A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual but the last few days have been very busy for me. Thank you so much to all those who reviewed the last chapter, your support is greatly appreciated and I really hope you like this chapter too! :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Teresa was woken from her slumber by the first rays of the morning sun. She shivered a little, feeling a slight chill creep across her body. Her eyes still closed, she reached for her blanket, but after a few seconds of waving her arm around in a futile attempt to find it, she gave up and decided to just lie back against the pillows. "Ow!" she complained as her head hit something hard. She opened her eyes and saw that she was not in her bed at all. The memories of the previous night soon came flooding back to her and she remembered that she had fallen asleep resting against the wall. Slowly she sat up straight, her back aching a little from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. She played the events of last night over and over again in her head, wondering what had happened to make Patrick so upset. She thought back to the events of yesterday morning, trying to determine if she had inadvertently done something to upset him but she couldn't think of anything. He had been nothing but sweet and funny with her all day and they had had such a good time together. Her heart broke a little at the thought of him sitting on the floor with tears rolling down his face. Picking herself off the floor, she decided that she would try to find out what was wrong and maybe offer to help him; but first she needed to have a shower.
She made her way to the bathroom and turned the shower on. The warm water helped ease her aches away and she found herself conjuring up a plan on how she would bring the subject up. It was not going to be easy, she could tell from his reaction to her looking in that box that he was a private man, so talking about this might be hard for him. She then remembered back to when she was helping him unpack and how he had been snacking on blueberry muffins and an idea came into her head. She would make him a batch of blueberry muffins. It would be a way to thank him for his help and she hoped that it would also put a smile on his face; she loved that smile. Teresa was slightly taken back by these thoughts; she had only spent two days with him and yet she felt as if she had known him a lot longer. She couldn't explain it but she felt strangely drawn to him.
After showering, Teresa went to her closet to put on some clothes, then moved to her dresser, which was near the window and drew back the curtains. She was just about to pick up her hairbrush to brush her hair when something caught her eye. She walked towards the window and looked out. Patrick was talking to Mrs Chan, an elderly woman who lived a few doors away. Teresa watched as he talked to her; he had obviously said something nice, as he had made her smile. He was good at bringing that out of people, she thought, and a little smile broke out on her own face. Patrick then said goodbye to Mrs Chan and walked over to his car, opened the door and got in. Teresa watched as he slowly pulled out of the drive. He's probably gone to run some errands. She thought. They had made plans to meet that afternoon to work on the novel so Teresa had plenty of time to get the baking done. She quickly brushed her hair and walked downstairs and into the kitchen to get to work.
Patrick Jane sat under a shady tree on a wooden bench which sheltered him from the warm Malibu sunshine. He had been there for the last twenty minutes, caught up in his thoughts until a female voice shook him from his reverie. "Patrick." She spoke softly and he stood up and turned to her. "Maria!" he greeted; his voice just as soft, as he hugged her gently and then let her go. "It's been a long time. How are you?"
"Okay I guess. The time has gone so fast."
"I know. I can't believe it's been a year already." He looked down at his shoes then, unable to meet her eyes. "I've been thinking about calling you, to see if you need anything."
"I'm fine Patrick. I have Enrique, he looks after me."
When Patrick looked at her again his eyes had begun to glaze over with unshed tears. "I'm sorry Maria. I should have done more, should have been there when…"
"Patrick, we've been through this..."
"If I'd just listened…"
"Patrick, stop!" she held both of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes, "There was nothing you could have done to change this. It took me a while to realise that."
"You blamed me." He said simply, already knowing the answer.
Maria nodded and whispered, "Yes, at first, but that was before I read his diary. Patrick, you were like the father he never had and you treated him better than his real father ever did. It's not your fault." She soothed, "It's not your fault."
He squeezed her hands and tried to smile, but it turned into a slight grimace instead.
"How long have we known each other Patrick?"
"Ten years." He replied.
"Exactly. Ten years, it's a long time. I know you Patrick. I know your heart. You're a good man."
"Not so good, Maria, not so good. I have been selfish and it has cost us both dearly." He paused, daring to look her in the eyes once more. "And that will stay with me until the day I die."
A short silence swirled between then, each caught up in their own thoughts before Maria spoke, "I tried to visit you yesterday, but your neighbor said you had moved."
Patrick nodded, "I live in Sacramento now. It just got to the point where I had to get away. Make a fresh start."
"That's good Patrick. You need to start living your life again. Meet someone, fall in love."
Patrick smirked at that last part. "I don't think that's such a good idea Maria. Everyone I get close to...well let's just say they're better off without me in their lives." He tried to make a joke of it, laughing it off but his eyes betrayed the pain and sadness behind that statement.
"You've been beating yourself up for almost a year now; it's got to stop!" she paused, "at least tell me you've got a nice apartment, tell me you're not living in and out of crappy motels?"
Patrick rolled his eyes, "It's a house, semi-detached in a nice neighborhood."
Maria nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Maybe I'll come visit sometime, once you've settled in?"
Patrick smiled his first genuine smile since he arrived there. "I would love that."
Maria smiled back. "and get yourself a job!" she told him, "a proper one." She put her hands on his shoulders, "Seriously Patrick; please look after yourself, if not for me then for him, he would have wanted that."
Patrick's eyes followed hers until both their gazes rested upon a grey slab standing vertically in the grass. Patrick read the inscription on it for the seventh time since he arrived, finally allowing a single tear to fall softly down his cheek. Here lies Alejandro Sanchez, beloved son. 1995-2012. "Yes," he whispered, "he would."
It was now nearly 3pm. Teresa had been baking for the last four hours and she was beginning to feel the frustration creep into her good mood. She stood in the middle of her kitchen and stared at the mess on the counter tops, finally letting out a growl. Just then the oven timer sounded. Teresa moved quickly towards the stove, opened the oven door and took out the third batch of muffins that she had made, simultaneously smiling in satisfaction and sighing in relief. "Perfect!" she told herself. She carefully carried them across the room and set them down beside the previous two failed attempts. "Who knew making muffins could be so hard?" After washing the batter from her hands, face and hair she moved towards the bedroom window but was disappointed to find that Patrick's car still wasn't in his drive. She sighed, wondering where he was. She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was a quarter to four and Patrick said he would come by in fifteen minutes. Where is he? She wondered as she made her way downstairs again.
It was six thirty when Teresa finally gave up hope that he would come by and had reluctantly set to work on her novel. She sat at her desk, staring at the flower that Patrick had given her the day before. Her eyes roamed up the burgundy vase and rested on the petals. "Inspiration from nature." she told herself quietly, remembering Patrick's advice. "Okay flower, hit me." She focused on it desperately, as if she were trying to read its thoughts but when inspiration didn't come, she gave up and sat back in her chair, annoyed. "Nice one Teresa, he's got you acting like an idiot!"
The hours seemed to drag on as Teresa tried to type. She had written a decent a few decent pages but they were nothing like the ones Patrick had inspired her to write. The growling of her stomach finally told her it was time to stop. She glanced at the clock on her laptop; ten thirty eight. She was sure that Patrick still hadn't come home and she was starting to becoming a little concerned. She walked into her living room and looked out of the window and her eyes confirmed her suspicions. She picked up her cell phone from the coffee table and dialed Grace. "Hey Teresa, what's up?" her friend asked upon answering.
"Grace, he's not back yet and after what happened last night I'm starting to get a little worried!"
"Wait, slow down, who's not back yet?"
"Patrick!"
"Oh," said Grace who had finally caught up, "your new neighbor?"
"Yes,"
"What happened last night?" she asked suggestively.
"No, Grace this isn't about sex!" she took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I heard him through my bedroom wall last night, he was crying. He sounded like he was really upset over something and this morning he left and he hasn't come back yet."
"Maybe he's just visiting someone?"
"We were supposed to work on the novel today, he was really enthusiastic about it yesterday, I don't think he would just not turn up without letting me know."
Grace pondered for a moment, "Why was he crying?"
"I don't know. I also heard him smashing something and then I think he hit the wall with his fist….Grace, you don't think he's gone and done something stupid?"
"You mean like...hurt himself?"
"I don't know, I mean yes, I mean….oh Grace, I hope he's okay."
"You sound like you really care about him."
"I'm concerned that he was upset. He's a nice guy, I don't want anything to happen to him." Teresa replied.
"No, no I know you Teresa, this is more than that. You're falling for him, aren't you?"
"No I'm not!"
"Hmmm if you say so. Look, just wait until the morning, I'm sure he'll be back and you would have been worried for nothing."
Teresa frowned, "You think?"
"If he was suicidal I'm sure he wouldn't have offered to help you or try to be your friend in the first place. He would have probably kept to himself and he certainly wouldn't have just bought a new house!"
"Hmmm...when you put it that way…I guess I am overreacting." She relented.
"Cos you care about him."
"As a friend."
"Teresa's got a little crush!" Grace teased.
"You are such a child sometimes!"
"Awww, come on, you know I'm happy for you. After everything you've been through, you deserve some happiness."
Teresa smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks Grace."
"Anytime. Look I gotta go, how about we meet for coffee when I get back?"
"Sure Grace, that'll be great." She then hung up the phone and went into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich and after she finished eat she went upstairs and began to get ready for bed. She was sitting on her bed brushing her hair when she heard a car pull up outside and almost ran to the window. Relief washed over her when she saw Patrick's car back in the drive. She watched as he got out, noticing that he looked tired, a sad expression playing upon his face. When he went inside the house Teresa slowly moved away from the window and sat on her bed. She wanted to go over and see if he was alright but one look at the clock told her that it was way too late to be visiting. She told herself that she would definitely go over tomorrow, but then mentally chastised herself. It's none of your business Teresa. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong! She remembered how upset he had become with her for looking in that box. But what if he needs someone to talk to?
This inner conflict rang through her head as she made her way to the bathroom but stopped en route upon hearing a noise outside. She went to look out the window of her spare bedroom and saw Patrick sitting at his patio table in the dark, drinking. Hiding behind the curtains she silently watched as he drank shot after shot of scotch, the look on his face one of utter despair. The sight was heartbreaking but she could not look away. Who was this man and what had happened to him? All Teresa knew was that he had captured her interest like no one else had ever done. He had come into her life without warning, like a ghost, and in the few days she had known him he had brought her imagination to life; ignited the fire of her creativity. She tried to reconcile the almost playful side he showed to her and the broken man before her eyes and found herself being moved deeply. Slowly she walked away from the window and went downstairs, but quickly returned, laptop in hand. Once more she turned towards the window and gazed at her new friend. His golden hair shimmering in the moonlight was a stark contrast to the shadows on his face. The man was a study in contradictions. Two different sides so perfectly melded together; so melancholic and yet so beautifully poetic. Feeling a flood of inspiration flow through her, she decided to put aside the novel she had been working on and started a new one. She looked at the screen as her fingers typed the title; My Phantom Muse.