Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, am simply borrowing them for the purposes of this country. Well Jill is mine, but she's not really the big draw.

AN: Thanks for the continued comments, and honesty from all of those who take time to review – much appreciated. I should say that this story may be about to take a turn towards angst – so if that's not what you are in the mood for, then perhaps you should avoid.

Falling Slowly Chapter 6

It's 11am on a Saturday morning and I'm lying in bed. If you knew me well you would realise this is not normal; not even in the neighbourhood of normal. But then it's been a weird few days.

I slept with Jane last night.

Actually I slept with Patrick.

Not even in the neighbourhood of normal.

Of course it couldn't just be normal; he was wearing most of his suit and there was certainly not even the slightest hint of him trying to get me out of the sleep wear I had on. And yet… It was perfect; truly perfect. I feel like I should say this again for the record; last night I slept in the same bed as Patrick Jane. I didn't sleep very much, but he did and the knowledge that he was able to rest is so precious to me that I think I can face anything today.

He is still Jane, obviously, he retreated as soon as he could; but I think he regretted leaving – and I am almost certain he will come back. We talked last night more than we have in all the years we have known each other I think. Actually I could almost hide my head in my pillow when I think of all that I told him; but then that would just not be dignified because I am still me. Maybe that's what we've both acknowledged at the same time, we can remain as we are while changing what we are to each other so completely.

Anyway, he is still the same Jane I have known all these years. I mean he left this morning, I am in bed this late in the day and I am alone. He will keep leaving until all of this is over, maybe even after that. But last night he seemed to want more; and I am almost certain he wants more after. So he is out there now with his thoughts and plans for how to trap the man who has haunted him for so long. And I think now he is planning too that he could be here for after, that Red John will not necessarily destroy the rest of his life too. That maybe, and I hope so much that I am not getting this wrong, that just maybe a future with me is not only possible but necessary.

Anyway I know I shouldn't still be in bed obsessing over Jane on one of my rare days off, but last night felt like an occasion to be commemorated in some way. So when Jane left me earlier I simply climbed back into bed, buried my nose in the sheet where he had been lying and feel back asleep. Like I said earlier, I didn't sleep much through the night so maybe I deserved some rest finally. I think I certainly deserved the chance to reflect on all that has happened in the last day or two.

I know I should get up; I need to do laundry and grocery shopping and maybe even go for a run but I'm finding it difficult to leave my bed. I can smell Jane and it feels like something of his remains with me in here. I understand rationally how ridiculous that is, but I'm wallowing today. I'm allowing myself the luxury of admitting (even just to me) that I spent the night with someone I am in love with, and the world didn't end. If I stay in this bed then I can pretend that maybe there will be no consequences to spending the night with Jane, that maybe we'll be okay. I know that's very unlikely, but the warmth of my sheets holds the scent of Patrick Jane and I want to remain in this little bubble of happiness for as long as I can.

I don't think I've ever been more intimate with anyone than I was with Jane last night, the unspoken acknowledgement that he wanted comfort from me was a precious gift I didn't ever think I would receive. The weight of his body lying against mine is something I will cling to when I have a bad day, or when he disappears and hurts me all over again. I spent most of the night on the edge of sleep, never quite succumbing to the temptation to close my eyes. Instead I had a chance to study Patrick Jane without fear of interruption, and without fear of anyone paying any attention to my unguarded adoration of him.

He slept with his head leaning heavily against my chest all night, his arm draped around my body, lying against the curve of my hip for hours. I got to feel his breath on my skin as he relaxed in sleep, and I soothed him with the touch of my fingers along the length of his spine when he became agitated while he slept. I gave in to the temptation to run my fingers through his hair, tracing the curls to mollify myself as much as him. I could happily spend the rest of my life sleeping with him like that.

Well, maybe the experience would be improved if Jane wasn't wearing quite so many clothes; but for the moment I will accept whatever he is willing to give me.

I need to get up, I really do; I think I could easily waste all day in bed with these indulgent thoughts. I don't want to turn into a complete idiot after one night sleeping in the same bed as Jane; how would I be if we had actually made love?

Okay. Where did that come from?

I mean I'm a grown woman, when I spend the night in bed with a man the most thrilling part of the evening is usually more intense that me running the tips of my fingers along the lines of my partners face… But that was a definite high point of my year when I got to do that last night. And perhaps the freedom of that touch has me thinking of more, but I suppose that's normal too. I should be able to admit to myself (and hopefully one day Jane) that I don't just want to be in whatever this is for the noble self-sacrifice.

But I don't have to resolve all of these issues today, but it's been calming to have this time to think. Or fret, I suppose; but I'm allowed to do that from the comfort of my own bed.

I should leave my bed now and go and do something useful with my day; maybe in five more minutes.

I've jinxed myself, brought all of this on myself by being so lazy. I can hear the buzz of my cell phone beside my bed. Work really wasn't supposed to intrude on my plans this weekend. Maybe I can work from my bed.

Maybe I should remember I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon and just answer my damn phone.

"Lisbon. What?"

"Well hi to you too my darling."

Jill. I'm not sure whether I am ready for a Jill conversation; I should be at least wearing pants for one of those.

"Sorry, hey Jill, I thought you were work, I didn't check caller id. Sorry. You okay? Did you get back home okay?"

"Of course I did, this is me checking up on you so there will be no discussions about my life. This is a conversation about you and Blondie. Tell me details Teresa Lisbon."

I knew I wasn't going to be up to this.

"I haven't had coffee yet today, Jill, I'm not up to this conversation yet."

"No coffee, why? Goodness am I interrupting; is Blondie there just now cursing me for disrupting his fun. Oh, please tell me he is?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Jane isn't here."

"Well, that's unacceptable didn't you invite him over? Don't make me come back there and yell at you both. I can't believe you; the man was staring at you at dinner last night. I mean he was staring at you. I've been dying to call but thought I would let the two of you have a little morning time together. I can't believe neither of you made a move, you're impossible Teresa."

"He did sleep here last night."

That will at least make her take a breath before she rants at me some more.

"What? Really, oh that's too perfect. Okay I want details, and you're going to have to be quick because I am about to go to the Gap to buy my husband jeans. Look at your life versus mine, you get to sleep with Blondie and I am going out to buy my husband clothes because he can't accept that his ass hanging out of all his current jeans is unacceptable. Details."

"That was a lot of information for me to process before coffee Jill, and now I have an image in my head I really don't want to be in there."

"Tell me about it darling, I have to take action before he scares the kids. So I need to go shopping really soon, but not until you tell me things. So tell me things."

"You know I'm not very good at sharing this sort of stuff Jill, and do I have to mention again the lack of coffee?"

"Darling just go make yourself some coffee while you're talking to me, it can't be that difficult and it's not like I've called you at 6am. You're still in bed, aren't you? Goodness was it that fantastic that you are unable to drag yourself from the bed of love."

"You're doing this on purpose just to annoy me; if you don't stop talking like a crazy woman then I'm hanging up."

I swing my legs out of bed and head downstairs, I really do need that coffee and some toast would be really good. It feels decadent to be slumming around my home in my sleep shirt, but no one can see so for once I'm going to let it slide.

"Sorry darling, I'm just playing with you. I know you hate to tell anyone anything but thought I might be able to steal a few details. Okay, let me ask you questions. Are you happy this morning?"

I will be when my coffee is ready.

"Teresa conversations on the phone work much better if both people speak."

"I'm not unhappy."

"Okay, well that sounds good. Let me ask you another questions, did Blondie sleep with you in your bed?"

Am I just going to let the Blondie thing slide? It's probably just going to be easier frankly if I do.

"Yes, Jane slept in the same bed as I did."

"Oh my, this is huge. Is he as gorgeous as I think he might be; I really like his shoulders, does he have good biceps. I was looking at him at dinner last night, and I really noticed his shoulders."

"You noticed his shoulders? Do you hear yourself when you say these things?"

"I only talk like this to a few select people, you just happen to be one of them. And I maintain he has pleasingly masculine shoulders, and I wanted your opinion now that you might have experienced them in their natural form."

"Does that mean you think I've seen him with his shirt off?"

"Well I would hope so, didn't you just mention you'd slept together."

"We slept in the same bed, but Jane was fully clothed. It wasn't the fun night you've been hoping for, but it was a good thing that we slept in the same bed."

"Teresa I think you've been single too long, sleeping with fully clothed men is only something that happens when both of you are too tired to do anything else. Did you forget how to undo buttons?"

"Jill, look I've made coffee and now I'm going to drink it and get on with my day; stop making fun of me and leave me alone."

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I am, sort of."

"Okay, that's not the worst you've ever been. Is Patrick okay?"

"No, not really; but it's not the worst he's ever been either."

"Okay, do you want to talk about or should I call you when you've had time to process it?"

"There's nothing to process, I told him I loved him. He told me in a roundabout way that he has feelings for me too, but that there is a serial killer that has more of his attention now. But he also said that I am more important than anyone else, and he really has me wanting to believe that."

"Then believe it, I would imagine Patrick is a man of his word."

"You make it sound simple."

"Oh darling love is never simple, but that's what makes it glorious. And it gets you through the bad times, like having to go and buy your partner clothes so he doesn't get arrested for exposure."

"You should probably do that then."

"I should. Are you okay, really? Can I call you in a few days; I promise I won't give you a hard time. You can just say things out loud and make sense of them outside of your head, maybe work through some stuff. Does that sound okay?"

"It does, actually. I'm going to take the weekend to myself, and try not to worry too much."

"Okay, please do that. And if I'm really good then you'll tell me what if felt like to run your fingers through those gorgeous blonde curls of Mr Jane's."

"What makes you think I would know the answer to that?"

"Because you can be foolish sometimes but you're not an idiot and I can practically feel you blushing over the phone Teresa. I mean I've fantasised about running my fingers through his hair and I only met him yesterday; goodness only knows what levels of restraint you must have been using after ten years."

"I'm going now, I'd like to get dressed before dinner time. Buy yourself some shirts at the Gap, be good to yourself today Jill."

"Oh darling, I'm buying myself wine today – Stephen is buying me shirts, and I think his credit card might also want to buy me boots. Take care; and take care of Blondie too. Speak soon darling."

And just like she's gone. She didn't even give me a chance to thank her for her careless kindness. I'll do that next time I speak to her, and I should spend some time asking about her life and family; it would be the very least I could do.

I clear away my coffee cup, wipe the work surfaces in my kitchen and make a deal with myself that I will shower and get into my running gear and actually leave my apartment at some point today. Maybe I can go get some breakfast – or lunch – or maybe just some food and good coffee on the way back.

I won't spend the day thinking about impossible relationships, and serial killers, and blonde hair. I'm going to run, call my brothers, and get take away for dinner. I'm going to be my own version of normal this weekend.

Just as I start to go upstairs I'm interrupted from my normal by a knock at the door. I equal parts want this to be Jane and want him to leave me alone. Actually, mostly I want it to be Jane. I look through the peephole to see who is disturbing my lazy Saturday.

It's someone with flowers, well a delivery guy with flowers I suppose. Looks like Jane is intent on reminding me of his presence in my life today. It occurs to me that answering the door in my night shirt might be a little inappropriate, but I find that I suddenly really want these flowers. I half hide behind the door and extend my arm to accept the gift.

"Delivery for Teresa Lisbon?"

"Thanks so much, they're lovely."

But as I look at the offered flowers I realise they're not lovely, they're odd. Why would Jane have sent me red poppies? I can't claim to get flowers very often, but that is an odd choice. What is he trying to tell me with these?

"Do you like your flowers, Teresa? I thought you would appreciate something mournfully beautiful. I thought it was time we had a discussion of our own Agent Lisbon."

I look up and suddenly my normal weekend is over. I've wasted precious seconds worrying about flowers when I should have been worrying about the man in front of me. It feels like the most significant error of my life. I feel a needle penetrate a vein on my forearm and I wonder if the last image I will ever see is the face of this inhuman man we have been hunting for so long. I wonder if the last thought I will ever have is this one about how I failed so utterly today.

I wonder if this is going to hurt or whether I will reach oblivion before it does.