He texts her in the taxi the next morning.
Is Lizzie awake? I don't want to ring the doorbell if she's not.
Teresa's response comes a couple minutes later.
She's an early bird. Didn't get that from me, unfortunately.
Patrick feels a pang in his heart at the indirect mention of Teresa's former partner. He wonders, not for the first time, if she'd be willing to let him take a look at the case files he knows she pilfered from the CBI. Maybe he'd notice something, maybe he could help her get closure -
He sighs. He doesn't yet know Teresa well enough to predict how she'd react to such an offer. She may very well be grateful, but he could just as easily see her being affronted by him stepping over a line. Someday, he vows. He'll make sure his skillset appears irresistible to the powers that be at the CBI, land himself a position, and someday get his hands on those case files. He'll help her solve it.
The cab pulls up to Teresa's condo, and Patrick pays the driver before making his way up to the front door. It's an overcast day in Sacramento, but the heat is still oppressive, and he feels a trickle of sweat roll down his back.
There's movement from within the condo before he rings the doorbell; he can hear Lizzie crying and Teresa trying to soothe her. When the door opens, he immediately catches sight of Teresa's tired eyes, and he reaches out to take Lizzie from her.
"She's been up since 4:30 this morning," explains Teresa. "I assume this is normal, but she also didn't sleep for more than a couple hours consecutively at a time."
Patrick steps inside and snuggles Lizzie against his chest. "The joys of parenthood," he says, grinning as Lizzie wails harder. "Hey, now," he says, stepping out of his shoes and looking down at her. "None of that." He rocks his arms and rotates his torso as he moves into the living room, and Teresa sits down on the couch, looking frazzled.
To his amazement, Lizzie begins to quiet down, and Teresa gapes at him, astonished. "How did you do that?" she asks.
Patrick continues the motions. "In addition to being a psychic, I'm also a baby whisperer," he says, flashing an impish smile at her. "Kidding. I saw you do something similar when you were staying at my house. I'm just learning from watching you."
Teresa's Blackberry buzzes at that moment, signaling an incoming text. She reaches for it, then looks up at Patrick. "I called my second in command last night. They're in the middle of a case, and their prime suspect is going to walk in 24 hours if they can't find a reason to hold him. They spent the whole day yesterday digging through his records but couldn't find anything, and they haven't been making headway on the interrogation. Cho's willing to let you tag along with him, if you're up for it."
Patrick glances over at her. "You'll be fine on your own?"
She smiles sadly at him. "I've got to get used to it sometime," she says.
The doorbell rings, and Lizzie squirms in Patrick's arms. Teresa reaches for her. "That'll be Cho," she says, moving to the door. "Just so you know, he's very...well, you'll see."
Teresa opens the door, revealing a dark-haired man of muscular build and average height. His expression is unreadable until he sets eyes on the baby, and then he cracks a smile.
"Hey, boss," he says. "Wow, she's incredible." He reaches up to touch Lizzie's hand. Patrick hangs back, observing.
"Thanks for stopping by, Cho," says Teresa.
"No problem," says the man, and Teresa gestures for him to come inside. "How are you both doing?"
Teresa shuts the door, and they linger in the entryway, fussing over Lizzie.
"Good," says Teresa. "Tired, but good."
Cho reveals a gift-wrapped package from behind his back. "From Rigsby and I," he says.
Teresa looks overwhelmed. "You didn't need to…"
"We know."
Teresa smiles. "You're sweet. Thank you." She takes a deep breath and turns to Patrick. "Cho, this is Patrick Jane. Patrick, meet Kimball Cho. He's an agent on my team."
Patrick steps forward to shake the man's hand. "Pleasure," he says, and Cho nods at him, gripping his hand firmly. Patrick narrows his eyes. "Which gang?" he asks.
Teresa coughs, looking amused, and Cho raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You were a member of a gang as an adolescent, yes? You've gone down the straight and narrow since then, obviously, but it's clear that your childhood was not an easy one."
Cho looks over at Teresa, suspicious. "I didn't tell him that," she says.
"She didn't need to," adds Patrick unnecessarily, rocking forward onto his toes and then back on on his heels.
Cho crosses his arms over his chest, considering. "What's his deal?"
Patrick swallows, uncomfortable.
Teresa steps in. "He's a mentalist," she supplies. "He reads people for a living."
"And you're willing to vouch for him?"
Teresa nods. "Absolutely."
Cho shrugs. "Good enough for me," he says.
"I did a background check on you," says Cho when he starts the ignition and pulls away from the curb.
Patrick looks over at the impassive agent, not terribly surprised. In fact, he'd be more concerned if Teresa's team didn't look into his past.
"Never married, no record of a high school diploma or college degree, millions stored in offshore accounts, and you make your living as a psychic."
Patrick nods. "Sounds about right."
Cho looks over at him. "Sounds suspicious as hell."
"There's no such thing as psychics," Patrick says. "I don't have to believe in them to pretend to be one."
Cho scoffs. "You're not making a winning case for yourself here."
"Noted," says Patrick. "That's why I'm leaving the business," he admits.
Cho must hear something in his tone, because he says, "Tough to be a fake psychic with a conscience."
Patrick raises an eyebrow.
"You think you're the only one who can read people?" asks Cho. "And that reminds me - Lisbon tell you the deal with Elizabeth's father?"
Patrick looks down. "I know general details, yes."
"Lisbon's the best boss I've ever had. This past year she's been to hell and back. You mess with her, I'll make sure you regret it."
"Understood," says Patrick, and they ride the rest of the way in silence.
The elevator doors slide open, and Patrick looks around.
The bullpen is dark but warm, its walls lined with bricks and rooms partitioned with frosted glass. There's an office to his right with Teresa's name on it, but he follows Cho past the office to the bullpen proper.
"Rigsby," says Cho, and a man looks up from his desk where he sits behind a computer. Patrick and Cho approach, and Rigsby stands, towering over both of them. "This is Patrick Jane."
Rigsby extends a hand. "Hey," he says.
"Good to meet you," says Patrick, shaking his hand.
"So you're the mind reader?" says Rigsby, putting his hands in his pockets.
It's a challenge if Patrick's ever heard one.
He grins. "I have access to your innermost thoughts, yes. Right now you're thinking, 'God, I'm sure glad this guy can't actually read minds'. And something about pizza."
Rigsby's jaw drops, and he looks over at Cho. "Dude," he says, impressed.
Cho snorts.
"He's a mentalist, not a psychic," says Cho, clearly amused.
Rigsby nods tightly. "Right, yeah. Of course."
Cho rolls his eyes. "How much did Lisbon tell you about our current case?" he asks Patrick.
"Not much," says Patrick. "She said you needed a confession or something to work off of, and fast."
Rigsby reaches behind him to grab a file off his desk, which he hands to Patrick. "Matthew Yates, thirty-five. We think he killed his fiancee."
"We know he killed his fiancee," says Cho.
Patrick takes the file and flips it open. He snaps it shut a second later, unprepared for the grisly photos of the woman's bloody corpse. He closes his eyes for a second, focusing on his biofeedback techniques. When the feeling of nausea subsides, he opens both file and eyes again.
The woman's limbs are twisted at awkward angles, and her ivory blouse is stained in dark red from what looks like multiple stab wounds. Her clothes are soaked, the ground wet, and Patrick realizes the body had been left in the rain. Her vacant eyes stare at him.
"What was her name?"
"Aileen Johanson."
Patrick takes a deep breath. "Give me half an hour to read the file. Then we'll make him sing."
Two hours later, Patrick sits on the couch in Teresa's office, watching through the blinds as Rigsby finishes processing Yates and Cho picks up the phone to call Teresa.
He can't hear what Teresa's second in command is saying, but he can read Cho's lips.
"Boss, you were right - yeah, we got him." He nods. "We'd been working on him for days, and Jane cracked him in minutes. Where the hell did you find this guy?"
Patrick chuckles.
"Yeah, I'm taking him to meet Minelli. He'll get the offer."
Patrick looks away, smiling softly.
Rigsy drives him back to Teresa's later that afternoon.
"Did Cho threaten you if you try to hurt the boss?"
Patrick tenses. "Yes, he already took care of that."
"Excellent," says Rigsby, looking satisfied. "Just know he won't be alone."
"Touché," says Patrick. He ponders Cho's and Rigsby's warnings, deciding he can probably get some useful information out of the gentle giant beside him. "She must be really something, for both you and Cho to be so intensely protective of her."
"She's stronger than both of us combined," says Rigsby. "And better than us, too. And I don't mean that she's a better cop, though she is."
They pull up to Teresa's condo, and Patrick follows Rigsby up to the door. Rigsby knocks softly, and the door opens soon after, revealing a Teresa who looks like she's had a couple more hours of sleep than when Patrick had last seen her.
"Rigsby," she whispers, clearly happy to see him. "Lizzie's sleeping, but if you want to see her, come on in."
Rigsby steps inside, and Patrick follows him.
"Thanks for the stuffed dinosaur, by the way," says Teresa as she shuts the door behind them. "And tell Cho for me?"
"Of course," Rigsby says quietly.
Patrick waits as Rigsby tiptoes over to the bassinet, peering down at the sleeping infant. "Boss, she's gorgeous."
Teresa beams at him. "Thanks, Rigsby," she says.
"If you need anything, call, all right?" he says, then he excuses himself to get back to work.
After the door closes behind him, Teresa turns to Patrick. "Well?" she says, expectant.
He grins and digs in his pocket, handing his new identification card over to her. She takes it with slightly shaky fingers, and Patrick gets lost in the smile that lights up the entire room.
"Congratulations," she says, stepping toward him. She hesitates for a second, clearly still navigating which boundaries remain intact for their unconventional relationship. But Patrick meets her halfway, and she throws her arms around him.
It's a foreign feeling, belonging, but he thinks he could get used to it.
Teresa steps back, and Patrick can't wipe the ecstatic grin from his face.
"When do you start?"
"One month," he says. "I need some time to get my affairs in order back in Malibu and to find a place here." He shrugs. "It shouldn't be too difficult - I'm planning on downsizing, so I can sell pretty much everything and not worry about moving it."
"If there's anything I can do to help - " begins Teresa.
He knows she'd be willing to help him move, but he doesn't want her lifting anything or traveling so soon after giving birth, especially considering the already lengthy car ride she'd taken to get from Malibu to Sacramento. He says so, and he can see Teresa's face visibly fall.
He studies her, curious.
"You'll go stir crazy here by yourself, won't you?" Patrick's already caving, and he can tell based on her look of relief that she's aware.
"I love Lizzie, but her conversational skills are somewhat lacking," says Teresa, and Patrick chuckles. "And I have a lot of time scheduled for maternity leave."
He holds her gaze, considering.
He's known her for less than a week, but to him it feels like a lifetime. He knows her main support system consists of Rigsby and Cho, both of whom will be working full-time and won't be around much to help her. She's facing an isolated and lonely few weeks, he thinks.
"Pack your bags," he says, giving in. Internally, he's ecstatic, and he immediately tries to mask this before realizing how ridiculous that seems. So, instead, he lets his emotions play out on his face, and Teresa's answering grin is everything.
They start out for Malibu the next morning and arrive by mid-afternoon, an unusual light rain bringing with it a blanket of fog. Patrick drives slowly up the winding road to his home, mindful of the slick roads. Parking the car in the drive, he looks back at Lizzie and then over at Teresa, both of whom are sleeping soundly.
He stills, watching Teresa for a few seconds before reaching over to touch her hand. "We're here," he says in a low voice, and she blinks, disoriented. He smiles at her. "Come on," he says softly, and they make their way inside.
He'd had the foresight to ask his assistant, still in his employ for another month, to order cardboard boxes and packing tape, and he spends a couple happy hours with Teresa and Lizzie that afternoon sorting items in his living room into boxes labeled "to keep" or "to donate". The furniture, he knows, is too large for the apartment size he wants in Sacramento, so he makes arrangements for a local mission center to pick it up at the end of the week.
Teresa is helping him remove books from their shelves when she suddenly become quiet, and Patrick glances over at her. She's holding a small piece of paper in one hand, a worn copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in the other. She's smiling, her expression identical to the one she'd worn when she'd watched him holding Lizzie right before they'd left the hospital.
She looks up. "This is you?" she asks, holding out the paper for him to see. It's not just a paper; it's a photograph, and Patrick steps nearer, looking at it over her shoulder. A young boy with bleach blond hair and bright eyes stares back at him, his smile so wide his eyes appear to squint.
"Guilty as charged," says Patrick.
Teresa grins. "You're precious," she says. She flips through the book. "Do you have any more?"
Patrick shakes his head. "I doubt it," he says. "I'd forgotten I even had that one. My father wasn't big on documenting my existence as a child. I got that picture - and the book - from my aunt."
Teresa tucks the picture back into the novel. She brushes past him, her shoulder bumping his, to set the book in one of the boxes labeled "to keep".
Later, he offers to take her to his favorite restaurant, an old Italian place. It's one of the best kept secrets of Malibu, almost always devoid of the city's usual swarms of tourists. Patrick holds the door open for Teresa, and they step inside the dimly-lit restaurant, eyes adjusting to light mostly provided by candles and string lights lining the ceiling and walls.
"Should we have made a reservation?" asks Teresa anxiously.
Patrick shakes his head. "The owner and I go way back. I helped him quit smoking."
Teresa arches an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you helped him quit?"
He taps his thumbs together as they wait for the hostess to show the couple ahead of them to their seats. "I'm also a hypnotist," Patrick admits, and Teresa gapes at him.
"That actually works?"
Patrick gives her a cocky smile. "If you're good enough. And I am."
The hostess returns, flashing Patrick a killer smile. "Mr. Jane!" she says. "Give us two minutes to clean up your usual table, if that's all right."
"Of course, Cheryl, thank you," says Patrick.
She sends him another grin as she leads them through the restaurant a few minutes later, heading toward a small table in the corner of the room isolated from the other diners. Teresa sets Lizzie's car seat down on the seat and then slides into the booth after, and Patrick sits opposite her.
"You must come here often," remarks Teresa, and there's something in her eyes that looks a little...distant?
Patrick quickly realizes what she's thinking, but before he can say anything, the owner appears at his shoulder, wearing a broad smile.
"Patrick!" he says, his accent still thick despite immigrating from Italy over two decades ago. He turns to Teresa. "And who is the lovely lady? And - " He catches sight of Lizzie. "Carinissima!" he says. "What a darling child."
Patrick smiles. "Teresa, this is Agostino. Agostino, this is my friend Teresa and her daughter, Lizzie."
Agostino reaches over to shake Teresa's hand. "What a pleasure it is, Miss Teresa. You know," he says, his eyes twinkling, "you must be something special. Patrick is always eating here alone, and I must confess our pasta is much improved in the company of others."
Teresa's brow furrows in surprise, and Patrick feels himself blush before he can stop it. Agostino excuses himself, and Patrick takes a sip of water, wondering why his biofeedback tricks are suddenly failing him. He decides to embrace it.
"You are, you know," he says matter of factly, and Teresa looks at him, questioning. "Special," he clarifies.
She's suddenly absorbed with perusing her menu. "Flirt," he swears he hears her say under her breath, and he laughs deeply.
After finishing their tiramisu, which Agostino insists is on the house, Patrick offers to carry Lizzie on their way to the car. He adjusts her blanket and grabs the handle with one hand, and Teresa follows at his other hip. They step out into the night, and he breathes in, smelling the ocean breeze.
There's suddenly a brilliant flash, and Teresa stumbles back, her hand covering her eyes. Patrick groans and reaches for her hand, guiding her along as her vision adjusts. The flashes continue as he opens the door for her then safely attaches Lizzie's seat to the base in the car.
He peels out of the parking lot, feeling sick.
Teresa looks over at him. "Patrick?" she asks.
He frowns. "Must be a slow news day," he says gruffly.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," he says. "I would have warned you, but I've never had to deal with paparazzi at Agostino's before. If I'd known they were going to be here, I wouldn't have suggested we come."
Her lower lip drops slightly, then she closes it, her mouth forming a thin line. "Paparazzi," she says with an expression of disgust, as though the word itself is dirty somehow. He can see her mind whirling as she catches up. "How famous is your psychic business, exactly?"
He sighs. "Only locally. And most days, I can go pretty much anywhere without being recognized because there are usually much bigger stories to be told," he says, gesturing to some of the gigantic homes they are passing by - the homes of movie stars, of artists, of musicians. "But, uh, romance sells," he says quietly, looking over at her apologetically. "Even if they're selling lies rather than the truth. I'm sorry," he says again. "I wasn't thinking. I don't really date, so I've never had to deal with tabloids caring about my personal life."
She's silent the rest of the ride back, and Patrick leaves her be, not wanting to push her any further than she'd already been pushed tonight. He heads to the deck, breathing in sea salt and shrugging out of his jacket.
Eventually, she joins him, the fog from earlier still hanging over them and obscuring the stars. She leaves the sliding door open so they can hear Lizzie if need be.
"I didn't mean to retreat earlier," she says, resting one hand on the railing and turning toward him. He looks over at her from where he's leaning on his forearms. "I was just surprised, that's all." She smiles tentatively. "It's a new experience for me to be chased by paparazzi."
"We might end up on page six tomorrow," he says, sighing. Then he shifts, rotating his shoulders so they are face to face. "I'm sorry. Dealing occasionally with paparazzi is part of the life I chose. I accept that. But it doesn't seem quite fair that others close to me also have to accept that their privacy will be invaded."
Teresa steps forward. "It's okay," she says. "Really. We'll just have to be careful if we're putting you undercover somewhere." She smiles. "Plus, I'm sure there are benefits of being friends with a celebrity, even if he is a relatively minor one." She puts emphasis on the penultimate word, and he nearly chokes on his laughter.
"Trust you to tease me mercilessly on that aspect of it."
"Oh, this is fodder for years of teasing."
He can't help but laugh at the satisfaction in her voice. Then he looks out over the ocean, well aware that she's still watching him with interest.
"You don't date?" she asks tentatively.
Patrick glances over at her. "You don't, either."
"Fair enough," Teresa admits. She hesitates. "Why?"
"Oh so many reasons. I guess maybe because if I let people close to me, they'd find out what I was really like...and then they'd leave. It's easier - it hurts less - if I'm the one who leaves." He ducks his head. "No, my dating history is a string of one-night stands that I couldn't even be bothered with enough to take home."
The words are out before he can stop them, and he's horrified - just like the day they met, his secrets aren't safe around this woman.
But Teresa isn't fazed; rather she leans closer, brushing her arm against his. "My track record isn't any better than yours," she admits. "I was engaged, once, back home in Chicago."
"What happened?"
She shrugs. "Everything. So I ran away."
"You weren't ready."
"No," she agrees. "And then here, with - " It's clear she can't get the name out, so Patrick waits patiently. "I still wasn't ready," she whispers finally. "And that broke his heart."
He covers her hand with his. "You'll be ready someday."
She flips her hand so their palms lie together, then links their fingers. "Someday will be too late."
He tightens his grip on her hand.
