Author's Note: This quick little chapter is brought to you courtesy of a typo. Every time I started to type "list," it came out "lust." Finally I figured my subconscious was trying to tell me something. Hence, this little interlude, though it's still a T. I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Chapter 41

"You can't behave for twenty minutes?" Lisbon demanded as she strode into the bullpen.

Jane grinned, delighted to have her back so soon. He put down the pens he'd been juggling and beamed at her. "I'm behaving," he replied. "No complaint paperwork will weigh down your desk as a result of my teaching Rigsby a few amusing tricks."

"My office, now," she snapped, then turned to Moore with a genuine smile. "Thanks, Stan. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Will do." He flashed them all a grin and then left.

Jane found himself very curious about that grin. But Lisbon was about to enlighten him, willingly or not, he thought as he followed her into her office. "So," he said, "what did Bertram have to say?"

"Not much. FBI Regional Director Schultz and Agent Kirkland had plenty to say, though. They were greatly disappointed when Moore announced you were no longer a suspect and Bertram decided not to suspend you after all." She folded her arms, but he knew her annoyance wasn't aimed at him. Or at least not entirely at him.

"So, this was more than a creative way to get your attention. It was also meant to drive us further apart, either by landing me in jail or enraging you by having your veracity called into question when you provided my alibi." It was brilliant, he had to admit, except that it so underestimated Lisbon.

"But wouldn't he know that such a blatant attempt to frame you would just make me want to defend you?" She frowned.

"He probably thought you'd sleep through the night, possibly in a different room. He hasn't had much of a look at our personal life lately," he pointed out. "I think he meant you to doubt me."

Lisbon gave him a thoughtful look, and he realized he wasn't the only one wondering if her office was bugged. "Sit down, Jane," she said gently.

He took a seat on the couch, forming theories about what her next play was going to be. Lisbon leaned against her desk, arms still folded. Her posture was tense, her body language conflicted. But her eyes were soft and clear, so he opened his posture and made himself relax.

"I know," she said, still in that careful tone, "why you never let me get close all those years. You had to get Red John, and you couldn't let anything interfere with that. You felt you owed vengeance to your family, and you weren't going to let anything or anyone compete with that priority. Every time it seemed like we were getting close, you'd do something to push me away. Maybe part of it really was to keep me safe, but mostly it was because you never wanted to feel that you owed me anything. You didn't want to have to choose between me and Red John. And when that happened anyway, you panicked. And here we are."

Jane took issue with some of what she was saying, but he was far more interested in what was coming next. "Why the recap, Lisbon? My memory palace is intact, I assure you."

"I want to be sure you know that I'm not under any illusions. As long as you were hunting Red John, you were never going to let yourself get involved with me, much less marry me. At most you might have given me a night or two, as long as we both agreed there were no strings attached."

He wasn't nearly as sure as she was that he could have kept himself away from her once he'd had a taste of happiness again. "But I did stop hunting him. And I did marry you. Because I wanted to."

"I know." There was that soft, comforting tone again. It was making him a little anxious, telling him she was planning to say something that would result in his needing comfort. "But you only felt free to do that because you'd given up on getting him. And if he'd kept his side of the deal, I'm sure you would have kept yours. Because despite appearances, I know you do love me."

He didn't like the wistful way she said that. In fact, this whole conversation was sounding more and more like a breakup, Lisbon-style. "Yes, I do," he said, a little more forcefully than necessary. "And whatever you're trying to say, I recognize the obligations of our commitment. That is why I escaped from Lorelei. Because you are my priority now."

"I should be, but I'm not sure I am," she said.

He spread his hands. "I made a mistake. Lorelei appearing out of nowhere took me by surprise, and I reverted to old habits. It won't happen again."

"I wish I could believe that."

He stood, letting his agitation show, and went to stand in front of her. "I only need time to prove it. Don't give up on me, Teresa."

She let out a sigh. "What I'm trying to tell you, Jane, is that I get it. Your instinct is always going to be to go after him, by any means necessary. I've known that since we met. But I also know that marriage is something you take seriously. And I am afraid that having two top priorities in conflict with each other is a distraction you can't afford. I'd rather—" She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again her voice was roughened by emotion. "I'd rather give you up than get you killed."

"There's no conflict," he insisted. He took her face in his hands. "Teresa. There's no need for this. I promise you, next time, if there is a next time, I'll make the right choice." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her gently, nudging at her lips with his tongue but not insisting, since the blinds were open. He smiled a little as she leaned against him, unfolding her arms and resting her palms against his chest.

He was disappointed but not surprised when she firmly pushed him away. "Not in the office," she reminded him.

He took a step back to allow her to compose herself. "We should continue this conversation at home."

"Yes. In the meantime, take Van Pelt with you and go buy a new phone. You need to be reachable if the FBI wants to talk to you again." She turned and went behind her desk, seating herself and looking at him as if they were having a work conversation. He supposed they were now—Lisbon was very good at compartmentalizing.

"Right. Do you mind if I go home afterward? I'm a little achy from the accident."

"Fine. You know the rules, though."

"No ditching Van Pelt. Got it. As long as you stay with Cho or Rigsby. Actually, you're the one stuck with a public restroom—you take Van Pelt. I'll make Rigsby carry half the groceries, since he's partly responsible for eating the last ones."

"Fine. But get the phone first, and call me when you've done it."

"Yes, Boss." He smiled at her and left, knowing she felt their long lunch had put her behind on her workload and that she'd get more done without him around. She was having a hard time pretending to be angry and hurt, but he had no desire to goad her into real anger. His time would be better spent restocking their kitchen and cooking her a meal fit for a queen.

mmm

Jane wasn't surprised when Lisbon came home at a reasonable hour with both Van Pelt and Cho. He had dinner ready, despite the fact that Rigsby had haunted the kitchen, trying to steal snacks when Jane's back was turned. Only a threat to hypnotize him into a mortal terror of refrigerators had stopped the depredations.

They all ate like they were starving. Really, did they only eat when he made them? He had been boosting Lisbon's calorie intake for almost their entire acquaintance, and Rigsby always ate like he had a tapeworm, but he was surprised to find that even after a large lunch, Grace and Cho seemed ravenous. "So," he remarked, "how was the afternoon? Quiet?"

Grace and Cho exchanged a speaking glance. Lisbon swallowed her bite of food and said, "You missed some excitement."

"What, another disaster drill?" Rigsby guessed.

The way Cho and Grace waited for Lisbon to respond was a dead giveaway that whatever had happened, it was something a little more personal. Lisbon flicked a glance at him before answering Rigsby. "No. We did a routine sweep of my office and found a bug. So that meant we had to sweep the whole floor. We kept finding them in so many weird places that we practically tore the place apart, and when Bertram got wind of it, he ordered all the other units to do the same. We even found one in the men's room on our floor."

"Ugh." Rigsby made a face, obviously trying to remember if he'd had any conversations in there recently.

Jane knew there was worse coming by the look on Lisbon's face—and the fact that Grace and Cho had put down their forks. "And then?" he asked in a pleasant, conversational tone.

"In all the confusion, someone left a rose on my desk. We couldn't find anyone who admitted seeing anything," Lisbon sighed.

Cho's questioning glance at his boss lasted only a millisecond, but Jane caught it. "And?"

Lisbon's expression was a familiar mix of annoyance and resignation. "There was a note. It said, 'You can't save him as long as you're with him.'"

Jane let his consternation show. "He tried to force us to get married by killing a woman and her daughter, and now he wants you to leave me? I suppose that's one way to keep us from figuring out his plan: have the plan make no sense whatsoever."

"It does, though," Cho pointed out. "If the whole point has been to torture you, you had to have something to lose first. We just assumed he'd kill your new family, but this is just as bad."

"Worse," Jane murmured. He looked closely at Lisbon, convinced there was still a piece of the story missing.

Cho said, "The note wasn't with the flowers."

Ah, there it was. "Let me guess," Jane said, feeling a chill settle around his heart as he studied Lisbon closely. "He slipped it into her pocket?" It made sense, demonstrating how close he could get to her and marking his intended territory. Jane tried to tamp down his instinctual, primitive response.

Lisbon glared at Cho, but admitted, "Yes. My pants pocket."

Red John had his hand on her ass, Jane realized. His inner caveman wanted to pound on the table until he broke it, then grab one of the legs and go beat his enemy to death with it. It was not, he recognized, a helpful response.

Reason re-asserted itself. There was every chance a disciple had been assigned the task. But at least there was a defined suspect pool—Jane knew it was standard practice to lock the place down under those conditions. "We need a list of everyone who was in the building during the sweep."

"Already got it," Cho said.

Lisbon pointed out, "It's a long list."

"Then we need to identify the people on it who were close enough to touch you."

"We're trying, but I was in a crowd part of the time, while Bertram was giving his speech about vigilance," Lisbon said.

Jane wondered if it would be possible to stay glued to her side from now on without making her view divorce as a desirable option. "I've been working on a list of my own," he announced. "We should look at the overlap."

Everyone looked surprised. "What list?" Lisbon asked.

"The list of men you've known for years who might be Red John. With priority given to those whose attitude toward you may have changed recently."

Lisbon tried to turn her appalled expression into an amused one. "You think you know all the men I know?"

"The vast majority, yes. We spend upward of ninety percent of our time together," he pointed out. "And I have made note of any man who displays an interest in you for years now."

Lisbon actually seemed surprised by that, but the others all aimed their not-quite-grins at their plates. Lisbon recovered quickly, asking, "And where is this list?"

Jane tapped his head. "I haven't yet had a chance to write it down."

"Then you can do that right after dinner." Lisbon seemed skeptical about his list, and he grinned, looking forward to showing her how closely—and how long—he'd been paying attention.

Rigsby glanced at his watch, and Jane asked, "You need to leave, Rigsby?"

"Not without some of that dessert you wouldn't let me near," Rigsby replied with a grin.

"I'll put some in a container for you and Ben," Jane promised, getting up.

Cho said, "Do you want one of us here tonight, Boss?"

Lisbon shook her head. "He won't make a move tonight. He'll wait to see if he's scared us."

"I agree," Jane said over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. He and Lisbon definitely needed to talk in private, and the sooner, the better.

It took only a few minutes to box up dessert for everyone and fend off offers of help with the cleanup. Lisbon fully participated in his polite but firm campaign to see their guests on their way, so he knew she agreed.

When she had closed the door behind their departing friends, he wasted no time, pinning her against it and devouring her mouth. Mine, he thought, communicating it to her with his body. Forever.

mmm

Lisbon melted into Jane's unexpected kiss instantly. Her body craved his touch, not caring about any issues that needed talked through, and after the day she'd had, she wanted nothing more than to let him drive all her worries and frustrations out of her head.

When he slid his hands under her and lifted her a little so the friction between their bodies was almost unbearable, she dug her nails into his shoulders and groaned, "Bed."

He stepped back, and she went with him, pushing at his jacket until she could fling it onto the couch. But when he stepped back again, he caught her hands in his and smiled. "Not so fast."

She frowned at him, trying to absorb the fact that they weren't on the same page after all. "Why?"

"Because if we go straight to bed, you'll wake up in the middle of the night, remember the dirty dishes, and drag yourself out of bed to deal with them, probably waking me in the process." As he spoke, he kept walking backward, drawing her along toward the kitchen. "Besides, I worked hard on my pot de crème, and I want to watch you enjoy it."

She let out a huffy sigh, but she helped him clear the table as quickly as possible. "You're the only man in the world who'd rather do dishes than have sex," she complained.

"It's not an either/or choice," he chuckled, brushing against her even though he had plenty of room to pass. "I'd rather do dishes and then have sex than have sex and then do dishes. After all, I plan to wear us both out."

She shivered as he whispered the last part into her ear, nearly dropping the stack of plates she was holding. Jane put the glasses he was holding in the dishwasher and took the plates, leaning past her to put them in as well.

Leave it to Jane to turn cleaning up into foreplay, she thought. "That's not much of a challenge, considering the day I've had."

"Then you should rest a minute," he said, putting his hands on her waist and lifting her up onto the counter. She looped her arms around his neck and stole a kiss before releasing him. But he didn't go far, picking up a small dish and a clean spoon and returning to stand between her legs. "And have some sinfully rich chocolate pot de crème." He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to her lips.

She rolled her eyes at the idea of letting him feed her, but it smelled amazing, so she opened her mouth. The incredible decadence overwhelmed her taste buds, and she moaned a little before swallowing, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the cupboard. "I might not need sex after eating that," she teased him, opening her eyes again and noticing how his had darkened as he watched her.

He grinned. "Mental note: next time save the pot de crème for the afterglow."

"Or during. It's so good I wouldn't object to licking it off select body parts," she purred, making him swallow hard.

"Ooh, very nice. But we both know how you feel about getting food on the sheets."

"Who says we have to do it in bed?" She started unbuttoning his vest. "Do I only get one bite, or do I have to feed myself?"

He fed her another bite, grinning appreciatively as she made a point of licking the spoon clean. "I want you to save your strength."

"Right. You know how prone I am to fainting spells," she said sarcastically.

Jane chuckled, holding out another spoonful. This one didn't make it to her mouth, though; it slid right off the spoon and onto her chest.

"Oh dear," Jane said unapologetically. "Let me get that for you." He began unbuttoning her blouse as he lowered his mouth and began to lick her breast clean.

Lisbon had a flashback to that night in the diner when she'd dropped whipped cream on herself. What would have happened, she wondered, if that night had ended differently?

Jane lifted his head to smile at her, then frowned as he studied her expression. "What made you sad just then?" he asked softly.

"If I hadn't answered my phone that night in the diner, what would have happened?" she asked.

Jane held her gaze, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. "I would have taken you home and made you forget you'd ever met Mancini. And I would have done everything in my power to keep you away from him after that." He looked down. "I would never have written that note, and Red John wouldn't have come after you like he did."

"So you think we would have had our night together and then just gone back to the way we always were."

"Yes. As best we could." He let out a breath. "I would do anything to keep you safe, Teresa. Then or now. And you were right in what you said in your office today. I didn't want anything to compete with my killing Red John. I wouldn't have let you close enough for either of us to think you had a claim on me." He kissed her, then whispered, "I would have made love to you and called it nothing but sex." He kissed her cheek. "And you would have known I was lying through my teeth but never called me on it." He moved to her neck. "We would both have been unhappy."

She raked her fingers through his curls, sighing as she remembered their former color. "If I make you an appointment to get your hair colored back to blond, will you do it?"

He hummed against her skin as he dotted little kisses along her collarbone. "Well, my barber certainly isn't up to it. Yes, Teresa, if it will make you happy, I will let your hairdresser do her best to fix my hair."

"Good. Because right now I'm thinking we need to go to bed and turn the lights out. I keep thinking—well, you don't look like you unless I'm looking in your eyes."

He lifted his head again to look at her in concern. "I suppose that's one drawback of licking things off your skin: I can't talk while I do it."

She whispered, "I need you to talk to me. I need to know it's you."

She watched him realize what kind of nightmares she'd had while he was gone. He rested his forehead against her shoulder and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Teresa."

"We're in this together now, Patrick. We have to stay with each other."

"I know. I won't leave again." He kissed her, long and slow and deep, as she wound her legs around him. "I'll never let him have you."

"He'll never have me, whatever happens," she said breathlessly. "I'm yours."

"And I'm yours," he whispered against her lips. "I never forgot that, even for a second. And I never will."

She smiled and kissed him. "Let's go to bed. We can finish cleaning up in the morning."

He stepped back so she could jump down off the counter, returning her smile.

mmm

When Jane woke, it was still dark outside. He'd come wide awake for no reason he could find; insomnia was like that sometimes, even though he'd tired himself out and fallen into a blissful sleep in Lisbon's arms. She was still asleep, one hand resting on his chest and her face tucked against his shoulder.

He turned carefully on his side to face her, running his hand through her hair. She made a contented little noise that made him smile, and he pressed a kiss on her forehead. Then he slid out of bed, grabbed his boxers, and headed to the kitchen. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well finish cleaning up.

After he was done with that, he grabbed a notebook out of the desk in the den and sat down. The desk was placed under a window with a lovely view of the city; it reminded him of his attic at CBI, except much more comfortable. Thinking of his old hideaway and the hours he'd spent concentrating there helped him focus, and he picked up a pen and began to write.

He had no sense of time passing, but he'd filled nearly half the book when a sound pulled him out of his thoughts. Before he could identify what it was, he heard Lisbon call out again, her voice rising on the second syllable of his first name. "I'm in here," he called back.

There was some muttering from the bedroom, and he heard her turn on the light and shuffle into the bathroom. He'd just gone back to his list when Lisbon came in, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

"I slept fine, just woke up too early," he replied, tilting his head back to look at her. She'd slipped on his shirt, he noticed, and she was a little too pale. "Is your stomach still bothering you?"

She frowned a little, then obviously decided it wasn't worth asking how he'd known when she'd tried so hard to disguise her queasiness at dinner. "Yeah, a little. I took some Tums."

"I could make you some ginger tea," he offered, turning a little to nuzzle her stomach.

"No thanks. I'll give it a minute and then see if I can get some more sleep." She ruffled his hair and moved to stand beside him so they could see each other better.

"What time is it?"

"Four-thirty. Is that your list?"

"Yes." He slid his arm around her. "Would you like to sit down and take a look?"

"Are you offering me the chair?"

"No, I'm offering you my lap," he grinned.

"Mm. My mother warned me about naked men scribbling in notebooks."

"Your mother was a wise woman,Teresa, but observe that I am not in fact naked. Sit." He drew her closer, and she gave in, letting him guide her to sit sideways on his lap and then wrap his arms around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder and let out a little sigh. Rubbing comforting circles on her back, he thought about how to approach the topic on his mind. "You were fine this morning. Was it something you ate?"

"I think so. Lunch didn't sit well," she replied. "At the time, I thought it was because we spent most of it talking about what a great murder suspect you were. But I guess it wasn't just that. Maybe the mushrooms weren't a good idea."

Nobody did denial like she did, he reflected. "You're late again."

"I'm not pregnant."

"When was the last time you took a test?"

"The last time you made me," she grumbled. "I wasn't pregnant then either. I'm beginning to think this is wishful thinking on your part."

"Merely prudence," he corrected.

Lisbon let out a snort. "Like you and prudence are ever in the same zip code."

He leaned his face against her hair. "I'm prudent with you. For you." He paused, then whispered, "You're the last precious thing in my life."

She snuggled closer. "Oh, all right," she sighed after a moment. "I'll go buy another stupid test in the morning."

"No need. I picked one up at the store." He forestalled her grumble by adding, "I made Rigsby listen while I read the directions of three different brands, trying to find the most sensitive one. You should have seen him squirm."

"Great," she groaned. "First you make Bertram think about my orgasms, and now you've made poor Rigsby think about me peeing on a stick. I can't wait to see what you have planned for Cho. You couldn't be more obvious if you lifted your leg and peed on me on the street corner."

He chuckled, both proud of and chagrined at her insight. "Cho once threatened to punch me if I ever made him think about you in an unprofessional way. And I'm afraid he'd do more than break my nose." He paused. "Now, Kirkland—"

"Eww. He's creepy enough without you encouraging him." She thumped him on the shoulder.

"Yes. Too bad you haven't known him for years. He'd make a great suspect."

"So, this list. How much am I going to hate it?"

"I excluded your brothers, Greg, and Cho and Rigsby," he assured her. "But it's a very long list. You're constantly surrounded by men, love."

"We know he's powerful, that he has friends everywhere. That means money," she said. "He's not some small-town sheriff."

"Which is a very good thing, or this list would be completely unmanageable."

"Unless, of course," she added, "there really is a Visualize connection. That could account for his influence without him necessarily being rich."

"Yes. Brett Stiles definitely knows more than he's saying." And he owes me a favor, Jane thought.

Lisbon yawned, reaching up automatically to put her hand over her mouth. When the yawn was finished, she splayed her hand against his bare chest, her palm over his heart. "You want to go over there and cause trouble, don't you?"

"Not especially. I'm more interested in finding some solid leads for the others to follow while we're gone."

"Gone?" She lifted her head off his shoulder and blinked in confusion.

"It's time, Teresa. He's getting too close. Soon he won't be able to resist, and he'll take you. I'm not going to give him the chance." He tightened his arms around her. "We need to run."

She closed her eyes for a second, and when she looked at him again he could see her resolve. "I don't want to leave you in a mental institution. And I don't want to go without you."

"I know. I don't want that either."

"So what's the plan?"

He kissed her lightly to make up for what he was about to say. "The biggest reason you're so ambivalent about having a baby is because of how dangerous your job is. You don't want to leave a child motherless like you were, reliant on a father who might not be strong enough to keep going."

"I think you're strong enough," she protested.

"And," he continued, "given the fact that we work so closely together, there's a significant chance that anything that could kill you would kill me as well, leaving our child an orphan."

She struggled with her answer, but in the end they both knew she'd had that thought. "Yes," she whispered, laying her head back on his shoulder.

"When you've thought about that scenario, what comes to mind? What's the most likely way for us both to get killed? Barring a car accident, because that's way too obvious."

"Statistically, it's also very likely. We drive around together all the time, sometimes even in that contraption of yours."

"No, that's not what you think about. You think about getting shot."

He felt her lips purse. "Every cop thinks about getting shot."

"But I'm never in the crossfire. You make sure of that. Sometimes you spend so much time checking my position that I'm worried you're not thinking about your own," he admitted. "So what is the scenario where we both get killed?"

"I get shot," she said, very softly. "And you—you don't think. You just run out into the open to get to me. And you get shot too."

"Mm." He had to acknowledge she was right to worry about that. "I like it. The problem, of course, is finding suitable corpses for our stand-ins. That's what tripped us up last time, having to pass off a normal height man as Rigsby."

"I don't want to leave this mess for the others to clean up." Her voice was quiet but firm, and he knew she was far from convinced.

"They will understand."

"If he plans to take me, we can use that to finally catch him."

"Maybe. Or maybe he'll be one step ahead of us like always and I'll lose you. I can't survive that, Teresa. You know I can't."

She sighed, a weary, hopeless sound. "I'm not pregnant, Patrick. I'll prove it to you in the morning. We still have time."

He held her tightly against him, breathing in her scent and letting it comfort him. "Let's go back to bed," he suggested. "We can decide what to do in the morning."

She slid off his lap. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"I can be very persuasive." He winked at her as he got to his feet.

She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. "Well, I guess it'll be fun to let you try." She tucked her hand into his. "It'll take more than coffee and eggs Benedict though."

"Oh, Teresa, I have so much more than that up my sleeve," he promised, turning off the light as they left the room.