Sorry for the delay! I had trouble getting back into the certain mood I need for writing this story. But, at last, here's the next chapter.
At the sight of him, Lisbon's face crumples for a moment before she gains control of her mien again.
"Jane?"
Her voice is not supposed to sound like this.
Raw with emotions.
Giving too much away by simply saying his name.
"Hi, Lisbon. Nice to see you. You look good," he tells her, with a surprisingly shy smile.
He looks the same as the last time she saw him.
No, not quite.
Looking at him only feels the same. Even though his hair is a little longer, the wrinkles around his eyes are deeper and he is noticeably skinnier - her heart doesn't register any of this and starts beating faster under his gaze.
"What are you doing here?" She manages to ask, trying to calm down her overflowing emotions with innocuous questions.
"I live here."
"In this hotel?"
"No, in this town. After traveling around, here seemed as good as anywhere to settle down."
Is it only a coincidence to have a case in the town Jane chose as his hideaway? Fate? She dismisses the second option. If this unexpected meeting would have happened long ago, she might have been willing to accept fate as an explanation. Now that she is - almost, pretty much - over him, it is rather a cruel cosmic joke.
Suddenly the first words he said, after sneaking up on her, sink in. "Wait a minute. What do you know about Sheriff Talbot being a pain in the ass?"
"He owed me a favor. I wanted to see you," Jane simply states, shrugging his shoulders.
"I've been here for four days, Jane. You had plenty of time to approach me without manipulating me," she spits out, thankful for anger blanketing her other, more complicated feelings.
"Ambushing you here at the hotel when you came back tired and grumpy in the middle of the night didn't seem like a good idea and during the day you were always surrounded by people. Where are Van Pelt and Cho? I've only seen Rigsby."
Her irateness increases and she embraces it. "Seriously? You just made me miss my plane home and now you think you can lull me with small talk?"
"We can talk about something else, if that's what you want," he suggest, taking one step closer to her.
Sensing which other topic he alludes to, she backs away. He is much too close. His warmth, his smell, awaken memories she doesn't want to recall. His yearning eyes are gateways to doom. When he last looked at her like this, he had just successfully unclasped her bra. The memory hits her with unexpected force.
Impatient hands all over her body.
The sparkle in his eyes.
Hot breath on her skin.
The tip of his tongue tracing her areolas.
She looks past him to break the spell, to stop the surge of arousal that threatens to take her body and mind over. No, she certainly doesn't want to talk about the past. About them. Or about how she spent the time between that night and this very moment.
She opts for the safeness of answering his question. "Cho got promoted and now leads his own team in San Francisco. Van Pelt is just enjoying the last few days of her honeymoon."
He lets her get away with it, his eyes now expressing nothing but surprise.
She is safe.
"Grace got married? Not to Rigsby, obviously. Relationships between the members of the team seem to be star-crossed, huh?"
She should have known that feeling safe is only an illusion when being with him, a split second to breathe easily before he strikes again. For a moment she wishes he would have just watched her from afar instead of complicating her life. She purses her lips to stop herself from voicing the thought.
"Did you ever get a hold of Red John?" He now asks.
"What?" Lisbon rasps, confused by the sudden change of topic.
"Red John, remember? Crazy serial killer with a weakness for smiley faces, killed my family and many other people."
His tone is matter-of-fact, detached. She never before saw him so emotionless when he mentioned Red John.
"You would know if we had caught him."
"Not very likely. I avoid reading or watching the news. How many new victims since I left?"
"Only one, over a year ago. He seems to have stopped for now."
"Or someone stopped him."
The sentence, the possible meaning behind it, has the effect of a cold shower on her. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He only looks at her, his inner struggle showing on his face. Instead of answering her question, he changes the topic again. "I've thought of you a lot in all those months."
"Jane..." She begins, wondering why she sounds so tender when her tone should be infuriated.
"Really, you were on my mind all the time."
"And all this thinking of me never made you pick up the phone to at least let me know you were okay? You have no idea how hard it was for me..."
Her voice trails off.
She said too much.
She exposed herself.
She needs to fix this.
"... to explain to Minelli that I lost our consultant."
He sees right through her. "I had no idea Minelli took it that hard."
His perky smile is shaky, like he didn't use it for a very long time. Like he didn't get the chance to use it because he reserves it only for her.
"Well, he did," she replies, stubbornly clinging to her subterfuge.
"I picked up the phone many times," he confesses. "But calling you would have gone against the purpose of leaving."
She decides that she wants to know the reason of his disappearance. It never really made sense to her. "Why did you leave, Jane?"
"You said we should make sure that something like in that night never happens again. I knew I could only guarantee that if I didn't see you anymore. I would have constantly tried to change your mind if I had stayed."
"Maybe I wanted you to try changing my mind," she whispers, biting her lower lip to fight the tears that involuntarily begin to form in her eyes.
"Maybe I believed that it was better for you if I didn't."
"Maybe you were only too scared to try."
His hands reach for hers and she lets him take hold of them, despite knowing how dangerous this is. She is playing with fire, is all ablaze the second he touches her. His face inches closer.
Electricity.
Flying sparks.
Inside of her, ardent longing and her wavering mind fight a fierce battle.
Someone clears their throat. A middle-aged woman stands next to them. It takes a while until Lisbon realizes that she and Jane block the access to the elevator.
"Get a room!" The woman hisses when they allow her to pass.
Lisbon sobers immediately. Her hands retreat. "You should have stayed in your hiding place instead of reopening old sores, Jane."
"Maybe." He smiles a sad smile. "But I got weak when I saw you."
"You should leave now." Once again her voice betrays her, is shaky when it needs to be firm.
"I can't, Teresa."
The use of her first name throws her for a loop. She should just turn around and leave, shouldn't face up with his reasons to initiate contact with her after such a long time. But...
"What do you want, Jane?"
"When does your flight go?"
"About 4 PM tomorrow."
She'll board the plane and go on with her life and will never see him again. And it will be okay.
She'll be okay.
She is determined to be okay.
Without him.
"You'll check out when? At 1?"
"Noon."
He glances at the clock above the elevator doors, then faces her again.
"Give me the next 16 hours and 12 minutes of your life. That's all I'm asking for."
She notices that he doesn't say it is all that he wants.
She doesn't ask how he plans to spend those hours.
She knows.
The prescience of ruffled bedclothes is reflected in his eyes.
Hangs in the air between them.
His offer is ridiculous.
She thinks of all the reasons to decline.
The Red John enigma.
The fact that he tricked her into this situation.
Her hand disappears in her pants pocket and her fingertips brush against its content.
The main reason to reject him.
And still, it doesn't seem reason enough in this moment.
There is only one motive to give in to temptation: She wants to.
Badly.
She wants to see that rare addicting, genuine smile again that graced his lips after kissing her for the first time.
Her hand reappears, empty.
Her mouth is dry.
She swallows.
She feels herself nod.
It still would have been possible to change her mind during the elevator ride up.
She could have still backed out when she fumbles for the key and he puts his arms around her waist from behind.
It is too late when they enter the room and his body presses hers hard against the closing door.
His tongue enters her mouth as the door clicks shut.
She is certain she'll regret this.
His hands are all over her.
She'll hurt him, hurt herself.
Her jacket and blouse land on the floor.
She'll feel guilty.
Her hands go for the buttons of his shirt.
She refuses to think about the consequences any longer when his lips place feathery kisses along her neck.
The future doesn't matter right now.
Tonight they are simply a man and a woman in a hotel room.
Just Patrick and Teresa.
Until noon tomorrow.
TBC...