A/N: Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/subscribed. You guys rock! :) This chapter takes place very shortly after the events in the first chapter...hope you enjoy! Oh, and because I forgot to mention it in the 1st chapter... I own nothing :)
"I'm not afraid of stopping, this end could be my start.
I wanna live a life and not just play a part.
Goodbye, there's no more magic up my sleeve
Empty lies are in the past
I've tried before but here's the last goodbye."
May 2012
She reached the end of the patio and deposited her shoes on the sun-warmed brick next to his. For a moment she stood, bare toes curled around the edge of the step, simply taking in the view. Whitewashed sand and sparkling blue spanning the horizon.
He always seemed so grand to her, larger than life...but here he sat, arms wrapped around his bent knees, a dark spot on the pale sand. He looked so small, so human in contrast to the vast water spread before him.
She teetered on the edge, rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, arms folded tightly across her chest, unsure whether her appearance here in Malibu would be welcome. She'd followed his instructions yesterday to the letter, done what he'd told her to do; she'd taken the shot, and she was afraid. Afraid now that it was over and done, maybe he'd regret it. He might resent her for it. She didn't want to see that in his eyes when he looked at her, couldn't stand the possibility that her part in the death of Red John might cause him pain.
She lifted her chin and stepped off the patio; she'd never know how he felt about everything if she didn't approach him. She walked with slow and measured steps towards the place where he sat. Her bare feet depressed the sand and it fell to encase her toes with each step, like it was holding her back. But the wind was blowing from behind, pushing her forward, swirling her hair around her face. She stopped just behind his right shoulder and stared down at where her pants dragged across the sand. He was wearing neither jacket nor vest, and his shirt stretched tight along his shoulder blades, the material a few shades lighter than the water spread before them.
They were a frozen tableau against the horizon of sun and sea for unknown minutes, silently looking out over the water.
"I came here to say goodbye."
She looked down at his golden windswept hair, swallowing painfully around the lump his words had lodged in her throat.
"I'm sorry." It was all she said. She wasn't sure what else there was to say. She took a step closer to his seated form, close enough that her pant leg brushed the back of his arm. She was there for him...she wanted him to know. He shifted slightly and curled his arm around her leg, fingers wrapping around her shin, holding onto her like a little boy. He knew. Her fingers reached to graze his hair, and he leaned his head against her thigh.
"It's strange," His voice was thready to her ears, scattered by the wind. "I've kept my promise...well, you kept it for me, really..." A small huff; sardonic laughter. Her fingers tightened in his hair. "It's all over now. What will I do? Where will I go?" A pause. A breath. "Who will I be?"
It was the most revealing thing she'd ever heard him say, even more so than when he'd told her of Sophie Miller and locked rooms. He'd always been defined by something. For the past ten years he'd been defined by Red John...that was over now, and he was lost.
"You get to be you. You get to figure out who you are now." Her fingers loosened and she stroked them through the golden strands. "Not the Boy Wonder, not the Psychic, not the Consultant. Just you. Patrick." It was the first time she'd called him by his given name with any degree of seriousness. He tilted his head back to look up at her, eyes bright, but not overflowing.
"Will you help me, Teresa?"
Her own eyes filled, and a corner of her mouth twitched up in a strange combination of relief and surprise.
"Yes."
He smiled.
