kept giving him her back. She considered throwing him a pillow, or something heavier, she even wondered if he had gotten used by being punched by her and knew her tells, but when she understood that Jane wasn't going to leave, that he was ready to stay there, caressing her in silence for days if he had to, she huffed and turned on her side, facing him.

"What do you want, Jane?" she asked, letting her voice show how much annoyed she was with him. And yet, she was crazy enough to still hum in pleasure in his mere presence, the breath dying in her throat when her eyes found themselves on level with his naked chest.

"Picnic in bed?" He suggested, smiling lazily, and taking a basket from the floor. Teresa did her best to avoid smiling or laughing, but she couldn't. Jane was unique, and yet, that was what was driving her crazy. Why couldn't he be like that the whole time? "It was getting late, and I thought about offering you a decadent meal in bed."

Teresa sighed, but when she saw fries and an hamburger emerging from the old-fashioned basket, she sat up and took his offering; maybe they weren't ready to make peace yet- if there was any peace to make at all- but she would be civil, if not only because she was getting hungry.

"What time is it?" she asked, as she moaned around a piece of meat in her mouth. She didn't know where he had found the food, didn't care how and if he had made it, but it was delicious, and it was doing sinful things to her taste buds. Maybe it was the hunger talking, but she was almost positive that it was better than all the sex she had ever had, all put together.

Jane groaned looking at her- Yet another mixed signal, she thought- and checked his watch; he wasn't usually a watch kind of man, as he had never really based his life on time, both when he was young and later as an adult, preferring to have people waiting for him and wanting him; but Teresa wasn't exactly keen on the idea of having him doing as he pleased with the excuse of "sorry, I don't have a watch so I didn't know it was that late.", and a few days after he had presented her with the engagement ring, she had showed up at his doorstep with her engagement gift: two wristwatches. One was a Chronograph in black ceramic, the one he had spotted at the wedding, and the other was a more casual one, adapt to everyday activities but to his status of (sort of) federal agent, too.

"It's well past midday. You've been here for over an hour, and it's incredible what you can do with frozen food and a microwaves oven" He said. He looked at her with his best puppy dog expression as he noticed her staring at him, but she just groaned at his pathetic try at manipulating her. Did he really think it could work? He had to try and do better if he wanted to impress her; hell, even back in the day, when they were still at the CBI, he couldn't get anything if he looked at her in that way. Just because she wasn't that good at acting it didn't mean she didn't understand when people were trying to pull one over her. She rolled her eyes, and yet, with a small smile, she offered him a fry; smiling mischievous, Jane snatched it from her with his teeth, and Teresa gasped, her mouth wide open in a fake "O" of indignation, and soon they found themselves stealing food from each other, leaning on the bed and laughing like nothing had happened at all.

Suddenly, they stopped to laugh as they were both on their sides, facing each other, and Teresa shivered as she saw his serious and deep expression; Jane was a man of thousands faces, thousands masks, but there were two of him she liked the most: when he was at his most unprotected, bare of any masks, the con put aside, and when he allowed himself to be free from the ghosts of his past who still haunted him, when his smile was sincere and reached his eyes. Now it was it: she felt herself falling a little bit more in love with him, her heart clenching at the idea of how much he had gone through, of how much he was trying to make this work, make this all right. But he was struggling, and she was supposed to accept it and understand it. After all, wasn't she his best friend, his wife? If not her, then whom?

"Cold?" He asked, staring into her eyes as he felt her shiver; he run an hand through her still wet hair, and never broke eye-contact. "It must be the hair. It's still wet…" he said with an husky voice.

"Sometimes I think that I'd rather…" she gulped as she arrived in the middle of the sentence, Jane's hands burning her whole being, and she felt his warmth through their swimsuits, like they were skin-to-skin. "… that I'd rather cut it."

He smiled ta her, a little sad smile filled with past memories and a lot of regrets and missed opportunities. She could almost see in his eyes the wheels turning, could see what and when he was seeing. "I remember when we first met. You had your hair… that long." He said, putting his hand against the ivory skin of her neck, a little under her left ear. "I couldn't say if you looked more like a pixie or a teenager. You know, I don't think you ever had it that long when we worked together in California…"

She shook her head, no, as he used the hand that had been on her neck to draw invisible patterns all over her skin, on her neck and shoulders and face and all over he could reach. Of course Jane was right- her hair was reaching her lower back, and in California she had almost always kept them at shoulder's length. But now she wasn't that woman any longer, now she had a different life and she had allowed herself to be a little bit more feminine than before.

"I'm so sorry, Teresa…" He whispered, his lips all but a breath away from hers. "I didn't mean to push you away this morning."

"No, No I understand." She tried to tell him, cupping his face, but he shook his head in her palm. "It's been a long time and…"

"It's not that." Even if Jane wasn't going to admit that yes, that was part of the reason he was suddenly having troubles in the bedroom department; one thing was wanting Teresa, and the other one was bedding her after not having been intimate with a woman in… how long had it been since Lorelai? Five years already?

"I wasn't expecting for the good Catholic girl to be so…" He paused, concentrating. "intense. Open. Wanton."

She smiled against the skin of his shoulder, feeling triumph warming her, giving her courage. Jane was scared of her- of how intense she was. Jane was scared because he hadn't been able to read her fully.

Good.

"And then…he paused, and gestured to his lower half. "I think you may have noticed how much I wanted you on the shore, but… hot sand isn't exactly the best place to make love with a woman for the first time. Especially if you want to make it memorable."

"And now?" Her voice was low against his neck, her eyes closed as she understood where he was going. Jane just smiled of his mischievous smile, and when his lips descended upon hers and conquered her mouth, she left herself fall prisoner to feel, as his hands started to remove the scraps of cloth from her heated body.