14.

Patrick was true to his word, taking care of Teresa after the hospital released her to go home. He cooked throat-soothing delicacies for her and spoon fed her (though she didn't need to be spoonfed) mint chocolate chip ice cream. He even did laundry, vacuumed, and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. He proved to be expert at all of these tasks, and Teresa said to herself, I think I'll keep him. Or is he just on his good behavior because he feels guilty?

Patrick

Patrick hoped that he would be able to continue pleasing her. He was still haunted by the memory of seeing her in flagrante delicto with Mark Johnson. I'll never be able to get rid of that as long as I live. What could be worse than seeing the woman you love have an orgasm with another man? Unless you're a voyeur, and I'm no voyeur. Should we talk about it? No, better to say nothing. Maybe she doesn't know. What if she doesn't enjoy sex with me? She saw the evidence of my affair with Krystal, which isn't nearly as bad as what I saw-thank God she didn't catch us in the act. But I know it destroyed her even to see that. Sent her down the road to dating a psychopath. So all of this is my fault and I deserve to be punished by seeing what I saw.

He tried not to dwell on this anymore, but he was depressed and discouraged by the memory. He was convinced that it would taint any physical intimacy that lay ahead. If anything did lie ahead.

Although he desperately longed to make love to her, he knew that she was not ready, and for that matter, neither was he. Another memory from that fateful day was the sight of her naked and semi-conscious. Would he always associate her exquisite naked body with the angry red marks of that bastard's hands on her neck? She probably doesn't know that I saw her naked. Best to say nothing. She'll only feel self-conscious and inhibited.

We should pretend that we just met and just kiss and embrace fully clothed for a while. She could deal with that. And dating-great restaurants, movies, art galleries, nature walks, swimming, maybe even basketball games if she wants to. Each of them would teach the other to enjoy new experiences. His mind was flooded with ideas. Gifts! She loved the first gifts he ever gave her: the origami frogs. Was she ready for the emerald necklace and earrings? If not: a diamond pendant? or was that too much like an engagement ring? Flowers were always safe…but he wanted to pamper her, to overwhelm her with something lavish that she'd never get for herself. Time enough to think about that. Such a strange but beautiful situation we're in. How many other men have adored a woman for twelve years, even while grieving for a dead wife? Twelve years of close friendship, never crossing that line.

Again, his fault. If revenge had not poisoned his mind, he might have moved on and started seeing her. Even though she was his boss. They might even have been married by now. Maybe even children. He knew she wanted children even though she had never confided this to him. But his hatred of Red John and his obsession with avenging his wife and child made him defer something that would have made them both happy. Not only that; it necessitated hiding his feelings for her in order to keep her safe from Red John, and of course that didn't work anyway. Worse still, vengeance required him to be cold, secretive, relentless, and controlling. The worst aspects of his character were a mask for the real man he was: loving, compassionate, generous, faithful. He allowed his reckless desire for Red John's blood to drive him to have sex with a woman he didn't love in the hope that she would lead him to the serial killer. The only thing this accomplished was to wound Teresa profoundly. If he could only erase the past! If only he could go back to the day he came to the CBI and she let him look at the Red John case files. That day his arrogance had caused a cop to punch him in the nose, after which she gently, tenderly led him away to nurse his physical wound while beginning to nurse his hidden spiritual agony, even though she didn't know it. The day he began to love her.

These thoughts were causing him to despair. He reminded himself in vain that her great kindness had always allowed her to forgive even his worst transgressions. This compassion had bonded him to her throughout the years, and he knew he'd taken advantage of it. He was ashamed of his outrageous behavior which had so often led to reprimands and extra paperwork from her superiors. The one thing about her that he could not understand was her faith in God, which led to her faith in him and enabled her to forgive him with the hope and belief that his basic goodness would someday triumph over his dark side. She never approved of his desire to kill Red John. To kill anyone for any reason other than self-defense or to protect the lives of others was a sin. Yet she was eventually reluctantly persuaded that killing Red John was the only way to stop him from murdering more innocent people.

Patrick wished that he could believe in God, but a God who could allow his wife and child to be murdered and let their killer go free was a God he wanted nothing to do with. There was no evidence of anything after death. But then why was he driven to avenge his dead loved ones, who could no longer feel anything? It was for himself and himself alone that he really sought revenge. He was coming to this painful realization only now, more than two years after he'd killed Red John. And even if the murder charges had been dropped, he was still guilty of murder. Could Teresa really forgive a murderer? Could she still believe him to be capable of acts of kindness to expiate his crime?

These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he took his daily walk through the streets of Austin. Teresa was at home, still asleep. It was early on a Saturday morning, and the sun was already bright. Patrick picked up some croissants for breakfast, then stopped at a florist, where he composed a bouquet of flowers, taking care to contrast colors, heights, foliage, and size. He had a not inconsiderable talent for drawing and painting which he had neglected for years. It found expression now in flowers. He chose Teresa's favorites first, which he knew to be pink roses and peonies, white lillies, and blue hydrangea and campanula. He added yellow chrysanthemums and white gardenias, his own favorites. The result was a bouquet so lovely that he decided he would photograph it when he got home. Home. That's how he'd come to think of Teresa's apartment.

Teresa

She arrived home from the hospital after two days with a sore throat and little appetite. She was worried about her vulnerability and how she'd allowed a killer to get intimate with her, not suspecting anything. (But if she ever got romantic with Jane, she would still be intimate with a killer. Just not one who wanted to kill her.) She kept going over scenarios in her head and wondering why alarms didn't go off in her head. Was she no longer good at detective work? Or was her desire to get back at Jane making her blind and careless to what was obvious to Jane about Mark. Didn't I learn anything from his revenge obsession? I was also possessed by a vengeful spirit. That was the real reason I dated Mark. Revenge on Jane for dating Krystal. And it was more than just the dating. It was the sex that was important. I had to even the score and show him that I didn't care if he slept with yet another awful woman. So I slept with an awful man. Intelligent course of action. Some cop I am. She got up from the bed and scowled at herself in the mirror. But I deserve to have some fun. Why should he get to date and not me?

You really know how to pick 'em, Teresa.

What amazed her was that Patrick was wonderful. He was doing everything around the house for her, running errands, being thoughtful in ways she'd never seen before. He hadn't tried to push her into anything, knowing how severe her recent trauma was. She wished she could remember more of what happened-it was all a blur to her now. She remembered her feeling of elation during sex with a man she believed to be genuinely in love with her. And then what had begun so ecstatically had turned so quickly into terror and incredulity. She dimly remembered Cho ordering Mark to lie face down and allow himself to be cuffed. She had been gasping for breath, then lapsing in and out of consciousness. Just a few more seconds and she would have died. But Cho and Jane had rescued her. She was humiliated that they knew how careless she had been. And Jane had come up close to her and must have seen her naked. What if he had heard the sounds of their lovemaking? He didn't deserve to be punished that way…at least, not if he loved her and was contrite about Krystal.

Whatever the case might be, they had both witnessed evidence of sex with another partner. Why was it so much easier to get romantic with someone other than the one person you truly loved? I wish I could talk about it with him. I just can't. It's too hard, too awful. Let what was past stay in the past. Teresa tried to get up and out of her bed, but she was weary. She wished Jane would come back. She wanted to ask him if he would get into the bed with her so that she could feel his body next to hers, so that they could finally embrace and stop pretending. Her recently awakened sexual desire made her want to know what his skin felt like, what his lips tasted like, the lips she had wanted for so many years. She wanted them to entwine together the way they should have a long time ago. She felt regret that they hadn't had sex years ago when she was younger, fresher, more beautiful. His most recent bed partner had been a woman of barely thirty. Could she compare?

Lying on the bed again, she examined her arms and legs for signs of sagging and wrinkles. Nothing. Only smooth, soft skin without a blemish, pale white Irish skin sprinkled with freckles. She inspected her hands. Smooth, graceful, with long tapering fingers and manicured nails. She couldn't bear to look at her face in the mirror for fear of seeing the expression lines that time had gently imprinted on her cheeks. This woman, who only grew more beautiful with each passing year, was afraid that she wasn't beautiful enough for Patrick. She didn't know that no other woman could even attract his attention. She also didn't know that he loved more than just her exterior: he had been studying her, reading her, longing for her for ten years. And then he ran away, and her absence in that two year chapter in his life was, as he wrote to her, "strange and sad." When she had read these words, she lingered over them, reading again and again. Was it true, then, that he still cared for her? And then she discovered that she was first on his list of demands.

She'd been so angry at his presumption that she would stop her whole life, drop everything, and follow him to Texas. Yet after she pondered it for a while, she realized that yes, he wanted her there for selfish reasons, but he also wanted her to have an FBI job because he wanted her to be happy, and he knew she'd never be happy as a small-town sheriff. When she became aware of his effort to do something important for her to atone for the pain he'd caused her, she had softened toward him and wished she could tell him how grateful she was. But by then she was dating Mark Johnson, determined to get Jane out of her system.

She was feeling too many things- guilt, regret, despair, unease, shyness-to continue longing for Patrick to come home. She lay back on her pillows and sighed. And then she heard Patrick open the front door and come into the house. She listened for a while as he moved around the kitchen, taking out plates and glasses to set the table, running water in the sink, and then she slowly slid out of the bed. She was wearing a short black silk and lace nightgown. After padding barefoot down the stairs, she quietly crept into the dining room, hoping to surprise him. His back was to her as he arranged flowers in a large glass vase. Suddenly he turned to face her with a smile she'd never seen. It wasn't the one he smiled when he was flirting, teasing, or trying to be charming. It was a smile of great tenderness and understanding.

"You look so beautiful," he said, holding her in his gaze.

"You do too." Her voice was soft, hoarse, almost a whisper: its full strength had not yet returned, and she was in his thrall, unable to take her eyes off him. His dissheveled blond hair had grown longer than it had been in CBI days. He still had the light beard he had grown on the island. It suited him. He was dressed in a clean light blue shirt and jeans with an old sport jacket. The years had also been kind to Patrick: his blue eyes were surrounded by small wrinkles which only made him more alluring. He still retained the firm and muscular body of youth. He stood glowing in a shaft of bright sunshine streaming in from the kitchen window.

"Do you... you want to eat?" She felt something leap inside her.

"Plenty of time for that. First I want to…"

"Jane! Patrick…would you come with me upstairs… and get into bed with me?" She barely had enough breath to say it. It had taken all her courage.

He took a few steps toward her, his face serious now. "Are you sure, Teresa?"

"Yes. I want you…Patrick."

He took her hand and they walked up the stairs together.