White Rose

Chapter 6: Teresa's POV

A/N: So how did you guys feel about Jane's proclamation? That was so much fun to write and hopefully to read as well! Not sure if you guys will approve of my logic in this chapter but I did my best. Exciting news for everyone in the US, 4 days to season 7! *Fangirls and dies*

Summary: Lisbon wakes up in an unfamiliar place.

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I woke up in the morning with a terrible headache and rolled over in bed with a yawn, stale yellow light peekig through a set of light lace curtains and onto my face. That's when panic mode set in. I didn't recognize the bed I was in, infact it was one I had never seen before. I instinctively sprang up and grabbed for my gun on a nightstand that of course wasn't there.

I realized that I was wearing only my bra and underwear. What the hell happened last night? Where was I? Where were my clothes? I stumbled across the bedroom and into a hallway before tumbling down a flight of stairs, landing at the bottom as gracefully as I could in my dazed state.

I found myself in a kitchen and heard the hinges of a door creak somewhere beyond my view. I carefully pulled the largest knife from the knife rack and backed into a corner before slumping to the floor, almost hearing my heart beat in my chest and the blood pounding in my temples.

I told myself that it was okay. That I was okay, that Jane and the team would be here to rescue me soon enough. Oh god, Jane. Last night was a blur but I kind of remember Jane saying he loved me, in the most dramatic way possible.

I heard footsteps.

"Get back!" I yelled, my voice sharp, "I am a federal agent and I am armed!"

The second part was a lie, sort of.

"It's okay, it's okay." A husky male voice said and I saw an open hand peek around the corner.

"It's me, it's just Patrick."

"You're not Patrick." I hissed, so high on adrenaline I didn't recognize my own partner's voice.

"I swear I am." The voice said.

"Prove it." My hand was still glued to the knife.

"My name is Patrick Alexander Jane. I was a conman. I lied and I stole to get what I wanted. My father was an abusive drunk." His hand fluttered slightly, probably to caress an old scar, his voice now quavering.

"I hurt the people I care about most because that's what I thought love was." Now I started to cry.

"I killed the man that murdered my family in cold blood. I killed him and I felt nothing!" He stated, his voice both shaky and stern all at once.

I dropped the knife with a metallic clang and crawled across the floor. It was Jane alright. His face was red and tears gleamed off of his cheeks in the morning sun, running down to his chin before slowly dripping to the floor, pooling around his now crumpled figure.

"Shhh, it's okay." I cooed and pulled him into my arms, "Shhh, Patrick it's okay. I'm sorry."

Now I was the one apologizing.

In an attempt to calm himself he placed his head against my chest and laid his hand across my stomach and it dawned on me again that I was still dressed in just my underwear.

It didn't matter. He needed someone to hold him. I loved him, I wouldn't leave now or ever again.