AN: Oh, wow. WHAT an episode. Glorious angst and wonderful undercover stuff. I am in heaven. This is excellent. I was very on the fence about Pike (okay, so I basically thought he was useless), but I have really gone the other way now, for reasons that I hope will become clear.

A multi-parter, I believe. Well, at least two chapters. Possibly three. We do have a week of hiatus to get through, after all.

This is dedicated to the wonderful MleeWrite, who basically said, "go write a tag. Here's the title." I'm not kidding. She actually did that.

Ruminations and Red Pajamas

She enjoyed herself with Marcus. He was attentive, funny, and, best of all, obviously interested in her.

He also hadn't been joking about the pancakes being delicious.

Throughout their impromptu date, she carefully avoided thinking about Jane. Sometimes she even succeeded.

He had reminded her of an eager puppy that had been unexpectedly kicked by its owner. She knew exactly what his face would look like when she was out of sight, the way it would crumple when he thought no one was looking.

However, she fiercely refused to feel guilty about what she was doing.

Jane had had twelve years - twelve years - to do something, anything. And he hadn't.

Regrettably, at least for her, it didn't mean her feelings had changed. At all. There was a part of her that was ashamed of herself for going on a date with one man when she was most certainly in love with another. Indeed, she'd had every intention of turning Marcus down when he'd first asked her.

Then everything had changed.

He'd been straight-forward, telling her she was good looking, that he liked her, that he wanted to get to know her better.

She'd been caught off guard at how utterly refreshing that was. Frankness, and honesty, and openness. No games, no phrases that might have double meanings related to their relationship but then again, might not. No deceptions, no running off an sleeping with the mistress of a serial killer and not calling for six months.

She didn't have to wonder how Marcus felt, what he was thinking, because he told her.

And so she had done an about face, accepting his offer with something approaching actual enthusiasm.

It hadn't been misplaced.

Marcus held doors, ushered her inside with a hand at the small of her back, actually touching her the way Jane rarely did anymore.

They weren't even a couple and he was already protective of her.

Her heart gave an odd squeeze. It was something she hadn't realized she wanted. For so long, she had been the protector, stepping between Jane and danger. She had done it without thought, instinctively, but being taken care of was such a shockingly appealing concept that she had to blink rapidly for a moment.

At the end of the night, Marcus walked her to her car, kissed her on the cheek, and told her to text him when she got home.

She did.

And then she sat on the floor of her shower, hot water streaming all around her, telling her heart to shut up. It was time she did something for herself.

Marcus was kind and thoughtful and, best of all, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

She was abruptly angry.

She'd had so many hopes when Jane had come back from exile, putting her at the top of his list of demands. He'd killed Red John and was finally out of reasons to hold onto his past. In fact, he'd spent two years trying to move on.

As it happened, she'd been wrong.

The only thing that changed was that he didn't wear vests anymore. Too bad, that, since the sight of him in a waistcoat with his shirtsleeves rolled up was enough to make her pulse start racing.

But he was still the same old Jane. Manipulating, secretive, still anchored to what had been, to the great tragedy that had been his past life with a gold band that might as well have been an anchor.

She didn't expect him to ever get over his family. That was okay. He was perfectly entitled to mourn them for the rest of his life. She couldn't say honestly that she wouldn't do the same.

But that didn't mean that he had to live as though he was dead, too.

He didn't talk about Angela much. To this day, she still hadn't heard him say her name. But from the little she knew, Angela Jane wasn't the type of woman that would want him to closet himself away from the rest of the world.

Clearly, that was still happening.

She was done with it.

Done waiting around for Jane to figure out what he wanted in life. She had been right there for twelve years. It was time to face the facts. If he couldn't move on yet, he would probably never be able to.

Or maybe he had figured it out, and he simply didn't want to go forward with her. However, he clearly didn't want anyone else to have her, either.

She leaned against the cold tile at her back, a freezing counterpoint to the warmth of the shower spray.

Later, wrapped in a towel, she automatically checked her phone. She had two messages.

One was from Marcus. Glad you made it home. I'll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.

She smiled.

The next was from Jane. If your date isn't going well, let me know if I need to come up with some emergency to get you away.

She stared at the screen. Tapped out a goodnight to Marcus, then seriously considering telling Jane her date had been wonderful.

It would hurt him, she knew it, but she was still tempted.

She was mad at herself again.

Seriously, it was okay if Jane felt bad for a change. God, he had done far worse to her, and without apology.

She was honest enough to admit that he probably did feel sad and remorseful for some of the things he had done. But that was the difference - he had chosen to do all of those things, and if he felt bad, then it was no one's fault but his own.

Here, she was the one doing the hurting.

Guilt crawled up her throat.

She threw her phone back onto the bed.

None of this was her fault. She wasn't being unfaithful or anything. Jane had never asked her to wait, had never told her honestly how he felt. Had never said, "sorry I'm a mess, but I have every intention of figuring it all out and I'd like you to be there for it."

No. Instead, he'd pretended to forget telling her he loved her, in essence taking it back, then used how she felt against her when the hunt for Red John had been almost at its conclusion.

Unexpectedly, tears pricked in her eyes.

Apparently, she still wasn't over it.

Defeated now by her own stupid emotions, she crawled under the covers, dressed in her oldest sweats. They were a far cry from the red silk pajama top she'd worn the night before.

What had she been thinking with that, anyway?

She knew precisely what she'd been thinking, even if she felt ridiculous admitting it to herself.

She was thinking of Jane, naturally. He'd put her in a dress, told her she looked lovely before the party had started, had even sounded sincere about it. Throughout the night, continuing their ruse of being a couple, he'd had an arm around her waist several times, had toyed with her hair, had even kissed the back of her hand once.

And then her plan had been...what? To show off her legs and hope he took the invitation? To hope that they ended up in the same bed?

Her cheeks flushed.

Stupid.

She had considered joining him on the couch after she'd tucked him in, studying the lines of his face. What would he have done if she'd slid beneath the blanket? Balk, maybe? Or maybe he would have simply wrapped his arms around her and gone back to sleep.

She would never know now.

And it wasn't likely she would know ever.

The next morning, she felt like she had a hangover.

Too many emotions had been rolling through her. Even though she knew the undercover operation was all fake, being that close to Jane for so long, hearing him call her Teresa, touching him...it had wreaked havoc on her.

She showered again, just trying to make herself feel a bit better, then did a quick job of trying to make herself look presentable, grabbing coffee on her way out the door.

The first thing she noticed when she walked in the bullpen was that Jane had clearly slept on his couch that night. He was halfway sitting up, a blanket still over his legs, hair a wild mess.

He smiled sleepily at her, running a hand down a face, and she noticed his wedding ring was firmly back in its usual place.

Well.

She had done the right thing, then, going out with Marcus.

Feeling slightly vindicated and more than a little justified, she smiled back, then sat down as her phone buzzed.

Morning, it read. Can I interest you in a fine dining experience in the cafeteria for lunch? Say 12:30?

And, oh look. More justification. Marcus's intentions were clear, obvious. He didn't hide what he felt or what he wanted.

And it appeared that he wanted her.

It's a date, she typed back quickly, then allowed herself to smile just a little. It was nice to be wanted. Openly.

She could feel Jane's eyes on her back.

It probably made her a horrible person, but she did like the idea of him being upset that she was involved (sort of) with someone else. He could be the hurt one for once. It was petty and childish and true.

Fischer came out of her office then, a packet of papers held in one hand. "Final briefing on our art thief case in ten," she told them, smiling a little with the success of their operation. "Conference room."

With a sigh, Lisbon stood. She was going to need more coffee. From behind her, she heard Jane rise as well. As she headed to the break room, he fell into step beside her. She resisted the urge to run away. After all, she had done nothing wrong.

"My feet are still killing me from wearing those stupid heels," she told him, pleased that her voice sounded normal.

"Meh," he said dismissively. "Couple of bandaids and you'll be fine."

"How women wear those on a daily basis is beyond me," she muttered, unscrewing the lid to her travel mug.

Jane was reaching for the electric kettle. "I admit, they would probably not be the best footwear for you in this job." He smirked. "You should definitely look into wearing the dresses, however."

She snorted. "Whatever, Jane. Where would I keep my gun?"

He smile broadened. "I'm sure you could think of some creative solutions." Then he winked at her as he left, new white cup and saucer in his hand.

To her surprise, the Art Theft Department was on hand for the briefing, though she supposed it was natural for them to be there.

She sat on Marcus's left side, Fischer next to her.

Jane settled himself as far away from her as he could possibly be, and she knew it was deliberate.

She struggled to keep the hurt at bay, despite what she had been thinking earlier. Defense mechanism, she assumed. She had hurt him and now he was doing it back.

God, she hated this, hate hate hated it.

She practically ran out of the office at the end of the day.

She wanted a glass of Jack Daniels about the size of her head, and for her heart to get over this obsession she'd developed for Patrick Jane.

They had a new case the next day, and Jane went with Cho to check out the crime scene. Although she wished she could be back in the field again, she had to admit that it was easier to breathe when Jane wasn't around.

He didn't call her, and she tried to be okay with that.

She let Marcus take her out to the movies, let him kiss her goodnight, even enjoyed it. He was solid and safe and exactly what he appeared to be.

For a moment, lips against his, her fingers pressed against his jaw, she considered inviting him inside. She knew he wouldn't turn her down, and the idea of sex with someone who clearly desired her was almost intoxicating.

But she wasn't ready for the implications, where that would leave them. She had waited twelve years for a relationship that had never existed -she could certainly control herself for a bit longer with Marcus.

Instead, she kissed him again, contenting herself with that for the night, and whispered a warm goodbye.

He waited until she was inside before driving away, ever protective, and she smiled.

She tracked through her dark house, tossing keys the table and her jacket across a kitchen chair. Her fingers found the light switch as she entered the living room.

In the sudden glow, she blinked.

Then started.

Violently.

Patrick Jane was sitting on her couch, legs crossed negligently, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

"Hello," he said evenly. "We need to talk."