Sunlight and White
DISCLAIMER: Everything is with their rightful owners, no money is made of this.
*A/N* I didn't see the new season and I will not. I'm happy for everyone who likes what they're doing, but the show just took a direction that I'm not happy with. If you are, I'm not sure if you will enjoy this.
(Thanks to MichaellaD for the tip with the smileys!)
Inspired by the stories of LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou.
Teresa blinked into the bright sunlight and smiled, her fingers closed around the warm paper mug with fresh coffee. She was filled with a deep, all-consuming feeling of peace, a feeling that she had never expected to feel again. All because of the man sitting next to her right now – and to think she had believed she had lost him forever… Teresa had thought she would not live through the pain of losing him, and perhaps she wouldn't have. But he had come back after all, hadn't he?
He was back and the pain was forgotten – and he loved her, so she wouldn't ever have to remember it, either.
,')
Patrick walked down the long corridor, staring stoically ahead. His steps echoed back and forth between the white tiles of the walls. He could smell the detergent and images of pills and Sophie Miller and red smiley faces flashed in front of his eyes.
He had never wanted to return to America. For all those years, he had maintained this idea that, once Red John was dead, he could turn his back on his homeland, disappear somewhere in the jungle and then the pain would stop.
He wondered if maybe he should stay in the asylum, after all he had been crazy enough to believe that.
,')
She felt her lips curving into a smile as her fingers found the folded paper in her pocket. When she pulled it out, a little white swan rested between her fingers. It looked about ready to take off, and Teresa wouldn't have been surprised if it had – with a pang of nostalgia, she remembered the little paper frog on her desk.
,')
The letter that had summoned him was crumpled between his cold fingers – Jane, I know you don't want to come back, but you're the last chance we got…
As he sat down in a sterile waiting room as advised by a nurse, he smoothed out the letter on his knees, manically stroking the sheet as if he could wipe off those awful words.
,')
"I'll wait for you," the familiar voice whispered and again, she felt happy, so happy it made her head spin, but at the same time, there was a tinge of sadness in it all –
God knew how often that sentence had flashed through her head when she had watched him walk away from her yet again, leaving her behind –
But he had come back.
He was there and all was well.
,')
She sat in a chair by the window, in a simple white linen dress, her dark hair unusually long and loosely braided, a light smile on her lips. She looked like an angel, like a saint.
She looked nothing like Teresa Lisbon, though, and he fought the sudden urge to walk right back out again.
"Will she recognise me at all?" he asked, his voice brittle. He didn't dare to look at the psychiatrist.
The man hesitated for a moment, then replied very softly: "Probably not, sir."
,')
His smiles were brighter than they had been before he'd left, his eyes were bluer now without the golden ring on his finger.
Every now and then, Teresa even dared to hope he would put a ring on her finger one day.
,')
As he stepped closer to her, he felt oddly numb. The look in her eyes, however, felt like a blow to the face – there was nothing there but that serene smile and utter emptiness in her beautiful green eyes.
She could not have looked any more like a corpse to him if she had actually been dead.
,')
The handful of happy memories from their ten year-long hunt were full of the sound of screeching seabirds and breaking waves, tinged by the taste of vanilla ice cream.
Now, they were full of secretive smiles and squeezes of their hands, filled with sunshine and idle talking and light jokes. Teresa was insanely happy and that happiness tasted of coffee and orange blossom ice cream.
,')
"Lisbon?" he murmured, carefully reaching out to touch her shoulder.
She looked up at him, then smiled and returned her eyes to the window pane. He felt his jaw tightening and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he placed his hand on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to take any notice of it.
"Teresa?" he whispered, but got no answer out of her.
,')
"Lisbon?" She slowly opened her eyes, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks when she realised she had fallen asleep at her desk.
"Teresa?"
She smiled up at him and leaned over the desk to meet his lips. "Look how fast you fall back into old habits, Patrick, that's embarrassing."
He grinned at her and put a file on her desk, then stepped over to the glass pane separating the office from the corridor, closing the blinds with a smirk. "We've got a case, but I guess it can wait a moment."
,')
"She lives in her own little world," the psychiatrist explained in a mild voice. "Actually I think that she hears us sometimes, but she never really reacts. Maybe she includes what we say into her hallucinations, I don't know. We used to have her under medication, but she doesn't need it. She's peaceful, just sitting there."
"D'you think she'll ever…"
"She has been in this state for over a year," he answered carefully. "Of course, there's always hope, but…"
Patrick closed his eyes and tried to inhale, but took several attempts until he managed.
"Listen, sir, I… I know it sounds cynical, but… If it's any consolation, she's happy. I think she lives a good, happy life, in… in here," the young man muttered and tapped his temple, threw him a shaky smile and opened the door. "You can stay for a moment if you want."
Patrick stared at him, then nodded numbly and sat down on the window sill, contemplating the serene face of the woman that he had – unintentionally really – given his scarred heart.
He didn't know how long he had sat there before he wiped the tears off his face, got to his feet and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Once more, Teresa raised her head to look at him, and for a moment he thought he could see a faint glimmer of the life that had once sparkled in the emerald depths of her eyes.
Wishful thinking, he thought and shook his head, then he turned and slowly walked away from Teresa Lisbon.
,')
Some nights, Teresa had a strange dream. She was sitting in a bright room on a chair by the window, looking out on a beautiful park. Sometimes it was night, sometimes day; sometimes there was a young man in a white shirt with a soft voice and an accent. If he appeared in her dreams, he always asked how she was, if she was okay, if there was something he could do for her.
Sometimes he asked if she could hear him.
Teresa never replied, why would she, it was a dream after all.
But that night, there was someone else in her dream – she didn't actually see him, just felt someone kissing her skin and heard a familiar voice whispering a hardly audible "goodbye, Teresa". Then she saw someone walking out of her small white room.
Just this once, she suddenly felt the urge to speak, to call after him –
Patrick?
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