Author's Note: Here's the next installment. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I'm so glad to know I'm not the only one in need of a little sweetness these days. I keep wanting to estimate how long this will be, but after my prediction that In the Cards would be two or three chapters, I've sworn off estimating my muse's stamina!

Chapter 2: Back to Normal

The next morning, Patrick woke briefly when Teresa pushed at him so she could get out of bed. He did his best to prevent it, but soon she was walking across the room saying something about the kids and breakfast. He mumbled something he hoped was appropriate and fell back into exhausted slumber.

When he woke up for real, the apartment was silent and sunlight was creeping around the curtains at an angle that suggested mid morning. "Teresa?" he called. If she had been serious about taking the day off, she should be back from taking the twins to kindergarten by now.

There was no response, so he closed his eyes again with a sigh. He'd looked forward to some time alone with her, but maybe after last night she was sated. He grinned. Even exhausted and emotionally battered, he still had it. Pretty good for a man who had passed his fiftieth birthday, he congratulated himself.

After a few minutes, he decided to fix himself some breakfast and shower. It was only after accomplishing those two things that he realized Teresa had unpacked his suitcase; the bloody shirt soaking in cold water in the sink was a dead giveaway. He threw it out, having no intention of wearing it again, whatever his frugal wife might think.

At least if she had gone to work, Cho would bear the brunt of the interrogation. Unless he saw it coming and threw Rigsby or Stockwell under the bus, in which case he'd really rather tell her himself.

He found his phone on the nightstand and texted her: Where are you? I'm lonely.

Sorry. Budget meeting. Can you pick the kids up? Soccer after school.

Of course. Be home for dinner please.

I'll do my best.

Sometimes it really sucked having a wife who was so dedicated to her job, he decided. On the other hand, he could use the time to grab a nap so he'd be well rested when she got home that night.

mmm

The nap turned out to be a good idea, since he not only had to face questions about his "trip" (as if he'd been on vacation) from the other parents he knew in the pickup line at the private kindergarten the twins attended, but the other parents on their soccer team. Patrick thought it was a little silly to play a game without keeping score, but he could appreciate the value of letting the kids run around for an hour and burn off some energy. Besides, Teresa truly enjoyed going to the games when she was able, though he could tell she was going to take it too seriously when they started to really compete. She was very competitive herself, and she'd probably be more depressed than the kids the first time their team lost.

Victoria managed to kick a bona fide goal, to Patrick's delight. Apparently there had been some mother-daughter bonding on the soccer field while he was away. There was still some work to be done teaching her how to be a gracious winner, however, as her immediate reaction was to look to the sidelines and yell, "Daddy, did you see me? I'm the best one!"

He smiled at her and called, "Great job, sweetheart!"

But when play started again, Victoria went sprawling. Patrick couldn't see whether the other kid had kicked her accidentally or on purpose, but his immediate concern was to reach his crying child. Liam got to her first and gave her a hug, and she grabbed on to him, leaving her father free to examine her ankle. It wasn't broken, but it would definitely bruise.

"You're okay, princess," he soothed her, picking her up and carrying her off the field. "We'll get some ice on it and you'll feel better pretty soon."

"Can I still play?" she sniffed, wiping at her eyes.

"Not today. Next time." One of the other parents handed him an ice pack, and he applied it as gently as he could, forcing himself to calm down. It had probably been an accident, since Victoria wasn't demanding the culprit be punished.

The coach brought the other child, a girl named Selene, over to mutter an apology. Victoria looked at her father for guidance, but the words she spoke were learned from her mother. Teresa always insisted on forgiveness being asked and given between her children when one wronged the other—he surmised it had to do with their religious instruction. So it was natural for Victoria to say, "I forgive you," in response to an apology. Coach Dave smiled, but Selene looked taken aback.

Liam had hovered uncertainly during the exchange. "Are we going home now?"

"Do you want to finish playing?" Patrick asked. Liam wasn't an enthusiastic player, usually running on the edge of the herd, preferring to have as little to do with the ball as possible. Patrick recognized it as a manifestation of his perfectionism—the idea that it was better to avoid the opportunity to make mistakes. He needed to learn to cut loose and make mistakes without beating himself up over them.

Liam looked at the other kids, then at his sister. She said, "Go on. It's your turn to make a goal anyway."

Patrick was surprised that his little diva was being so reasonable, but as Liam ran back to the field, she cuddled up to him and said, "Can I have a Popsicle?"

He had to smile. She had decided to play her injury for some daddy time and a normally forbidden treat—he hated those artificial conglomerations masquerading as food, preferring to freeze real fruit juice when the kids wanted something cool and refreshing. "Okay," he decided. Curbing her manipulative tendencies could wait, after all.

He went to retrieve one of the treats from a nearby cooler, relieved it hadn't been their turn to supply snacks today. He even picked out a blue one, since that was her favorite color, and hurried back to her as another commotion arose on the field. Looking to see what was wrong, he realized the coach was talking to Liam. Uh oh. He was going to feel like the world's worst hypocrite if he had to lecture his son on the evils of revenge. Teresa would no doubt blame him for inspiring it, too.

He handed Victoria the Popsicle and hurried over to the coach as play resumed. "What happened?"

Dave grinned. "He took the ball away, right from under Selene. Smoothest move I've ever seen in this age group. You might have a soccer star there after all, Patrick."

Patrick let out a sigh of relief, looking proudly at his son. Apparently there were some sneaky Jane genes mixed in with all those guileless Lisbon ones, after all.

mmm

The three of them went for ice cream afterward; Patrick figured they'd have a late dinner anyway since Teresa would almost certainly have to work late. And he was right. It was nearly eight when she texted him she was on her way home, just as they were sitting down to a stir fry dinner. It had been a long afternoon and evening, and he was tired. Apparently he needed to recharge some more before he'd be back to his usual super dad status. Since bedtime was usually Teresa's time with the kids, he would be off duty once she got home unless there was an emergency at CBI.

The minute she walked in the door, he knew she'd talked to the team about his bloody shirt. He smiled reassuringly to ease the crease between her eyebrows and said, "Perfect timing, my dear. How was your day?"

"Long. I'm sorry; I did try to get home sooner," she said, taking off her jacket and going to their room to put her gun in the safe. The days when she kept weapons stashed around the apartment in easy reach had ended the moment Victoria started crawling.

"I know," he said when she reappeared. "I never really expected you to, though. We had a big day on the soccer field, didn't we, Victoria?"

"I scored a goal!" she confirmed.

"You did? Good girl! I'm sorry I missed it," Teresa said, immediately diverted.

"Liam did great too. The coach was impressed," Patrick added.

Soccer talk occupied the entire meal, and Patrick wondered if he should start making video of the games for the twins to rehash with their enthusiastic mother. He'd give it a try next week, he resolved.

He cleaned up the dishes while Teresa supervised the bath and bedtime routine, then went about his own bedtime preparations, ducking into Liam's room to kiss both kids goodnight before Teresa read their bedtime story. Usually he lingered in the hallway to listen, enjoying the sounds of his family safe and happy, but tonight he planned to be in bed and feigning sleep when Teresa finished. That would put the inevitable discussion off until tomorrow, when hopefully he would feel more up to it.

Everything went as planned, though he was tempted to reconsider when Teresa turned off the light and snuggled up to him, one arm across his chest and her head resting on his shoulder. She smelled delicious, having used the cucumber and mint facial cleanser he'd bought her at a fancy boutique he'd run across during a witness interview two cases ago. He felt a pang as he realized he'd forgotten to bring her and the kids anything from his trip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shifting her head so she could kiss his cheek.

"For what?" he murmured, surprised. He'd been expecting a lecture.

"For telling you to take the case. I knew it would be hard for you, but I never imagined how terrible it would get." Her arm tightened around him.

Oh, this was worse than a lecture. He hated the guilt in her voice. "You did your job. The case needed my insight."

"I did my job as a supervising agent of the CBI. I failed miserably in my job as your wife."

"No, you didn't. You were wonderfully comforting, and you always made time to talk to me, even when you were being pulled in several different directions."

She kissed his neck. "I should have pulled you off the case when it got too much."

"And how were you supposed to know that? I made sure not to alarm you. And Cho's job was to make sure I was fit to work, not to run to my wife every time I had a bad moment."

He felt her grimace against his chest and realized she'd already talked this out with Cho. But she must have gotten the story from Rigsby if she was this worked up about it. "But it was his job to tell me that the consultant on the case wasn't sleeping and worked himself into such a state that he mistook one of the victims for his own son."

Patrick sighed. "There was a physical resemblance, you know. And...he was still alive when I got there. Barely. Just enough to call me daddy."

Teresa sucked in a shocked breath, her nails digging painfully into his chest. He shifted to slide an arm under her and rub her back to comfort her. "They didn't tell me that."

"I don't think they heard. Cho was calling the ambulance, I think. Rigsby was grabbing a towel to try to stop the bleeding, and Stockwell and Granger were making sure the killer wasn't still there."

She took a minute to construct the scene in her head. Then she whispered in a choked voice, "Why didn't you call me?"

He kissed the top of her head, hating the hurt he heard even worse than the guilt it had replaced. "My love, we both know perfectly well that you would have ordered Cho to put me on the next plane home. And after that I was more determined than ever to catch the bastard. And we did. We found the next boy in time to save him."

"I would have understood that," she said.

"Maybe. But you would have been worried and distracted, and the kids needed you. And, to tell you the truth, I was a little concerned that you might come to see for yourself. And Grace already had her hands full with Ben, Josh, and Emma."

"I would have called Virgil," she murmured. She let out a long sigh and, after a moment, added, "Well, that settles it. No more out of town cases for you. Ever."

"Fine with me," he replied. He wanted to be done with this discussion, so he kissed her again and said, "Good night, Teresa. I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered. "Sweet dreams."

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but after a moment he heard Teresa's breathing hitch and felt a wet spot on his pajama top. With a frown, he reached out to feel her face, then turned onto his side so he could draw her into his arms. "Please don't cry, my darling."

"I shouldn't have sent you there. You already lost one child. To think you'd lost another one, even if it was just for a few minutes—God, Patrick." Her voice was thick with misery. "I can't imagine. How did you bear it?"

"I still had you. No matter what happens, I'll never leave you, Teresa. I promised you that when I married you."

She took a deep breath, calming herself, as he kissed her tears away, blinking back his own. He couldn't bear her sadness; he'd never been able to.

"I'm supposed to be comforting you," she sighed.

"Please feel free," he replied, and felt her huff out a soundless laugh before beginning to unbutton his pajama top. Tired as he was, he wasn't going to pass up a chance to make love with his wife, especially while she was in an emotional state. He did a quick calculation in his head and realized that yes, he'd better take any opportunity she offered, since her period would soon usher in a spell of abstinence.

They knew each other so well that foreplay went quickly, though he slowed things down once he was inside her, wanting to savor the sensation of being enveloped by her, sheltered in her arms and legs with the reassurance of her rapid heartbeat all around him. Teresa tried several times to speed up his rhythm, scratching at his back in frustration when he refused.

"My little sex kitten's in heat, is she?" he teased.

"I'm nobody's kitten, buster," she retorted. "A cheetah, maybe, or a tigress."

"Snow leopard," he panted. "Rarely seen, graceful, and beautiful, adapted to harsh environments."

"Does she smack her mate in the nose when he frustrates the hell out of her?"

"Probably. I suppose it would be pointless to encourage you to treasure the moment?"

She sighed into his ear. "I treasure all my moments with you, Patrick."

He paused to kiss her. "That's one of the best things you have ever said to me." He decided to oblige her by speeding up, and she let out a gasp of surprise that turned into a squeak. He smiled, betting himself he could get her to do it again. He surpassed his own expectations, wringing a strangled shriek from her as she came. Grinning, he was about to let his self-control lapse when he heard a voice call, "Mommy?"

"Shit," Teresa breathed. "Patrick, stop!"

He did, but only with enormous effort. When he heard footsteps in the hall, he rolled off her, breathing hard and gritting his teeth, hoping he didn't give himself an aneurysm. Thankfully, they were under the sheet, so he didn't have to scramble for cover.

"Mommy?" The door was pushed open, and Victoria ran to the bed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie. Go back to bed, please," Teresa replied, managing to sound soothing even though she was still breathing hard. "Go on. Daddy needs to sleep." She raised her voice. "You too, Liam. Everybody back to bed."

Two sets of footsteps scurried away, and two doors closed. Teresa moved quickly to straddle him, and he let himself go, biting his lips to keep from shouting in relief.

"Sorry about that," she whispered, lowering herself to lie beside him. "I let them come in while you were gone if they woke up during the night. I should have realized they'd get in the habit."

He let out a long breath. "It was bound to happen eventually." When he could move again, he rolled onto his side, pushing his face against her breast. "Stay home with me tomorrow."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. I promise."

He would have to content himself with that, he knew. He kissed her breast and yawned, gratefully succumbing to sleep.