This is all pretty much because I've become somewhat obsessed with the thought of Jane showing Lisbon around his island and then this suddenly became the one idea I couldn't let go, forcing me to reacquaint myself with my writing. It's been a very long time since I've even tried writing something other than college papers so please, bear with me. I'm thinking this will be ~3 chapters. A lot of fluff. Feedback is of course greatly appreciated.
Also, as I started writing, I noticed I kept referring to them as Patrick and Teresa which I found quite odd since I pretty much always think of them as Jane and Lisbon. Oh, well. First name basis might not be too out of line - they are married, after all. And on that note, I am also very much enjoying Jane (See! He's so Jane!) calling Lisbon his wife. WIFE. Can you believe it? I still can't.
Come Away With Me is from Norah Jones' song with the same title. I thought it was quite fitting.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist, nor do I own these characters. This is strictly non-profit.
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The beach looked precisely as he remembered it. The sand stretched itself mile after mile after mile and the waves rolled in towards the shore, rhythmic, roaring. A little further away, the sand made its way to rocks where, occasionally, the ocean would hit and stretch further up to the sky before once again crashing down and reverting into waves. The sea foamed up, turning crystal clear blue into white, right there, against the rocks on the beach. As far as the eye could see, there was not a cloud in the sky.
He stood barefoot with rolled-up black suit pants, a blue shirt that clung a bit to his skin and unruly hair with curls that got caught in the wind. His eyelids were closed but his lips were turned slightly upwards, as if he was far away in his mind but thinking of something that made him smile, content. The sound of the sea, the feeling of sand between his toes, the beach that burned under his feet. It was precisely as he remembered it.
It had been fairly sudden, the feeling of wanting to come back. When Patrick Jane left South America one day in September to come back to the US, after two whole years, he believed that he left the island he'd come to think of as his - his small village with a post office and well prepared morning-eggs, warm ocean and Hispanic children with a penchant for magic - for good. It was a chapter so far from the rest of his life. A chapter completely devoted to trying to heal, to once again become a whole. The result hadn't been as great as he'd hoped; apart from a vest he no longer wore and new island inspired prints on his shirts, he was basically the same man. He tried to turn the page, move on, let go of grief and guilt and revenge. When he returned to the US, those first months made it painfully clear that he had not succeeded. He was still hiding his heart away, still holding on to the past, still wearing the ring that had been put on his finger many years before, a lifetime before. As it turned out, he had not needed an island to heal; he'd only needed an almost missed opportunity, a whole lot of courage and most importantly - the woman he had built his life around for a very, very long time.
He had not thought he would ever get the feeling of wanting to come back.
However, that was when he was not yet married, before he had been gifted with the great knowledge that he of little less than nine months would be a father. Suddenly he'd had a strong desire to show off everything he had built up in hopes of letting go, show off where he had spent two significant but oh-so-insufficient years of his life. He wanted to do everything he so desperately wished that he had the power to do then. He wanted to take her there.
When he'd told Teresa that he'd wanted to go on a bit delayed vacation/honeymoon - on a beach no less - she'd first approached the idea with some grumpy morning skepticism.
"I wanna go away with you", he had said early one morning a few weeks after they had promised to forever love and cherish each other. He'd murmured the words against her neck, just behind her ear. He'd rested his hand around her waist, her back pressed against his chest where they'd lain together in bed in Teresa's house - the one that never really had the time to become theirs until a new one was in the early stages of being rebuilt. His fingers had touched her stomach absentmindedly, something he had made a habit since the day he'd become both a husband and a father-to-be.
"Hmm?", Teresa had said, sleep still present in her morning voice.
"I wanna go away with you," he'd repeated, nuzzling her neck.
"I thought we decided we'd wait with going anywhere, with the house and the baby", she'd murmured against the pillow, still half-asleep or at least wishing she would've been.
"I changed my mind", he'd replied. "I want to enjoy spending time alone with my wife, only you and me. Sleeping in, exploring the world, eating splendid food, drinking Piña Coladas - virgin, that is, for you." he'd said with a grin. "Beautiful sunsets, gorgeous beaches," he'd trailed off.
"You know I hate beaches." She was still lying on her side, his hands drew patterns on her still flat belly, evidence of what was inside so far primarily in their hearts. And in the ultrasound picture they had put up with a magnet on the fridge a week before.
"With the place I have in mind, I was hoping you wouldn't protest so much", he'd said.
"Hmm", she'd replied. "Where would that be exactly?"
"I was thinking", he'd began and made a short pause before he gave voice to the thoughts that had been buzzing around in his head since he woke up a few hours earlier. Like many times before, he'd dreamed of beaches and of her (only nowadays the images in his subconscious were a lot brighter than those before) and when he'd woken up he'd realized it mustn't only be a dream any longer. "What if we went to my island?"
At this, Teresa had turned gently around in his embrace until they were face to face, nose to nose. Emerald green eyes met crystal blue. "Your island?", she'd asked, her voice soft as velvet. "In South America?"
"Yeah", he'd said. "I've been thinking about it. I'd like to go back, just this once. And I'd like to enjoy it. Completely. With you." It took a few seconds but then her lips turned upwards, taking in the weight behind his words.
"I'd like that very much", she'd answered in between kisses.
What he had not told her was how much he suddenly had an urge to make this incomplete chapter in his life complete. He wanted to take the opportunity to blend his past memories of his island with new ones, with the one thing that made it incomplete the last time. Her. Her, her, always her. Instead of remembering how the experience of a sunrise felt while standing there alone, he wanted to remember how it felt doing it together. Instead of loneliness; togetherness.
After Teresa promised to take some - he thought - well-deserved time off and go with him, it only took nearly half a day for Patrick to arrange the rest. He beat her talking to Cho to ensure the FBI would not crumble without her presence the forthcoming week (which had annoyed her to no end and he'd been forced to make it up to her with a homemade dinner of her choosing, a devilishly good chocolate cake from her favorite bakery and countless of foot rubs), he ordered airline tickets, actually used a honest-to-God computer to find a hotel that seemed to be satisfying enough to both of them. Meaning: a hotel including both a comfortable bed and room service for her, nearness to the beach for him.
One year ago - heck, even a couple of months ago - he never thought he'd be back.
A lot had happened in the past year he'd never thought he'd be free or lucky enough to ever experience. For the first time in twelve years, he could love unconditionally and without bounds. He'd got to experience how it was to love and be loved by Teresa Lisbon, to wake up with her in the morning and fall asleep with her at night. He now knew her favorite brand of toothpaste, how hot she liked her showers, the way her hair looked sprawled out on her pillow, how her body felt under his hands. He'd had the honor of making her his wife and the thrill of knowing she would soon become the mother of their child. Things he hadn't even dared to wish for, before.
Standing with his feet in the warm sand and with a head full of futures and pasts, he was too occupied to notice a couple of footprints in the sand behind him. With her hair in a messy bun, dressed in a long flowery dress, Teresa took the last two steps forward to reach him, to put her hands around his waist. Her fingers crept along his blue shirt and her cheek pressed against his shoulder blades.
"Hello there", he said, voice raspy.
"I was wondering where you went", she said. "The hotel room was suddenly very empty when I got out of the shower."
"Sorry", he murmured and covered her hands with his larger ones, resting on his chest. "Just wanted to see the beach."
"This yours? The one you kept telling me about in your letters? Where the surfing and the swimming with dolphins thingy took place?" she wondered and he felt her lips turn upwards against his back. In that moment, he was immensely relieved that the thoughts of his letters so far on this journey had only brought her smiles.
He smiled along with her. "Not quite", he answered and turned so he could watch her face. "Well, it surely is the same. But I lived a little further South, just a couple of miles." She stepped away from his back and stood alongside him, watching with interest where he pointed with his hand.
"How come you didn't want us to stay there?" she asked.
He looked at her sideways and grinned. "I didn't think you'd appreciate my old, rustic apartment and creaky bed, mint-on-the-pillow-gal that you are."
That earned him a soft slap on his shoulder, although she was smiling, not bothering to hide her ever apparent amusement at his teasing. He laughed. "I am not that bad!" she tried to defend herself, voice rising slightly.
"That, my dear wife," he grinned. "You are."
"I want to see it, though", she said, suddenly turning serious. I want to see where you made tea, where you spent your time swimming in the ocean, the place you went to talk to people who you understood, understood you. I want to see the place you wrote my letters, where you said you missed me. The place you spent two years out of my reach. "I want to see all of it" she clarified. There was a slight pause before she went on. "Isn't that what you wanted to show me anyway?"
His smile was blinding, shining almost as brightly as the sun. "Come on", he said and took her hand.