It was a beautiful celebratory evening, and not just for the Abbotts. It felt right to be there together, as a team, celebrating our victory over that corrupt Peterson. I'm really going to miss Abbott. He's a good man; I understand why he did what he did in Rio Bravo. And Cho's promotion was the icing on the cake tonight. He deserves it.

But the biggest surprise of the evening? Teresa asked me to dance with her in plain sight of our team. And then actually went ahead and did it! When she took my hand as we walked to the dance floor, I couldn't have loved her more at that moment. My only regret was that each song was to a fast beat-I longed to draw her close to me, her head resting against me, her body in synchronicity with mine.

When the band wrapped at the end of the evening, Teresa and I had danced more than the two negotiated dances. We literally danced in a bubble of our own, the other team members looking in on us. If anyone had dared try to cut in, I would not have noticed. So we danced and danced and danced...and best of all, my Teresa seemed so very happy. Every time I thought we were done, she'd look at me with that coy smile, head slightly tilted with come-hither eyes, and pull me back onto the dance floor with her.

I could not deny her. I simply cannot resist giving her what she wants. She deserves every happiness. It's why I keep giving in to her request to live in the moment, to ignore the danger her job places her in.

But keeping her happy means I am going against myself. I cannot ignore the danger she faces. It's what keeps me out of our bed at night.

Later, driving home from our celebration, I looked over at Teresa. She still was in another world-carried away, I suspect, by the dancing, the music and the alcohol, and certainly by the freedom of somewhat outing us to the rest of the team. I wonder what she'll be like in the office tomorrow.

In the car, she kept giggling, rubbing up against me. I love that I get to see and hear that giggle, her girlie side. It was not something I was really familiar with before we got together. I love it almost as much as her sexy side. Almost. The only thing that beats being the object of her sexual attention is seeing the look of love on her face. I am so lucky to have been given this second chance.

Twice on the way home, I had to remove her hand from my lap, reminding her that I needed to get us home safely. A few weeks ago, I would definitely have let my hormones take over, no questions asked, and happily participated. I might have even pulled the car over to a secluded lot. But now, I am wholly consumed by anxiety and fear.

This night, like many a night since we returned from Chicago, I cannot sleep, and I fear that my night has only just begun and will be a very long one. Teresa, however, is already fast asleep, curled up in our bed. Teresa simply isn't hearing what I'm trying to say, trying to tell her. I don't want her to fall on her sword, not at all. Unlike her suggestion, I'm definitely not jealous of her job, though I admit I find it difficult to understand how someone can be so devoted to a job.

Especially a job that could so easily end her life.

Let's face it, being a cop has not been the best thing for Lisbon. I wish she'd take a close, honest look at this. The law enforcement career that she loves so much has repeatedly abandoned and betrayed her, after all. It dumped her and tossed her aside after Red John. She had to settle for a job far beneath her abilities and interests. And the FBI job? That was my doing, and it's turning into my biggest nightmare. She was safer in Washington, safer at the CBI, safer without me. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to her.

I know that I'm the common denominator here. If something happens to her while she's with the FBI, it will be my fault. And the fear of that happening has gripped me by the throat. I feel paralyzed by my fear, since it won't be the first time that I was the trigger for the death of a loved one. If I hadn't gone on that TV show, if I hadn't parlayed my psychic status to working with the LAPD, Angela and Charlotte would still be alive. And now, it's the same situation.

But how do I get Teresa to listen? To truly understand? She's seen the crime scene photos. She knows exactly what that murdering bastard did to my girls. I saw the photos in the police and CBI files-and she's seen them many, many times. It was MY fault. And now, since she's only at the FBI because of me, if something happens to her, it will be my fault again. And I don't know that I can survive that.

Teresa says nothing bad will happen. My perfect little family and I had no reason to suspect that anyone would cause us violence. And yet it happened to us. If it could happen in our situation, I imagine how much more likely it is to happen to a law enforcement person who puts herself in the line of fire.

I still have nightmares imagining the terror Angela must have felt. To know that our daughter was being slaughtered and she couldn't do anything about it. She loved our daughter so much; she was the most perfect mother. As their lives slipped away, how she must have hated and despised me-I should have protected them.

But I failed them. I've got a second chance now, and I can't fail Teresa. This time, I will not fail. The next time a bullet flies by Teresa, it may not merely graze her jacket. I need to find a way to show her that her world can be more than this danger she embraces.

Teresa and I have to work this out. We must. Two lives depend on it: hers, and mine.