Chapter 14 – Pushing Buttons [Ending]

XX

A/N: This is the final chapter. It is the epilogue as well. It has M rated content in it, but it is marked between **. If you wish to bypass it (but why?!), you can do so and it won't affect the story. The end is fluff, so I hope you love it. Thanks so much for all the reviews and support. It means a lot. I am happy this fic is finished, but also strangely sad. Thank you so much for everything. Please let me know how you liked the story as a whole if you haven't already.

The constant drone of beeping was driving her nuts. Besides the incessant blaring of the monitor next to her that indicated her vital signs, the aching pain on her head and lower, at the base of her belly, was threatening to make her sign herself out of the hospital, even if it was against the wishes of both her doctor and Jane.

Speaking of Jane, she felt the warmth of his hand in hers, his body slumped in the uncomfortable visitor chairs sat next to her bed. The corners of her mouth twitched, but she frowned when pain shot up the right side of her face; it was still black and blue and a little swollen, but the lump had gone down considerably in the week she had been rushed here to Bogart County General.

As she stared at the sleeping form of Jane, she could remember just little increments in her memory: Cho dressing her wounds as she moaned in pain, the ambulance opening up for her gurney as Jane protested to the EMT worker who had suggested he ride with Cho, and, most clearly, she remembered the sick, worried expression that crossed Jane's face as they took her to surgery. Cho would later tell her that the doctor had told Jane and himself that she may not pull through; the gunshot had ruptured her spleen and upper intestine, and time was of the essence.

The last thing she recalled was waking up hours later, the pain so great that she nearly passed out again. She had looked to her right, her blurry vision focusing on something familiar. The familiar object was moving toward her, and then she felt the unexpected feeling of a warm hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers, her body too tired and ravaged to speak.

"You're okay, Teresa," Jane had reassured her. "You're in the hospital. Please don't try to move."

She had squeezed his fingers again, letting him know she heard him. She felt him reach up gently to brush a hand over her forehead softly.

"I thought I had lost you," he whispered, soft as cotton. "I thought my world was going to crumble."

She had gasped out in pain, and Jane's hand had swiftly vacated hers. She could hear his footfalls as he'd bounded across the room and called out for the nurse. A second later, a woman with bountiful brown hair and a gentle face came to loom over her, adjusting an IV bag on a pole next to her.

"It's all right, dear," the gentle-faced nurse had said. "I've seen to your morphine drip. Once you are out of here, It'll be pills. How are you feeling?" Lisbon could only moan, and the nurse's gaze had turned to Jane. "She'll be in pain for a while. Just try not to get her excited. I'll be along in a few hours."

Then Jane had placed his hand back in hers. That was what she recalled before the morphine had lulled her into a tolerable sleep. Now, days later, her pain was stabilized, and she was wide awake, her gaze still on the sleeping Jane. Lisbon lifted herself carefully, as to not disturb the wires coming from her in various places, to a sitting position. She immediately regretted doing that, because she pulled something. Looking down, she saw a drainage tube coming from her gunshot wound.

"What are you doing, Teresa?" Jane's voice asked, startling her. "You should be sleeping."

Lisbon's face turned downward into a sulk. "Don't baby me."

Jane's face quirked up at the corners. "I'm sorry."

She looked over at him, now. He was sitting on the edge of the chair now, the thumb of his hand caressing the skin of hers. She relished the warmth of his touch, but pulled her hand from his anyway.

"What happened?" she asked, pulling the covers up to her chest.

Jane's face turned bitterly sour. "Lane Wolf shot you in the stomach," he told her. "Hit you in the head with a shovel before that."

She gasped, and Jane lifted himself once again from the chair, thinking her pain was back.

"Jane," she whispered, her green eyes wide with fear. "Is he dead?"

"Lane Wolf was killed by Cho," Jane reached his other hand to caress her hair that fell at her shoulder. "He saved you…us," he amended.

"Not him. Alex," she said. "Is he dead?"

Jane's face took on confusion, but he nodded his head at her. "Yes. He's dead, Teresa. He bled out, struck an artery."

She closed her eyes and exhaled before reopening them and shaking her head. "I can't believe you found me, Jane. I didn't think I'd see you again. Somehow, I knew you'd find me."

He smiled at her. "Of course I would, Teresa," he said.

"You tried to hypnotize the EMT worker to let you in the ambulance," she recalled, a small laugh escaping her lips.

He shrugged. "The coup de grace of my skills." He hesitated, eyeing her as if he were trying to decide if he should say what he wanted to say next. "I don't know if this appropriate timing, Teresa, but I wanted to say this before I have to go back to Oregon."

She looked at him so fast that she cried out in pain. "Oregon? You're going back?"

He sighed and mashed his lips together. "The Director called yesterday. He's upset that I didn't actually go back to Oregon like he asked. He's none too happy with any of us."

She looked disappointed. "Okay."

He sighed again. "Before I go back, Teresa, I wanted to talk about that night with you. I know you've been avoiding the subject, but I can't leave here knowing I didn't try to explain or apologize."

"It doesn't matter," she replied. "When you leave for Oregon, it will go back to the way it was before. Maybe it's better you say nothing at all."

"Better for who?" It came off more sharply than he intended. Softer, "Please let me do this, Teresa."

She pulled her hand from his. "If this is some lame excuse…"

"It is not an excuse," he assured her. "I was wrong to spring something on you like that, Teresa. Sneaking into your house, proposing to you. It was all so fast. I didn't want that."

"Didn't want what?"

"To hurt you. To make you feel as if everything revolved around me." He sighed and sat back in his chair. "I did things in the wrong order, and for that, I am truly sorry, Teresa." He tentatively reached out for her hand again.

She was silent for a moment, then, "Why did you ask me to marry you if you knew the choice was mine to help you or not? Were you serious about it?"

"That was a regrettable timing error, Teresa." That was all he said.

She frowned. "So that's a no?"

He dipped his head. "I didn't say that. I said the time was wrong."

She looked away from him. "When are you leaving?" She looked back when he did not answer. "That soon, huh?"

"Tonight."

She didn't know why she was trying to hold back tears. Wait, she did, actually. She loved him. She loved him the night he came to her place and asked her to marry him, but she was too angry at his reasons to let it affect her reaction. She thought that if she pulled out of what happened to her, there would be a chance or some reconciliation. Some kind of truce that would allow them to work together once again. She could see, however, that nothing changed.

"That's soon," was all she could muster.

The next thing she felt was Jane's fingers guiding her chin back to look at him, his body looming over hers. "I don't have to do a damn thing the director says if you don't want me to," he whispered. "I'd go to jail if that is what you want me to do, Teresa. Don't you see?"

She shook her head slightly. "See what?"

"I love you," he replied with a smile. "I came back for you, Teresa. Twice, in fact. Once when you pushed me away to Oregon, and this time. When you needed my help. It's always been about you, even if you didn't see it."

"The years apart!? You think that was about me, too?" She was upset. She loved him, too, but the words were much easier thought than said for her.

"I regret not picking up the phone, Teresa. Heaven knows I tried! When I got the phone up to my ear, all I could see was the hurt on your face the last time I saw you. I thought it would be better if I didn't remind you of how selfish I was."

"That was selfish of you," she replied. "Didn't you think I may have wanted to hear your voice again? We had years together, Jane. That should have counted for something." Her voice had gone hoarse. "I didn't call you because I didn't want to push us further apart. I guess that was inevitable, anyway." Her tone was sad.

"Now you know why I didn't call you, Teresa," he said, dropping his hand from her chin. "Looks like we are two feathers from the same bird."

"How did we end up here, Jane?" She shook her head. "How did things become so…fucked up?" It was one of only a handful of times Jane heard her curse. It reflected in his eyes.

"They don't have to be," he whispered. "We could be happy. If you'd only allow me to say I am sorry for what I did, I think we could move past it. I love you, Teresa, and I am pretty damn sure you love me. The only thing holding us back is resentment." He waited a moment before continuing, watching her gaze at him. "All is fair in love and war. We've got both."

She didn't get to answer. The nurse came in to change her morphine, and after that, Cho and the gang had come to see Lisbon, and Jane had slipped out to let her have time with them. He decided to go down to the gift shop and get her some flowers, but he ended up sitting in the small café, sipping on tea and thinking about their conversation.

It seemed there was still issues between them. He wasn't sure if they'd get past them or not, and he was quite positive that even if they did, there would be some lingering doubts between them. But what did that matter? There had always been problems between them. The difference, this time, was that their feelings were deeper; it was romantic love, not friendship.

This time, he didn't feel like running from his feelings or from the hurt. He didn't want another five, ten, fifteen years to pass between them. It wasn't a cycle. He wouldn't allow it to become a cycle.

He set his cup of tea down on the table and pulled his phone from his pocket. Dialing a familiar number, he waited for the equally familiar voice to answer.

"Director," Jane said. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you. It's about going back to Oregon. Sure. Okay, thanks." He hung up the phone, replaced it in his pocket, and picked his tea back up, sipping it casually.

He was going to change things, this time. No more running. No more avoiding. He almost lost her for the second time, permanently. He wouldn't allow himself to lose her again.

All's fair in love and war.

Lisbon got out of the hospital two weeks later. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow into the room from the window. The ride back had been silent and swirling in unmentioned thoughts. A few times, Jane had glanced over to see Lisbon look at him, only to turn her head quickly when she saw him staring at her. He had asked her once if her pain was back (because she was so silent), and she shook her head but did not speak. She did not even protest when he emphatically stated that he'd help her get ready for bed since it was nearly impossible for her to do it herself. He set her morphine pills, clean bandages, and ointment on the table beside him.

During her stay in the hospital—at times, touch and go—they talked at length about what happened on that nature preserve, and of what happened between them five years prior, though that was kept to a minimum. Mostly, they spent the time just in each other's company, something Jane didn't think would ever happen again. Their conversation about that night hadn't been brought up, either. Something Jane found frustrating, but did not push.

"You didn't say if you got anything out of Alex," he said, taking her hand and helping her to sit on the edge of the bed. "You haven't spoken much about the incident."

He let go of her hand and reached over to the table for a clean bandage and some ointment the hospital had given for her stomach wound and head wound. Her head had gone down in swelling, and now was just hazy blacks and blues in spots.

"Nothing useful," she told him. "He didn't really say much, Jane."

"Lie back, Teresa," he told her, taking off and throwing her jacket on the chair next to the bed and pushing gently on her shoulder so her body fell back on the bed. "Surprise, surprise."

He bent down over her and set the bandage and ointment aside, bringing his fingers up to unbutton her jeans with his fingers and undoing the zipper. Lisbon didn't say anything further, she just put her hands over her ribs and watched him look at her as he rolled her waist hem down past the bloodied old bandage. He pulled gently, but the bandage pulled away easily from the sweat of her body.

"The skin around the stitches are a bit red," he noted, opening the packet of ointment and brushing some delicately on her wound. "Are you sure you are not in pain?"

He attached a clean bandage to her skin, allowing his fingers to linger. When she didn't react to that touch, he stood, turned to throw away the papers and packet in the waste can and turned back to her. She never ignored his fingertips gliding over her skin before. He knew for sure something was wrong, then. He wouldn't allow her to do this. Sulking in silence; he wouldn't let her shut him out like this. He didn't know exactly what was wrong, but he couldn't fix it if he didn't know what to fix in the first place.

"What's wrong, Teresa?" he asked her softly. "What did I do?"

He held up his hands palm-side facing the ceiling and sighed. He crossed them after a moment and waited for her reply.

She sat up and placed her hands above her knees, trapping her lip in her teeth. Jane knew that something was bothering her for sure, then. It was a calming mechanism that she liked to use. Jane stood still, his face trying to read her features.

"Cho told me you begged him to shoot you," Lisbon whispered, her eyes falling to her hands on her knees. "Instead of me. That was so stupid, Jane. It was incredibly stupid."

Jane sighed heavily and came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He supposed he couldn't blame Cho. He did save her life after all. He reached up and pulled her chin so she had to look at him.

"I'm not sorry for saying that, Teresa," he stated. "I would have done it in a heartbeat. If that is wrong, so be it. I rather you be mad at me for a lifetime instead of being absent from mine." Honesty was the best policy, and he did promise her to hash things out between them.

"I said it was stupid, not that I am mad…" she trailed off.

"You think I only said that because you were distressed," he guessed. "I would say that is an absurd train of thought. One I will chalk up to your condition. Especially since we discussed my poor timing of things at length before."

He wanted her to see the genuine look in his own eyes. He wanted to assure her that what he was saying to her was one-hundred percent the truth. He didn't mind that she was curious; he minded that she was so bothered by it. It hurt him to see her hurt. What reflected in her face was insecurity. He suspected her silence was more Lisbon trying to put her own feelings down than being angry with him.

"I'm not sorry," he repeated, his voice merely a whisper now. "Not for this, anyway. I am, however, sorry for never calling you, Teresa. For never explaining that I never intended for you to upend everything for me when I came back." He felt he could safely approach the subject again.

Lisbon was silent at first, taking in his sincerity. He could tell that she wasn't entirely satisfied with his apology, but he felt it lessened the hurt in her eyes. He felt her exhale of breath hit his face; a deep, resounding sigh that was either in relief or in sheer disappointment. If it was the latter, he deserved it.

"Please don't be upset, Teresa," he pleaded, taking his hand from her chin and bringing it up to trace the frown lacing her lips. "I don't like seeing you unhappy. I promise you that it was regrettable, and it was so long ago. My words were true then, and they are true now. I love you, Teresa, and I would always put your happiness, safety, and feelings first."

"I know," she said slowly, reaching up to grab his wrist with one of her hands. "It's not fair for me to feel this way, but I can't help it. I'm not exactly okay with it, no matter how long ago it was."

He didn't blame her for feeling this way. He had sprung the marriage proposal on her at the wrong time. He had also made her choose, even if he told her she didn't have to. He had known she'd choose him. He knew she'd come work for the FBI just so he'd be able to be a free man.

"I would have gone to prison for you," Jane told her, dropping his hand from her lips and shaking his head slightly. "Just seeing you that night was enough to placate me. I never wanted you to do something you never wanted to do."

"You know how to make me," Lisbon said darkly.

He laughed now. He couldn't help it.

"It's not funny," she told him, but there was a slight hint of humor.

"I don't want you to ever feel like you have to do anything for me, Teresa," he told her, serious now. "You don't have to worry that I am going to leave you because of your choices."

"I'm not—" she started. Her hand fell from his wrist and slid back into her lap.

"Yes, you are," Jane interrupted her, standing, walking a few feet away and turning back to her. "And that's normal! It is!" Jane interrupted her, standing, walking a few feet away and turning back to her. "But I never asked you to choose me over anything else, Teresa. You did that on your own. Because you love me."

She turned her head away from him, knowing he had caught on to her twinge of resentment that plagued her. He could tell she felt embarrassed at her actions; something she knew she was bad at hiding from him.

"What I told you before is the absolute truth," he promised her, watching as her gaze fell back to him. "No more lying, tricking, manipulating … whatever else it is that I have done wrong with you. I want you to be happy, Teresa. God, if there is one, knows that I would walk through hell for you. I don't expect the same from you. You've already done enough for me." He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "My marriage proposal was because I couldn't stand another moment being without you. Two years on that island was enough to drive a sane man insane, Teresa. I had a lot of thinking there."

She rose, wincing just a little, and stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart from each other. He didn't reach out to touch her in fear that she didn't want him to.

"I didn't even believe I could love again until you became what you are to me."

"…and I believe you," she told him. "I said some terrible things that night, Jane. I was…I was shocked. I thought you just wanted to marry me so I would work for the FBI and you'd be a free man."

"You don't need to think like that, Teresa." His voice was low and rough. "You need to trust me."

"I do," she replied softly. "I don't know why I even brought it up." She shrugged. "I forgive you, Jane. I really do."

He felt it was okay to touch her, so he reached a tentative hand out and took hold of hers, pulling her gently to him, taking care not to rub her wound against his hip. He knew why she brought it up, and he didn't exactly blame her. He just wanted her to understand that he was completely serious. He felt her small arms wrap around his waist, her head resting against the place where his heart beat only for her.

"You brought it up because it bothered you enough to do so," he told her, his hands wrapping around the small of her back. "It's a normal reaction to fear and the strained. I know you forgive me, Teresa. I never doubted that for one second."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "For throwing you out that night. I called you and called you. By the time I tried to apologize, you asked for a transfer to Oregon." She stilled in his arms. "Are you going to go back? To Oregon, I mean."

"It took years for me to stand here with you, Teresa," he finally said after a moment. "I wouldn't ruin that. I promise you. No, I won't be going back to Oregon. Not if you'll have me. I called the director while you were in the hospital. He's agreed to let me transfer back."

She knew it. She felt silly for feeling hurt and equally silly for the small piece of anger that flowed in her veins. "I wouldn't say no," Lisbon replied, lifting her head to look him in the eyes. "I'm sure the director won't be none too pleased, though."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." He wouldn't tell her he had watched Gone With The Wind while she was asleep. That would be his secret. He chuckled about the Director, whom he knew disliked him. "I think he was forced into it. Our story got a lot of publicity. Are we okay?" asked Jane softly.

Without saying a word, she brought one hand up to the nape of his neck. Her fingertips reaching the little tail at the base of his skull, and, in spite of his best efforts to restrain himself, Jane hugged her tighter to his body, the heat from her radiating to every crevice of his own. His breath sped up as he felt her fingers tether in the small bit of hair at the base of his neck, twisting the blonde curl in her fist. His hands came up from the small of her back to either side of her head, his fingers digging into her hair, the soft tufts jutting out from between his fingers. His eyes darted to her lips, watching her tongue flick out and lick them in an anticipatory reflex. He brought her face inches from his own, her eyes never leaving his. She started to tilt her head and move slightly forward, but Jane took a moment to glance over at the bedside table.

"What is it?" Lisbon murmured as he looked back to her and nodded toward the table.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, though his body hoped she did.

"Yes," she whispered. "I almost died, Jane. Time's too short to waste on such petty, insignificant things. I wish I understood that a long time ago."

"Okay. Then I really think you should take the morphine, Teresa," he stressed, his voice raspy with want. "Please."

"I don't—"

"You're going to need it," he growled softly, his eyes watching the realization crop in hers. "Take them."

Jane didn't wait for her answer. He took his hand from the side of her face and reached over, picking up the bottle of pills from the table. With a swift twist of his wrist and fingers, he got the cap off one-handed, turning the bottle over the table and dumping out several pills. He gathered two of them in the palm of his hand.

"Open," he commanded, placing the pill at her lips.

She opened her mouth, allowing Jane to push the pills in. He could see the skin at her neck bobble in a swallow, and he knew she had swallowed them using her saliva. He replaced his hand on the side of her head and smiled at her.

"Thank you," he told her. "The last thing we need is you in a lot of pain later. I'd feel guilty about it."

"You could just take it easy on me," smiled Lisbon devilishly.

"I," he told her, inclining her head, "don't trust myself that easily. I think it's better if we are safer than sorry. I don't like seeing you in pain, Teresa. If we do this, there will be some pain and soreness, no matter how careful we are."

She understood his place. She needed this, and she felt he did, too. They hadn't gotten past the angry, bitter stranger part of their past, and the pang for intimacy was coursing through the both of them. Popping her sutures was unlikely at this point, but the pain would undoubtedly surface from the rough movements of their bodies friction. The feeling alone of his hands on her and her body tightly glued to his was enough to outweigh the bad with the good. She could see the flecks of want in his blue eyes, and he could feel the rise of heat in her skin coming through her clothing and mingling with the heat of his own.

He watched her eyes flutter shut as he neared her lips with his own. He didn't close his eyes, this time, instead choosing to take in her face as she waited for the contact. Her lips puckered slightly in anticipation, her head tilting slightly in his hands. At the last possible second, Jane closed his eyes and took in her bottom lip, sucking it into his warm mouth. Lisbon responded fiercely, pressing her mouth hard against his and bringing her hand from his nape to cup his whiskered cheek. Her other hand automatically knotted in the lapel of his suit jacket, leaving no part of her free from his body. It was a searing kiss. It said so much in a little gesture: it said I need you, I forgive you, I trust you. It said everything and nothing. It said I'm sorry.

He broke the kiss suddenly, causing Lisbon to gasp loudly as air rushed back into her lungs. He turned her head so that he could kiss her jaw line and dropped his hands to her waist, careful to avoid her sutured skin. He pushed gently on her waist, making her move backward slowly toward the edge of the bed, his kisses leading to the side of her neck, where he could see the bed approaching in front of him.

Lisbon's knees hit the back of the mattress, and she fell back on top of it as Jane advanced. She scooted up a little (wincing just a bit as she did) so that Jane's knee fell in between her legs as he hovered over her. Her hand was still knotted in his lapel, but her other hand was reaching up for his face again.

"Patience, please, Teresa," he told her, pushing her hand down.

"Patience isn't really my strong suit," replied Lisbon, disentangling her other hand from his jacket.

"I know," he laughed. "Although, in this case, I understand your impatience."

He looked down at her face for a moment, taking in her brunette hair fanned out against the white lace of the duvet, to her eyes staring at him in yearning, and down to her red lips, the bottom of which she trapped in her teeth in a smile.

"You're so beautiful," he told her, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "I'm a lucky man."

Lisbon reached up and tugged his jacket off his shoulders.

"Yes," she agreed. "You are one lucky man."

Jane smiled as he leaned up and removed the jacket completely, shrugging out of it and throwing it aside on top of the white carpeted floor beside the bed. He reached down and discarded his shoes, pulling them from the heels, and threw them with his jacket. His socks were next. He reached down and pulled Lisbon's boots free of her feet, tossing them with his, and then sliding off her socks and letting them drop from his hands. His hands lingered over her feet, sliding up her shapely legs as he ascended.

"Glad you agree," he told her, hovering over her once more with a hand on either side of her head, his fists tangling in the duvet.

Lisbon could feel the tightening erection of him on her outer thigh, his readiness made clear through his thin knit trousers. Her fingers lightly rubbed him, his moan almost primal as he felt the soft strokes. Sensing her fingers on him caused a fevered chill to creep up his spine. He lowered his head to kiss her gently on the lips; a sensation that was like a shock to the system. He could smell her perfume she wore getting stronger in reaction to her body's rising heat.

"The morphine kicks in around forty-five minutes, Teresa," he told her placidly. "It's going to make you hazy. I think we should hurry things a little."

"I'm not objecting," croaked Lisbon softly. "Although, I do recall you asking for patience…"

"Hmm," murmured Jane. "Touché."

Her fingers came up to fumble at his shirt buttons. Jane tugged the shirt out of his pants and watched in silence as her fingers flung over each white button, separating the two halves of material and showing the tanned flesh underneath. When the last button was undone, Lisbon trailed a scorching gaze over the muscles beneath before she pushed open the shirt as if it were a curtain and dug her fingernails lightly into his flesh as she explored it. The soft chest muscles. The rib-cage. The sternum. He growled softly as she pushed the shirt past his shoulders, scraping the skin at his shoulder blades with her nails. The shirt joined the other articles of clothing on the floor a few seconds later. Jane took her mouth in his, a hungry, unforgiving kiss enveloping her. His tongue probed her lips, asking for permission, and being granted it. It was ferocious and demanding. The sweet mixing with the bitter.

He could feel her soft curves under him, her breasts pressed against his masculine lines through her shirt. He needed to control gentleness. He knew that. But it was difficult when he could feel every inch of her against him, flattened to the bed with his heavy body. He left her mouth only when he could no longer hold his breath, gasping as he reached down between them to pull the white cotton separating flesh from flesh. With a gentle tug, Jane pulled the shirt over her head, her arms rising above her head as it slid free of her.

"Lucky, indeed," said Jane, his eyes taking in her naked torso.

His fingers raked over the sensitive skin between her breasts before his hands cupped them delicately. Each thumb flicked the rosy nipple, swollen in need, an action that caused a soft groan and arched back for his trouble. His lips found the side of her neck, her face turning into the duvet with a breathless moan. His hands on her rib-cage, he lowered his mouth to her breasts, suckling her as she lurched under him. His tongue traced the buds, sending her hands up to tangle the duvet on either side of her head. She could feel the soft curls of his hair falling against her collarbone, causing gooseflesh to ripple across her body.

"Oh," she croaked. "Wow."

He reached down and grasped the waist hem of her jeans, the button, and zipper both already open from his earlier attempt at dressing her wound. His fingers curving under the tense denim and soft cotton of her panties. He slid off her to her right side. He smiled at the accompanying groan as his body left hers.

"Relax," he told her. "You have to lift your hips so I can get these off of you."

"That's easy for you to say," she replied, lifting her hips up for him. "Ouch!"

"Did I hurt you?" he asked automatically. "Is it your stitches?"

"No," she answered. "Your elbow."

Jane looked down and could see his elbow was jabbing her in the breast. Quickly, he lowered his arm to steer clear of her and pulled on the materials of her clothing until Lisbon could bring her feet up to pull them off completely by herself. He rocked gently back on top of her and smiled down at her.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Your turn," was all she replied.

She went to work on Jane's trousers, unbuttoning them and sliding down the zipper. She had some trouble concentrating because he was rubbing the naked flesh of her hip, drawing and circling with the tips of his fingers. The modulated tone of his breathing in her ear wasn't helping, either. Finally, after blocking out his fingers on her skin, she successfully pulled the pants down, along with his boxers, past his hips, pushing the material with her fingers, and inserting a hand over his butt as she slid them down to his knees before he kicked them off. She could feel his freed bulge and warm sac on her leg. She trapped her lip in her teeth to stifle a moan at the scorching heat of him.

Both, now fully naked, took to exploring each other with their fingers: The hot skin of each's hips, the tight muscles of Jane's chest, the warmth and sensitivity of Lisbon's breasts and stomach. Jane's fingers lingered on the sutures on her side, the roughness of them compared to her soft skin under his fingers. His hands flexed over her inner thighs, spreading her legs out for him. He could already see she was ready for him, but he knew teasing her would drive her over the already thin ledge. He dipped his head past her torso.

"I always admired your legs," he told her, moving his hands up a fraction. "You know, the way they looked in those tight jeans you like to wear."

His fingers flared out, touching the sensitive spot that was waiting for him. She gasped in a breath, exhaling it noisily after a few seconds. He smiled as his other hand came up to lie flat against her belly.

"Jane," murmured Lisbon, feeling his breath on her belly and fingertips caress her. Her hand came down in an automatic reflex to grab his wrist.

He could feel himself getting increasingly rigid, and he knew her morphine would be kicking in soon. He wanted to take his time, but he also knew that doing so would result in Lisbon becoming incoherent and falling asleep midway through everything. He had to hurry it along, much to his vexation.

He spread her thighs wider and his mouth nibbled where soft curls of brown hair began. Lisbon arched her back, her breathing unable to stabilize. Her hand flung from his wrist to the back of his head, pressing his hot, moist breath on her. When he felt she was teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy, he pulled back and turned to kiss the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Jane!" she mumbled, her voice faltering. "God."

"I'll be there in a minute," he promised. "I do like the comparison, though."

Jane lay a small trail of kisses on her inner thigh, making his way up to her pelvic bone and across her belly. He brought his face up level with hers, his hand back at her hip bone, leaving a small gap between their bodies. He watched her breathing, the erratic nature of it exciting him. Her eyes closed for a moment, before opening suddenly and reaching down between them to grab him. The surprise registered on his face because Lisbon couldn't stop herself from laughing. In a quick, strong gesture, she placed him inside of her.

The velveteen warmth of her combined with the surprise was almost too much. The moist heat of her around him was a welcomed feeling, one he had felt before. The breathless groan she elicited when he finally overcame the small shock and started moving within her only drove him deeper. He was moving within her at a rhythmic pace, careful not to rub against her wound. Her hands came up to curve around his back muscles as her legs swung around his waist and interlocked at the ankles.

"No!" he told her huskily, pulling her hands from his back and pinning them to the mattress with his own. "Let me!"

His mouth came down in a hot fever, taking her lips roughly into his as her strangled moans caught against his lips. He was moving within her fast and hard, the sweat from their bodies mingling together as their skin slid in unison. Her hand got free of his and flew up to the blonde curls, latching on to tufts and pulling softly.

"Ouch," she muttered as he thrust into her hard.

He stopped moving, his hips coming to a complete stop and his fast breathing hitting her in the face. "Are you okay?"

"Stitches pulled," she explained, shaking her hand from his hair down to his muscled butt, pressing him into her. "Keep going."

When he was sure she was alright, he picked his pace back up, pushing into her in quick, short thrusts. Her moans were breathless and loud, soft and hard. They were everything he loved to hear. They told him he was doing it right and most of all, she was being pleasured the way she deserved. He could hear the mattress give tiny squeaks with each thrust, and he was suddenly thankful the bed wasn't old and tired, or it would be very noisy for his neighbors, not that he really gave a damn right about now.

"Jane," she whispered softly. "Jane, please…" she trailed off as he felt her body go stiff underneath him.

He looked down at her eyes fluttering shut, and he knew she was there, her body arching off the bed and against him, her hands falling limp at the small of his back. He watched her as she came, the way her lips curled down and the way her fingers curled between his against the mattress. He pushed in again, feeling her contract around him, her moans becoming incoherent mumbling. He waited for her to come down from her high for a few seconds before pushing in deeper than before, his body shuttering against hers as he came. His breathing ragged, he lay against her trying to keep up control, the sweat from their skin lubricating them in a soft glow. Jane reached up to kiss her, his lips soft now. Her hands were free now, and she laced them behind his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss wasn't urgent, anymore. Instead, it was soft and placid. It was a gentle kiss but said all it needed to say.

Both, still coming down from their high, lie in each other's arms. There was nothing there that could break them. They had come through worse in the years before Jane fled, and they would do so now. The sex wasn't just sex. It was a healing power that gave everything they had to each other, and nothing or no one could take that away. The only sound in the entire room was of them breathing rapidly and the sounds of the sweat-slick duvet crinkling under their bodies.

"I love you," Jane told her, reaching over to caress her cheek. "So much."

"I love you, too," she told him, snuggling against his chest. Her words were getting slurred, and he knew the medication was starting to take effect.

"Do you hurt?" he asked her.

"Not anymore," she told him hazily.

He didn't know to what she was referring, but he suspected it wasn't just her stitched skin that didn't hurt. He pulled her into his arms and ran a hand through her damp hair.

"That's good," he whispered, kissing her perspired forehead. "I never want you to hurt."

"I know."

"Will you marry me, Teresa?" He hesitated, his fingers playing idly at her naked hip. "Is the timing bad this time, too?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I will. Why not?"

He smiled. "We will discuss this in the morning. I think your morphine has inhibited you."

"Has not!" she protested. "I'm fine." Her words started to slur, and he felt her body slowly relax.

He smiled. "Good night, Teresa."

And he kissed her forehead for the last time before, he, too, succumbed to sleep.

-THE END-