A/N: My fourth story ever and this is going to be my first attempt at writing some more plot than getting Lisbon and Jane to confess their love to each other, although that's still the gist of the first chapter (apparently I'm also obsessed with Jane calling Lisbon beautiful and him cooking her food). I have plans to make this a multi-chapter and add some plot, but I've never written anything with plot, so bear with me. Also I've ventured to Jane's perspective for the first time. Title are lyrics from evermore by Taylor Swift & Bon Iver.

Chapter 1: catching my breath
He walked into the office, grin on his face, marveling at the fact he spent part of the previous night with favorite agent, cooking her dinner in his newly-arrived airstream - still parked on the FBI lot - upon learning she was feeding herself take out due to not having a kitchen in the motel she was staying at.

She had accepted his offer, brought a bottle of wine as a thank you, and he had put the steaming plate of veggies in front of her. They ate in silence, mostly, but occasionally he could see her look at him, almost shyly. It wasn't as if they never ate dinner together, they had done that weekly during their CBI days; their work hours almost never allowing them to go home at a decent time so they'd often spent the evening in her office eating a greasy burger or a salad. But that was a long time ago. Now he was back, they were back, and this time he had actually cooked for her. He felt the shift in energy, too, but hadn't dared to do more than grin at her, to tell her stories about the island and make her laugh. His caution had stemmed from her honest confession on the plane a week earlier. He was to ask her about her feelings and aspirations rather than assuming them, even though his assumptions were always right. He supposed she had a point and he tried to give her some space and make up to her and prove to her he had changed and show her all he wanted was her happiness.

But then she'd lamented her living situation - a conversation between her and Fisher he'd overheard by the coffee machine. She was still living in a motel room, having difficulty finding a house she liked, the cost of having her belongings shipped all the way from Washington, and he'd been powerless not to intervene. He'd have to find her a nice place, but he'd start with a home-cooked meal.

When he asked her to come to his airstream, promising her he'd cook something healthy with bell peppers (her favorite vegetable), she'd looked surprised and joked she didn't know his silver bullet came with a kitchen. He'd quickly added he'd balance it out by serving her some store-brought dark chocolate mousse as a dessert. She'd laughed, accepted, and there they were again - together.

She'd left at 10, wanting to turn in early for work the next day, only finishing one glass of wine so she'd be alright to drive back. She was of course still trying to prove herself to Fisher and Abbott, even though he had assured her she was a damn fine agent and they would see that too, just like he had. She'd blushed and put on her jacket, already half out the door when she'd told him good night. He'd gone to bed and found himself thinking of ways he could make her come over more often; he'd enjoyed having her in his space, commenting on his (lack of) homey touches. Perhaps all she needed was a home-cooked meal. He realized he wanted more of her than he'd ever admitted before. Would it be too much if he asked her again the next day?

Now, walking into the bull pen, he found her by the coffee machine talking to Fisher again. They'd seemed to have struck up a friendship. She was wearing a dark purple blouse in some kind of silky mesh fabric with a pair of midnight blue bootcut jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and he found himself taking a quiet breath before advancing to them. She was beautiful. Of course, he had always known Lisbon to be a beautiful woman; her dark auburn hair combined with her pale green eyes had always been an appealing juxtaposition. She was full of those delightful contradictions; her lithe body hiding a surprising strength and her professional dress style an obscured femininity. Though he had never allowed himself to venture beyond these casual observations for obvious reasons, he now felt a little wrong checking her out so casually.

"I'll give you the name of my broker," Fisher said while pouring herself a cup of coffee. She motioned to Lisbon's cup, asking her without words whether she wanted hers refilled, too. Jane knew it was a refill because it was past nine and Lisbon always drank at least two cups before ten and she must have been here since eight already. It might even have been her third.

"Thanks," she replied, and then she looked up at him in greeting, smiled softly at him but cast her eyes downward almost immediately. She left with her coffee in hand and walked to her desk, leaving no room for him to join the conversation. It was almost as if Lisbon had been self-conscious and he wondered whether the evening had affected her, too.

"You're helping Lisbon find an apartment?" he asked to the woman still standing there.

"Just giving her a place to start looking," she answered. "Need the information, too? Tired of the airstream already?"

He grinned. "No, it's perfect. Could you give me the name anyway?" He asked.

She looked at him dubiously, but promised him the info.

After making himself a cup of tea, he walked to his couch, lamenting that he hadn't brought any type of pastry to give to Lisbon. He didn't really know where they sold the best bear claws in Austin yet, but that should only serve as an argument why he should have brought one. They would've been able to test pastries from each bakery and he would see in her reaction which she enjoyed most. He mentally added this to this to do list as he sank down.

When they brought the couch, he had specifically asked for it to be put in the corner of the room, arguing it felt familiar to have a view of the whole office. The added benefit was that it was closest to Lisbon's desk.

Lisbon was typing on her computer, her eyes trained on the information on the screen. She didn't look up when he passed her, or say anything when he sat down.

"Good morning. Sleep well?" he asked innocently.

He couldn't see her reaction, but her high-pitched voice told him all he needed to know. She was embarrassed.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. You?"

"Wonderful. It must have been all those vitamins from that delicious meal."

She finally twisted to look at him at this statement, laughing at him, his joke having subdued the tension a little.

"Delicious? You never were modest, were you?" She gave him a disbelieving smile, shaking her head a little. "Also, vitamins don't help you sleep."

"You're right. It was the memory of the company I had that warmed me up to find sleep," he said, sipping his tea casually, and now he was privy to the blush that crept up on her cheeks.

"Was my presence that soporific?" she asked, going for the joke to ease him away from any type of confession in the office. He didn't take the bait.

"You look lovely in this color. Is it new?" he added.

She touched the hem of her blouse, looking at the point where her fingers touched the fabric, "Thanks, I bought it in Washington." She looked at him then, her eyes more subdued than a minute before. Wistful?

"It brings out your eyes."

"Thanks," she said and turned around again, signaling to him the conversation was over.

For now, he thought. He still had to ask her to come for dinner again. He would take a nap on the couch to think about a good strategy.

xxx

The day had been slow as there were no active cases to leave the office for and most agents in their team spent their day filling out forms, writing reports. But Jane was no agent, so he spent the day on the couch, observing Lisbon, getting her coffee whenever her cup was almost empty. He was almost tempted to leave the office and go on an apartment hunt for Lisbon, but Fisher had shot him looks that informed him he was still on a tight leash after his stint in New York. Normally, such displays of authority wouldn't have stopped him at all, but he remembered he was going to behave for Lisbon's sake and thus he sank back into the couch.
They hadn't really engaged in conversation anymore, Jane happy to nap and reading a history book of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, Lisbon typing a lot.
She'd gone away for lunch with Fisher, leaving him alone. When she had gotten back, she'd made him tea and gave a little kick to the couch as she'd so often done in the past.

"I thought you said you slept well? You napped the whole day," she said as she put the tea on his makeshift side table.

"I'm thinking, Lisbon. Takes a lot of energy," he replied.

"Of course it does," she said. She said down and went back to work.

"Don't you want to know what I was thinking about?" he asked.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."

"Well, if you insist."

Even though he couldn't see her face, he was sure she had just rolled her eyes at him. Lovingly, of course.

"I was wondering what I could make for dinner for us tonight," he started, continuing when seeing her slightly puzzled expression, "Since you're still at the motel, I thought I'd make us something, again." He'd gone for casual, not wanting to set off her spidey senses too much, too soon. He was going to ease Lisbon into dating him.

"Oh, that sounds nice, Jane, but I wanted to go to the gym after work. I'll be late."

"That's alright, you can come after, I mean, if you want to, that is." He suddenly felt self-conscious. Had he not read her well? Did she not want him as he wanted her? "We can do another time if it's more convenient."

She thought about it for a moment, then said, "I do want to. Plus, the gym's here in the building. I won't be that late since you're practically living in the backyard of this place."

"Great, that's settled then," he said and let out a breath. "How does risotto sound? Mushroom or pumpkin?" He made a move to stand up, invigorated by the prospect of having her over for the second night in a row. He needed to get some groceries.

"Mushroom," she said as he looked up from her chair.

"Great, see you at seven?"

"Seven thirty," she corrected him.

xxx

In the FBI gym, Lisbon started out on the treadmill before going through her usual strength training schedule. The day had been slow and she needed to burn off some of the restless energy that had plagued her during the day. But, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't the desk-bound day that had her tensed, it was the way Jane had behaved. He had actually behaved, that was new.

She thought back on their dinner the night before, not realizing when accepting his offer that it would be so.. intimate to share the small space with him. It had been a long time since they'd had dinner together, and it had never been like this. He'd told her stories about the island, about his tailor and the sea life, all sounding familiar because of his letters. He didn't say anything about the way he had missed her, though, not like his confession in his last letter to her, which she'd only received until after she had already seen him in the detention center for the first time. But he had been sitting close to her, their physical proximity making her feel lightheaded.

She'd gone back to Washington when Jane had been detained and found his last letter in her mailbox. I've been meaning to apologize for leaving you on the beach that night. You being absent is the one thing that made this new chapter strange and sad. She'd memorized the words, taking on a different meaning now he was in Texas yet unreachable. She even wrote him back to no avail - they hadn't given him any of her letters, instead sent them back unopened. She'd written about some of her conflicting feelings, mirroring his honesty, that she was grateful he was safe and near, but pained to know he was in detention, alone.

But then he'd been an ass on the case they'd worked and she had taken some distance. Afterward, it seemed like Jane had really taken her words on the plane into consideration; he'd been considerate and he had behaved well for the past week.

Then he had invited her to dinner, and she felt the emotions she had spent so hard to put away bubbling up again - she longed for him, yet was frightened by the prospect of this feeling. Before this, back when they worked together at the CBI, she always fell back on the notion that any feelings she might have toward him were unreciprocated, and therefore it was easy not to get carried away. He didn't feel that way, and even if he did, he would never act on those feelings; he had other priorities. But now, they were on shaky ground. She wasn't sure anymore about his feelings, especially since the dinner and his behavior today.

Her thoughts had kept her so occupied that she'd already run 3 miles by the time she looked at the screen on the frame of the treadmill. She pushed the buttons for it to slowly return to walking pace and stepped off to do her strength routine.

After the workout, she showered in the stalls. She toweled off and put her jeans back on. She had seen him eye her appreciatively when he made a comment on her purple blouse, and the thought made her blush again. She didn't put it back on, though, rather choosing the freshly washed oversized t-shirt she carried in her bag. It was something she put on before going home, not really a t-shirt she would wear to.. a date? dinner between coworkers? but it would have to do. She also forewent the make up and the process of blow drying her hair, not wanting the hassle of putting make up on again for two hours only to have to take it off again. She wasn't trying to impress him, anyway. Right? She did get her comb and cream out of her bag, and she was grateful for the damp curls to cool her off a little as she combed them through and let them hang on her shoulders naturally. She took a breath, looked at her appearance in the mirror. She looked old, she thought. She put on some cream on her face, wishing it would wipe away some of the lines that had formed beneath her eyes. Alas, it would have to do.

Methodically she put all items back into her bag, smoothed out a wrinkle on her t-shirt, and walked out of the gym.

The air was humid as she stepped out of the building to walk the short distance to his trailer. It would wreak havoc on her hair, but again, she reminded herself it was just a dinner between friends.

He opened the door on her first knock.

xxx

The first thing he noticed was her wet hair, falling in waves over her shoulders. It had gotten long and it was far more curly that he'd known about. The second thing he saw was her flushed face, probably still a little red from the workout she'd done before. She was not wearing any make up and she was wearing a casual shirt. It looked worn, and he had to restrain himself not to kiss her right there and then. The domesticity of her, freshly showered, wearing clothes she probably only wore at home and now being at his airstram, having dinner with him almost did him in. She was beautiful.

"Look at you," he says, not able to hide his delight. "Did you have a good workout?"

He stepped away to let her inside.

"Hush, I did. Thanks. It smells good." She looked around the small workspace where he'd been cutting the vegetables for the risotto; the last bit of the broth was now being absorbed by the arborio rice.

"It's almost done," he said, and then added, "I meant you look good, Teresa." He took her hand then, not letting her disappear to the small booth of his breakfast nook just yet. She looked a tiny bit alarmed as he grabbed it, but he didn't let go and looked her into her eyes, hoping to convey his earnest meaning.

"Uh, thanks. It's okay. Do you need any help with the food?"

Okay, so this was a little much, he gathered, as she changed the subject. He dropped her hand.

"Why don't you get us something to drink?" He asked.

"Sure. What do you want?"

"Whatever you'll have."

She went to the little kitchen, opened the top cabinet to pull out two glasses filled the glasses with tap water from the sink. He watched her as she set the glasses on the table and slid into the booth. She'd look so at ease doing it, so comfortable, he was trouble holding back.

Sitting down, she sipped her drink and he busied himself with stirring the pot, the literal one, not their metaphorical dance around each other, one last time before deciding it was finished cooking. He then took the bowl with parmesan cheese he'd just grated and dumped it all into the pan and stirred some more.

"Do you want extra cheese on top?" he asked her.

"Always."

He divided the dish onto the two plates, giving her a little more since she'd just worked out and grated some more cheese on hers. He then turned around and walked to the booth, set the plates on the table and slid into the booth next to her, a little closer than he had sat the day before.

"Bon appetit," he said smiling.

He took a bite as he heard her sigh a little and then he couldn't help but look. She had her eyes closed, savoring the salty flavor of the cheese combined with the earthy tones of the mushroom.

"This is really good," she said. When she finished chewing, she looked at him and he was dumbfounded. She was probably oblivious to the effect she had on him. Was she? She had a strand of loose hair had dangling in front of her face.

Before he knew what he was doing, he caressed the stray cluster of hair and tucked it back behind her ear. Their eyes were still locked, his hand still in her hair, and he saw hers grow a little bigger, and then he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. She smelled fresh and tasted salty; it made him dizzy.

"You'd just washed it. I didn't want it to get caught in the food," he said after he pulled back by way of explanation.

She looked disbelievingly, and he realized he hadn't explained the subsequent move he'd made.

"Oh, and I really wanted to kiss you, if that's okay with you," he said, and he took another bite. No use in being careful now, anymore.

Truthfully, he hadn't really thought about it before he'd done it; it was pure instinct that drove him. She was so pretty, sitting there, and he'd felt an overwhelming sense of want and just didn't have it in him anymore to hold back. He'd done that for so long already. Even though he wanted to move slowly with her, he also felt he had already waited too long to know what she tasted like.

She nodded at him, eyes still big, face pink. She was so cute when she blushed. He took another bite, noticing she hadn't.

"Eat your dinner, Teresa, it's better warm," he said.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, but he noticed her glancing in his direction more than once. He beamed at her each time. When they were done, he got up to put the plates in the sink and planned to sit next to her again and kiss her some more. However, she'd slid out and stood up, too, and got the dish brush from next to the sink. She went to stand next to him.

"I can clean up later, you know," he said as he moved a little closer to her. He was having trouble keeping his hands off of her, the kiss having opened the floodgates of need in him, making it impossible to hold back any longer.

"It's fine," she replied. She opened the tap and rinsed the dishes with the brush, before rinsing off the brush and filling the sink with clean water. She got the dish liquid from the other side of the sink, and her arm brushed his chest as she had to lean in front of him to get it. If she noticed, she didn't let on, because she went on to scrub the plates vigorously.

He thought she felt a little uncomfortable by their shared kiss, their subsequent proximity, maybe a little unsure, and therefore chose to occupy herself so that she wouldn't have to engage in conversation with him. As easily as she approached conflict in her professional life, his Lisbon was a little avoider when it came to her personal life.

He let her wash some of the plates, receiving them from her as he dried them with a dish towel. But as she was scrubbing the pot, he felt his impatience growing.
For the second time that evening, he fingered a lock of her hair, slowly letting his fingers run through it before resting his hand on her shoulder, massaging the flesh a little.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

"Hmm," she said affirmatively.

"I would really like to kiss you again, you know," he said, making clear he wanted her to stop doing the dishes.

She turned to him then, letting the plate in her hand fall back into the water, looking up at him.

"Why?" she asked. What she really wanted to know was his intentions, he thought.

"I want to be with you, Teresa." he said earnestly. "I thought that was pretty clear."

He leaned in again, moving to capture her lips once more, planning to explore her more than he'd been able to do before, but she stopped him, put her hands on his chest.

"You're sure about this?" She asked.

He wanted her to know he loved her, was desperately in love with her, because he was, he realized, and he wanted to tell her he'd dreamed of counting all the freckles on her skin by way of his tongue, but managed only to respond: "Very."

She must have been convinced by his reply, because she said "good," and then it was her who took the initiative. She kissed him, put her hands in his hair and coaxed open his lips to push her tongue inside. He let her control the kiss for a while, savoring her taste, his hands finding a home on her waist.

But when he heard her moan, he gripped her tightly, spun her 90 degrees so that she rested against the countertop and he lightly bit her lip as he explored her mouth and then her jaw, her throat, and back up her lips.

He felt her hands roam his chest and he felt himself harden. With great difficulty, he took a step back.

She looked a little dazed, her lips swollen and he gave her another quick kiss to reassure her she hadn't done anything wrong.

"I want to take you on a proper date," he said. "I haven't ever bought you any flowers yet, either."

She stood there, hands now on the sides of the countertop, and she grinned at him.

"Sure," she said, smilingly, biting her lip.

He kissed her again, hands cupping her face. "I want you, Teresa, don't let there be any question about that."

Before she could act on this confession, he let go of her again, grabbed the dish towel from behind her, and dried the last plate.

"Come on, you wanted to help. So help," he said.

She shook her head but went to help him again and when they were done he kissed her some more. And then she'd said she needed to leave and he understood. He kissed her one last time as she put on her jacket and then opened the door for her so she could walk to her car.

"Goodnight, Teresa. See you tomorrow."

"Good night," she said softly as she walked away, similar to the evening yesterday. Except now he had kissed her and she had kissed him back.

He texted her sweet dreams half an hour later, knowing she'd arrived at the motel by then. She'd replied with 'xx' and it took him a little longer to fall asleep that night, remembering the way her mouth had tasted and her warm body had felt.

xxx

The next day, he was a little late to the office because he definitely needed to buy her a bear claw today. He was wondering how he would find her today, how the night before had affected her.

When he walked into the bullpen, he didn't see her by her desk, nor at the fish bowl or the break room.

Cho saw him looking around and spoke to him: "She's gone with Fisher; I think it might be a new case," he said.

"You think?" He asked, wondering why Cho wouldn't know about it.

"I saw her with files in her hand, mail, I think, you got it too, but she went to Fisher's office immediately and the two left a little after that," he explained.

"Hmm, ok."

He went to his beloved couch and saw that indeed he had received mail, too. It was a manilla envelope, his name written on it in cursive. He tore the adhesive strip and took out the documents. It was photos, he felt from the texture of the documents; it was glossy paper. He turned them around and he saw they were indeed photos. Of Lisbon. And not just any photos; in one she was only wearing a t-shirt, bare legs, and in the other she was only wearing her underwear. He didn't recognize the location she was in but it was probably her motel as only a bed and a chair were visible in the background. The quality was not amazing; as if it was a still made from a videocamera. A slip of paper fell out from between the photos and with shaking hands he grabbed it from the ground. "Thought you might like these, too," the note said.