A/N: I'm finally back! Missed everyone. I wrote this story at midnight, because I wasn't feeling well, and was wishing that someone was there to make it better. =) I didn't feel like getting up, so I typed the whole thing out on my cell phone memo pad, only stopping when I ran out of room. I am thinking of making this into a series of little one-shots, let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I wish they were mine. Though it's probably good that they're not, seeing how long it took me to post a new story.

Teresa Lisbon was incredibly annoyed. It had been a long day and an even longer week; she didn't know what it was about the holidays that made people kill. Probably so much face time with family. Whatever it was, the dragging hours and the endless parade of sad and angry people was giving her a headache. She wanted nothing more than to finish her paperwork and finally go home. She knew a cool glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol would be waiting for her there, and that thought would get her through the last few hours until she could finally go home. She sat forward in her desk and started writing.

There were bags beneath her eyes, and that worried him. Patrick Jane watched his "boss" pour herself cup after cup of black coffee in a vain attempt to keep herself awake. Did she think that would help with the headache he could see swiftly building behind her eyes?

He wanted nothing more than to barge into her office and rub the tension out from between her shoulders. He could almost feel her pain, and he was puzzled by how much her discomfort bothered him. Still, he knew any attempt at physical contact would earn him a few broken bones, at least in her current state. Yes, that state would have to change in order for him to break down even a little bit of the barrier between the two of them. He lay back on his couch, watching her and beginning to hatch another of his famous plans.

xxxxx

"DAMNIT!" Lisbon swore at the top of her lungs, throwing an empty Tylenol bottle at the wall. As if to add to her black mood, the doorbell rang. "I swear, unless whoever is on the other side of that door has some serious painkillers, they will be shot," she muttered to herself. She opened the door to find Patrick Jane standing cockily on her front porch, holding a bottle of medication in front of him like a shield. Good choice. She briefly considered snatching the bottle from his hands and slamming the door in his face, but she just didn't have the energy. She grabbed the bottle, but left the door open behind her.

He stepped through only after she had swallowed a few of the pills and sat down on the couch. He perched gingerly next to her, but on the other end, testing his boundaries. She said nothing, just tilting her head back and waiting for the medicine to kick in.

Jane waited a few minutes, then slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, he reached out to touch her shoulder. She tensed, and he considered drawing his hand away, but she relaxed quickly into his touch, her exhaustion erasing the outermost layer of inhibitions. He moved closer, inch by inch, to get better access to her shoulders.

\

She sighed, and he wanted nothing more than to make her smile, erase everything that was holding her back. The sensation was strange, this caring for her. He had always had a soft spot for the sick, though. Despite what he may have previously said, he had once thought of becoming a doctor. He had denounced psychics as liars and hated what he had done as one, but part of it he had liked. He had given people hope, forgiveness. Lisbon was slowly closing her eyes, leaning further and further into him. Jane kept up his thorough treatment, methodically rubbing every know out of her back. For some odd reason, he needed Lisbon to feel better. He needed to remember what it was like to care about someone again.

The painkillers and Jane's magic hands were quickly having their effect on Lisbon. She could feel her body going limp, melting into Jane's fingers on her back. She didn't trust him, that was part of her job, but she needed someone to take care of her, and he was there. Her head brushed his chest, and she suddenly stiffened. What was she doing? This was Jane! Jane who was annoying and deceptive. Jane who drove her up a wall. She shouldn't be trusting him, certainly shouldn't be relaxing against his chest!

His hands kept working, though, as he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Why are you doing this?" she countered his question. "This is nothing like you. "Don't you normally aim to make my headaches worse? Stop messing with me, Jane." He tried hard not to let her see his hurt expression. He wasn't quite sure of his motives, but he was alarmed that she was so distrustful of him. He had, after all, trusted her with his life before. He couldn't quite blame her for her skepticism, though, and he fought to suppress his hurt.

"Because you're hurting," he said after a long pause. "You need someone, but you're too stubborn to say so. That's how you are." She made a move as if to deny it, but Jane's look stopped her. She gave in, sighing in defeat. "And so here I am," he said, voice dropping to a whisper. Her eyelashes fluttered and her breath hitched, and they both almost laughed. It was like a scene out of a trashy romance novel.

The smile lit up Lisbon's face, and it was Jane's turn to stop breathing. He leaned forward, trying to memorize the shape her face was in, drinking in every crease, blemish, and line. She let out the tiniest of breaths, and it washed softly across his face.

His green eyes met her face seconds before his lips. She leaned into the kiss that was as soft and comforting as his hands had been, trying to melt into it, wanting to memorize the feel of his lips. It didn't take very long before the tone of the kiss changed. Her headache suddenly gone, Lisbon pushed the man in front of her down onto the couch, hands diving for his blonde curls while her mouth searched hungrily for his. Breaking only briefly for air, she said simply, "You are a very good nurse, Patrick Jane."