A/N: Sorry I'm so behind in answering your wonderful reviews. I am definitely reading and appreciating them, but I get so caught up in writing I don't take the time I should. I promise to answer them very soon. In the meantime, I think you Jisbon fans should be pleased with this chapter. More of my fantasies coming to life through the magic of fanfiction…

Chapter 6

Jane lay awake in bed the next morning, contemplating the myriad of thoughts swirling through his head, foremost of which didn't concern Angela, but his recognition of his developing feelings for Lisbon. It was ironic, really—and Jane was normally a big fan of irony—that just when he'd gotten his heart's desire back, his heart was desiring something else.

"It's okay," said Angela, who was suddenly sitting beside him on the bed. "This is how it should be."

"Is it?" he asked. "Why can't it be that you and Charlotte are alive and well and we're still living in our house in Malibu? How can you say that wasn't meant to be my reality? Who gets to decide that?"

Angela looked Heavenward, and Jane rolled his eyes.

"Well, believe it or not, Patrick, He is the ultimate decision-maker, but that's not to say we don't make our own reality by the choices we make—I know you believe that. But it is what it is, and you are alive and I am dead. You need to stop living in the past now, Patrick. Stop wasting the life you have. You more than anyone know how precious, how fleeting it all is. I'm dead. You and Teresa are not."

"But—"

"Shh." She reached out a ghostly hand to lay across his lips, but he felt nothing but a tingling coolness. "It's time to let me go, my love," she continued. "I think you know that. I think you're ready for that. You have a woman who loves you, and I think you're beginning to realize you love her too. I've been watching you with her for years. It used to be you fought her over everything—her stance on vengeance, her respect for the law. You've moderated your feelings on those things now, haven't you? And Teresa has done the same. You're meeting somewhere in the middle; you see eye-to-eye much more often lately. Despite everything surrounding Red John, more and more you find yourself feeling…happy."

Angela watched as the tears welled in his eyes as she spoke.

"I don't want to lose you again," he whispered hoarsely. "Why can't you stay with me, give me advice, give me a kick in the ass when I need it?"

She smiled, and Jane was surprised to see her eyes were watery too. "Because that's Teresa's job now; it's been that way since the day you met her. And because, it would be hard for me too, my love, to stay with you and not be able to hold you. I would have left long ago if I'd thought you were okay, but something has compelled me to stay, to wait until the time was right for me to leave you. That time is coming, Patrick. Let it happen…"

Her voice drifted away, as did her image just as someone knocked. Jane climbed out of bed, his blue paisley pajama top hanging loose and unbuttoned over the matching bottoms. He moved slowly, his legs still stiff and sore from the previous day's exertions.

"Jane, it's me," called Lisbon before he had even made it to the door.

He wiped self-consciously at his eyes with the backs of his hands, before reaching for the locks and welcoming his visitor.

"Morning, Lisbon," he said with forced cheer.

"Hey…you're not ready…" She looked him up and down, her eyes focused on his smooth, bare chest before skittering quickly up to his eyes, tired and a little red around the edges. Almost as if he'd been crying. Jane watched the mask of concern fall once again over her elfin features and gave her a sheepish grin.

"I'm sorry. I guess I overslept," he explained. "Not to mention the fact that my legs are killing me this morning, even after I soaked in the hot tub last night and took several more pain relievers. Rain check?" He glanced beyond her to the overcast sky. "That might be more than just an expression today."

"I feel bad because I worked you so hard yesterday. Petty of me, I know," she admitted with a sheepish smile of her own. "We should have started out more slowly since you hadn't jogged in awhile. You should at least take a walk this morning, loosen up those muscles; you'll feel much better once they get warmed up. Besides, the weatherman said the rain should hold off for another couple of hours."

He watched her a moment, had noticed of course how her gaze had found his bare skin. Propriety dictated that he button up his pajamas, but he liked the way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him, so he made no move to do so.

He really was emotionally and physically exhausted, not to mention having sore limbs, but how could he resist her when she showed up at his door, looking so young and pretty and happy to see him?

"Okay," he relented. "Give me a second to get ready. Make yourself at home."

He stepped aside so she could come into his room and gestured toward the easy chair. She walked in, looking around curiously. There was nothing personal in the room at all, unless you counted his familiar suit jacket on the back of a chair and the electric teakettle in the kitchenette. Jane grabbed his sweat suit and a t-shirt from his closet and excused himself to limp into the bathroom. Lisbon's eyes went from his retreating form to the rumpled bed. It was difficult not to imagine him in it, and from the condition of the bedding, he was obviously a toss and turner. Other, more sensual images flooded her thoughts, and she looked pointedly away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The air was heavy with moisture, unusual for Sacramento's desert climate, and they both left their sweatshirts in Lisbon's car. They began their walk along the riverside path, Lisbon now in her form-fitting white t-shirt, Jane in his loose black one. He grinned at the symbolism.

"When the clouds let loose, we'll have what my dad used to call a real gully-washer," he said conversationally.

"You don't talk about your father much," she replied. "Did you have a good relationship with him?"

"Sometimes," he said enigmatically. He glanced at her, walking so slowly and so patiently beside him. That too was symbolic, he realized. Jane supposed it wouldn't hurt to talk about his dear old dad a little. After all, he'd been revisiting a lot of ghosts lately. "He taught me nearly everything I know about reading people. He was a genius himself in that way. But by the time Angela and I left the carnival, I hated the bastard."

"Oh," she said, so softly that Jane laughed.

"So we both had father issues, Lisbon. I suppose that makes us kindred spirits."

She looked up at him, startled at his admission. "Maybe," she said, but his words had given her a little thrill, for he'd finally voiced what she'd known since the day they'd met. Their deep, unspoken connection had been more and more on her mind of late, and she was inordinately pleased that he recognized it too.

"You know, you don't have to sacrifice your own exercise for me, Teresa. Jog ahead. I'm going to walk a ways more, then head back toward the car. You were right though, my legs are feeling better. Or maybe it was the handful of pills I took before we left."

She shook her head at him, but it would do no good to chastise him for overmedicating himself. "No," she replied to his suggestion. "I feel guilty enough for your current state without leaving you behind to walk alone. Besides, I'm enjoying your company this morning."

The smile he gave her made her heart skip a beat. He reached over and caught her ponytail, letting her silky hair slide through his fingers. "I always enjoy your company, Lisbon, even before you've had your morning coffee."

She visibly shivered at his touch, and she watched his eyes darken with unfamiliar emotion. He dropped his hand and faced forward as they walked on a bit in heavy silence.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" he asked abruptly, his eyes following a flying blue heron as it alighted on the river's shore.

Her first instinct was to come back with some smartass remark, but she realized he was totally serious.

"No crazier than anyone who went through the horrors that you have, Jane. The only real flashes of crazy I see are when Red John is involved. Then, you become reckless and obsessed, and I do fear for your sanity. But I can't blame you for it. I mean, I would have succumbed long ago."

"I don't think so," he said, and he smiled a little. "You're a much stronger man than I."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said wryly.

"As it was intended."

Then, to her total surprise, Jane reached for her hand, holding it tightly in its warmth. Her fingers wrapped around his, and she squeezed them companionably. Her entire focus rested on their entwined fingers, and she marveled at the oddly familiar sensation of his skin pressed to hers. It felt natural, as if they'd held hands every day of their lives.

They walked on in that way, Jane's pace increasing as his joints loosened up, their joined hands swinging between them.

"Is that what has made you so melancholy these last few days?" she asked, picking up the thread of their conversation. "You're questioning your mental state?"

"Yes," he said. "I've been…allowing myself to think of my wife more often. Normally I try to push her out of my mind, but she keeps coming back, like she doesn't want to be denied anymore." She wondered at the small smile that played about his lips, and he felt her hand tense in his. "It's okay, Lisbon. It's about time I faced a few truths instead of trying to hide from them."

She waited for him to continue, afraid at first to speak. When he didn't, she realized she was holding her breath, so she let it out on a tremulous sigh.

"What truths?" she ventured bravely, when she could no longer bear the suspense of his words hanging between them.

He stopped in the middle of the path and turned to her. "She is dead," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "But I…am not."

He took her other hand in his just as the heavens opened up with a loud crack of thunder. They were instantly drenched in the terrific downpour, and Jane held his face up to the sky with a childlike laugh of glee.

"Run back to the car, Lisbon," he called over the pounding of the rain on the pavement. "No sense in both of us getting soaked to the skin. Save yourself; I'll catch up eventually."

"No," she said, laughingly pushing her wet bangs from her shining green eyes. "We're in this thing together."

He reached up to help her, his hand alighting on her cool, damp cheek, and he paused, caressing it, her wide eyes holding him captive as the rain ran down the back of his shirt and dripped from his own sopping hair. His pulse pounded in his ears as he moved inexorably closer to her, and then he lowered his mouth to hers.

They both gasped at the first touch of his lips and she trembled beneath them. He tilted his head, tentatively experimenting with the best way to fit his lips to hers, and she made a soft sound of excitement in her throat when his tongue met the seam of her mouth. She opened for him, and his tender exploration quickly dissolved into mindless passion. He pulled her almost roughly into his arms, his mouth plundering hers as if he intended to devour her.

She tasted of rain and mint and sweet coffee, and Jane found he couldn't get enough of her flavor, of the amazing feeling of her small, wet body pressed tightly against his. The warm rain suffused them, igniting more than extinguishing the fire between them as their kiss went on and on…

They vaguely heard the sounds of speeding bicycles passing them, their frantic riders seeking shelter from the storm, some hollering curses as they narrowly avoided the oblivious couple. Other pedestrians ran around them, laughing at the romantic spectacle they made, like something out of a schmaltzy chick flick. But neither of them cared as they reveled in the rain and in each other.

When oxygen suddenly became a necessity, Jane reluctantly freed her mouth, resting his wet forehead against hers.

"Teresa," he breathed, eyes still closed tightly against the rain, hands on either side of her tiny waist as he struggled for control. Her own breathing was labored and loud, even over the din of the storm. She couldn't speak, but she began shivering in reaction.

"Hey, you're cold. Let's get you out of this mess."

She shook her head—she definitely wasn't cold—but he insisted. He lightly kissed the sweet tip of her nose and took her hand again, turning back toward the car, managing to walk quickly in spite of the pain. His desire for her comfort suddenly took priority over his own.

When they finally reached her car amid much laughter at how soaked they'd become, how amazing the rain was, she thumbed the remote key lock and they both slid into the Mustang, quickly dampening the leather seats. They looked at each other across the center console, mirth sparkling in their eyes as the rain seemed to increase even more, the sound nearly deafening on the roof. She was shivering now for real, and her cheeks turned red when his eyes took in her wet, white t-shirt. He could clearly see the outline of her breasts beneath her sports bra, and he swallowed as desire slammed into his groin.

"You, uh, should take that off and put on your dry sweatshirt," he suggested tightly.

"You too," she said, nodding to the black shirt plastered against his skin. When neither of them moved to do so, they both grinned at their mutual embarrassment. "I will if you turn your back," she said. The rain pouring down the windows would hide them from any other possible peeping Tom's.

"You too," he warned mockingly.

"Okay, on three," she said, their hands going to the hems of their dripping shirts. "One…Two….Three!"

He didn't turn away. When Lisbon finally managed to get the wet cloth awkwardly over her head she was treated to a half-naked Jane and a pair of smoldering sea green eyes staring blatantly at her transparent bra. He watched, dumbstruck, as she reached behind her back to unfasten the remaining garment, slipping the straps over her shoulders and letting it fall to her lap. She allowed him a good long look before turning to the backseat to find her dry sweatshirt. She could hear him literally panting across from her as he watched her maneuver her arms into the sleeves and pull the zipper up, hiding his unexpected glimpse into heaven.

His mouth went dry, and she grinned, despite her racing heart, at the utterly speechless Patrick Jane. She watched him as he sat frozen to the spot, and, feeling suddenly confident when she saw her feminine power over him, she reached back again to fish for his sweatshirt. She handed it to him, and his hand unexpectedly shot out to pull her awkwardly over the console, his mouth capturing hers with renewed lust.

His hands went to the elastic band at the back of her head, and he slid it roughly down her hair, the better to delve his seeking hands into its sleek wetness. He felt the cool touch of her hand sliding over his bare chest and it was his turn to shiver as their mouths mated sensually. Their hot breath fogged up the windows as they made out in the car like impatient teenagers, their hands eliciting soft moans and throaty cries. When one hand strayed to the zipper above her breasts, her own hand shot up to cover it, and she threw herself almost violently back against the driver's seat, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Too fast," she said breathlessly as his hand fell away.

He gulped and turned in his own seat, his body hard with unfulfilled desire. They sat in silence, trying to reason through their sudden onslaught of madness, the rain beating a steady tattoo above them.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," he said at last, when he could speak without his heart in his throat. "Mostly because I'm not."

"Me neither," she said, turning her head to look at him. His hair was surprisingly dark and straight when it was waterlogged, his skin pale in the dim light. Lisbon realized he wasn't quite as out of shape as she'd initially thought, for his chest and arms were nicely formed and had felt smooth beneath her hands. He was beautiful, just the way he was.

"I think it's letting up a bit," he observed, nodding toward the windshield. He slipped on his sweatshirt and zipped it up, welcoming the warmth.

"We'd better get dried and changed before we're late for work," she said. He reached for her hand and she gladly gave it to him, her pulse picking up again as he brought her knuckles gallantly to his mouth. He smiled at her with twinkling eyes, and she dimpled at him in return.

Sighing heavily, she reluctantly reclaimed her hand and found the key where it had fallen to the floor. The engine purred to life and they automatically buckled their seatbelts, each of them more than a little sorry to have to leave the cozy cocoon they'd created in the front seat of her Mustang.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She parked outside his motel, leaving the motor running, the windshield wipers swishing soothlingly.

"You want to come up," he asked. "I'll make you some hot tea."

She was sorely tempted, but knew instinctively that it wouldn't just stop at tea, and neither of them was ready for that yet.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she said.

He nodded knowingly. "You're probably right." His hand went to the door handle, but he couldn't resist leaning back toward her, dropping a lingering kiss on her cheek.

"I'll see you at the office," he whispered, meeting her eyes.

"Yes ,you will. And don't be late," she added dryly.

"Whatever you say, Boss," he replied in amusement. Then, taking a deep, fortifying breath, he opened the door and ventured back out into the rain.

He whooped as the water pelted him again, and Lisbon smiled, the merry sound echoing in her mind all the way back to her apartment.

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter and all its mushiness. I admit it is partially inspired by the first kissing scene in Simon Baker's wondrous movie, "Something New." (If you haven't seen it, get ye to a video store immediately, or at the very least check out the scene on Youtube. You won't be sorry!)

In case you haven't had the chance to read it yet, I've posted a tag for "Cheap Burgundy," and I think I'll be able to muster a tag for "Ruddy Cheeks," as well, so please be on the lookout for it soon. Thanks as always for reading!