AN: If you haven't already, go read inkstainedfingers97's "Tried and True", or the one in which Lisbon takes charge. It's perfect. It also inspired this story. Not sure how many chapters it will be; it could end up being one or twenty. Takes place in the middle of Violets right before Lisbon descends the stairs in her red nightgown.

Also, to the lovely literature nerd guest reviewer from "So Eden Sank to Grief" - yes. (Shoot me a DM so we can discuss all things literature!)

Title from Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

He's never been so terrified.

All he has to do is walk up one flight of stairs. But his bones might as well be made of lead, his muscles of mercury, because he's weighed down.

Sinking, sinking, sinking.

Drowning.

Jane reaches out, searching. He grips the counter, and his knuckles turn as white as the tiles below him.

"Jane?"

He blinks.

Lisbon has appeared in the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle on the stove. How long exactly had it been whistling? Surely just a second? Two or three tops.

Surely.

It's eerily silent now, just her breathing and his. He thinks if he listens close enough, he could probably hear the blood rushing through her veins.

"You okay?" she asks.

Everything suddenly comes back into focus.

Especially her.

He nearly hyperventilates when he realizes she's wearing a nightgown and very little else.

And suddenly his level of terror skyrockets.

"Jane?" Lisbon repeats.

He takes a deep breath.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She quirks up the corner of her mouth at him. "Really?" she asks. "Because I think you just boiled all the water out of the kettle."

He glances at the offending object, picking it up. Sure enough, it's almost empty. He sets it down, and it clangs against the burner.

"This con must be stressing you out more than you let on," Lisbon says, her voice low. "I've never known you to ruin a cup of tea before."

He avoids answering her, avoids her questioning gaze. This turns out to be a colossal mistake, as his eyes instead rove down her coral red nightgown to her thighs. Her calves.

And her adorably bare feet.

Jane forces himself to look up.

Lisbon steps closer, brows knit in consternation. His heart rate spikes - even the little crease between her eyebrows is cute as hell.

Jane swallows. "I, ah…" He clears his throat. "I've been...distracted lately." He curses the way his eyes automatically flash down to the first button on her nightshirt.

Jesus Christ. It's undone.

And so is he, apparently.

Lisbon looks amused rather than worried now. "What are you thinking?" she murmurs.

He looks to the sky, shakes his head with a chuckle.

Lisbon nudges him with her elbow. "Come on," she urges him. "Tell me."

Like he could deny her anything when she smiles at him like that.

He blushes furiously as he says, "Only that...that I kind of like you barefoot."

She tilts her head slightly. "Really?"

He chuckles. "Really."

Lisbon studies him. "Why?"

He blurts out the answer before he has time to process it. "Because we fit."

Her breath warms his neck, and some distant part of his brain registers that she's breathing more quickly than before.

"We do?" Lisbon whispers.

In response, he steps forward.

As it turns out, they do fit. Her head tucked beneath his chin, her lips against his collarbone. He thinks his arms have always ached to hold her.

Lisbon sighs and slips her arms around his waist.

"We do," Jane breathes, brushing his lips to her hair. He lifts a hand and cradles her head.

"Jane?"

Her tone is so soft, so hesitant, so completely unlike what he'd expected. She pulls back slightly, but he doesn't drop his hand.

"You're shaking," she murmurs.

She's a whirlwind, as always, the flecks of jade and emerald in her eyes drowning him.

"I'm nervous," he says, his voice only slightly more corporeal than a phantom.

Lisbon smiles. "Insecure man."

And he can't help but kiss her.

He shivers when her fingers touch his jaw, nearly faints when she arches into him.

A thought occurs to him, and he pulls back slightly. "Wait," he says, breathing heavily. "This isn't your normal nighttime attire."

Lisbon tenses in his arms. Despite the lack of space between them, she tries to hide her eyes. Jane rests his forehead against hers.

"Lisbon?"

She mumbles something unintelligible.

He chuckles. "Didn't catch that, Teresa."

Lisbon ducks her head into the crook of his neck. "I bought it this morning," she murmurs. "After I found out about the undercover op."

And, of course, there's nothing to do now but kiss her again.

Eventually, though, he's desperate for air. He gives her one last slow, sweet kiss, then he whispers, "As much as I approve of your new sleepwear, I happen to have an idea regarding how to improve it further."

He moves shaky fingers to open another button, brushes the fabric aside to press a kiss to her shoulder.

Her sly, shy smile destroys him.

"I'm open to suggestions," she says.

Jane grins. "Excellent."