Patrick is awoken the next morning by the sound of babbling from the baby monitor. Teresa's eyes flash open, her mother bear instincts on high alert, but he reaches over to pull the comforter back up around her shoulders. "I got it," he whispers, and he rolls out of bed.

He pads into the guest bedroom, where Lizzie lays in her bassinet. She's stretching her legs and kicking happily when he approaches, and when he looks down at her, something in the infant's expression changes.

"Do you remember me?" he asks tentatively, lifting her and cradling her against his chest.

Lizzie's tiny fingers immediately reach up to him, and he holds her wide-eyed gaze. He raises her slightly so he can kiss her cheek; as he does so, Lizzie's hand brushes his forehead then grabs a small fistful of his hair.

She giggles.

"You can laugh now?" he says in awe, and Lizzie just smiles at him, a knowing intelligence in her gaze. She tugs at one of his curls again and resumes babbling, as though she's trying to catch him up on everything he's missed over the past several weeks.

Patrick returns her grin and coos back at her. He carries her to the living room, where he finds fresh diapers. He's never actually changed Lizzie's diaper before, but he's watched Teresa as she'd done so more times than he can remember. The movements come naturally despite the weeks that have passed, and he cradles Lizzie once more, returning to the master bedroom.

Teresa lifts her head. "Hey," she says.

Lizzie grabs more of Patrick's hair and giggles again. Patrick just beams.

"She likes your curls," notes Teresa.

"Like mother, like daughter," says Patrick, sliding into bed again. Teresa folds the comforter over his legs, letting her arm fall across his waist as her head returns to the pillow. Patrick leans against the headboard. "Do you...do you think she knows me?" he whispers.

He feels a light pressure as Teresa's arm tightens around his torso.

"Infants are better at recognizing faces than adults are," she says softly, burrowing in closer to him. "So to answer your question - "

Patrick tears his gaze from Lizzie to glance down at her mother. With her eyes closed and a tender smile on her lips, she looks at home.

"Without a doubt," finishes Teresa.


Patrick watches from the bullpen as Teresa steps out of the elevator and is immediately greeted enthusiastically by several agents waiting for the lift. Teresa smiles bashfully, returning their greetings. She heads next toward her team, and Patrick follows Rigsby and Cho in flocking toward her.

Rigsby clearly surprises her by enveloping her in a bear hug; Teresa recovers quickly and leans into his embrace. She hugs Cho more quickly but no less earnestly. Patrick is last, and it takes tremendous effort to pull back from her after a few seconds.

"I missed you guys," says Teresa, giving them each a smile.

"Glad you're back, Boss," says Cho.

Rigsby says, "Want us to brief you on the open cases?"

Teresa looks over at Patrick. "Any developments since this past weekend? Patrick has been keeping me informed of progress."

Cho shakes his head. "Nothing yet."

"But if you want to look at the case files, they're on your desk," supplies Rigsby.

"Thanks, guys," she says. "You still pouring over evidence for the Backman case?"

"We've hit a dead end, so to speak," admits Patrick. "We're hoping you'll see something we missed."

Teresa nods. "I'll look over that file first."

Cho and Rigsby head back to their desks, and Teresa catches Patrick's eye. She smiles at him, so quickly he would have missed it if he'd blinked, and turns on her heel to head to her office.

Patrick follows.

As she settles in behind her desk, he reaches into his jacket pocket and places an origami frog on her desk. She raises an eyebrow, the phone rings, and she fails to smother a smile as she answers.

"Lisbon," she says. Indistinct words float back in response. "Yes, text me the address." She hangs up the phone. "We're up."

The frog leaps, and so does Teresa. "Damn it, Jane," she curses, and he grins at her use of his last name.

He's fairly certain it won't be the last time she uses it.


An hour later, she finds him dry heaving behind her standard issue SUV just outside the crime scene.

"Patrick?" she asks, laying a hand on his back.

He's leaning over, his hands on his knees, trying to keep it together. He's not particularly successful.

He wipes saliva from his mouth, and Teresa guides him to sit on the bumper of the car. "I'll get you some water." She disappears for a few seconds and returns with her water bottle. She raises it to his lips, and he drinks tentatively, wondering if he'll be able to keep the liquid down.

Still breathing heavily, he leans against the back door of the SUV. Teresa brushes his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm making a really great impression on your first day, aren't I?" Patrick says, still feeling out of breath.

Her eyes are sympathetic. "This isn't a normal case. Even for us."

His eyes betray him by watering. "How old was she?" he manages to get out.

"Two months," she whispers.

He feels bile rise in his throat. His face must lose whatever color it has left because Teresa guides him to hold his head between his knees, and her hand returns to his back.

"Drink the rest of the water," she tells him. "If you feel up to it, maybe you could look around the rest of the house? Avoid the living room, but see what else you can find." She squats next to him to look him in the eye. "Follow me home tonight. Seeing Lizzie will help."

He nods weakly.


That evening, he holds Lizzie and Teresa holds him as he sobs silently for the milestones the murdered infant will never get to mark.


"Please welcome Mr. Patrick Jane of the California Bureau of Investigation."

The ballroom is all glittering lights and too-white smiles, standing in stark contrast to the world of murdered infants he'd been absorbed in for the last week. He feels something akin to culture shock at the dichotomy, and he wonders how yellow tape and flashing red and blue lights became more normal to him than working a crowd of suckers.

He steps onto the stage to a warm round of applause and smiles broadly. He scans the room, and he takes in the eager eyes of the donors and the skeptical stares of the CBI employees. Most of the donors - the women, at least - are wearing jewels worth more than a typical agent's yearly salary; their clothes are all designer. It's a world he's not at all saddened to have left behind.

Patrick steps up to the microphone.

His eyes immediately lock onto Teresa's. She's wearing more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear before, and he swears her smokey eyes alone have increased his heart rate by several beats per minute. Her hair is neither straight nor curly but rather delectably in between, but most enticing of all is the sweetheart neckline of her obsidian dress.

He winks at her.

"My name is Patrick Jane," he says, reaching into his pocket and revealing an egg. "And this is an egg." He holds it up for the crowd to see, and he grins at the puzzled and perplexed looks he receives. "I know you've been promised magic and mischief," he continues, tossing the egg high above him, "but I've decided to stick with just the mischief for tonight."

This gets a hearty laugh from the audience.

"I'm a mentalist," says Patrick, and he takes the microphone from the stand so he can move freely across the stage. "But I don't have to be one to tell you that only approximately one-third of the people here have any idea what that means. For the rest of you: a mentalist is a master manipulator of thoughts and behavior. So, yes, I know precisely which people here are thinking of skipping out early - tsk, tsk," he interjects sternly. "I also know the surprising (or perhaps unsurprising) number of you thinking that a black tie event is going to increase your chances of getting lucky tonight."

Patrick see Rigsby chortle. Cho stands next to him; he looks impassive except for a minute upward twitch of the corner of his mouth. Teresa hides her smile behind a sip of champagne.

"But I promised you mischief, so let's not get sidetracked," Patrick says. He scans the crowd, looking for an easy mark. "Ah, excellent," he says as his eyes land on a thirty-something heiress. The diamonds adorning her neck, wrist, and ears are probably the only real thing about her, Patrick decides as he takes in her platinum hair extensions and what he suspects are breast enhancements. She's exactly like every client he's ever had - obnoxiously transparent. "You there," he continues, pointing to her, "with the million dollar smile." He suspects this is actually true. "What's your name?"

"Katy," says the woman, raising her glass to him and smiling coquettishly.

"Katy," Patrick repeats. "Would you be willing to join me on stage for a few minutes?"

Katy flips her hair over her shoulder, and her bracelet catches the light from above. The crowd parts for her. Lifting her silver dress slightly so as to not stumble in her stilettos, she climbs the steps to the stage. Patrick meets her and offers her his arm, then he leads her to the center.

"Katy, we've never met before, correct?"

"Unfortunately, no, we haven't," she confirms to the crowd.

Patrick chuckles. "So there's no way I would know anything at all about your past."

"No," she agrees.

"Excellent," says Patrick again. He releases her arm and takes a step away, reaching inside his jacket to reveal a notebook and black marker. He hands both to her. "I want you to think of your first crush," he says. "Don't tell me; just think of the name."

Katy bites her lip and looks at him from underneath long eyelashes. Her pupils dilate.

"You have the name?" asks Patrick, and she nods. "I am going to close my eyes and turn away, and I want you to write the name in that notebook. Write it nice and large." He takes a few steps and pivots to the side, shutting his eyes and placing his hands over his eyelids. He waits for a few seconds until he no longer hears the sound of Katy writing. "All set?"

"Ready," she says.

"Don't show me the notebook," Patrick says, turning around and stepping back to her. "One more time - please think of that name for me."

She does so, and he follows her eyes. He has the name in a matter of seconds.

"Four letters?" he says. "Yes, four letters. Beginning with an 'A'?"

Her smile tells him he's right.

"Your first crush's name was Alex, am I right?"

Katy looks dumbfounded. "Yes," she says. "Yes, you are." The audience looks on, stunned, until she holds the notebook out for them to see. Four capital letters clearly spell out the name ALEX in tidy handwriting.

Enthusiastic applause suddenly echoes throughout the grand room, and Patrick gives a curt bow. "Thank you," he says, grinning, and he gestures to Katy. "And please join me in thanking Katy for playing along tonight." He tucks the microphone under his arm to bring his hands together, and the audience follows his lead. Patrick then offers her his arm to guide her back off the stage, only turning around again once she has descended the stairs.

He picks a middle-aged man next, asking if he'd agree to be hypnotized. The man, Dylan, consents readily, and when he takes him under, Patrick thinks Dylan's threshold is almost unnaturally low. In less than five minutes, Patrick has Dylan convinced that the crowd before them is actually a sea of merfolk. He almost feels badly about this - Dylan makes more of a fool out of himself than most of Patrick's hypnotized subjects usually do - but because he'd seen the man yelling at a bartender earlier for not mixing a drink quickly enough, Patrick lets the bit go on longer than he normally would. This he does by telling Dylan that he is a secret agent, and the man wanders the stage for several minutes, ducking behind the microphone stand and making finger guns as Patrick works the room. The crowd roars in approval.

Patrick hears Rigsby guffaw.

Patrick's expression is impassive as he brings Dylan out of his hypnotic state. The crowd applauds Dylan heartily as he walks off the stage, and Patrick turns back toward them.

"Thank you!" he says again. "Thank you very much. It has been my absolute pleasure to entertain you this evening. If, in fact, you were entertained, I do hope that you'll consider making a donation to the CBI - each dollar you give helps us use our unique skillsets to keep this state safe. Oh," he adds, as if as an afterthought. "I forgot about one last bit of mischief - " He turns to an elderly gentleman near the front. "You there! Please reach into your pocket and reveal what's inside."

The man frowns but obeys. He pulls a live chick from his suit and holds it up for the crowd to see.

Patrick grins and puts the microphone back on the stand, bowing slightly once more in response to the crowd's approving cheers and exiting the stage. He takes a deep breath and turns to find Teresa.

Instead, he finds himself face to face with Katy. He takes a step back, flustered.

"That was incredible," says Katy, flashing her dazzling smile at him breathlessly as a live band takes the stage and begins tuning their instruments.

"Thank you," says Patrick. She moves closer still.

"How do you do it?" Katy asks.

His answer is automatic. "Can't reveal my secrets, I'm afraid."

Her smile is more seductive than coquettish this time. "I bet I could convince you to change your mind," she says. Once upon a time, this was exactly the type of bet he would have taken.

The live band starts playing a slow song, and Katy places her hand on his bicep.

"Dance with me," she says, and it's not a question.

Patrick stutters. "I…sorry," he says. "I've promised my partner the first dance."

"As long as I get the last one," says Katy. He stares determinedly ahead, careful not to drop his eyes to the cleavage just inches from him.

"Right," he says, not thinking, and he makes his escape.

He takes the long way around the center of the room as dancers make their way forward. He excuses himself as politely as he can when several other donors attempt to stop him - he knows he still has a job to do, but all he really wants to do is hold Teresa. He can schmooze later.

Eventually, he finds her, still chatting with Rigsby and Cho. She and Rigsby flash him amused smiles when he joins them, and Cho claps him on the shoulder. "They'll be talking about that one for years," he says. Patrick can't determine if he means this as a compliment.

"It was good, man," says Rigsby. "Cool to see you in your element."

"Thanks, Rigsby," Patrick says. He looks over at Teresa, who rolls her eyes.

"You know precisely how good you are," she says, and he grins.

"How'd you get the chick into his pocket?" asks Rigsby.

Patrick beckons the group closer. "He's almost deaf and nearly senile. The chick was planted the moment I bumped into him at the entrance. He never noticed."

Teresa takes another sip of her champagne and shakes her head, smiling.

Patrick turns to her, takes her empty glass and offers her his arm in exchange, and sets the glass on a passing busboy's tray. "Can I have this dance?" he asks.

Teresa threads her arm through his but doesn't say anything, and Patrick leads her away from Cho and Rigsby.

"Are they okay with…whatever this is?" he asks her as they settle into a spot on the floor. He places his hand on the small of her back, and she rests hers on his right upper arm. The fingers of his left hand twine with hers.

"They like that I'm happy," says Teresa. He starts to sway them to the slow music, and Teresa looks up at him. "That's all they care about. It doesn't hurt that they like you, too."

He nods. "Good," he says. "They've been helping with my self defense training, but that doesn't mean I could actually stand my own if they decided I was bad news for you."

Teresa leans forward and rests her head against his chest. She hums indistinctly.

A few seconds later, she stiffens, and Patrick follows her line of vision.

Katy. Damn it.

The heiress is watching them with a cunning look in her eye that makes Patrick exceedingly uncomfortable.

Teresa turns her head toward him. "What did she say to you?" she asks into his neck.

"She wanted to dance," sighs Patrick.

Teresa's grip tightens on his arm. "You need to ask her, then," she says. "She's the daughter of the richest man in Sacramento. Word is he's looking at donating elsewhere this year. If we can convince him differently…"

"How much trouble will I be in if I don't?"

"That money could save lives, Patrick. It could fund several officers' salaries for the year."

He groans. "Alright, alright. I will follow your infallible moral compass. But after I dance with her, that compass better point straight back to you."

"You think you can win her over in one dance?" asks Teresa. "Better bet on at least two."

"One," says Patrick firmly. "I came here with every intention of spending the entire evening holding you, and my plans will not be thwarted by an entitled heiress."

"Glad to hear it," Teresa says, and he feels her lashes brush his neck as she closes her eyes.

The song ends soon after that, and Teresa withdraws.

"Go," she says tenderly. "I have some other donors I need to chat up anyway."

Before she can walk away, he grabs her hand and pulls her back to him. He holds her gaze as he kisses her fingers.

Then they part.

Patrick walks toward the stage where he'd last seen Katy standing. It doesn't take long for him to find her. Several men have gathered around her while she tells some story; by the looks of it, the tale is incredibly entertaining. Patrick suspects the men's captured attention and eager smiles have more to do with either Katy's chest or checkbook - or both, he thinks - than her cheeky sense of humor.

He catches her eye.

"Patrick!" she says with enthusiasm that seems just a hair too bright. She hands her mixed drink off to her nearest suitor and wades through the crowd. "You owe me a dance," she continues as she comes to stop in front of him.

He offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

Her grip is slightly too tight, her smile too bright.

Patrick leads her to the center of the dance floor and begins to sway them to the beat of the current number. It's more sensual than he would have liked, and Katy takes this as an invitation, pressing her torso against his.

With her stilettos, she's at his eye level, and he can't help wishing he was gazing into another pair of eyes - a much finer pair of eyes.

"I've been coming to these things for years, but I don't remember you, Patrick," she says. "And I would have remembered you."

"I'm a new volunteer," he confirms.

Katy's eyes slowly make their way up and down his body. He has the eerily uncomfortable feeling that she's reading him in her own way.

"You're from my world, aren't you?" she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

Katy straightens his bowtie. "Your suit," she supplies. "It's Armani."

Patrick looks away and shifts uneasily, and this confirms Katy's suspicions.

"You're the psychic from Malibu, right?"

Patrick regrets choosing this woman as his mark. "Fake psychic," he corrects. "I don't…I'm not part of that world anymore."

Katy somehow manages to move closer. "So tell me, Patrick. People who wear suits like yours don't work for the state. How'd they snag you?"

Before he realizes what he's doing, his eyes flash to Teresa, who appears adorably uncomfortable as she talks to an older woman whose earrings cost more than all of Lizzie's care items combined.

Katy notices.

"Is that her?" she asks. "Your partner?"

Patrick forces himself to return his attention to Katy. He nods.

Katy sighs. "Pity," she says after some consideration. "If you weren't in love with her, I'd have a much better chance of getting you to say yes when I ask you back to my hotel room tonight."

Patrick clears his throat.

Katy slides her hand from his upper arm to his chest.

"I don't have to be a mentalist to see how you look at her," she says. "And don't worry - now that I see it, I won't ask."

Patrick sighs. "If it's any consolation, the psychic would have said yes."

She beams. "I don't have to be psychic to know that, either," she says. The music slows, and Katy leans in to whisper in his ear. "I'll have a word with my father, see what I can do about convincing him to make that donation."

The band hits their last notes to polite applause, and Patrick's hands are suddenly holding only air as Katy steps back. "See you next year, Patrick," she says. She begins to walk away before he calls out to stop her.

He moves closer to her to ensure they aren't overheard.

"Invite Agent Willows over there to your suite. He looks the type to be a gentle and attentive lover."

Katy looks affronted for a fraction of a second. Then a grin flashes across her face, and Patrick goes in search of Teresa.


Teresa's look of relief as he appears at her elbow is more effective at jump-starting his heart than would be a defibrillator. He feels her lean into him slightly, and he offers his hand and his charm smile as Teresa introduces him to the donor to whom she had been speaking.

Ninety seconds later, the donor has given her word that she'll be sending a check to headquarters. Patrick asks her a few questions more with feigned interest before he feels it is appropriate to take their leave.

"If you'd excuse us," he says smoothly. "I promised Teresa a dance, and this happens to be one of her favorites."

"Of course," says the woman, smiling broadly at Patrick.

Patrick leads Teresa to the center of the room, where she hisses at him, "I've never heard this song before."

He grins, and they fall together. "Meh. Details. After you hear it, it will be your new favorite."

"Is that so?" she says as she laughs. Instead of hiding her smile, as he'd expected, she straightens her spine and holds his gaze.

Also unexpected is the way her movements cause her breasts to brush against him.

His eyes flash down to porcelain skin, and he loses his timing. When he looks up, now swaying to the beat again, Teresa is giving him a knowing smile, and he flushes, knowing he's been caught. He tries to cover this by trailing a finger over the small of her back. He delights in the shiver he feels tremble through her body when his touch meets bare skin.

He's rarely seen her in attire that reveals so much skin, he reflects. Though she knows his body as intimately as a lover, hers is still unfamiliar to him. He's seen her nurse Lizzie, yes, but he'd always taken great pains to look away or help her cover up. Tonight, however, he allows himself to look, to linger - because how can he not?

And what he sees has stolen his breath and mind. The curve of her hips, the soft skin of her breasts. He imagines a room with just enough light to allow him to find the zipper to her dress; he pictures letting the silk fall to a pile on the floor. He suspects it would look better there anyway.

What would it be like? Them, together? In the most physical sense of the word? He can't imagine any possibility in which they are less than perfection. He has no false modesty about his abilities, knows he's far better than average. And Teresa already has power over his body that transcends his ability to describe with mere words. Moving with her - moving inside her -

His mind hazes over in ecstasy.

Reason sobers him quickly, however. Teresa's admission exactly a week ago was bittersweet – yes, he has an idea of her feelings, but he also knows she isn't free to act on them. She isn't capable of being in a true relationship.

She doesn't know how.

And he can't push. His fantasy must remain only that for the foreseeable future. Given time, she will heal; she will be ready.

But what if…

What if she never is? What if she can never surrender? What if she never becomes capable of giving her heart away? Can he live with that? Can he be satisfied with such a love?

Will it break him, destroy him?

Patrick brushes a kiss to Teresa's shoulder.

It might, he admits.

And yet he finds himself, time and again, asking for one more dance.