Shout-Outs: Frogster, Marcia Santos, .x, Nerwen Aldarion, rlozo85, Mentalgal, chymom, Inesfb, edwardfiend, Mlee M's, AngryLittlePrincess, Jane Doe51, and Dempeo4ever81

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

For Leah

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Chapter 7 Comfort & Joy

"Where is she?" Patrick asked as he came into the kitchen, still clad in his navy blue pea coat and plaid scarf.

"She's still at home," May answered, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "I don't know if they're going to come tonight. Things have been difficult since Ruth passed—"

"I'm going over there," Patrick said, turning around and making a move to leave.

"Patrick, I wouldn't do that if I were you!" May started.

"She needs me, Mrs. Minelli. She's always there for me when I need her, it's my turn. Just let me go, I'll be back later."

"Be careful Patrick," May pleaded.

Patrick gave her an odd look. "I will be Mrs. Minelli. Don't worry. I'll just run over and get them and be right back. Okay?"

"Patrick—" Amy started, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Patrick laughed. "It'll be okay Aunt Amy. I'll be right back."

Amy exchanged anxious looks with May and then relinquished her hold on him. "Okay, but please be careful."

"Why is everybody telling me to be careful?" Patrick asked looking between May and Amy, his frown deepening. "What's wrong?"

Amy sighed. "Oh Patrick."

"Is something the matter with Teresa?" He asked, his pulse skipping a beat.

"We're not sure," Amy answered. "We think—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence; Patrick had left the house through the back door and was running across the yard as fast as he could.

He didn't stop running until he got to her house, he knocked on the door, his heart beating even faster than before. All of the worst case scenarios were playing in his head while he waited for her to answer the door, and then she did. His heart gave a great lurch of relief and he pulled her into his arms without saying anything.

She buried her head in his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "You're here. I can't believe you're here."

"I was so worried Reese, my aunt and Mrs. Minelli said. . ." he trailed off and took her in, brushing her hair away from her face. "How are you Reese? How are you really?"

She sighed. "I'm okay, I guess."

Patrick shook his head. "No you're not. I can tell you're not okay."

"My mom died," Teresa answered, her voice sounded hallow to her own ears. "My mom died and now I have to try and figure things out by myself. Dad hasn't been much help since the funeral and my brothers are scared. I have to be strong Patrick, if I'm not then everything's going to fall apart. I just know it will."

Patrick hugged her again. "Oh Teresa. . . I wish I could be here for you all the time, you're too young to carry this all by yourself."

"Maybe it's a good thing you're not here all the time," Teresa replied, pulling away and pushing her hair away from her face.

Patrick felt a chill. "Teresa, is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No," Teresa said defensively. "Not really."

"I've gotten really good at reading people," Patrick told her. "I can tell when somebody's lying. And everything about you screams that you're hiding something from me."

Teresa stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around her waist defensively. "It's nothing Patrick, I swear! Let's just go to the Minelli's for Christmas Eve dinner, okay?"

"Teresa—"

"I'm going to get my brothers," Teresa said. "Just wait here, okay?"

Patrick sighed, slightly exasperated by her distance. "Okay."

A few minutes later, she was back with her siblings in tow. "We have to be back before midnight. That's the time my father should be getting home from wherever he's hiding out today. We need to be in bed before. . ." she trailed off. "Come on boys, we're going to have dinner at Aunt May and Uncle Virgil's house, okay?"

"Okay Reese," James agreed, adjusting his scarf. "Hi Patrick."

"Hi Jimmy," Patrick replied, smiling at the younger boy and messing up his dark hair. "How are you?"

Jimmy sighed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm okay," Patrick answered, finding Teresa's eyes over his head. "Come on, I think dinner's almost ready at the Minelli's house. Why don't we get going before we miss the blessing?"

He escorted the young Lisbon family across the street. When they were safely in the Minelli home, he helped Teresa get her brothers out of their coats and situated at the kid's table. The whole time he kept watching her, looking for some insight into the secret she was keeping. And then it hit him when she pushed her hair away from her face slightly, there was a man-sized handprint creeping out of her turtleneck.

His stomach dropped and suddenly he wished he didn't know the awful truth. He turned around and took a deep breath to compose himself. He couldn't let her know what he'd seen, if she found out then she might just wind up pushing him away.

"Patrick?" She asked, interrupting his train of thought. "Is everything okay?"

He turned around and pasted on the smile that he only used for marks. "Everything's just fine, I'm starving. What about you?"

Teresa shrugged. "I'm a little hungry, I guess."

"Good," Patrick said, pulling a chair out for her and ushering her into it. "You just wait here, save my seat and I'll be right back."

"Thanks," Teresa answered, watching him disappear into the kitchen. She pulled her turtleneck collar up a little higher and prayed nobody would notice how tired she looked, like her teacher had before school had let out for Christmas break.

She didn't think she could handle anymore speculation. She knew that she couldn't handle anybody knowing the truth about what really happened after her father came home, drunk and crazy with grief. If it hadn't been for Patrick, she wouldn't have shown up at all tonight. Their friends would have understood their absence. . . they would have written it off as grief, as it being too soon to celebrate the holidays. They would have tried to check in on them before the New Year had rolled around and that would have been the end of it.

For the first time since she'd laid eyes on Patrick Jane, she wished she had never met him. As soon as she thought it, she pushed the thought away. She didn't know what she would have done without him or his postcards, or his weekly calls after her mother had died. On her worst days, she looked through all her postcards and thought that maybe all those years ago, God had known what He was doing by bringing the beautiful, young blonde boy into her life.

He returned a few minutes later, balancing a couple of plates in hands. "Here you go, your dinner my lady."

Teresa smiled at him and pushed her hair away from her face again. "Thank you."

He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "You're welcome."

He plopped down in the seat beside her and watched her as she pushed her fork through the mashed potatoes, sampled a small bite, and then put the fork down.

"I thought you were hungry," he said.

"Not really," Teresa answered.

"You look so sad," Patrick whispered so the kids around them wouldn't hear what he was saying. He touched her cheek, her hair. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Bring her back, stop my dad from attacking my brothers. . . from attacking me.

But she didn't voice any of her thoughts to him; instead she forced herself to widen her smile. "You're here, that's enough for now," she lied with the practiced ease she had developed since the abuse had first started, since her mother had been killed by a drunk driver.

Patrick nodded, not letting on for a second that he knew she wasn't being truthful with him.

.

He walked them home way before midnight.

Teresa let the boys into the house and then stood with Patrick on the porch for a few minutes, chatting with him quietly. There was a different feeling between them now; they were both too old before their time. At fifteen, he was a conman in the making, selling his soul just so he could have dinner. At twelve, she had been thrust into the role of motherhood, of teaching and molding three young boys into mature men.

Patrick suddenly wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take off running to a simpler time, a simpler place. But he knew it was impossible, that wishing wouldn't get them anywhere. So, he hugged her and bid her goodnight, wished her a Merry Christmas and trudged back to the Minelli's house, a little more tired than he had been before the night had started out.

TBC. . .

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Author's Note:

First of all, you can thank or blame AngryLittlePrincess for this chapter. Second of all, I'm not sure about this. It was completely risky to write it, and it is probably really angsty for a Christmas story. And I am sorry about that, I hope you enjoyed it all the same. I'm off to work on a chapter for this monster. Tell me what you think below! Christmas cookies for everybody who does!

Love,

Holly, 12/10/2013_