Disclaimer: If I had any rights to The Mentalist, would I be writing fanfic instead of peddling a movie script?

Author's Note: This is a birthday present for NorthernLights94, by request. I hope it's not too far off what you wanted and that it's a present worthy of your milestone birthday!


Patrick Jane loved surprises, and though he was well aware that his wife did not, after a week away from her and his six-week-old daughter he figured he'd earned the right to indulge himself a bit. So he pulled up to the cabin just after midnight, a good eight hours before Teresa was expecting him, and parked far enough away that she wouldn't hear the engine.

The house looked much the same as the day he'd first seen it, at least on the outside. Faced with an immovable deadline, they'd opted to forego the additions for now and focus on renovating the existing structure. They'd brought their baby home to a cozy, well appointed house with a master suite on the ground floor—they intended to grow old in this house after all—a small but functional kitchen, and an upstairs nursery with an adjoining home office.

Lamplight shone from the window of the baby's room, and he smiled as he walked toward it, thinking of the white and yellow room decorated with fluffy bunnies. He'd had a hard time keeping a straight face the first time Teresa had gravitated toward the crib set with the ridiculously floppy eared bunny, but the smile on her face when they got home and unpacked every bunny-themed item the store had offered made it worth it. And now she was doubtless sitting in the big white rocking chair nursing their little miracle, humming an 80s rock ballad or murmuring a quiet prayer. He could picture it so clearly, and suddenly even another minute of separation was unbearable.

He ran the last distance, going up the porch steps as quietly as possible and punching in the alarm code as he softly closed the door behind him. Pausing to listen, he could hear the gentle murmur of his wife's voice, talking to their daughter in the sweet loving tones she reserved for her family. The stress of the past week fell away as he let the sound wash over him.

Creeping up the stairs, he began to focus on making out words. She wasn't singing, and it didn't sound like she was talking to the baby. The rhythm of her speech suggested reading. Maybe one of the cloth books they'd bought?

Peeking into the room, he saw Teresa settled in the rocking chair, their baby suckling at her breast, just as he'd imagined. But she was holding a piece of paper in her free hand, reading aloud from it by the soft glow of the lamp.

"The sunrises here are beautiful. Breathtaking even. I know you are not a connoisseur of sunrises, grumpy morning hater that you are, but there is nothing like a brilliant sunrise over water. I often walk out to the beach to savor it before settling down to my first cup of tea."

The words were familiar. More than that, they were his. He remembered writing that in one of his early letters from exile, when he'd missed her so fiercely that sometimes he could hardly breathe.

He noticed the box at her feet, filled with folded papers identical to the one she was holding. She'd kept them all. He was touched, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. She'd even kept the pieces of his teacup, after all. Though at least those weren't proof she was in contact with a fugitive and had failed to report it, endangering her job and possibly her freedom. He'd always assumed she'd destroyed them as soon as she read them, to prevent them falling into Abbott's hands.

"This morning I met a little girl on the beach. Her long, curly dark hair and suspicious gaze reminded me irresistibly of you. She obviously thought I was up to no good and followed me a little ways up the coast, darting from rock to rock like a miniature secret agent. She may not be CBI material, but I enjoyed the game while it lasted. I hope I will see her again sometime.

"It's nice to play a game with no stakes for a change. A relief. I hope you are being careful, no matter how quiet your life may seem. The only thing that troubles me in this new life is not knowing that you are safe. That you are well. That despite the CBI being pulled out from under you, you have managed to find some measure of happiness. I will always regret not being there to support you in what must surely be trying times. Maybe it will give you comfort to know that I am thinking about you. Or maybe you are rolling your eyes at me, insulted that I think I could ever be any use to you. I can't know, so I choose to believe the former.

"Your daddy is very silly sometimes, lightning bug. Isn't he?"

Patrick grinned, stepping into the doorway. "Now, don't go disillusioning our daughter at such a young age."

Teresa jumped in surprise, causing the baby to let out a cranky cry. By the time Patrick crossed the room, Teresa had gotten her latched on again, and she suckled vigorously as her father bent to kiss her mother. "You're early," Teresa said, smiling as he bent to kiss the baby's head.

"I couldn't spend another night away. I missed you too much. But I have to say I'm surprised at your choice of bedtime reading for our daughter." He leaned over to pick up the box, noting that the papers showed significant signs of handling.

Teresa blushed a little. "I...used to read them when I missed you. And it's not like she understands."

"You missed me a lot, huh?" Looking closely, Jane could see that some of the letters were very worn indeed.

"Yeah. I did," she admitted, looking down at the baby. "She's falling asleep again."

"Let me take her." Jane set the box down and gently lifted his drowsing daughter to his shoulder, rubbing her back until she let out a burp. She was warm and soft and smelled of baby powder and her mother's milk, and Jane closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by a rush of gratitude that this was his life.

"We both missed you," Teresa said. "She's been fussy at night."

Jane smiled. In addition to his eyes and long fingers, Clarissa had inherited his night owl tendencies. He treasured the quiet, dark hours when they kept each other company, since Teresa persisted in believing nighttime was for sleeping. "She's our little lightning bug. Brightens up the night, sleeps during the day."

"I just hope we can get her on a more normal schedule before I go back to work," Teresa sighed.

"Go on back to bed. I'll put her down and be there in a minute."

Teresa chuckled. "Oh, no. I've fallen for that one before. If I do that, you'll stand here and watch her sleep until the sun comes up." She got out of the chair and rubbed his arm affectionately. "I had a doctor's appointment yesterday."

"All's well?" He looked at her in concern.

"Mm hm. In fact, she said I've healed enough for sex. If you're interested." She leaned her head on his shoulder and yawned.

"Interested? Definitely." It had been a long couple of months since she'd had any interest, and he was looking forward to mapping the changes in her body. "But maybe we should try to get a few consecutive hours of sleep first, hm?"

"Mmm. Sleep." She tugged at his arm. "Your turn to get up with her next."

"Absolutely," he promised, letting her lead him out of the room.

mmm

Clarissa woke him just before sunup, wanting a fresh diaper and her breakfast. Jane took care of the first before carrying her downstairs to her drowsy mother, who remained half asleep while feeding her. Then he took his daughter back upstairs to burp her. She was bright-eyed and animated, signaling she wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, so he played with her for a while, dancing her stuffed bunny around while telling her about the beauty of ballet.

Then she looked straight at him and smiled.

Jane felt his heart give a funny leap, falling in love with her all over again. "Glad to see me, beautiful girl? Did you miss my voice?" He knew babies usually responded to voices before faces, and she was on the early side for smiling. But then he wasn't surprised that someone with a mix of his genes and Teresa's would be quick on the uptake. "If I ever have to be gone again, I'll have Mommy hold the phone so I can talk to you. But I shouldn't have to help out Uncle Cho anymore once Mommy goes back to work. So it will probably be the other way around."

She smiled again, kicking her legs in excitement. Jane played "got your toes" with her for a minute. "My bright girl. You know why we named you Clarissa, right? Because we knew you would brighten our lives. And you do. Everyday. Yes, you do." He glanced at the window. "And now the sun is coming up. Shall we get some tea, hm? We'll let Mommy sleep, but I'd like a cup."

As he picked her up, he noticed the box of letters, still on the dresser. So he stopped by the desk in the room next door on his way to the kitchen, and when his tea was ready, sat down to sip from his mended teacup and write a new letter, glancing at Clarissa safely strapped into her bouncy seat.

My dearest Teresa,

It means more than I can express that you kept my letters, despite the risk they posed to you. And to find you reading them to our daughter because you missed me, even though we spoke on the phone several times a day, touched me deeply. But at the same time, I want to give you something better than letters from a fugitive who was too cowardly to speak openly of his love and longing. You should never have to read between the lines again when it comes to my feelings for you.

For a long time I told myself I could never love again. You can understand the fear that comes with a great loss. It seemed so much easier, safer, to tell myself and everyone else that my heart died with my first wife and was buried in her grave. But as the years went by it became obvious that things weren't that simple. My heart was broken, yes. But you are very good at piecing things back together.

How can I ever find words good enough, grand enough, to tell you all the ways you've saved me? Every time I look at Clarissa I think of how she is the proof of your loving, steadfast heart. You gave me everything you had, all the while knowing I had nothing approaching that worth to give you in return. I hid my love until it was almost too late, but you forgave me. You never seem to run out of forgiveness. That still astonishes me.

Our daughter is so lucky to have a mother who will never give up on her, never stop forgiving her. No matter how much of a Jane she turns out to be, she will always be welcome in your arms. I am perhaps the only other person who will ever be able to appreciate how precious that is.

She smiled at me for the first time today. I was telling her about ballet, about how difficult the art is for the dancers but how beautiful for the audience. Your love is like that, I think. Only you know what it costs you. But please know that those of us privileged to see and feel it treasure its brilliance, its perfection, its sheer breathtaking beauty. Of all the things I want to teach Clarissa, the most important is to treasure the love in her life. I will never stop telling her how fortunate she is to have a mother like you.

And I will never stop telling you how fortunate I am to have a wife like you. It was my great good fortune that you were the agent I had to deal with at the CBI all those years ago. If I believed in a deity, that is the first thing I would give thanks for.

I love you. And unlike me, my love for you is strong and eternal. It will exist, a subtle harmonic in the energy of the universe, until the last star burns out, and beyond. Whatever our future holds, I wanted to put that in writing so you will never forget it.

I hope our future does not hold many more separations, but I promise to write to you every time we are apart from now on. When you miss me, I want you to have letters to read that remind you not of a time when we were missing each other, but of all the time we've spent loving each other.

Yours,

Patrick

When he finished his tea, he took a yawning Clarissa back upstairs, laid her in her crib, and carefully folded his letter before tucking it into the box with the others.

Then he went downstairs and crawled in bed with his wife.

"Everything okay?" she murmured as he spooned up behind her.

"Mm hm," he replied. "She smiled at me."

Teresa gave a snort. "I spend a solid week taking care of her on my own, and you waltz in and get a smile. She's a daddy's girl for sure."

"Does that surprise you?" He nuzzled her neck.

"I guess not."

"Cheer up, Teresa my love. It will give you something in common with her. The two of you can bond over your mutual adoration of me."

She gave another snort, this time of amusement, and rolled over to tangle her legs with his. "You're pretty full of yourself for a man who took an entire week to solve a double murder. Used to be you could do that in a couple of days. Getting old? Or just enjoying being able to sleep through the night?"

"I'll admit to being a little rusty, perhaps. But I resent your implication that I spent any unnecessary time away from you and the baby. That was a hurtful thing to say. I demand an apology." He let his hands rove over her backside, squeezing her ass as he teased her.

"Bite me. I'm sleep deprived and still not allowed to drink caffeine since it turns your daughter into a Tasmanian devil," she said, scooting closer so she could rub herself against him. "But I'm really looking forward to that omelet you promised to fix me two days ago."

Jane hummed against her neck as he kissed his way to her collarbone. "Slavedriver." He pushed the strap of her camisole aside so he could plant a line of kisses to her shoulder. Then he paused. "Do you want me to go grab a condom?"

"Hm mm," she said. "I probably won't get pregnant while I'm nursing anyway. But I'd like another baby. Can you make sure it's a boy this time?"

Jane chuckled. "That's not something I can control, love."

"I figure if anyone can, it's you," she teased, unbuttoning his pajama top.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

mmm

Afterward, they pushed their luck by cuddling. Jane figured their daughter was about to interrupt them any minute, but it felt so good to lie in his wife's arms, basking in the afterglow, that he wasn't going to give up a single second of it before he absolutely had to. So when Clarissa started crying again, he buried his face in Teresa's hair and ignored it.

"Up," she said, pushing at him. "I'll get her. You get breakfast."

Jane groaned. "Love you."

She got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and bent to kiss him. "Love you too. Omelet, please."

Jane laid in bed for a few more minutes, until he heard Clarissa's crying give way to Teresa's loving voice. Then he levered himself up, pulled on his boxers, and went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

He was just finishing up when he was suddenly tackled from behind, his wife's arms locking around his ribcage and squeezing. He chuckled until he realized his back was wet with tears, then turned in alarm. "Teresa, what's the matter? Is Clarissa okay?"

"She's fine," she assured him, wiping at her face.

"Then why are you crying?"

"You wrote me a new letter," she said unsteadily. "And it was beautiful."

He sighed in relief, holding her against his bare chest. "Don't scare me like that."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "But what do you expect when you do something so sweet?"

He chuckled. "Point taken. From now on I'll stick to being a pain in the ass."

"You're always that," she said, swatting him and wiping her eyes. "Where's my breakfast?"

"Right here." He handed her the plate with her favorite omelet and home fries. "Where's the baby?"

"In her crib. She's fine. And she'll let us know if she's not."

"I'll get her. I've missed having both my girls in the same room," he said.

When he came back, Teresa had dished up his plate and refilled his teacup, and they ate breakfast together with Clarissa tucked against his shoulder.

"Thanks for the letter," Teresa said softly when she was finished with her omelet. "For all of them, really. But especially that one."

"You're welcome," he smiled.

"I missed you so much when you were gone. But when I read those letters, it was like you were there with me. Like everything was the way it used to be, sitting in my office late at night, me doing paperwork and you lying on the couch telling me stories." She reached for his hand.

He squeezed hers. "I knew I should stop writing to you. I knew I might be getting you in trouble or leading the FBI to my door. But I couldn't. You were the only person who understood me, and I couldn't give you up. I needed that connection with you."

"I'm glad. And I'm glad we found our way back to each other."

"I never want to be apart again," he said. "But if we are, I know we'll always find our way back to each other again."

"Yes," she promised. After a minute, she asked, "Did you ever see her again?"

"Who?"

"The little girl who followed you."

"The one who reminded me of you? No. She must have just been visiting the island. I looked for her though, every morning for a while." He smiled. "After a few weeks I realized I was really looking for you. I used to daydream about finding you on the beach, having come looking for me."

"If you wanted to see me, you should have invited me," she pointed out.

"You might have said no."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "I might not have. You made it sound like paradise, you know."

He smiled. "I'll take you there someday. We can play on the beach with Clarissa, and I'll take you to the post office so the nice ladies who felt sorry for me can see who I was sending all those letters to."

"I'd like that. When the baby's older. Next year maybe."

Jane imagined standing on the beach watching the sun rise with his wife and daughter. Of course, that was just a pipe dream, because at sunrise Teresa would still be in bed asleep. He and Clarissa could enjoy it though. "Our family vacation," he said, loving the way that sounded.

Teresa's smile told him she did too.

When they got the hang of traveling with their daughter, he'd buy the plane tickets as a surprise.

And hide them in the letter box.