A/N: I just want to say a big thank you to all of you who have favourited and are following this story, and to the two reviewers Amy and Guest for your reviews. Your support for this story really means a lot! :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.

It had been half an hour since Patrick had left and Teresa had just made her way to her bedroom to tidy herself up. She opened up her closet to decide on what to wear. Although all she was going to be doing was help him unpack, she decided that she needed to wear something nicer than the sweats she was currently wearing. She picked out a nice pair of black jeans and an ivory colored blouse and after she had put them on she tied her hair up into a ponytail. When she was finished she looked in the mirror and smiled, remembering how Patrick had smiled at her only a few moments ago and suddenly a long forgotten feeling washed over her. She realised that it had been a long time since anyone had smiled at her that way. At that thought, the feeling of butterflies in her stomach was immediately mixed with a tinge of sadness and she turned away from the mirror. She took a long, deep breath and began to tidy up the bedroom and when she was done she went downstairs and began cleaning up her desk. She had realised long ago that this cleaning ritual helped to take her mind of things; thoughts which she knew better than to dwell on. She had accepted long ago that she may never find a truly meaningful relationship again and on most days she was okay with that, she would just get by on the occasional fling, but sometimes the loneliness wouldn't leave her alone and the only way to combat it was to begin her ritual of cleaning. By the time she had finished it was 11:50 and she went to the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee and sat down on her couch. The warm liquid brought a smile back to her face as she glanced at the clock. Patrick would be expecting her in a few minutes. She drank her coffee, quickly checked her appearance in the mirror and then headed out the door.

...….

Patrick was busy putting the finishing touches to the meal when he heard the doorbell ring. Taking off his apron, he looked at the clock on the wall. Right on time! He thought as he made his way to the front door and smiled as he opened it.

"Hi Patrick," Teresa greeted.

"Hi," he began, "hope you're hungry." He said as he stepped aside and let her in.

"Yes, it smells good!" she replied.

Patrick lead her down the hallway and into the small kitchen/dining room. Please sit down, it won't be long." He told her as he pulled out a chair. "You want anything to drink?"

"Some water will be fine." She called out as he walked back to the kitchen counter.

Less than a minute later Patrick came back with a pitcher of water and two plates of grilled salmon, served with potatoes, beans and carrots and dill sauce. Teresa looked at her food and was stunned, "Patrick, you shouldn't have gone to all that trouble. Really, I would have been fine with peanut butter and jelly or something!"

Patrick sat down opposite her and poured water into each of their glasses. "It's no trouble Teresa. We've got a lot of work to get through today, we need to keep our strength up."

Teresa took a bite of the perfectly grilled salmon "this is really good, did you make the sauce yourself?" she asked.

Patrick nodded, "it's nothing really." He shrugged.

Teresa looked at him, noticing that his modest, almost shy behavior now was quite a contrast to how he had presented himself earlier. "Don't sell yourself short," she began, "this is good!"

"Glad you like it," he said, reaching for the water. "So Teresa, how long have you been writing for?" he asked, trying to take the attention off himself.

"About seven years," she replied. "It's just always been something I've wanted to do. It's my passion in life."

"It must be hard at times," Patrick mused.

Teresa nodded, "You could say that; especially lately. Sometimes it just feels like I'm fighting with myself."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Sometimes it's like there's a barrier between what I want to write and what actually comes onto the page. It's almost as if things get lost in translation somewhere between my brain and my fingers!" she looked at him and noticed that he was staring at her, "I don't know if that makes any sense…" she felt her cheeks begin to warm and took a sip of water, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"It makes perfect sense." He assured then paused a beat. "You said before that you had one successful book?"

"Yes, that's right. It was a bit hit, it's how I managed to buy my house. After years of rejection and poor sales from my other books I thought that things would get easier from there..."

"But they didn't" he guessed.

She shook her head, "No. I can't explain it. No matter what I try I just haven't been able to re-create that same degree of success."

Patrick looked at Teresa and it was obvious to him that she was a woman in conflict with herself. It was then that he had an idea."Sounds to me like your muse has gone AWOL!"

Teresa laughed softly, "I guess it has."

"Then," he began, "what you need is a new muse to inspire you!"

"If only they sold them at the store!"

He looked into her emerald-green eyes, "This is your lucky day Teresa."

"Oh really?" she asked, "and why is that exactly?" her tone light, playful.

"I could help you, if you want?"

"You?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded, "I...have some experience in that field. I…." He trailed off, "I could help bring out that inner writer in you. What do you say?"

Teresa was a little taken back by his offer. "Why?"

He shrugged, "I have nothing else to do, you need my help and I think it might be fun!"

"I need your help do I?" she tried to sound annoyed but she couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice.

"Come on," he coaxed, "what do you say? I think we'll work well together!"

She gave him a skeptical look while she thought it over, "hmmm….okay, as long as you don't expect a cut of the profits!"

He put his hand on his heart and feigned offense, "I assure you there is no financial motive my dear!"

Teresa giggled. "Okay," she relented, "but on a trial basis."

"You doubt my abilities?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow in the process.

"Well this is my livelihood we're talking about. I need to know if you're up to the task. A paragraph is one thing but it's different when it's a whole novel!"

"You're questioning my staying power?" he teased and she smiled.

"Well my last muse bailed on me." she reminded him. "Writing's tough. Long nights, slow mornings, are you sure you're up to it?"

"I can assure you my dear that my endurance is legendary. I'm sure that you'll be suitably impressed!"

"I'll bet!" she said quietly.

"Good, then it's settled." He said as he began to get up from the chair and took their empty plates into the kitchen.

...….

Two hours into the unpacking and Teresa was starting to really relax and enjoy his company. The two of them talked like they were old friends. There was one point when she was arranging some books on the bookcase and she had started to sing without realising it and was taken off guard when Patrick joined in. She realised that Patrick had been right when he said he thought they'd work well together, everything was going so smoothly. "You know," he began as he walked up to her carrying a couple of bookends, "I've been thinking about your protagonist's best friend."

"Oh yeah," she turned around to face him, "what about him?"

"I think you should lose him!"

"What? Are you crazy?" she asked, "he's Jason's support mechanism! Without him he would fall apart!"

Patrick put the bookends in their new home on the shelves. "Would you just hear me out? I just think he needs replacing, maybe with someone who isn't so…."

"So what?" she asked, hands on hips.

"So boring. I think he should be a she...and younger, more sassy and sexy…" he stopped when he saw the shocked expression on her face.

"Patrick…" she began, "please, tell me you're kidding!"

Patrick wore a serious expression on his face as he held her gaze, but then a second later it broke off into a playful grin, "yes." he admitted, "I'm joking."

"Patrick!" Teresa said as she playfully tapped his arm.

"Had you going there, didn't I?"

Teresa shook her head as she went in search of another box. "Where are the rest of the books?" She called out from the hallway.

"They should be in one of the boxes on the kitchen counter." He replied.

Teresa nodded as she walked into the kitchen. She glanced around till she saw a lonely box sitting on the counter and walked over to it. She grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut the tape that had sealed it and opened it up. She looked inside but instead of books, this box contained a lot of old memorabilia. Trophies, cards and an old newspaper. Teresa reached in and slowly began to lift one of the trophies when Patrick came up from behind, startling her. "Those are not books Teresa." he told her as he gently took the trophy out of her hands.

"I….I didn't hear you, you made me jump." Her smile faded when she saw the serious look in his eyes.

"I thought we were going to finish off the bookcase?" He said.

Teresa felt her skin begin to prickle as goosebumps began to cover her arms at his tone. It was not quite stern but there was a quiet, eerie quality to it and for the first time since she had met him, she felt a little uneasy. "Sorry, you said to look on the counter...this was the only box here." She explained, swallowing a lump in her throat that had formed as he loomed over her to take the box.

He pulled back, noticing the fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he almost whispered, "I forgot, the books are near the couch. Let's go finish the living room and then I'll make us some tea, okay?"

Teresa nodded and walked back over to the couch to look for the box.

...

Patrick joined her soon afterwards and proceeded to arrange another shelf. Neither of them said anything for the next ten minutes until curiosity got the better of her. "What's with all the trophies?" she asked cautiously as she looked over to him.

He paused in what he was doing and said, "Just some stuff from my childhood." he replied. "I don't like showing it to anyone, it's a little embarrassing."

Teresa looked at him for a moment and then nodded, "Oh, okay. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He told her and then watched as she continued to take the books out and instantly felt sorry for the way he had acted towards her in the kitchen. He hadn't meant to frighten her. He found himself unable to take his eyes off her thereafter, she was going out of her way to help him and he knew he had to try to think of a way to make it up to her.

Teresa said nothing more after that conversation, she was still a little jumpy after the incident in the kitchen. She could not get the look in his eyes out of her head and now Patrick couldn't stop staring at her. She spent The next hour concentrating on what had to be done, doing her best not to make eye contact with him and when they had finished she had politely declined his offer of tea, just wanting to get out of his house. She knew she had somehow offended him by opening that box. There must have been something deeply personal in there, she surmised. She had inadvertently invaded his privacy and now he was mad at her. She mentally berated herself for unintentionally screwing up another promising relationship. She was just about to open the front door when Patrick gently grabbed her shoulder. She jumped at his touch. "Teresa," he said, this time his voice was soft, almost pleading, his face reflecting the same emotion. "Please, stay and have some tea. After all your hard work, you deserve it."

"I'd love to but I can't. I've got to get back to my novel. The damn thing won't write itself, you know."

"I'll come over tomorrow morning, we can get an early start. Relax now?"

She sighed, but relented and the two of them talked about the novel once more as they drank their tea. Teresa then got up and said goodbye and he walked her to the front door. "Ten o'clock sound good to you? I know you writers don't like to get up too early," he joked.

Teresa nodded "that's fine, see you tomorrow Patrick." She said and then went home.

Patrick smiled as he waved to her and then closed the front door. He took a deep breath and then walked over to where he had placed the box. He picked it up and walked over to the kitchen, placing it on the counter again. His hands had begun to shake as he reached into it and pulled out the newspaper. He held it in his hands and stared at it for a moment. A solitary tear escaped his eye and slowly trickled down his face. He frantically wiped it away and then quickly put the newspaper back in the box and sealed the whole thing up again. He took another deep breath and carried the box upstairs and hid it on the top shelf of his closet. Then he sat down on the bed and began to cry.