That morning, she was the first to open her eyes, for once. The sun was obviously already high in the sky, and bright rays were piercing through the lids, falling on the bed, lightening golden reflects on a blonde head near her.
She rose up on one elbow to look at him.
"Patrick", she whispered, relishing the sound of his firstname on her lips. He was Patrick for her now. She was done for ever with that artificial distance of the second name, maintained for so long with the one who had been for years the nearest, dearest person in her heart.
It had been so easy to get used to call him Patrick. Yet every time shed did it, she felt a burst of joy.
They had just spent four days in their luxury suite in the Blue Bird, spending a lot of time in bed, unable to get enough of exploring the other's body, of pleasing and be pleased, again and again. They had eaten when they'd got hungry, at any hour of the day, and they had stayed on the beach at night, unable to get enough of asking to each other all what they had wanted to know for years.
Teresa had always suspected what kind of lover he could be, on the physical point of view, with his amazing ways of guessing how she felt at any time. But she had not imagined, on a sentimental level, how able he was to give himself completely, how utterly devoted to her he was. Once the last barrier broken down, there was no reservation, no holding back for him. Yet it shouldn't have been a surprise, she should have known better, considering how long he had remained completely faithful to his dead wife.
She couldn't get tired of contemplating him in his sleep, looking as innocent as a little boy. She had always liked it.
The first time she had watched him that way had been only two days after they had first met, when she had caught him sound asleep on the old brown couch he had just brought from the storeroom in the bullpen. At the moment, the fact that he had just done whatever he wanted without asking permission to anyone had not stricken her at all. She had just admired his long lashes, his beautiful features made even more perfect in his rest. She had been glad to see he had found, if only for a moment, a measure of peace.
Yes, now she could admit it at last, it had been almost love at first sight.
Of course, she knew that even without his looks, she'd have taken interest in him, because of his tragic past, the lost expression in his eyes, and even because of his "homeless vibe". She couldn't help it, she had to try and fix broken people, even earning the nickname 'Saint Teresa' from her colleagues because of that. Patrick had been right to point that she had put up with Hannigan's moody ways because he had reminded her of her father.
The Patrick of that first day, with his shy, broken behaviour had immediately attracted her compassion. Then, Minelli had forced her to bring him with her on a case, and she had not been pleased. Of course, his uncanny, immediate insight into all the aspects of the case had puzzled her. But what kind of impulse had led her to ask him to solve it for her ? She, a by the book, no-nonsense cop, asking a former false psychic, a victim relative, to solve a case for her ? What indeed had possessed her ?
She had many times asked herself that question in the following months, especially any time he had pissed off a big wig , or pulled some kind of dangerous stunt. At the time, she'd never had admitted, even to herself, that attraction, and not only compassion, had led her to give him the opportunity to solve the case, and thus, impressing Minelli, to get that job as a consultant.
Not that she had ever truly regretted it, deep inside. She'd never forgotten the sight of him the following day, proudly wearing his CBI badge. Gone the slouching posture, the protective gesture of his arm crossed over his chest. That very moment, she had known she had done the right thing.
And it had not taken long before the compassion for his past, admiration for his skills and attraction for his looks, or whatever mixed feelings she'd had for him in the beginning, had given way to deeper ones. As angry as she had been at him sometimes, she had come to understand the depth of his devastation, and the equal capacity for love that was hidden behind the arrogant, cheeky behaviour.
As time went by, he had become her best friend, the one who understood her the best, the one who had these tiny, thoughtful gestures that showed that he cared. And all this time, she had never ceased to be attracted to him, and had never ceased to deny herself any hope. He was and would remain emotionally unavailable, at least untill Red John would go down.
She had treasured the letters he had sent her from the island, and when he had come back, asking to work with her, she'd had some kind of fleeting hope they would at last come into a relationship. But then, he had escaped in New York, and all her abandonment issues had recured. She was so mad at him that in that plane, on their way back, she had lashed out at him with such an unfortunate choice of words that it had strengthened his belief that he was completely unworthy of her.
And then had begun that absurd period when they had danced around each other. Their first day at the Blue Bird, they had spent all the time not devoted to lovemaking to ponder over the reasons of such a mess.
She had admitted then that she too was to blame. For once, she had not been much more straightforward than him. The memory of Vegas, and of his betrayal on the beach, that new episode in New York, the purchase of the airstream, all this had made her unable to trust him enough to make the first move. If he truly wanted her, if she was to be sure that he wouldn't walk away when it'd suit him, he had to be the first to talk about his feelings. This, after all he had done in the past, was perfectly understandable, he had said. But then, when Pike had arrived, unconsciously Teresa had projected upon him her dream of a couple's life. Except that the only man she really wanted to be with was Patrick. She had lied to herself, and in the process, she had lied to both men and had hurt them. She still felt bad about Pike. He had not taken well what she had done, but who really could have ?
Teresa had kept hoping that Patrick would confess he was in love with her. But he was still struggling with his guilt about having fallen in love with another woman than Angela, with the belief that he always brought disaster on the women he loved, and the fear that by wanting more, he would lose the one good thing he had in his life : her friendship. Considering that she had been right to accuse him of wanting to control his life, he had tried to let her decide, without interfering, if she needed him more than the safe, normal life that Pike could offer her. Even his last scam had been set up to make her change her mind by herself. Confessing his feelings, asking her to stay had seemed to him too much of an interference.
Of course, it was just a way to delude himself, a pretext not to face his own issues. And in the end, all his resolves had cracked, only remaining his fear to lose her for ever.
'What a fool', she thought fondly. But he had really made it up for her now, with that amazing public declaration, and since then, he seemed to make a point of being always honest with her, however reluctant he could be to share some aspects of his past.
He had told her everything she wanted to know, speaking freely of all these years he had holden back his attraction to her, out of fear of Red John, and guilt towards his wife's death. He had told her how the only reason that had prevented him from ending his life after killing Mc Allister had been her. How lonely he had been in his island, not even bothering to learn how to speak spanish properly, as if it would have meant to resign himself to never see her again.
He'd even talked her about Angela and Charlotte, evoking many happy moments with them.
One of the things he seemed most reluctant to speak about, apart from his time in a mental facitlity, was his childhood. Obviously, these were two periods he was ashamed of.
Without pushing him, Teresa had told her about her own childhood, how her beloved father, after her mother's death, had turned into a sorry drunk, crying, shouting in front of his children, beating them, even, and not remembering anything of it when he had sobered. She told him about her fight to hide his father's state, in spite of everything, in fear that she and her brothers would be placed in foster care. But in the end, exhausted, she had told to a sympathetic neighbourg what happened, and they had been separated from their father. He had killed himself shorlty after that. She told him about the doubts she had now. Could she have prevented all this from happening ?
Then he had tried to convince her she had done the right thing for her brothers, telling her about his own experience in foster care, when his father been in jail for a few months. His foster family hadn't cared a lot about him, but it had been the only period in his childhood when he had felt safe. He began to talk about his life with Alex Jane, and, bit by bit, she began to understand what a hell of a childhood he'd had. As abusive as her own father had become at times, he loved them, and still showed them his love when he was not drunk. But it seemed that Alex Jane had been completely unable to understand what a precious gift in his live was his beautiful, clever , kind-hearted little boy. He had abused Patrick both verbally and physically, and not only when drunk, but in cold blood as well. Pete and some other carny friends had helped a bit, but had never really interfered, as it was their bastard obviously considered his son only as a mean to an end, a way to earn more money by conning people. How she'd like to find the man and make him pay for what he'd done.
Teresa sighed, remembering and regretting again her ownangry words :
"You're so twisted up in your own dishonesty that you have no idea how to act like a decent human being".
She had always known that when it came to personal matters, his lies and schemes were often a way of hiding his wounds. And she had always suspected that he'd been damaged even before what had happened to his wife and daughter. But now she knew. All his childhood, dishonesty had been taught to him as way of living. And all his childhood, dishonesty had been the only way to protect himself from a brutal, cold-hearted father. Lies and schemes had become his shield, his ways of hiding how vulnerable he really was.
Her eyes brimmed with tears still on his sleeping form, she whispered fiercely : "I'll never, ever let anyone hurt you again".
It said a lot about his true nature that Patrick had nonetheles become the man he was, with such a capacity for love, and some kind of ethics, if not conventional ones. When she had told him so, he'd answered that he had learnt what love was with his mother, who had died when he was only five, and then with Angela.
"And you, my love, reminded me what it was like, when I thought I would never feel anything but hate anymore", he had added.
Yes, she knew that if she had ever done a good thing in her life, it had been to help that man to hold himself together. For him, and for all the people he could help. And for herself as well, for he was giving her the most strong and wonderful experience of her life, that of a deep, shared love. She knew it wouldn't be always easy, that he was still a deeply scarred person, but so was she, and it allowed her to understand him better. She would be there for him.
As if awaken by her loving stare, he opened his eyes ans smiled at her, his eyes parkling with joy.
"I ask nothing else of life, except to have you as my first sight every day", he whispered.
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