Just a short, rather angsty chapter tonight folks. Fluff to come soon.

Thank you to my reviewers – I so appreciate you taking the time to R&R. A special thank you to Elizabeth for all your great comments and feedback. I can't respond to you directly, but please know I alwaysappreciate you reviewing my stories.

For all the rest of you – a review would be so wonderful – please and thank you. Remember, it really does encourage me to write faster. Vini

He wasn't wearing his ring. Her heart was beating faster than normal, which was silly. It didn't mean anything, did it?

Of course it did. She couldn't help the slight smile that broke out. Jane loved her and wanted to make this work. His actions tonight proved that and she could feel the tension and worry and doubt of the last couple of weeks begin to fade.

She waited while he went out to his car to retrieve whatever it was he wanted to show her. She was curious as to what it was, and about where he'd been these past few days. He hadn't really told her and suddenly a niggling sense of worry began to return.

"Stop it Teresa", she told herself sternly.

"Stop what my dearest Lisbon", he asked as he pushed his way into the room, a large cardboard box in his hands.

"Jane. Uh nothing. What's in there?"

He didn't answer but instead set it down carefully on the floor. Strangely he didn't move for a few seconds, simply squatting down beside the box. Finally, he stood up and swung around to face her, his biggest smile shining at her. "So, where's that tea?"

"Oh – sorry, I'll just get it."

"Lisbon – you didn't forget my tea?", he asked, sounding scandalized. "And I thought you loved me."

"I do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be your tea slave!"

"Well that's disappointing", he told her as he followed her into the kitchen. "You know that I'll be your slave forever and ever -'

"If I make you tea?"

"Mmm hmm", he tilted his head and gave her his best 'sweet innocent Jane' face – the one that had conned a myriad of people.

"Don't give me that look", she told him sternly, turning the teakettle back on. "I know you too well and it won't work."

"No? But you are making me tea."

She sighed and shook her head and then laughed. "You are an evil, evil man Patrick, do you know that?"

He walked up behind her and put her arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Am I?" he said softly.

"No" she answered gently. "You're a good man." She turned carefully until she was facing him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "And I love you and if you want I'll make you tea every day."

"You'd do that for me?" he asked, suddenly sounding serious.

"Of course", she frowned, looking at him intently. "What is it? What's wrong Patrick?"

He sighed and smiled. Giving her a quick kiss on the nose he stepped back. "Tea, woman! The water's boiling."

She regarded him for another instant and then nodded. There was something bothering him, but it could wait – at least until he got his tea. She smiled gently as she made him a cup. "Okay, here you go. Now I want you to tell me where exactly you went and what's in that box!"

He nodded slowly, holding his cup as if it was a life preserver. Without another word he returned to her living room and sat down in the corner on her couch. For a moment she was transported back to Sacramento and the CBI – watching Jane sit, all alone on his couch, holding his tea as if it were a shield against a world that had hurt him unbearably.

She moved over and sat beside him, not touching him but close enough so that he could lean against her if he needed to. Somehow she knew she couldn't press him, figuratively or literally right now. Something was going on – something profound – and she had to let him do this in his own way and his own time.

"I went to Malibu", he said quietly, his eyes focused on the floor, the tea still held but not sipped. He stopped and didn't speak for many minutes. "My house."

"What did you go there for?" she finally asked as the silence grew heavy. She so wanted to reach out, to touch him, to hold him, but she suspected he might break if she did so. "Patrick? Why did you go there?"

He licked his lips, still staring at the floor. He finally spoke, although she could tell it was difficult for him. "I – needed to show you something", he said softly.

"The box?"

He nodded. "I don't know if I can."

"Why not?"

He looked up then, and she was saddened, but not surprised to see the tears in his eyes. "I'm afraid."

"Why Patrick?" She moved closer and touched his arm. "What is it?"

He let out a small sound at that and closed his eyes. Her heart breaking for him she moved even closer and took the tea out of his hands and placed in on the coffee table. She then put her arms around him. "It's okay. You don't have to show me."

"I do" he whispered. "I need to do this."

"Why?"

"To show you – to tell you -"

"What?"

"That – I love you, more than you'll ever know and that – that I trust you and want to be open with you and share my life with you."

"I know you love me– and I love you and trust you too. It doesn't matter what's in there – you don't have to show me if you don't want to, it won't change the way I feel." She could tell he was thinking about whether or not to let it go and leave the whole thing. It was when he took a deep breath and gently removed her arms from around him that she knew he had decided.

"I want to." He stood up slowly, as if he'd aged twenty years in a few minutes, and walked over to the mysterious box. Reaching out, his hands unsteady, he pulled it over towards the couch.

He sat down heavily and regarded it almost as if it were a living thing – a malevolent thing. He gave a strained sigh and pushed his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry Teresa, I'm sure you think I'm crazy."

"I've thought that for years Jane", she told him.

He laughed at that, the mood lightening a small bit. "Of course you have. You realize that means that there's probably something wrong with you that you want to be with me."

"Yes, there probably is, but frankly I don't care. I love you, crazy or not. Actually, now that I think about it, it's probably because you're crazy. I've always been attracted to -"

"To?"

"- Interesting men."

"That's good – although I'd better be your only interesting man."

"You are, don't worry. Now – are you going to open the damn box? I'm going crazy here."

He laughed again, although the sound was rather unsteady. He took another breath and reached for the lid. "Here goes", he murmured. He slowly pulled off the packing tape and then lifted the lid.

She'd had an idea what must be in the box. There could only be a few rare items that would affect Jane this much. As he drew off the lid she breathed out silently. She'd been correct.

Jane reached for the item on top. It was a red paper heart with sparkles and little rubber stickers all over it. Lisbon could just see the words love and Daddy written in childish handwriting. Charlotte had obviously made this for her father for Valentine's Day. Oh God – how could he bear this?

He didn't say anything, simply touching it carefully and then laying it down on his lap and reaching for the next item – a photo album.

Lisbon didn't know if she was going to make it through this. The tears were already coursing down her cheeks. She kept glancing at Jane, but his eyes, though red, were now dry. She didn't know how he could handle this. She wondered when he'd last opened this box.

He sat looking as if at something in the far distance. A second later he blinked and took a breath. He flipped open the first page of the album.

Lisbon looked down at a picture of Jane and his wife holding a tiny baby. God, she was a beautiful woman, she thought. She'd seen pictures – of course – but they were crime scene photos. There had been a picture of Angela Jane before she'd been killed but Teresa had barely glanced at it at the time. It was before she knew Jane and she hadn't really wanted to think about the woman who had died so horribly. Instead she had concentrated on forensics reports and facts – rather than imagining the person behind the tragedy.

"She was beautiful", she said.

"She was", Jane smiled and touched the picture. "She was so happy when Charlotte was born. She'd always wanted a home and family. She was a great mother."

"I'm sure she was."

He turned to the next page – and there were more pictures of a baby Charlotte. There was one picture of her in her father's arms. He looked so young and so proud, so happy. Teresa wondered what he must have been like before tragedy had struck. There were other pictures of her smiling, crawling, in the bath. One of the most precious was of her laughing, her two tiny baby teeth sticking out.

The pictures went on and Jane slowly turned each page. She grew bigger – but still looked the happy little girl with the twinkling eyes an beautiful smile. She was blond, like her father, and would have grown up to be a beautiful girl. She couldn't imagine how painful this must be for him.

"She smiled all the time", he murmured, touching the pictures of his daughter. "She was a happy baby, a happy little girl."

"She's gorgeous. She had your smile."

"Angela always said it would get her in trouble. I think she worried that Charlotte would grow up to be like me."

"I'm sure she wasn't worried– she loved you and probably hoped Charlotte would be like you."

"Do you know, when I drank the belladonna tea, I imagined what she'd be like. I imagined her just like me." He laughed softly. "She was funny and sarcastic and a total handful." He continued to look down at the pictures a small smile on his face. "She used to come in to our room in the morning and jump on the bed. She loved to try and tickle me. And she loved magic tricks. She was always asking me to pull things out of her ear or make things disappear. I told her that when she grew up she could be my assistant." He looked up at that, his eyes shining from the tears that were now being released "She never grew up Lisbon."

"I know. I'm so sorry Patrick", she whispered.

"She should have – she was so good. And so was Angela. There were the best thing in my life and I destroyed them."

"No you did not! You know you didn't Jane. It wasn't your fault. It's never been your fault and you have to let that go. It was an evil, sick man who did this but he's gone now too. Just love them Patrick – don't let guilt get in the way of that."

He let out a small sob and closed the album. "Oh God – I want to Lisbon, I just want to remember them like this. I want them to know that I loved them so much and that I'm sorry – sorry that I wasn't a better husband and father."

"They knew. All you have to do is look at these pictures to know that they were happy. They knew they were loved and they loved you. Don't let your guilt and their deaths destroy that memory, that knowledge."

"Did they? Do you think – tell me the truth Lisbon. When you see them – do you think they knew?"

"That you loved them. Yes, I can see it clearly –and so can you, if you really look."

He finally nodded, although she knew it would take more than this to convince him. Still, it was a start.

Jane held onto the photo album, his knuckles white from grasping the book so firmly. She reached out and touched the back of one hand. "Jane – it's okay."

He nodded again and finally set the book down on his knees. He then reached gently and reverently into the box and pulled out a soft pink baby blanket. After gazing at it for a moment he put it to his face. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply.

"It doesn't smell like her anymore", he murmured. "It should smell like her Lisbon. It always did. It smelt like strawberries and like Charlotte." He opened his eyes and looked at her, his face awash in pain. "Why doesn't it smell like her?"

"Oh Jane", she reached out and pulled him to her. "I'm so sorry." She could feel the tremors that passed through him and then something inside him broke. He began to cry into her shoulder, his body wracked with painful sobs.

Never, in all the years that she had known him, had she ever seen him break down like this. He cried and cried with deep wrenching sobs. All she could do was hold him and keep telling him that she loved him and it was going to be okay.

She had no idea how much time had passed before he began to calm. Eventually he was quiet, with only an occasional hiccup of sound, although his body still shook. She continued to hold him, only now realizing that he was holding onto her as if he would drown if he let go. She began to stroke his back, uttering soothing sounds and continuing to tell him she loved him.

Now that things were quieter and he appeared to be calming down, she began to wonder why he'd brought the box to show her. She was sure he had done it as much for her as for himself – knowing him probably more so. Yet she didn't know quite what it meant. She briefly asked herself if she should be worried. Did this prove that he couldn't let go of his wife and daughter and move on with her?

No - she didn't think that's what it was at all. In fact, she was almost positive that this was Jane's way of letting go so that he could move on. It was also his way of sharing something of himself – something deep and painful, but ultimately cherished. She loved him – had loved him for a long time. Tonight had made her love him even more.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked, when he'd been totally silent for too long.

She could feel him swallow and then he tried to pull back, although she kept her arms around him. "You can stay right here if you want, I don't mind."

He nodded and relaxed, although he still didn't speak. She was suddenly reminded of the time he'd admitted to having been in the psychiatric hospital – and that he felt ashamed. He was a man who liked to be in control, of himself and his surroundings and right now he had to be feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable.

"It was my tea, wasn't it", she asked softly. "You didn't like it."

He froze for an instant and then choked. "What?" he asked into her shoulder.

"My tea", she sighed. "That's why you're upset. You pretended to like it but really you couldn't stand it." She grimaced, wondering if she was being insensitive to try and lighten things up. She opened her mouth to apologize when he spoke.

He sighed and lifted his head. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings" he chuckled softly.

"I can see that", she nodded. looking at him closely. He looked like hell, his face puffy and streaked with tears. At the same time he looked more relaxed than she'd seen him in a long time. "Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly serious.

"I'm sorry", he pulled back from her and wiped his face with the back of his arm. "I don't usually cry all over people." He glanced up at that and grimaced. "I'm fine, really."

"You're sure?" she scrutinized his face carefully.

"I'm sure", he sighed. "I – really am sorry."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "No need. Jane, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah." He was looking down at their clasped hands, clearly still too embarrassed to look her in the face.

"When was the last time you cried like that."

He grew still, but then slowly reached for the pink blanket, which had fallen onto his lap. Holding it up to his face he smiled slightly. "Never."

"Never? Really?"

He nodded.

"Well then, it's about time you did. And before you say anything Patrick Jane, remember that I love you – and I'm honored and touched that you would share this with me – both the memories and the tears. I love you and want to be here for you, whatever you need."

"Thank you", he said quietly. A moment later he straightened up. He carefully folded the little blanket and put it back in the box. It was followed by the album and heart. "I think that's enough for tonight."

"Yes, it is. Now, drink your tea and then I'm putting you to bed."

"Really", he smirked. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss and a soft and grateful smile. "I am tired." He took a sip.

"Lisbon – my tea is cold. Can you make me another one?"