NOTE: So, there's a section in this chapter rated M for sexual situations. I've indicated where it starts with "***M***"" so if that's not your cup of tea, skip it. You won't miss any plot points ;)

Other note: This is NOT a crossover, but I'm introducing a character in this chapter- Patrick Jane from The Mentalist. We need a hypnosis expert and I could think of no one as well suited for the task. If you like knowing what characters look like instead of having to make them up in your head (like I do), look him up - that way you'll be able to picture him as you read. Let me know what you think!

XXXXXX

Sara woke before Michael did, silently staring into the darkness, formulating a plan. She was going to have to explain everything to him all over again. He would wake up and startle to find her there, being skeptical of her, "we're together," explanation.

The picture from Panama always seemed to make him think, she realized. He'd stare at it a good while- never just taking a glance and dismissing it. Maybe she'd lead with that.

At least today she knows what to expect; yesterday was made a lot more complicated since she assumed he'd remember her in the morning.

She listened to the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and hoped that Mahone was able to reach the hypnotist; she wanted Michael back. Glancing over at his sleeping form now, she felt lonely.

It was 5:58, so she waited the long two minutes before Michael's alarm went off. As predicted, he woke up and stirred around, realized she was next to him, and froze.

"Morning," she offered in a soft voice, as non-threatening as she could be. She didn't want him darting into the bathroom again.

"Good morning," he replied with uncertainty, still sounding groggy.

"I know you're wondering who I am," she began, seeing the surprise in his eyes – a "how did you know?" look, "and I'd like to explain it to you, if you're willing."

He sat up now and turned towards her, looking wary, but willing, "Alright."

X

By the time he left for work, he seemed to accept the reality she'd laid out for him. That was progress, right? It only took an hour now instead of half a day, but would that ever be good enough? Every. Day. For however long she'd have to summarize their relationship for him- paint the picture of who he is and who they are to each other.

He was sweet, as he'd been from the first day they'd met at Fox River, asking if she wanted to get dinner somewhere that night. Of course, she'd agreed, looking forward to their date, but disheartened by the fact that come morning, he'd remember none of it.

She had to do something all day to keep herself occupied, so she threw on jeans and a brown v-neck and took a cab again to the apartment with the rest of the gang.

When she walked in, Lincoln asked, "How'd this morning go?"

"The same, although he took my word for it a lot faster."

"Ah, you must be Sara," a man about her height in a grey, three piece suit approached her, his had extended. He had gorgeous sandy blonde curls and deep blue eyes.

She took his hand, "Yea, I am, and you are?"

"Patrick Jane, Alex here said you were in need of some assistance."

"That's correct," she confirmed, "you got here fast."

He smiled, dimples showing, "Wherever there is a hypnosis emergency," and bowed dramatically.

She couldn't help but smile.

"Let's take a seat, I promise I don't bite," he led her over to two sofas that faced each other, a coffee table in between. He grabbed a blue mug of tea from the table and took a sip, eyeballing her carefully, examining her. She wondered what he saw.

Mahone stood behind Patrick, his arms braced against the back of the couch. Lincoln and Gretchen stood in the kitchen, casually listening from a distance.

"So," he began, setting the mug down, "why am I here, Sara?"

"Well, uh," she stammered, not knowing what he already knew, "Michael-" she paused, and he nodded his acknowledgement, "we think he was hypnotized after his brain surgery. Every morning he forgets everything from the days before, unless it has to do with work."

"The work he was brainwashed to do."

"Correct."

"And you're his girlfriend I assume," he stated.

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyways, "Yes."

"Troubling," he observed as he took another sip of his tea, pondering.

He was silent for a few moments too long, so she asked, "So…do you think you can help him?"

He met her eyes again, observing her closely and then explained, "Hypnotists often use a trigger – a word or a phrase, sometimes a physical cue that will break the trance."

She nodded but had to ask, "Are you sure it's hypnosis? I mean, he doesn't act like he's hypnotized. To anyone who doesn't know him he seems normal, it's just the memory loss thing."

"Hypnosis is tricky," he explained, "the subject will act normally in every way except within the suggestion. If he was hypnotized to forget a chunk of time and the people in it, he'll seem perfectly normal in every other way."

"So, can you figure out the trigger?"

He tilted his head back and forth, "I could…but it would take forever to guess the correct word or signal. It would be like playing Marco Polo in the Atlantic...takes forever…and you'd get all pruney. Better to just find the hypnotist and ask them," he flashed his dazzling grin.

She looked at Mahone, who just shook his head with an amused look. Obviously, Patrick's charismatic behavior was on par for how he normally was.

He clapped his hands together, eager, "So, any idea who did this to Michael?"

She shrugged, "His psychiatrist is my best guess."

"Do you have a name?"

"Roger…something. Sorry, don't have a last name."

"Describe him for me."

"Probably in his sixties, maybe an inch or two shorter than me…" she glanced over at Lincoln since he'd seen Roger too, and he just shrugged, not offering anything else, "sorry that's about all I've got to go on."

"And you said he's a psychiatrist? Or psychologist?"

"Psychiatrist," she confirmed, remembering from when he introduced himself.

"Alright, so we're looking for a psychiatrist in the area whose name is Roger and he's in his sixties," he turned to Mahone, "want to get someone on that?"

Mahone dialed his phone and held it up, "I'll get Lang on it now."

XXXX

Sara picked Michael up from his apartment after he got out of work. Waiting around until six o'clock had seemed to take forever; hanging out with the group while Lang at the F.B.I searched for Roger. Mahone said she had another case at the moment keeping her busy, but she'd research it for him as soon as she could.

She'd gone back to her hotel for a while to get a change of clothes, deciding on a kelly-green dress with a V-neck and a slight flare, resting above the knee. She felt nervous, the butterflies not seeming to care that they had been together for a while now. She busied herself by curling her hair into loose waves that framed her face.

How long would it be like this? Where every day together felt like their first? It had its charms, she realized, to be in that early stage of love, but they weren't on a level playing field. She wanted him; the Michael she knew and who new her. It was comfortable and familiar, they trusted each other and new each other intimately.

But that was all different now.

For him, she was brand new, and that put a sort of pressure on her that she wasn't used to. She knew she was overthinking, but the doubts creeped in; what made him fall in love with her in the first place? What if it had been a matter of circumstance; she was the only woman around at Fox River, so of course he liked her.

In her heart, she knew their relationship was far deeper than that, but that Michael was different than this Michael. She just couldn't know how different.

She shoved the worrying thoughts into the darkest corner of her mind and knocked on his apartment door.

He opened it quickly, still wearing his gray suit from work. He took one glance and gave a genuine, "You look beautiful."

She smiled and grabbed his hand, "Let's go."

X

It was a beautiful evening as they took their seats outside at the restaurant. It smelled of summer, the mingling scents of grilling and beer, as they made their way out onto the patio. The place was nice yet had a casual feel, and they found a spot at a fire table.

"So, how was work?" she asked as she sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"It was good," he answered honestly, "productive."

"Working on the potable water project still?"

"How did you-?" he started to ask, then remembered his predisposition to forget things, "never mind."

"You told me about it the other day," she offered softly.

"Right. Yea, I'm still helping with that. I think the next thing will be trying to implement the more resilient crops," he shrugged, "basically trying to get safe water and food to as many people as we can."

She nodded, understanding the importance, but she slightly diverted her gaze, looking down.

"Hmm?" he questioned, wanting to know what was on her mind.

"Have they been treating you well? On the job, I mean."

"Yea," he assured, "very well. Why wouldn't they?"

The waiter came by to get their drink orders. Michael ordered a beer and she ordered water. When the waiter left he asked, "Not in the mood for a drink?"

"Uh," she looked away with a nervous laugh and then reluctantly met his eyes, pointing to herself, "recovering alcoholic. So, no."

"Huh," he replied, not being judgmental, just surprised, "sorry, guess I have a lot to learn still."

"It's ok," she assured with an easy tone, "don't ever be afraid to ask questions. I'm here to help."

Feeling more at ease, "I appreciate that."

He picked their previous conversation back up, "So, why were you wondering about the Company?"

"They have a history of violence."

"Oh."

"Yea, not the best track record of how they treat their employees, so I just wanted to make sure."

"Hmm," he considered, "How did they get to be so successful if no one wants to work for them?" he wondered aloud.

Silence followed as he watched her over the flickering flames, her lips parted ever so slightly, but not willing to form words. Like she wanted to answer, but something was holding her back.

"What?" he prompted.

She cleared her throat, "I told you this morning about how you've been forgetting things."

"Yes."

"Your memory loss is because of something the Company did to you, to make you willing to work for them."

"And I keep forgetting?"

"Every morning it seems like your mind resets itself," then added, "aside from work related things."

"So…you have to keep telling me over and over?"

She nodded.

That sounds awful, he realized, remembering his grandfather who'd suffered from Alzheimer's. It was difficult for his grandfather, of course, but also the people around him, losing more and more of him each day.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly.

Her eyes shone, "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault."

"You're still here," he observed, not taking her dedication lightly, "how long have I been like this?"

"Only a few days, and we're going to figure this out."

"How?"

"We have someone who might be able to help you, get things back to the way they were."

"When?"

"I'm not sure...soon I hope."

The waiter delivered their drinks and he picked it up, sipping the foam from his beer, "So tomorrow I'll start all over?"

She sighed, shifting a little in her seat, "Yup, but I was thinking about something today that might help."

"What's that?"

"A video diary."

He tilted his head.

"If you make a video every night about the things you learn each day…I mean, you'll believe you, right? I can remind you in the mornings to watch the videos, and every day you'll learn more and more. You won't have to start each day from scratch."

"A digital memory bank," he thought aloud, liking the idea.

"Mhmm."

Nodding, "I'll do it."

X

They stayed at the restaurant for hours, chatting and telling stories. He still remembered a lot from when he was younger, and she clung to every word, glad to know that most of his mind was still intact.

They got back to his place around nine, and she felt a sadness start to creep in, knowing that once they went to sleep, she'd lose him all over again.

"You're staying the night again, right?" he asked as he unlocked the door.

"If you want me to."

"I do," he answered quickly, "I need you to be here when I wake up, to make sure that I remember."

"Do you want to start the video diary tonight?"

"I will, yea" he replied as they walked in. He took off his suit jacket and draped it on the back of one of the chairs by the bar, taking his tie off as well, "what should I say?"

She shrugged, "Whatever you want, it's your memories."

He nodded and took his phone, "I think I'll do it out on the balcony."

"Ok," she slipped off her heels, "I'll be in here, take your time."

He probably wanted privacy, and she understood that. It was a diary of sorts, laying out his thoughts, feelings, and perhaps confusion of the long day that he'd had. She laid down on the large, pleasantly firm couch and propped her feet up, listening to the faint sound of crickets outside, blending with the low hum of his voice as he spoke. The only light on in the apartment was the one by the oven, but the moon illuminated the space quite nicely, offering a pleasant glow.

Her mind wandered while she waited, and after five minutes or so, the sliding door opened, and he came back in.

She sat up and swung her feet onto the floor, "How'd it go?"

"Ok, I think," he smirked, "guess we'll find out in the morning if I make any sense to my future self."

***M***

She chuckled, "You'll probably make more sense to you than I do."

Earnestly, "I highly doubt that."

She felt his eyes linger on her, more intense. She froze, felt the energy in the room shift, a rise of color flooding her cheeks, and without conscious thought, her hand stretched out towards him. He grabbed it, and she pulled him down softly onto the couch with her. He seemed hesitant again, just like their other first kiss in the kitchen the day before.

She didn't wait this time, but moved slowly enough to not startle him, give him a chance to react as he needed to. Her eyes on his, she swung her leg around, hooking it around his hip, her mouth finding his, unbuttoning her shirt between slow kisses. His lips were warm and hungry against hers as he wriggled his way out of the shirt, tossing it on the floor next to them.

He took a breath, and she marveled at him; the soft moonlight casting its shadows on his face as he stared at her, staring with an intensity that might as well just burn a hole through her. It made her feel exposed-like he was seeing things about her that she didn't even know herself. She couldn't take the vulnerability anymore and leaned in, closing her eyes and initiating several long, leisurely kisses. She felt his hand sliding under her dress, sparking tingles as it moved up her thigh and finally resting on her ass, feeling it. Her mind was blank, lost in the sensation, until his hand pulled away. She gripped onto him harder, but he broke off their kiss; was he not okay?

Nope, that wasn't it, she realized as he stared into her soul, his eyes dark with desire, his hand pressing gently on her shoulder, pressing her down onto her back.

Thank God it was a big couch.

His lips found her neck, a soft moan escaping her lips as he explored, finding a particularly sensitive spot that made her shiver.

She needed to get out of her damn dress.

"Michael," she breathed out, surprised she could even manage that much.

Softly, "Yea?" as his tongue found a pulse point on her neck, making it even harder to think.

She pulled at the hem of her dress, indicating the problem. He eased off her as she sat up.

"Let me," he offered and she obliged, turning around and sweeping her hair to one side. She felt his fingers, the lightest touch, grab the zipper and pull it down. The bottom half of her dress wasn't where it was supposed to be anyways so she pulled it over and up, tossing it onto the floor next to his shirt and turning back around.

Before she knew it she was on her back again, his mouth hungry against hers. One hand was buried in her hair, the other rubbing circles on her nipple with his thumb. She held onto him, arms loosely around his neck, her lips exploring his through the mind-bending experience of everything else he was doing.

When his mouth left hers, she wanted to protest, a desperate, "no," almost slipping out before his lips started working their way down- pressing a kiss on her neck, on her collar-bone, between her breasts, until they closed over her nipple.

She groaned, gripping his back and feeling the muscles beneath his skin.

"God, Michael," she moaned, her back arching, head back. Her hands wrapped lightly against the stubble on his head, holding him to her, needing more of his mouth.

His hand went down, tugging at her panties. She lifted up allowing him to slide them off and toss them aside. Not willing to waste any time, she grabbed the waistband of his, pulling. He got them off and added it to the pile of discarded clothing, leaning back down to frame her head with his forearms. Then stopped.

Softly, moonlit, "Are you sure this okay?"

Is he crazy? she thought frantically, "If you think you're stopping now, you've got another thing coming."

"No," he chuckled, "I mean...this. I don't," he cut himself off.

"Hey," she said with all the sternness she could muster, "that's not how we do things. Tell me what's on your mind and if you can't figure out how to say it, just try. I'll figure it out."

"I don't know what you like," he admitted, "I'm assuming we've done this before..."

"-but you don't remember," she finished for him.

"Yea," he said in a tone steeped in guilt.

"Ok, first of all," she kissed him, "lose the guilt. Not your fault. And second," quoting her earlier self, "if you think you're stopping now, you've got another thing coming."

He chuckled, a low, lovely sound, before kissing her sweetly, teasing. He sure knows how to play hot and cold, she thought with a smirk; one moment she's filled with urgency and blind lust, the next-only soft lips, his hand gently roaming the curve where waist meets hip, causing goosebumps.

Despite his need to tease, it didn't take long to pick up where they'd left off. His hand went from her curves to her hip bone, tracing the V-shaped line of her inner thigh. Her breath caught with anticipation, eyes closed, waiting, until his fingers began to stroke her.

She shuddered with pleasure, a soft exhale, letting her knees fall to either side. He kissed her neck again as his fingers worked, a warm wetness against her skin that she'd never get enough of.

"I need," she groaned at a burst of pleasure, but finally got the words out, "I need you."

His fingers slowed, then moved as braced himself with forearms on either side of her, meeting her eyes. Her hands came up and framed his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Overwhelmed with desire, she let his lips go, her arms wrapped around his back, pressing his chest to hers as he slid inside her.

The world blurred as he moved rhythmically, slowly at first but then deeper, harder. She held him tight, gripping his back as he moved, her head thrown back in pleasure. Another moan escaped her lips as he brought her closer to the edge.

How could he even think that he didn't know what she needed? Memory loss or not, he knew. That's how it had always been. They'd never doubted, never had to explain or discuss, everything just always seemed to fall into-

The orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, the intensity blinding and overwhelming. He groaned, emptying inside her as her grip on his back loosened, her arms growing limp from the pleasure.

Blurry moments later, she lay there, happy to wait until he came back down to Earth, not sure if she was even there yet herself. He sunk down all the way next to her side, still as close as could be without being on top of her. Her arm flung over to rest on his back, tracing lazy circles on his skin. After a moment or several- could've been an hour for all she knew, his head came up, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, his eyes wide and almost childlike.

"Hmm?" she questioned, wondering what was on his mind.

Genuine, quietly, "I don't want to go to sleep."

She exhaled audibly through her nose, wrapping her arm just a little bit tighter, "I don't want you to either."