He poured the wine into two glasses. They took them outside.

"Do you worry about what the future holds?" she said.

"Right now, sitting on this porch, with you? No."

"Me neither. I used to, constantly."

"When did you stop?"

"About a second before I stood up to follow you off that plane."

"Ah. What did you worry about, before?"

"I don't know really. It seems like a long time ago. It was just this sort of constant, background noise of doubting myself.' She took a sip. 'Not when I was on a case."

"No. You don't second-guess yourself at work. I noticed that the day I met you."

"Nights were OK. I had my routines. Weekends and holidays were the worst."

"Too true." He swirled his glass.

"Really? You too? Color me surprised. The great Patrick Jane doesn't do self-doubt, I thought."

"Sarcasm, Teresa. Ouch."

She winced. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm listening."

He took a breath and spoke quickly. "The island. I don't think I had a moment's real peace for two years. It was soothing, in some respects. The quiet, the solitude, the lack of seasons. The isolation was good for me in some ways. I wasn't bored, did some healing I guess. I didn't doubt what got me there. But every day I thought about how I might get to see you again." He smiled a triumphant smile. The habit of telling the truth was a new one. He glanced across at her to check if she believed him, then away, tuning in to her breathing and enjoying the sensation of completing a bit of work on the old neurological pathways.

She was silent for longer than he expected and he looked across again, surprising a tear sparkling at the end of one her lashes. She dropped her lids and the tear fell. He took her hand. "Patrick. I wish I'd known."

"Yeah?" It hurt to see her hurting, even though he was sure there was a smidgen of womanly satisfaction in there somewhere. He tried something, stroking her palm so she would know he was joking. "Would it have stopped your pining for me and going into a general decline up there in Washington?"

She pulled her hand free. "Hey!"

"Ouch again. That one hurt. Whoever said that thing about sticks and stones had never met you, sweetheart."

"You'll live." She took a slug of wine and rested her head on his shoulder. Sensing she hadn't finished sharing confidences, he prodded the bruise.

"What about when you were with Marcus? I thought you guys had the future all figured out." Yes. If he were honest with himself, he wanted information and was still a bit vindictive and pissed off at being ambushed by Pike earlier. Teresa sat up.

"Oh. So, the big guns are coming out." The next swift sip was to hide the tremble of her lip, but he caught it anyway.

"My turn to be sorry."

She turned and faced him head on. "It's OK. I want to tell you, but I'm not sure what I think even now."

"Never mind thinking. How did you feel?"

"When I was with him? Restless. Frustrated, mostly." OK. This was good. He nodded at her to go on. "The noise got louder, if anything. I felt short of breath around him, clumsy. Like I'd forgotten how to be." Now he just felt sad. He wanted to take her hand again, but this wasn't the right moment for comfort. She was ripping off a bandaid and it wasn't his place to help. He tilted his head again. "I lost myself there for a while." He kept his expression neutral, composed. "It wasn't him, Patrick, it was me. Marcus didn't do anything wrong."

He didn't try to cover his disgust. "Right."

"He didn't. He just knew what he wanted. And I thought it was what I wanted, but I wasn't as sure as him."

"He wanted you to fall in step." Lowering his voice, he muttered, "Asshole." It relieved his feelings somewhat. She gasped, then giggled like Charlotte would have. He didn't curse often in her presence. She pursed her lips, considering. Christ, she was beautiful. He wanted to bite them.

"Maybe you're right. He did say I was a, quote, tough date."

Fuck this guy. "Asshole." The relief wasn't as great this time around. She made a little, adorable face.

"You said that once already." He took both her hands and squeezed. Fixing his eyes in turn on her clear, green eyes, the crinkle between her brows, her lips, he sought with each look and gesture to convey the depth of his feelings and sincerity of his words.

"I want you to know how great you are to be around. You're strong, you're principled. You're always you." The tears welled again.

"I am when I'm with you," she said.

"You make me believe I have a chance at being a decent human being."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "You're a fine person. You're not perfect, and neither am I."

"I love you."

"And I love you."

"Perfect for one another, hey?"

"Damn straight." He grinned. Wise as well as beautiful. He knew how to pick them.

"Time for bed?" He stood up, swaying a little with exhaustion, or horniness, maybe a little of both. She drained the dregs and held out the glass for him to take.

"Right behind you."