A/N: This is the first story I have written. Ever. Gulp.

Patrick Jane was in love.

Of course, he'd been in love for years, but that wasn't something he'd been able to admit to himself, let alone her or anybody else. His relentless Red John hunting took all of his energy for so long, and he couldn't allow himself to feel anything, to let anybody feel something for him.

But now? Teresa Lisbon was leaving. Leaving him. He came back to the USA for her, to be with her. Still, he hadn't admitted his feelings for her to himself or to anybody else. Least of all her. She was everything, and when she, back at the Blue Bird Lodge, rightly, tearfully, yelled at him to leave her alone, that he forgot what it was like to be human, he broke a little. She was right. Of course she was right. She usually was.

So when the realisation hit him, he was more than a little drunk, and knee deep in solving a cold case. He ran from the room, catching the killer would have to wait. It was lower down on his list of priorities. Except they chose that moment to show up, causing him great panic and distress. Her plane was going to leave Miami before he could get to the airport. He was so stupid. He waited too long. Jane tried desperately to convince the killers to leave, that he wouldn't tell. He'd get Cho and Abbott onto them once he was on the move, of course, but they didn't need to know that.

It didn't go down like he thought, so many delays, so little time, though when he demanded, desperately, for Abbott to hand him his keys, the G-Man, a true romantic, relinquished them immediately.

Jane, desperate, open, so open, terrified. It wasn't something that happened very often. Ever, really. But he liked the feeling, foreign, nice. So he broke the law and maybe an ankle to hijack a plane to profess his love to her, his Lisbon. He stammered, unsure, scared, but he needed to say it. He needed her to know. She had a right to know. She cried. He cried too. Relief. Anger too, for waiting this long to say the words to her. Guilt, for maybe ruining her chances with Pike; a life, a future she could have, far away.

Still. He was fairly happy. He sat in the TSA interrogation room, paying little attention to where he was, what the TSA agent had to say. He didn't care. Lisbon was thousands of miles away from him now. He cared about that. He was broken, open, raw, feeling everything and nothing. He stared at the desk in front of him, unseeing, deep in his own thoughts, as one TSA agent left the room and another entered.

Or. Wait. He knew. He always knew. Her scent, maybe, or just her shape. Her presence. He could always feel her when she was close.

Lisbon slid into the chair opposite him and that moment? One of the best of his life. Jane was exposed now, for all the world to see. And his world was her. She could see all of him, and he wanted her to.

They spent the rest of the day together. What was left of it. Once Abbott convinced the TSA that Jane was working an undercover sting and that all of his actions were perfectly legal. Jane owed Abbott big time, he knew. Abbott had fetched his things from the Blue Bird and brought them to the airport for him. Mostly banter, Lisbon and Jane, together again, no really real serious talk. That was for later. For now, they were alone in Florida. Jane, with a twisted ankle, and Lisbon, with no place to go home to upon return to Texas. Jane wanted to take Lisbon to the zoo, of all places. Of course, he couldn't really walk and Lisbon insisted he get his ankle examined, so they spent their first day together as a couple in a nearby hospital waiting room. Neither of them minded. It was fitting almost. Jane entertained Lisbon with stories of his unusual, carnie, childhood. Things he'd never told her. Hadn't told anybody since Angela. Lisbon told him about the box she kept his letters in. How she'd read them at night, how they'd kept her warm and alive. Several hours, an X-ray and some crutches later, they opted for ice cream on the beach.

Dinner was Italian. Nice restaurant, not fancy, paper napkins all the way. Delicious food though, and when the waitress flirted with Jane he didn't flirt back. Unusual for Jane, thought Lisbon. He gazed at Teresa adoringly whenever she looked away. And tentatively when she looked back.
Dessert and two bottles of wine later, Patrick asked the waitress to recommend a nearby hotel. A nice one.

Patrick Jane was scared. He opened the hotel room door and flicked on the light, holding the door open for Teresa to enter first. She was nervous too, he knew. He entered the room behind her, shutting the door tentatively. She stood next to him, looking around, a little unsure what happens next. Unsure if they were ready for this. If she was ready for this.

Jane watched her expressions closely. She was nervous but game. He hadn't made a move on her since he kissed her in the interrogation room, and she was waiting, letting him call the shots. His declaration, his pace. He had held her hand in the cab on the way to the hotel. It had stolen his breath away. Hers too. But now. Now they were in a room that screamed intimacy and he buried his terror for a minute, buried it from himself, and reached for Teresa. He kissed her then. Gently. She reciprocated immediately, tugging his blonde curls with one hand; the other wrapped around his neck. His lips on hers were slow, sensual. He slid his hands to her hips and backed her up against the wall next to the door. She started a little, gasped, and he took that opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth. It was unexpected; he'd been so... chaste? Up until that point and now he was, well, she definitely heard him moan then. That was sexy. He was always so in control of himself, he was letting her know how much he desired her. She tugged on his hair, hard, and massaged his tongue back with her own. Incredible. He swallowed a strangled groan before pulling back, tangling one hand in her dark locks and grinning down at her.

"What?", she quirked an eyebrow.
"You're beautiful. You are so beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me."

Jane gently ran his fingertips over her chin, sweeping upwards, along her reddened cheek and landing in her hair, tugging, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to him. His other hand pressing into her hip, and he bit her. Her throat. Not painfully hard, but enough to jolt her. He knew she was giving him the illusion of the upper hand, of control, so a brief moment of surprise was all he needed, to show her. He pressed his entire body against hers then, he wanted Teresa to know. He extricated his teeth from her throat with a chuckle and gently kissed below her ear. She liked that, he could tell. He thrust his pelvis against her. Hard. They groaned simultaneously, throaty. Her eyes rolled back. His obvious arousal pressed against her stomach.

Breathless, desirous, Teresa implored, "Is this what you want?", as she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the material of his floral shirt underneath her fingers, warm, and very very Jane.
Patrick laughed, joyful, pausing his featherlight kiss exploration of her throat, and, into her ear. "I haven't done this in such a very long time."
"...made out against a wall?"
Ha! "Yes, that's exactly what I meant. Not the 'being in love' bit." He pulled away from her then, taking her hand in his and surveying the room for the first time. "Come. There's a mini-fridge. Maybe there's champagne." He left her panting against the wall, crossed the room. Gleefully, it seemed, a spring in his step, obvious underneath the limping. She was wanton already. Cruel, cruel man.

"Jane?" She moved to the couch, sitting on it demurely, looking up at him.
"Hmm?" he responded, expertly pouring two glasses of champagne from a miniature bottle with a flourish, face flushed, happiness forcing the corners of his mouth and the corners of his eyes to twitch and crinkle.
"Jane, I don't know if maybe we're moving too fast. Maybe, I don't know. If we're ready. It's just... fast."
Jane handed her a glass, "Voila!", he announced, and sat next to her, leaned back. Thoughtfully sipped his own champagne. Surveyed her seriously. Head to toe. Slowly. Examined her. She wore green. She looked lovely in green. He'd mussed her hair up pretty good; it was sexy, he was pleased. Eventually, he nodded to himself, satisfied.
"Jane."
Very serious. "I. Well. Teresa. It's been twelve years, so I'm uncertain where you got that notion from. Godot has already been and gone." She rolled her eyes. He grinned.
"I don't know if I- you know. There's a couch in this hotel room. I know this because we're sitting on it. I'd wager there's a bed too, if we went exploring. I will magnanimously relinquish use of the bed to you and gentlemanly take the couch. If I have to. You know how much I hate sleeping on couches, but for you, Teresa, anything."