This story actually comes from an idea I had for my now-deleted Castle crossover story 'Scratched,' which I never got around to writing, but the idea never left my head.

I tweaked a few things here and there to make it fit, but I hope you like it. This is about as fluffy as I get.

Rated T.

Pairing: Who else?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Please enjoy.


The dress made soft swishing sounds as she walked across the shop floor. Three full-length mirrors stood on the opposite wall with a raised footstool in front of them, in order to help the customers see themselves from as many angles as possible.

She was holding the dress off the floor with both hands, unused to the hazard of so much extra fabric around her feet when her normal attire consisted of nothing more complicated than suit pants or jeans on the weekend. She'd never been a 'dress' person, so to speak, except for very special occasions.

She stepped onto the footstool and with another gentle swish, let the hem of the dress fall around her. She straightened the bodice, smoothed down the skirt, and then finally lifted her head to see her reflection.

Behind her, she heard little gasps from her three companions as she straightened up, and examined herself, turning left and right to try and get the full effect of it, hoping and praying this would be the last one she tried. She'd never been the type to spend forever deliberating over the purchase of clothing, and they'd been in the store for nearly two hours already.

That being said, she'd never shopped for a wedding dress before.

"What do you think?" She glanced over her shoulder and addressed Grace and Annabeth, both in Texas for the weekend at her request, and the bridal shop owner, a willowy, blonde woman named Phoebe.

"It's beautiful," said Grace, a wistful look passing over her face. "Almost makes me want to get married again. To Wayne, obviously," she hastily added at Lisbon's raised eyebrow. "We could renew our vows or something in a few years. People do that all the time."

"Make it sooner and you two could have a double wedding," chimed in Annabeth, reaching for her cell phone to reply to a text message. "Might even work out cheaper. You could split the cost of everything."

Grace chuckled quietly. "I don't think so," she said. "I think with all your aunt and Jane have been through over the years, they should get this day to themselves."

Annabeth paused in her texting and cast curious eyes to her aunt. "Are you ever going to tell me the whole story of how you guys got together?" she asked. "I asked Dad once and he only said it was too long and complicated for him to say."

"Well, your dad was right about that," said Teresa, adjusting her posture slightly so she stood taller in an attempt to look more at home in this fussy white dress. "One day, I'll tell you the whole thing," she promised, "or at least as much of it as I can. There are parts even I still don't understand."

"Like what?" asked Annie, curiouser still, and Teresa sent a pleading glance at Grace for help. Instead, it was the shop owner who intervened, getting out of her chair and coming to her side.

"It looks like it was made for you dear," she said, in her reedy voice. "See how it accentuates this tiny little waist of yours. The hemline will need to come up a little though." She crouched down and experimentally lifted the bottom of the dress to indicate where it would need to be altered. "But take it from me, you'll be a beautiful bride in this one."

"It's not about what we think anyway, boss," said Grace, falling once again into old habits as she still did from time to time. "It's your opinion that counts. What do you think?"

Silence fell, as she scrutinized her reflection in the mirror again. It was a beautiful dress. A little puffier than she'd like but not drastically so. And short as she was, she was never going to find something that wouldn't need altering, so there was no point holding out on that account.

She tried to imagine herself wearing it on her wedding day. Walking down the aisle to see Patrick Jane waiting for her, that big, beautiful smile on his face. And then she saw him freeze, that smile disappear, sorrow in his eyes….

"No," she said, shortly, for the eighth time that afternoon.

A chorus of exasperated sighs greeted this pronouncement, and she glanced up just in time to see Grace and Annabeth exchanging meaningful looks. Phoebe, however, collected herself and smiled at her.

"Never mind," she said airily. "You'll know when it's the right one. Let's get you out of that and into the next one."

Forty-five minutes, and three more rejected dresses later, tempers were beginning to fray. Grace and Annabeth had now taken to conducting whispered conversations that seemed to stop the moment Teresa left the dressing room, and more than once, she'd caught Phoebe rubbing her temple as if praying for patience. Teresa was now feeling like she was ready for a large coffee herself, or failing that, she had the urge to shoot something.

"You know, dear, if you were able to give me some indication of what you were looking for, this process might go a bit easier," said Phoebe, somehow still smiling, but fifteen years of working with a mind reader had taught Teresa a lot about body language and facial expression. She could see past the blonde woman's bright smile and cheeriness to the irritation that was building within.

"I told you," she snapped back, not bothering to hide her own frustration. "I don't know what I'm looking for, and you said that was something we'd be able to find out once I tried on a few."

To her credit, Phoebe kept her temper. "I can only tell you what I think suits you," she said, calmly. "It's your decision in the end." She drew in a deep breath. "Look, why don't I give you ladies a few moments to talk things over," she said. "Anyone for coffee?"

In unison, Grace and Teresa raised their hands, and Phoebe shuffled away, murmuring something under her breath.

"Maybe we should try this again another day," Grace suggested, as with more swishing fabric, Teresa dropped into the chair beside her. "You're starting to get that look you always had at CBI when you were trying to stop yourself from punching Jane in the face."

Teresa chuckled at the memory, and Grace looked relieved. Even Annabeth looked up from her phone again at the sudden release of tension, and asked with avid interest, "Did you ever actually do it?"

"Once or twice," said Teresa, with a smirk. "When he really deserved it. The rest of the time I just yelled."

"Dad says he doesn't understand why you'd want to marry him," said Annabeth, idly. "He thinks you should have stuck with Mark, or whatever his name was."

"Marcus," Teresa corrected firmly, making a mental note to call Tommy at her earliest convenience and blast him for judging her relationship choices when he wasn't exactly a paragon of happy marriage himself. "And like your dad said, he doesn't know the whole story." She rose from the chair. "I'm going to go change. I'm not about to pay for a dress I don't want just because I accidentally spilt coffee on it."

Back in her regular clothes and feeling more like herself than she had all day, Teresa returned to find Phoebe handing round cups of coffee and a glass of iced water for Annabeth. She took her cup with gratitude and took a long swig.

"So," said Phoebe, after a moment. "Any inspiration yet?"

"Nope," she said truthfully, for she was still as confused by the whole process as she had been when they'd first arrived. "Maybe you were right," she said to Grace. "Maybe we should leave it for today. We're no further than we were when we started."

"You're just not in the right headspace," said Phoebe hurriedly, clearly terrified that she'd spent the whole morning with them and might not even get a sale out of it. "You just need to relax. Come on; tell me a bit about your man. What's he like?"

Teresa took another long sip of coffee, playing for time. How was she supposed to explain Jane to a complete stranger? She'd never known a more complex, frustrating man in her whole life, and how could she possibly summarise him in only a few sentences? She'd known him over a decade and was marrying him in three months and even she didn't have him figured out yet.

She started off with the basics. "His name is Patrick," she said. "We met at work."

"A workplace romance," cooed Phoebe. "How lovely."

Teresa exchanged glances with Grace. 'Romance' sure wasn't how she remembered it, at least not until after they'd joined the FBI, and only after he'd finally got his ass into gear after she'd started dating Pike.

'Not exactly," she said instead. "It's actually a very long, very complicated story."

"She won't tell you," piped Annabeth, when Phoebe looked intrigued. "I'm her niece and she hasn't even told me."

"Tell me about him, then," said Phoebe, though she seemed a little disappointed.

"Patrick Jane is…." she cast around for words that could best describe her mostly indescribable fiancé, "He is one of a kind."

"How so?" asked Phoebe. She was used to young brides waxing lyrical about their future husbands, each one insisting that her man was beyond all comparison, but this woman was different. She didn't have that starry-eyed look all the other girls had. Instead, she was frowning slightly, taking the question seriously.

"He lost his first wife and child fifteen years ago," said Teresa. "I didn't know him then, but I know it changed him. He's still sad about it, even when he's being a complete pain in the ass, which is a lot. He can be very secretive, but I know he shares more with me than he does with anyone else, and he can be an absolute jackass, but sometimes he's needed to be, just to get through everything he's had to face. He's brilliant and he knows it, but somehow manages to be totally insecure at the same time." She looked up to see all three of her companions listening keenly; even Grace had never heard her talk about Jane this way. Suddenly she was embarrassed, prattling on about her feelings like a lovesick teenager, so she quickly wrapped it up on what she hoped was a lighter note. "I love him, but he's damn hard work."

There was silence. Grace was smiling at her over the rim of her coffee cup in a way that made her very uncomfortable. It was the kind of smile she saw from Jane all too often: 'I know something you don't know.'

"What?" she asked.

"I always knew you two were made for each other," said Grace, with satisfaction. "Nobody understands him like you do."

"I wouldn't go that far," Teresa said, but Grace shook her head.

"Anyone else would have given up on him after even just one of the things you just said. I know I wouldn't have been able to handle it. You're the only one who can."

"I had to," said Teresa, uncomfortable with this undeserved praise. "He needed somebody on his side."

Grace shrugged, and said no more.

"He sounds a very complicated soul," said Phoebe with the first genuine smile in nearly an hour. "It seems to me that he's very lucky to have found you, dear. She stood up, and collected their empty cups.

"I've got a few more dresses I think you should see."

It was early evening by the time she arrived back at the small house she shared with Jane, after dropping Grace and Annie back at their hotel. In the end, she hadn't ended up purchasing a dress, although she'd been very tempted by the last one Phoebe had shown her, a slim-fitting, vintage number with just a touch of decorative lace here and there.

She'd spent a long time pondering over that one, but ultimately decided to leave it for the day. She'd left the shop empty-handed, but at least somewhere in those last few dresses she'd figured out what had been bothering her all day. She hadn't mentioned it to the others though; it was something she needed to discuss with Jane.

She got the feeling that Phoebe had understood more than she was letting on though, when she passed on the final dress. A certain something passed through the woman's eyes, and she offered to hold it for her for a week in case she changed her mind. She'd accepted the offer, and given Phoebe a generous tip.

She let herself into the house, listening for Jane. He'd said he was going to spend the day in 'quiet contemplation,' which she knew to be code for 'doing things he didn't want her to know about.' She'd only left the house this morning after making him swear on her life that he wasn't doing anything illegal, though she suspected it was probably something to do with the wedding. God only knew what he might be cooking up with Cho and Rigsby, his joint best men.

It was only going to be a small wedding, with only twenty guests in attendance, including Abbot, Fischer and Wylie, her brothers, and Pete and Sam, but that wouldn't stop Jane from planning something dramatic.

She found him asleep on the couch (of course) in front of the TV, the light from the screen dancing across his face. His nose was scrunched up as if he smelled something bad and she wondered what he was dreaming about. She slipped quietly by him into their bedroom, so as to not wake him. She still thought he didn't get nearly enough sleep.

When she emerged from their ensuite bathroom twenty minutes later, it was to find him lying on the bed, fully dressed (shoes and all) with his arms crossed behind his head.

"Get your feet off the bed!" she snapped, by way of greeting. "I only changed the sheets this morning."

"And hello to you too, sweet, loving fiancée of mine," he replied, in a wounded voice, but complied, kicking his shoes off so they fell to the floor with dull thuds.

"Oh, don't give me the kicked puppy routine, you know it doesn't work on me," she said irritably, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.

"Sure it does," he said smugly. "See, I can tell that you're scowling right now because you think I won't notice that you're trying not to smile. You love the kicked puppy routine, but not quite as much as the smouldering man of mystery routine. I'm pretty sure that's your favourite."

"I don't know what's more pathetic," she said, sitting down on the bed beside him and giving him a quick kiss, "the fact that you consciously adopt different personas or the fact that you give them names."

"Kicked puppy was your idea, not mine," came the gleeful reply. He reached over to put an arm around her shoulders and she shifted over into his side. He smelled like his favourite cologne, hair gel, and…was that gunpowder?

"What the hell have you, Cho and Rigsby been doing today?" she asked, suspiciously, ignoring his seemingly innocent expression.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said, planting a quick kiss on her nose. "But not yet. Patience is a virtue, my love. How was the dress shopping?"

"Exhausting."

"Did you find one?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really one for the dresses," she said, remembering her horror when she'd seen herself in the very first one she'd tried. She'd looked like either a toilet brush (Annie's opinion) or a half-baked meringue (her own opinion.) Grace and Phoebe had been slightly more tactful, but they'd also agreed that she could probably do better.

He chuckled, and she could feel the laughter rumbling through his chest. "I told you, don't bother with the dress if you don't want to. I don't care if you turn up exactly the way you look right now, you'll still be beautiful."

"You're such a softie," she scolded, playfully, but nestled a little more into his side. "But seeing as this is the only one of my three engagements that's going to end in an actual marriage, I'd like to do it properly."

His hand began to wander up and down her arm, fingers brushing lightly against her skin, and as always, she felt her body responding to his touch, sending little pleasurable pulses to her brain. Then he pushed her hair aside and started kissing her neck, and she didn't have to be psychic to know what was on his mind. It would be so easy to get lost in the moment, but she still had something to ask him, so she gently pulled away.

His eyes were worried, not offended, and she wondered if he thought she might be about to break their engagement too. She knew he thought about it sometimes, as occasionally he talked in his sleep.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"There's another reason I didn't buy a dress today," she admitted. "And it's selfish, and it's stupid, but I have to know what you think."

"I'm listening."

She reached over and ran a hand through soft, blonde curls, a new habit of hers that she'd picked up just after they'd started dating.

"I tried on a lot of dresses today," she said, "and there were quite a few of them that looked nice but I couldn't bring myself to say yes to any of them, because all I could think about was whether they'd remind you of Angela."

As she'd predicted, he started a little at the mention of his first wife, but he didn't seem angry, or even worse, sad, just confused.

"I know it's stupid," she repeated. "But I got the idea in my head that I might accidentally choose a dress that looked like hers, and I know thinking about her upsets you. I just don't want you to be looking at me and seeing her. Not on our wedding day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wanted to know.

She smiled gently. "Sometimes when you look at me I can tell you're thinking of her," she said, running her fingers through his hair once more, "I know you can't help it, and that you don't mean to, but I can always tell."

He stiffened slightly, but didn't deny it. "How?" he asked instead.

"After a moment you kind of catch yourself doing it, and then look really guilty for a few seconds. It all happens fast, but I know what to look for now."

"You've been paying attention," he said.

"I learned from the best. Look," she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I would never ask you to forget about either of them. The fact that you still love them so much is part of the reason I love you. But I want our wedding day to be about us. Just one day that's just ours, without either of our screwed-up pasts getting in the way. Is that OK?"

He was quiet for a time, digesting all this, and she couldn't help wondering if she might have overstepped the line. Maybe she had. Maybe he wasn't truly ready to let go of the past. Sure, he'd taken his wedding ring off, and put a shiny new one on her finger, but it wasn't like he could just turn off his memories, and what kind of a monster was she to ask him to, even temporarily?

"How long have you been feeling like this?" he asked.

"A few weeks after we got engaged."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Then I'm sorry for making you feel this way," he said. "You are not second-best Teresa. You are the best friend I've ever had in my life. And the only thing I'm going to be thinking about on our wedding day is how in hell I ever convinced you to marry me."

"You won't even be thinking about whatever big stunt I know you've got planned?" she asked, teasingly, now she had finally got the awkward part of the conversation over with.

"There's no stunt," he said unconvincingly. "But if there was, I'd make sure it was all arranged the night before."

"Of course."

He leaned in for a long kiss, which they broke out of with a smile. "How did I convince you to marry me?" he asked, conversationally. "Was it the restaurant I took you to? The ring? My effortless charm?"

"Same way you convinced me to stay in Texas," she said, with a fond smile. "You just had to ask."

She picked up the vintage gown the next day.


In the original version of this, Kate Beckett accompanied Lisbon to the bridal store instead of Annabeth and Van Pelt. I sometimes wonder how that would have turned out, had I actually written it.

Thanks for reading!