Grabbing the vest and bringing it to her nose with both hands, she breathed in his scent, his sweet skin. A dagger of pain, bent on seppuku, sliced through her belly, uncertainty and loss slicing, twisting and gutting her. But she couldn't show it in front of the team.
"Patrick . . . Patrick . . ." she whispered into his collar.
The team glanced quietly at one another, guessing at the reactions she kept hidden. Without discussion, they shuffled into a close circle of protection, hiding Agent Lisbon from view in case she lost control, until she stood up, giving Abbott a slight nod. He nodded back. She gently folded the vest and slipped it into the open evidence bag Cho held out.
Cho looked right into Lisbon's misery. "I'll see you get it back as soon as Crime Scene is done with it."
Abbott took control. "All right, everybody. Let's figure this one out and find Jane, fast!"
He headed the case himself. In a few hours, he phoned Lisbon, unsure how to question her about what they'd found with Jane's vest.
"Lisbon."
"Hello, Teresa. First, how are you holding up?"
It wasn't like Abbott to call and check on someone. Hesitant, she offered, "About like you'd expect, I guess. But it doesn't keep me from doing the job, if that's what you mean."
"No. No, not at all. I'm calling about something else. He took a quiet, deep breath.
Not quiet enough for Lisbon not to notice. "Dennis. Jesus. You're scaring the hell out of me. Has something happened? Is Jane . . . ?"
"No! We haven't found him or, or . . . anything. I just need to ask you something."
"Ask me now. Please. You're wasting time being delicate and all it does is make me anxious."
"Sorry. Was Jane wearing his ring the last time you saw him?"
"Yes, of course. Why?"
"Because we found it in his vest pocket. I don't know what to make of that. Does it mean anything to you?"
Lisbon's head dropped as she massaged her forehead and pressed on her eyes to keep from crying. "Yes." She really didn't want to share personal business between her and Jane, but there was no choice. "We had an argument this morning. It was pretty bad. About his ring."
"Oh." Abbott didn't want to go there either. "You know I need to know everything about that."
"Yeah. Yeah, I . . . we . . . he, he pressed me on my feelings about him still wearing it. I thought I was okay, but he wouldn't let it go . . . I got angry and tearful and confessed that it does bother me."
"Okay."
"I'm so used to him wearing it that I guess I tried to make it normal and all right . . . and, and just buried my real feelings. He dug them out and it wasn't pretty."
"You said you had an argument. Did he say anything? Anything that might give us a clue . . . what he might have done?'
The import of Abbott's question startled her, but the dread that rose up her spine felt false. "Oh! No, Dennis, nothing like that. He didn't threaten to do himself in or leave, no, nothing like that. Jane would never run away from me again." A chuckle bubbled up. "And he thinks too much of himself to kill himself."
Abbott laughed with her. "Yeah, I think you're right about that."
"But, Dennis . . . If Jane left his vest and ring. It has to be a sign to me, I think, that he's all right, maybe more that I don't get right now. Or, or that he was okay at least before he disappeared. His suit coat wasn't there. He had to have taken the vest off purposely. M-maybe he didn't know whether he . . . he could get back to me. My guess is he didn't want to chance that the ring by itself would be overlooked. I think he took the vest off just to make sure I found the ring."
"Okay. Does that mean anything to you?"
"Oh, god. I think he wanted to be sure I would know that his parting thought was of me, to tell me, tell me . . . there is no one before me now." Lisbon broke down, trying to stifle her choking cries.
"Teresa. Teresa, we're going to find him."
"I know. I know. I just need him, Dennis, I need him. He would never run away from me again, never leave of his own volition." She sniffled and wiped her eyes, regaining control. "I'm sorry to be so unprofessional with you."
"You're not. You're always professional, Agent Lisbon. I'm sorry I needed such personal information from you. But thank you for giving it so freely."
They thumbed off. Abbott shook his head and sighed. If Lisbon was right about the ring, then neither it nor the vest had any further meaning to the case. A dead end.
Days of chasing down leads, checking and rechecking what little information they'd gathered, got the team nowhere. Every lead was a dead end. Jane had vanished.
Cho returned Jane's vest and ring to Lisbon. Neither held trace that yielded any helpful information.
More than two weeks and not a hint of Patrick Jane.
Lisbon grew thin, her appetite waning, her stomach finicky and rebellious. Working out to maintain her strength was a double-edged sword, burning calories she couldn't spare and giving her a sinuous, wiry look. Her clothes hung rather than fit. She kept going on coffee. Haunted. Her sunken eyes and cheekbones said so.
It seared her heart to realize that she had no personal pictures of Patrick, alone or with her, for comfort. It was hardest at night when she wept bitterly, clinging to his vest and wearing his ring on her thumb, reliving their last morning together. Thinking of everything she could have said or not said. She hated herself for making such an issue and tried to forgive herself because she couldn't help her feelings.
They'd argued. They hadn't meant to. About his ring.
All this time, she'd thought she was okay with it. It was just a part of him, something she rarely thought about. But he drew out her real feelings, lurking like traitors in her subconscious. He wouldn't stop until he had the truth, as much as it hurt him, too.
She hadn't even realized that she was fiddling with it, much like he did himself, while she held his hand as they sat together at the kitchen table, drinking their morning brews. He covered their hands and looked at her with sad eyes.
"I know my thoughts when I fiddle with my ring. What are yours?"
Startled, she'd looked and pulled her hand away. "Oh. Was I? Sorry."
"You don't have to take your hand away. I like it there, handling me. I just wanted to know what you were thinking."
"Handling you?" It was an odd thing to say and it irked her. "I was twirling your ring. Not you."
Patrick said nothing, just watched the emotion build on her face.
"I hope your ring is not you, Patrick. I never really think about it. I was fiddling. Like I would a button or a pencil, absent-mindedly."
"I don't think you were being absent-minded. Especially when I see how you react, now."
Spots of red appeared on her cheeks. There was something going on, all right.
"Maybe you should go first. What do you think about when you fidget with your ring? I thought it was pretty unconscious fiddling. Like with a button or a pencil." It sounded catty, even though she was trying to control the irritation that was unexpectedly rising within her.
Jane flopped against the back of his chair in surprise. His temper started to flare and he controlled his voice with effort. "My thoughts about my ring are private."
"Oh? Well, so are mine!" Lisbon loudly shoved her chair away from the table when she got up and pushed it forcefully into place before she took her cup to the sink.
Patrick was flush against her back, gripping her shoulders and speaking into her ear before Teresa knew he had gotten out of his chair. "It upsets you that I still wear this ring. Why haven't you told me?"
She shoved him away with her butt. She was so strong! He had to take a large step back to keep his balance.
"Tell me, now. I want to know!"
"You tell me first!"
He was tired of playing games and wouldn't lie. "All right! It reminds me of my family. Of what I had and lost. And that I avenged that loss."
"All in the past. You say you want to be with me, now. But the ring on your finger says different!"
"No! Yes! The ring is my past. And I do want to be with you. Only you!"
"I don't believe you!"
"I miss them and I think about them. In the present. Happy?"
"No." Tears spilled down Teresa's cheeks. "Of course you think about them. I want you to. I don't begrudge you that."
Usually Teresa's tears would melt him. In this moment they felt irrationally like a threat to his lost family. Guilt about hurting Teresa in any way tore at him ravenously, adding to the force of emotion, creating a brew of defensive resentment. Angry, he growled, "Then what?"
"You don't feel all mine . . . because . . . because whenever I see your ring, I know that you're not and it hurts. I let it go because it's always been a part of you, a part of Jane, a part of my Patrick. But . . ." She let the thought trail away, but Jane would not.
"But what?"
"Are you going to wear your ring until, until the day . . ." Until the day they married?
"What day?" The day he died? What if he did?
"Don't be stupid, Patrick. You know what day."
"You can't take my ring away!"
Teresa gritted her teeth against the sobs hammering in her chest to come out with her tears. "I don't want to! You have to decide, not me. You wouldn't be satisfied until I told you how I felt. I didn't even know how I felt until you pushed me. Now you're angry!"
"I'm not deciding now!" He buttoned his vest and thrust himself into his suit coat. "I'll see you at work!" When he left, he made sure to slam the door.
A flood of anger dried her tears. She cursed herself and her entire situation. His ring deserved a thoughtful, loving discussion. Not an impromptu explosion! Why would he even think that she would try to make him take it off?
Cho called Jane, catching him on the road to the FBI building. He'd had a report and was heading to interview the informant. Jane said he'd meet Cho at the address. That was the last anyone had heard from Patrick Jane.
Teresa rolled to her side in their bed, burying her face inside Patrick's vest. "Wear your ring until we get married . . . or for the rest of your life, I don't care - just come back to me, Jane!" Crashing into exhausted unconsciousness in the wee hours, she welcomed the obliterating blackness that had come to pass for sleep.
The man who crept silently through their apartment did not, under cursory glance, look like Patrick Jane. But the sea green eyes and the full sensuous mouth peeking through the grime would give him away, if the shock of overgrown golden curls did not.
Jane was filthy and smelled like manure. His hair was a wild, dirty mess, his beard scruffy and unkempt. His wrists and ankles were bands of raw, scabbed meat. Peeping in at the comatose form in their bed, his throat constricted and his eyes watered, but he would not go to her so defiled.
Grabbing a paper sack and Teresa's cell from the kitchen, Jane went to the downstairs shower and took pictures to document his condition. Carefully removing his clothes, he placed them in the sack because he knew they would be wanted for evidence. He hoped his precautions would help, because he had no idea, other than male, who had held him or which barn.
The only thing he wanted was to be in bed in his Teresa's arms. The choice to delay with a shower was excruciating.
His escape had been a convoluted flight through the woods, fueled by adrenaline and need. Teresa. He had to get back to Teresa. Completely lost, it had taken him three days to get to a marked road and he had no idea where it was in relation to his place of imprisonment. On the second day he'd found a swift stream and drank as much as he could with his hands. He'd give the information to the team and let them figure it out. Maybe the guy had meant to take Cho, and he didn't even know what Cho's case was about.
Jane only cared about one thing. Teresa. Did she think he had run away from her again? Had she found his vest and ring, a message to her that he'd managed when he knew he would be taken? Would she forgive him for the fight they'd had that morning?
Hot water felt like heaven! Lather washed all the dirt and detritus away, leaving many places, formerly sealed by dirt and blood, raw and stinging. At least he was clean and raw. What flowed off his body made a mud-like stream to the drain, twining occasionally with bright threads of blood. It also revealed his emaciated condition, legs taking on a spindly appearance, sunken stomach, ribs showing, arms spindly, too. The mirror highlighted cheekbones too prominent in his thin face, dark circles around his eyes. Looking in the mirror at his teeth and sampling his breath, he was glad to see his spare toothbrush in the holder.
Standing at the doorway to their room, Patrick was unsure how to approach Teresa, especially in her deep sleep. He didn't want to frighten her, startle her more than was necessary. She stirred, murmuring to something in her hands.
She lay on her side, facing away. Patrick padded softly to the bed, loving the wayward falls of dark hair that spilled across her pillow. He sat down and gently arranged them into a neat sweep, away from her face. His hand dwarfed her, caressing her cheek, her ear and the top of her head at the same time. He took care to be as light as feathers.
"Teresa . . ." His voice was a feather of whispers, too. He covered her hands and discovered that she held his vest and there, on her right thumb, was his ring, glinting in the ambient light. "Oh, baby . . . I'm so sorry." Bending to her cheek, he kissed it softly.
Dark lashes still covering her eyes, she rolled toward him, arm flopping across his legs. He laid a hand on her shrunken stomach and pain stabbed him as the edge of his palm and his fingertips both touched hip bone. She hadn't been eating. But he gently caressed her belly, pressing to fill his palm.
"Patrick," she sighed, and smiled, still asleep.
He cupped her cheek. "Yes . . . I've come home. I've missed you."
"Mmmm, me, too." Both arms came up in a luxuriant stretch. Her eyes slowly opened, still in a dream of him.
"Hi, sweetheart."
Reaching for him, her eyes suddenly flew wide and she went rigid, gripping his arms ferociously. "Jane?" She touched his cheek. "Jane!" It was a drawn out, guttural cry, coming from the center of everything she was, and followed by rending sobs as she pulled him into her arms.
The grace of her touch, her love, flowed into him and he nuzzled into her embrace. "All I want is to be in your arms again."
"What happened? What happened? Did you leave me?"
He pulled her close. "No. Never. I was taken. Mistakenly, I think. I think they wanted Cho. But I got loose and I've finally made it home to you. To you, Teresa! You're my home. I would never leave you."
Lisbon let instinctual promptings about evidence and leads drop away. "Oh, Patrick! Our argument was so awful!"
"It was my fault."
"Please don't say that!" She couldn't keep her thoughts together, looking into his beautiful face. Missing him, not knowing, had been an agony. "I knew you would never leave me. I've been so afraid. You left me your vest and ring!"
"Yes."
"To tell me you were alive?"
"Yes. And to tell you . . . you are first in my life, Teresa. No one but you. My ring doesn't matter."
"It mattered a lot to me. I know how much it means to you." She held up her thumb. "I've worn it every night."
"Yes. I'm so glad if it gave you the comfort I'd hoped. The ring doesn't mean as much to me as you do, my darling girl."
"But it's not you, Patrick, I wanted you!"
"Me, too. All I want is right here." He squeezed her, then let go enough to see her face. "And I see my vest is your new banky."
She reached for it and brought it between them. "But you smell more like you."
He laughed and held her tight. Maybe neither of them would talk complete sense for a while. "Can I climb in bed with you?"
She nodded and when he snuggled close, she pulled him in tighter. "Squeeze against me and don't stop. I need to feel you next to me."
"C'mere. I need you, too."
When she sighed and her breathing finally turned shallow and regular, he loosened his hold. With Teresa held in a gentle embrace, Patrick relaxed and drifted into a light sleep. The sun was well up when she woke him with make-up kisses.