I'm not a gangster tonight
Don't want to be a bad guy
I'm just a loner baby
And now you're gotten in my way
-"I Can't Decide", Scissor Sisters

Previously: "Of course. Go to it." Very disconcerting to him, having her bustling around doing housework.

She did as she said she would, then on her way out through the bedroom she paused for a long look at the face on the wall. It was doing him no good to keep it there. She had the tools in her hands to remove it.

Downstairs, Jane had spent a few minutes pondering Lisbon's recent June Cleaver-like behavior. It occurred to him that there might be a disastrous but logical extension of her taking cleaning supplies through the bedroom. Blanching, he ran up the stairs, raced down the corridor, and entered the bedroom to find her standing and staring at the wall. He heard her say, "Is it time? Is he ready? I know you are. Does he need me to just get this over with, rip off the Band-aid? He's hurting so much, and keeping this here is a stranglehold on him. Half the time I think it might be a noose."

Her words blasted him. He had meant for her to feel alien, alone, adrift here, but she was adapting. After he cornered her on the patio this morning, he expected her to feel even more uncomfortable, but here she was, still making peace with his ghosts. For a moment he envied her. The weight of loss and guilt was even heavier now. It bore down on him, contracting his mind. He had to stop her.

"You don't dare."

She replied without turning, "It needs to be done."

"Look at me," he demanded, grabbing her shoulder to turn her to face him. "You will not." When Lisbon kept her face turned away, he took her chin in his hand, and made her look him square in the face. The madness, the fury in his eyes told of consequences neither wanted said aloud. And what he saw on her face told of consequences already blooming. "I've already hurt you enough for one day."

She put the bottle of cleanser in his hands, and walked out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house. That kind of anger leveled at her called up conditioned fear. Without thinking, she started walking down the beach road in the opposite direction from the little store she had gone to earlier in the day. Fear did not stay with her long; it transmuted into a haze of anger, one with roots deep in the past, one that did not admit of reflection. Lisbon felt her anger, and she felt her legs moving. She walked for half an hour, walked off most of her reaction. Turning off the road onto a public beach, she found a wooden bench to sit on. Once again the sound of the waves cleansed and offered strength. It washed away the red rage, but left her empty. The afternoon sun should have been warm but it was not enough for her. But she could not bring herself to turn around and head back to the house. She could not bring herself to leave Jane yet, either. So she simply sat, getting chilled.

IIIIIIIIII

Looking at the bottle Lisbon had left with him, he realized he was shaking. Thinking of her attempting to remove the face, the last physical traces of his wife - this was terror. Equal parts terror that Lisbon could take this from him the way she had taken Red John, and terror that she would take herself away - it paralyzed him. He stood and listened to her leave the house. He could not move to follow her. He needed to.

He needed to follow her. He could see her clearly enough in his mind's eye walking along the beach road. He could see her anger. He could see her leaving. He needed her to stay. Time spent consumed by this freeze, he did not track it.

Jane slowly regained the strength to move. He felt like he was operating his body by remote control. Finally he managed to get outside. He examined the ground carefully, hoping he was reading the traces right. Footprints in dry sand were hardly sure. Driving the Citroen, he turned out of the driveway, feeling a pull to her. He had seen the signs in the sand, but his higher functions of analysis had shut down; he was operating on instinct now. There were a number of public access beaches interspersed between tracts of private homes. He stopped at each one seeking her. When he found her, she was hugging herself for warmth. He sat down next to her.

"That's where I live. You can't take it away. You can't. There's nowhere else. I wanted to leave, but I don't know how any more."

"Well, you'd better figure it the hell out, because it's past time for you to get out into the rest of your life." She surprised herself with this outburst. "Huh. Look at that, what goes around, comes around. I'm pissed off at you, too. Look, Jane - I get that you feel like you are hanging on to sanity by your fingernails, but you really are not so bad off that you can't start making rational choices."

"Come back with me, please. Don't leave me there alone." His dull, flat voice affected her more than a pleading tone would have. She got up without looking at him, without speaking. Walking to the car, she got in. It took him several moments to catch up.

"When are you going to be ready to leave it, Jane?"

"I don't know. I... don't."

"That's honest, at least." Quiet for a moment, she started again, "Do we have to go back this minute? Can we drive around - pretend that we aren't both psychological train wrecks waiting to happen? Maybe get something to eat?"

"I can do that," he said. "But there's something I need you to do first."

"And that would be?"

"Please take that off."

"What?"

"The dress."

"Again I say, what?"

"Change into your own clothes, not just take it off, Lisbon. Well, if you want to just take it off, and wander around in the altogether, you'd be more than welcome..." He gave her a half grin.

She smacked his arm. For a moment they were themselves again. It felt good.

IIIIIIIIII

They drove back to the house. Jane waited in the car while she ran in to change. Seeing her in her own things again lifted some of the unease he had before. She looked better; she looked like Lisbon again. Shame poured over him like brackish water. Bending and pushing her - had it been from a subconscious desire to remake her into a substitute?

No.

No. The thought was obscene. He had valued her for herself once upon a time. Forcing someone into a mold - was he that close to turning into his father? He would be worse than the old man, because he knew better. He should be better. But he was not. He was Patrick Jane, a man who destroys what he loves. And there he was again, in the process of destroying Lisbon.

He forced these thoughts to the back of his mind as she got back in the car. The surge of desire seeing her in her skinny jeans and blazer that subtly graced her hips, hinting at her athlete's frame was at once disturbing in its intensity and reassuring to him - he wanted her all the more as she was, without the overlay of someone else's memory.

IIIIIIIIII

They had cruised up to Santa Barbara on the Pacific Coast Highway. It was nothing new to Jane, but long drives on the PCH were on Lisbon's list of things she wanted to do on a vacation sometime. If she ever got around to taking one. And if she ever traded in the hard-top Mustang for a convertible. On the way back they stopped at a roadside stand for supper. He hopped out of the car to get fish tacos and greasy french fries, and brought them back to the car. There were plenty of seafood restaurants along the way - tourist traps and solid local holes-in-the-wall alike - but she claimed to be too old to show off a mark like he had left on her jaw. For a moment he contemplated the wicked delight of the overt display then gave her her dignity.

IIIIIIIIII

The drive to Santa Barbara and back had been a pleasant diversion - a holiday from the strain at the house. But they did go back. Once in the house again, Jane shadowed her as Lisbon advanced the load of laundry to the dryer.

"Go get your book, and come sit in the living room with me," he ordered. She stuck with her strategy of apparent meekness, and did what he said. They settled together on the couch. He resorted to playing games on his cell phone for a while then commandeered the crossword puzzle book she had gotten. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him breeze through so many puzzles that she wondered if he would leave her any. After a couple of hours, she offered to make tea and get him the newspaper. He thought about letting her then decided making his own tea was the better choice. She followed him into the kitchen, where she once again bustled around him, filling the kettle for him then peeling and sectioning a tangerine.

When she offered it to him, he said, "Teresa, if you don't stop the Stepford Wife act, I'm going to bite you again."

"Bugs you, huh?"

He met her eyes and said, "You know very well it does. So stop."

"Then stop giving orders like some throwback to the Middle Ages. Did you really think I was going to fight, escalate your rage, test you to see how far you will go to impose your will on me? I know how to pick my battles."

"Mental Judo - very good, Lisbon."

"Jane, you patronizing slug, make up your mind. Do you want me to give in to you, or do you want me to resist you? If a fight is what you want most, say the word. I can give it to you. You want your ass handed to you, I've got a platter with your name on it. What you won't get is the chance to stand over me with your foot on my neck."

"Don't be ridiculous - physical confrontation between us is going to end only one way and I'm too old to do it standing up."

"You seem sure of that, but I'm not convinced. I'd rather you hit me than use me. How are you going to get past that?"

He stepped directly in front of her, only inches left between them, forcing her to look up at him. He spoke quietly, almost whispering, "If I ask it as a gift, you won't deny me."

Then he turned and walked toward the door, intending to leave the house. "Go to bed, Teresa," he called out as he opened the door. Again he paced the patio under the stars, this time until he had seen the lights upstairs come on for a time, then off in due course. He returned to the house, and stretched out on the couch. If he never really slept, neither was he entirely awake.

IIIIIIIIII

Awareness increased - it was dark, it was silent, but there had been something - a movement, a sound - upstairs. As Jane realized that, he got to his feet and was up the stairs in a matter of seconds. He turned the hall light on, and approached the bedroom. She was lying on the mattress, huddled up to the wall like it gave some solace and protection. Her breathing rather than any vocalization gave away Lisbon's nightmare. He waited for a few moments before going in, hoping it would fade. But she did not stop, and he could not just leave her there. So he went to her, bent down and put his hand on her arm. The moment he touched her, her eyes flew open in a panic.

"Shhhhh, Lisbon, it's just me."

"Wha-?"

"C'mon, get up. Come downstairs with me." His voice was less stern, not as hard as it had been most of the day, but there was a hint of something like impatience in it.

He took her hand and she stumbled sleepily down the stairs with him. He led her to the couch and sat. With his arm around her, he guided her to cuddle up next to him. Whatever her bad dream was about, she did not volunteer and he did not ask. After a time, Lisbon's mind got clear of terror and of sleep.

Conscious of his warmth, she asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't know. Why did you wake me? Why are you holding me?"

"There have been enough nightmares in that room. And you feel good." He held her a little closer, burying his nose in her hair. "You smell good," he continued, voice low. His hand started stroking up and down her arm. His touch was light and slow, tantalizing, blazing.

She shifted and turned her face up to his, reaching a hand to his cheek. "You should ask me now."

"Ask you what?"

"Ask me for this," she said as she brushed her lips against his. He responded with a whisper of a kiss, a small movement of his own. She pulled back to see his eyes. They were bright and clear as he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, guiding her closer for another whisper of a kiss, caressing his lips over hers time and again. It was minutes held like this before she again moved closer, her own hand tangling in his hair, kissing like gasping for air. His other hand skimmed over her back, over the satin, leaving fire and ice in its wake. She caught a moan before it formed, translated it into a sigh. Their mouths opened at the same time trading breaths, his tongue darting along her lower lip once, twice, then hers slid against his. They kissed for some time. But when she moved to straddle his lap, he stopped her.

She held still, waiting for him to say something. He simply stared into her eyes and shook his head. Swallowing hard, she got up and retreated to the bedroom.

A/N: And this is where we reach the end of what I have written. Well, ok, I'm about six paragraphs into the next chapter, but that would be a highly unsatisfying update, wouldn't it? Rest assured I am working as hard as I can on this. Without LittleMender's help and encouragement, I would have given up long ago, because this monster is going to kill me.

A/N-2: Continued thanks to those I can't thank directly for their reviews, such as Blue, Katja, and MentalistLover.