Bring me to life
"You still don't remember?"
He purposely avoided her gaze. "What should I remember?"
"That thing you said in my office – right before we set off for Vegas."
"What did I say?"
She bit her lip and gave him an appraising look. His thumb was still running nervously over the rim of his empty teacup.
"That you loved me. Is it true?"
He shrugged casually. "Don't know."
"Why did you say such a thing then?"
"Don't know." He looked wearier than ever now. "Just freaked out, I guess."
"So you don't actually love me – do you?"
She didn't dare to look into his eyes as she asked that question. Her gaze was fixed on his hands as he put the cup back on its saucer.
(There was the slightest of tremors behind the usual grace of his movements – or was it just her imagination?)
"You're my best friend, Lisbon. I care for you – that's quite obvious."
True or not, that was his final answer. She knew she had to accept it.
"Okay."
"I just hope you're not ready to give up on me yet."
"That's exactly what friends are for, don't you think?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you."
Both of them stood up – momentarily unsure about what to do next.
Before he could change his mind his lips brushed lightly on her cheek and then he was gone.
…
He'd been a fool to think that things could actually get better once he exacted his revenge.
Red John was dead, and yet every time he closed his eyes all he could see was them.
His wife and child. Two lifeless bodies sprawled among bloodstained sheets.
And the mocking red smiley looming on the wall behind them.
Angela's toenails were painted with her own blood. A touch of elegance for him alone.
Charlotte was still clutching her teddy bear – the one he'd bought her for her last birthday.
Every night he prayed the God he didn't believe in that what Kristina Frye had said was actually true.
That his little daughter never woke up. That she didn't know what happened, and wasn't scared – not even for a second.
He wanted to believe that. And yet he couldn't.
Guilt and sorrow would never leave him alone. Not until his own death.
…
There were also nights when he just stared at the darkness around him – and thought of Lisbon.
Of her clear, honest eyes. Her warm smile.
She'd saved him more times than he could actually remember.
It didn't took his observation skills to see how much she cared for him.
She was a woman in a million, that was for sure.
Bosco had been in love with her, and for a reason.
Even a man as bored with life as Mashburn couldn't help noticing how much her damaged intensity was attractive.
Intense and particular, that's what she was. He'd even told her as much.
He never allowed himself to imagine how would it be if he acted on his feelings for her.
The taste of her lips was the one thing he was forbidden now. No matter how much he longed for it.
…
"Why didn't you show up at work today?"
He shrugged once again. That's what he always did nowadays.
"Had things to do."
"Like what? Arranging your sock drawer?"
That made him smile despite himself. "I should really do that."
Her gaze softened all of a sudden. "Patrick, I understand this is not easy for you."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind."
"Just remember that I'm always here. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask."
"That's very sweet. Thank you."
It was clear that he wasn't going to ask for her help though.
She sighed and slowly stepped outside his motel room.
…
She'd barely slept during those six months when he'd been away.
Not to mention the fact that her worries and fears had been chasing her even in her dreams.
She'd been afraid that he'd finally lost it. That he'd given up on life.
Afraid that someone could hurt him – or that he might hurt himself as well.
That the day would come when someone would tell her he'd been found dead in some dark alley.
He said it was all part of his plan. She didn't know what to make of it.
Was it a part of his plan even when he'd slept with that woman? Had he just used Lorelei, or there had been more to it than this?
And what about the thing he'd said before he pretended to shoot her?
Was he really still capable to love someone? Would he allow someone else to love him in return?
His first love had been dead for almost a decade now. Was it true what they say – that true love never dies?
Would Angela hold his heart forever?
Would that be enough for him?
…
It was always dangerous when she let her sense take a backseat to imagination.
When she pictured how would it be if they actually got together.
He would constantly drive her crazy, that was for sure. Perhaps she wouldn't mind.
Why had he to say those two fateful words anyway?
Now she couldn't keep them from playing in her mind – again and again.
Had he enjoyed his night with Lorelei? What was he thinking as he held her into his arms?
Was he pretending to be with his most beloved wife once again?
Was he just seeking the comfort he'd denied himself for so long?
Was it another level of his twisted game of cat and mouse with Red John?
Or was he thinking of… her, maybe?
She didn't know which of these options scared her most.
…
"May I ask you a favor?"
His words came completely out of the blue – leaving her stunned for a moment.
She surely hadn't seen this coming. He was asking for her help at long last.
She couldn't keep a vague sense of elation from running through her veins.
"Sure. What do you want me to do?"
He just took her hand and led her out of her office.
…
Bertram didn't object when Lisbon called him from San Felix Island – warning him that she would be away from work for some time.
He'd probably seen through their sudden disappearance.
All that mattered to him were Jane's skills. He wanted him to be back as soon as possible to his role of a consultant for the CBI.
If that meant that Bertram had to do without one of his senior agents for a week or so – well, so be it.
She just hoped that a week was going to be enough to get Jane back to his old self.
…
"Last time I was here I threw a flower into the ocean for them."
"Did it make you feel better?"
"No."
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He had no strength left to fight her embrace, so he simply surrendered.
Burying his face in the crook of her neck he finally cried his heart out.
Her silent support was exactly what he needed.
He wasn't completely sure that he could do without it from now on.
…
"You should go back to Sacramento. The week is over, and Bertram will get angry if you don't show up at work for much longer."
"I'm not going to leave you here alone, Jane."
"I'm always alone – no matter whether I'm here or anywhere else."
She shook her head. "I'm staying with you."
They both listened for a while to the loud wail of the waves crashing on the shore.
"It's safer if you leave."
"Safer for whom?"
"For both of us, I guess."
"I don't care for safe. Not anymore."
With a single motion she closed the distance between them.
He could swear that her lips tasted like ripe strawberries. Perhaps it was just the new brand of lipstick she'd been using of late.
…
Despite the odd look he'd addressed them, the old priest eventually fell in with their request.
So here they were now, in a modest room of a nondescript hotel close to the sea.
He simply couldn't stop kissing her – heedless of the fact that his own tears threatened to choke him.
She cupped his face with her graceful – but strong – hands.
"Patrick, look at me. We don't need to do this right now. You can take your own time."
His watery eyes stared intently at her.
"I love you, Teresa. And yet I can't forget their slaughtered bodies on that bed."
Her gaze was very gentle as she brushed a stray curl away from his brow and started placing soft kisses at the root of his hair.
"Just close your eyes."
And so he did.
…
When he woke up in the morning – her slender body curled against his own – a warm smile softened his features.
Looked like his stubborn little woman had finally managed to bring him back to life once again.