Author's note: As I have said before, this story would not be what it is without LittleMender's sharp eyes and brain to keep me on course. This is doubly true of any work I have done recently. As for the real life challenges which have kept me from devoting all my attention to writing, things are greatly improved. I still do not have all the energy and time at my disposal as I might wish, but I am at least back to 75% capacity.

Many thanks for all the encouragement and well-wishes in reviews and PMs. Your encouragement really makes a difference.

Previously: But now here he was, seemingly expecting her to settle right into a permanent commitment as though all he had to do was command and have. This was beginning to feel more claustrophobic than sharing that single mattress, the seat of his horror and grief, had been. She had kept him alive. She had done what she set out to do. It was time to get away. Van Pelt was worried about protecting her from abuse, but the only one who could protect her from insanity was herself.

IIIIIIII

Lisbon went upstairs to think, sitting on the mattress with her back to the wall. She was silent for some minutes, then said out loud, "He's running so far ahead of me. Why won't he give me time to catch up? How am I going to get out of this trap?"

Jane had noticed her going upstairs. With time to think about her saying she could not do things his way, he felt torn between hurt and fear, so he followed her in time to hear her words. Stepping into the room, he waited until she looked up at him, then said, "Talking to her about this?"

"There isn't anyone else to talk to."

"Do you really feel trapped with me?"

No answer forthcoming, he continued, "It was your choice to come here. It was your choice to kiss me last night. You could have left at any time. If it is a trap, it's one of your own making. But I have no plans to let you out of it. It's too easy for you to just give up."

"Why won't you give me time to catch up?" The hint of her own impatience dropped her voice lower.

"Time doesn't matter. We belong to each other now. No matter if the choice was made two hours ago or two years ago. We are together. All times are now. Face it, Lisbon - I am not letting you go. If you want to have children, I am the man you will have them with. If you don't want children, I am the man you won't have them with."

As he spoke, he saw her shrinking further back into herself. Not knowing how to reach her, he said, "You don't have to sleep up here. When you are ready, come downstairs."

IIIIIIIII

Vest off, collar and sleeves unbuttoned, he did not bother changing into pajamas. Lying on the couch, he waited for her. With so much of his vengeful, murderous rage draining away, Jane felt washed clean. There was room in his mind, his attention for something good and he wanted it to be Teresa Lisbon. He wanted to hold her with his body and with his heart. He waited for more than two hours, in that state of mind between waking and sleeping.

IIIIIIIIII

She felt lost, huddled against the wall. The way Jane had interrupted had spoiled her ability to feel the refuge she had built into this room with the spirits of Jane's family. It felt cold and empty to her. Her mind chased in circles for an unknown amount of time. Finally, chilled bone deep, she drew a warm bath, adding hotter and hotter water until she was able to clear her mind. Then on autopilot, she dried off, put on some clothes, and without reflection went downstairs.

IIIIIIIIII

He heard her coming down the stairs, and held his hand out to her.

She had changed into the boxers she had worn the day before last and one of his dress shirts. What it stirred in him now was warmer and sweeter than the raw possession that had swept through him when she had worn his clothes before. Lisbon came to him, reaching for him. He tugged her closer and she lay down with him, her back pressed against his front.

He wrapped an arm around her, nuzzling her ear. He whispered, "I know you're scared. You have so much courage when there's someone to protect, or bad guys to put away. Spend some of your courage on us. You need me almost as much as I need you. That's why you came here with me and why you stayed. It's why you held fast in the face of the horror I showed you under this roof. If you can't trust love, trust me. Please."

She held her silence. He felt how hard she was working to regulate her breath. He could see the moonlight glistening on her eyelashes. He held her, willing the physical warmth between them to say something more. Stroking her belly through the smooth cotton, he soothed her into a light sleep and himself into a deep slumber.

It was still dark when she woke the first time. His hand had drifted up inside the shirt she was wearing, resting on her rib cage, thumb unmoving, touching the underside of her breast. A button or two at the bottom of her shirt had come undone. It was overwhelmingly intimate, if only gently arousing - allowing the man's hand to roam and stay where it was. Slipping in and out of sleep, Lisbon slowly became aware that his hand was once again stroking her skin. His fingers barely skimmed over the outside of her breast. She felt more acutely the warmth and strength of his body against hers. With almost any other man she had gone to bed with, she would have quite happily reached back to touch in turn, hoping to awaken desire enough to waken the man.

With Jane, she hesitated. It was more complicated with him. There were layers of meaning in touching him that had not been present with anyone else. Wanting more than this teasing touch, but sensing wisdom in negotiating an agreement on where they stood together before breaking through that barrier, she held back. When the movement of his hand became more purposeful, her breath hitched. His fingertips had traced a zig-zag pattern around her breast, ending at her nipple.

"What do you like better there, tongue or teeth?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Not a yes or no question."

"Both."

He flattened his palm against her, skimming circles over her sensitized nipple then lightly pinched it. She bit back a moan, and he instructed, "Let me hear you."

When he tugged a bit more, she still held her voice. Feeling him harden against her backside, she squirmed, grinding her hips back onto him. He took a sharp breath and trailed his hand along her abdomen, sliding under the waistband of the boxers she was wearing. "I'm going to prove you are mine. I want to hear you. Don't make me say it again."

"No."

He stilled. "No, stop touching you? Or no, you won't do as I tell you?"

"No - I need you to stop."

He slowly withdrew his hand from under her waist band. "When she wants it, he doesn't. When he wants it, she doesn't."

"I want it, but I need you to stop pushing me. And I need this to not happen until after you get that possessive crap out of your head. And you need to know that telling me how to respond will shut me down fast."

"We both know you are mine; but apparently only one of us knows you own me."

"I don't - "

"You do. It's time for you to admit it to yourself."

She moved herself to the brink of the couch then carefully turned so she could face him. She held his eyes for a time, until he said with his voice low, quiet and crackling, "Please let me love you. We've both wanted this for so long, even when we didn't know it. Let me show you this is how it should be for us."

He touched his lips to hers and waited for her to join with him. Slowly she moved into the kiss, brushing her lips over his. Slowly, gently, his tongue came into play - tracing the underside of her upper lip. She opened to him, sliding her tongue against his. Moving against her, gradually he became more insistent, thrusting his tongue along hers into her mouth. The hand he had wrapped around her waist went lower, pulling her body tighter against his.

Feeling his arousal, she stroked down his body inside the circle of his arm, nudging him for more room. She slid her hand between them, gently rubbing the back of her knuckles against his fly. His breath hitched and his mouth stopped moving against hers.

He asked, "Do I get to touch you now?"

She stopped moving her hand and said, "Not yet. But I've made this hard for you, and I want to help you out." She wanted the chance to breathe, to have him near without having so much sway over her body and her mind. The power of giving him pleasure while getting a little time to feel and think her way through this maze of changes between them would go a long way toward setting her at ease.

"You're teasing me and punning? There are laws against torture, woman."

"It's only teasing if I don't intend to finish the job."

"You are not going to do for me what you won't let me do for you."

She stopped her hand, and carefully got up from the couch. Walking to the archway between the living room and the kitchen, she turned toward him and leaned against the wall. "This isn't right, Jane. If you keep pushing, you're going to bleed me out, every bit as much as you have ever wished in vengeance. What about your promise to be good to me? Can you only do that if I follow your every whim?"

"This is no whim." The edge to his voice got harder when he said, "None of it is."

"Then why do you have to run me over? When I ask for a little room, you back up and run me over again."

He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. "Teresa - "

"Wait. I'm not done. I want to be with you. But if you can't let me have the reins some, I can't be part of this."

He stood up and stalked closer to her. There was a flash of anger in his eyes. "You're threatening to end this now? I expected better of you."

"I'm not threatening to end anything. Don't you see we haven't even started yet?"

"No. No, I don't. You are in every part of my life, all the time, everywhere. I need you to let me in to your life the same way."

"Why do I feel like you are trying to use me as grout to hold pieces of yourself together?"

"I prefer to think of you as the quicklime in cement."

Involuntarily a sly grin quirked the corners of her mouth.

The hardness around his eyes softened a bit. He saw her thought, and intercepted. "No comments about new uses for the rocks in my head."

More seriously, he continued, "I am in pieces. I can't help that. It's all I have to give you. You can make something good with them. Think of all the Romans accomplished with concrete. This is your power."

"You keep going back and forth," she said. "Now you want to give me the responsibility to remake you, but you won't let me take a hand in how to start this relationship. You keep talking about taking control, and how I have to surrender. But you said yesterday that partners don't control each other. Now you are setting an impossible pace for this relationship. You refuse to slow down for me. Tell me how that isn't your need for control winning out over any other feelings."

She went on, "I think you are trying to pretend to be okay with what happened to Red John. My only question is, is that because you want to be okay with it, okay with me, or is that just part of your plan to pay me back for keeping you out of it?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking of the perfect storm of emotions that he had weathered in the last few days, and in the last several years. He realized she had a handle on something he had not finished working through. None of his thoughts and feelings were as pure as he had expected. His rage with her had not been without love to moderate it. His desire was liberally mixed with fear. The only part of him not so tempered was his need for control. When he spoke again, he looked away. "Help me - I can't let go of my anger, but I won't let go of you."

"What can I do?"

"This," he answered, stepping closer to her. He began to caress her upper arm. After a moment, he leaned in to touch his mouth to hers.