I do not own the Mentalist characters and I am only playing with them for fun. No copyright infringement is intended, and I receive no financial gain from this.
AN: So, I woke up this morning determined to finish the way overdue next chapter of Shadow of Your Smile. Somewhere between my plot difficulties and the gray day, I stopped, and wrote this instead. The title is from Kurt Elling's wonderful "And We Will Fly". (check it out on youtube)
"Love, let's catch the wind
An evening breath, on naked skin
Out where the sun meets the sea..."
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One year after Jane killed Red John
The gentle ocean breeze tugged at Patrick's hair as he sat at the little café table by the beach. He kicked off his shoes and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the crashing waves lull him as he waited for his eggs to arrive. Another beautiful morning in paradise.
The phone rang and he glanced at Alfredo, who unexpectedly motioned to him. "Jane? Que es para ti," he stated, lifting the battered princess phone receiver into the air.
"Me?" Jane asked, and didn't bother to put on his shoes as he got up and walked behind the bar to take the call.
"Patrick?"
"Yes, hi Franklin."
"You asked me to tell you if someone ever came looking for you. Americans."
"Yes, yes. Is someone here?"
"Yes, a policewoman. From the United States. She arrived late last night. This morning she asked the desk girl if she knew you. Flashed your picture."
"Anything else? Is she FBI?"
"I do not know. But I will try to find out. I think she has just left the hotel to search for you."
"Thank you, Franklin. I appreciate the heads up. The warning," he added, just in case the man didn't know that expression in English.
"No problem, Patrick."
Jane returned the phone on its base and sat back down, lost in thought as Alfredo brought him his eggs and tea. He snarfed them hurriedly – no need to waste perfectly good eggs – and headed back to his little apartment to think.
He sat on his porch and ran over the scenarios in his head. Jane knew he was safe – there was no extradition from this country – but he still felt uneasy. They must have somehow traced his letters to Lisbon. He was sure Sam had been discreet, but the FBI was pretty good at what they did.
He had very little here. A few books, some pottery, some shells. He could leave his apartment - make himself scarce – some of the locals would hide him, if he asked. He was sure of it. Still, that was a silly idea. They could find him, but they couldn't take him back legally, and he didn't think he warranted some sort of black ops team to kidnap him back to the States. If he'd been that important to them, he'd already be gone.
No, he decided, he would just sit here and wait to be found.
Jane didn't have to wait long. Just before noon, there came a knock at his door. He took a deep breath, adjusted his sarong, and squared his shoulders as he pulled the door open.
He was completely unprepared for what he saw. Lisbon. It was Teresa Lisbon. Smiling a little sideways smile. She was dressed in a breezy blouse over a cotton skirt and sandals. Not cop clothes. She was a revelation.
"You can close your mouth now, Jane. Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Yes. Sorry," he sputtered, standing aside so she could enter. He was off balance, unsure of what this meant. "Teresa?"
"I would think you'd still recognize me. It's only been a year," she quipped. "Nice skirt."
Jane blushed in spite of himself. "A friend called from the hotel and said a policewoman was looking for me. I thought…"
"Really? Well, I'm not a police woman any more. I resigned. Do I look like a policewoman?"
"No. Yes. I mean…" He was flustered, and by the sly smile he saw on her face, she was clearly enjoying that fact.
She suddenly became serious. "Have I made a horrible mistake? I got your letters. I thought…"
That's when he realized what was happening. Holy shit. Lisbon had quit her job and come here to be with him! Holy shit.
He launched himself toward her, enveloping her in a huge hug, which she returned in earnest. Then he held her away at arms' length, his hands on her shoulders, just looking at her, still unable to believe it was real.
"Yes, I'm here," she laughed, her voice free and full of joy. "To stay. If that's what you want."
"Yes," he whispered, pulling her to his chest again. "Yes, yes, yes," he repeated over and over with a deep reverence. "I missed you so much." He inhaled the scent of her hair, and he felt like he was home.
"I missed you, too," she breathed in his ear.
He finally let her go, and shook his head in disbelief. This was too good to be true. But here she was. She smiled again and asked, "Aren't you going to show me around?"
"Sure. Yes. It's not much of a place, I guess. " He walked out onto the porch. "Here are my plants, and you can hear the ocean from out here."
She listened carefully, "Yes, I can hear it. Thank you for the shell, by the way. It was beautiful."
"I found it down by the rocks one evening," he said as ducked back into the apartment to continue to the 'tour.' "Here's where I cook, and here's the desk where I write – wrote - the letters."
She ran her hand over the desk surface, and looked up at him. "I loved your letters, Patrick."
Patrick. I'm Patrick now. Hallelujah. She was the same, but different. Softer, lighter. Even more beautiful. And she had come to him.
"Teresa," he breathed, his voice catching with emotion.
She took a step into his personal space, looking up at him. He couldn't resist touching her cheek, and she responded with a smile. Then he slid his hand under her chin, angling her mouth toward his ever so gently, and he kissed Teresa Lisbon. Her lips were warm, softly inviting, and she returned his kiss.
In a moment, their lips parted, and he found her eyes with his. Asking. "Are you sure?"
"Shut up, Patrick, and let me know I've done the right thing."
That was the only encouragement he needed. He kissed her again, deeper, more intensely, and their tongues entwined. Wanting, needing.
Soon she was unbuttoning his shirt, and he responded in turn, pulling her blouse over her head to reveal luscious breasts cupped in a lacy green bra. So beautiful. As he reached to touch her, he noticed her glance at his hands. His ring. She had checked for his ring, which was still there.
He paused, met her eyes, and removed his ring, placing it on the night table. She frowned, but he smiled and nodded his reassurance, leading her gently to his bed.
They made love on and off all day, unable to get enough of each other. They had eleven years to make up for, after all, he supposed. Finally hunger overcame them, and they decided to go out for an early dinner.
Afterward, they strolled on the deserted beach, hand in hand, and when the light got low, they went for a skinny dip in the ocean. They ran laughing from the surf and Patrick pulled her in to a private little cove he had discovered on one of his beach walks. There they made love again, with the taste of salt water on their skin and the sound of the rushing waves crashing nearby.
When they returned to Patrick's apartment, they climbed into his bed, satiated and too exhausted to stay awake any longer. He wrapped his arm around Teresa and pulled her back against his chest, drinking in the ocean scent of her still damp hair. She had come to him, at long last. Now he could be happy again. They could be happy, here together.
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He awoke without opening his eyes, vaguely aware that it must be up in the morning. A smile crept to his face as yesterday's events played over in his head, and his body responded, ready to love this marvelous woman yet again. She was even a more creative and interesting lover than he had imagined, and he had imagined a lot of things, he chucked to himself. Then he rolled onto his side toward the middle of the bed, and opened his eyes.
She wasn't there. Maybe she had gone out for coffee, he reckoned. He didn't have any, after all, and Teresa Lisbon had to have her coffee in the morning. He was pretty sure that would never change.
He sighed a contented sigh. He would just lie here and wait until she returned, and then he would love her even more completely than he had yesterday. He rolled onto his back, ready to close his eyes in a nap. It was still chilly, so he reached down with his left hand to pull up the blanket. That's when he saw it. His wedding ring was still on his hand.
What the…? He sat bolt upright in the bed. No. He looked frantically around the room, desperate to find some evidence that Teresa had been here. He could find nothing.
He sprang out of bed, pulling on his clothes, and ran all the way to the little café by the beach. " Alfredo, may I use your phone?" He pointed at the phone, asking again in Spanish, "Telefono?" and motioned to himself.
"Si," the bartender nodded, his brow furrowed. "Estas bien?" Are you okay?
Jane didn't answer, but quickly dialed Franklin's number at the hotel. "Franklin Morales, por favor." He fidgeted nervously as he waited.
"Hello?" came the young man's voice at last.
"Franklin, did you call me yesterday?"
"No, Patrick."
There was a heavy prolonged silence, as Jane nearly dropped the receiver in shock.
"Patrick? What is the matter?"
"Nothing," Jane said absently. "Nothing, Franklin. Sorry. I was confused. We can talk later."
"Okay, Patrick."
Jane hung up the phone and stood in stunned silence. Then, in a daze, he walked slowly to the bar, and sat down on one of the stools. It had all been a dream. A wonderful, horrible dream.
Alfredo stared at him and asked again, "Estas bien, Mr. Jane?"
"Nunco mejor," Jane mumbled. "Never better," he repeated in English, waving a hand in dismissal. "I'm a touch disappointed that my subconscious stooped to such a cheesy, romance novel level of fantasy, that's all," he replied flippantly, ignoring the ache in his gut.
He glanced out over the ocean so the bartender couldn't see the mist in his eyes. The waves continued to crash again and again against the shore. Unchanged. Beautiful.
Patrick Jane looked down the bar at Roger, and ordered a beer.
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As always, I'd appreciate any comments you have time to leave, be they positive or negative.