Shout-outs: , DSPallas, Guest, , LouiseKurylo, zats, Jane Doe51 and blueyedmentalistfan

Author's Note:

Thank you for all your kind words in support of my grandmother's death. I appreciate it.

Rated: T

.

Chapter 6

Teresa went to church when she left Patrick. She wanted to pray for him, to light a candle for the girl who had been murdered in the wee small hours of the morning and to straighten out her tangled feelings for a man she hadn't even known for a week yet.

He said that he just wanted friendship and she had liked the sound of that, until she had started to spend more time with him. She wanted to be the one to pick up all the pieces and put him back together and to get him to stay because being a rebound really did not interest her in the slightest.

She swallowed hard and pushed the thought out of her mind. Because he didn't want that, so she was going to respect that and not entertain things that couldn't be. She'd already done it twice before, once with the much older Sam Bosco and another time with the FBI agent Marcus Pike, who had wanted her to decide between him and her father. It was time to put the girlish daydreaming aside and be the woman a man needed, not what she thought he wanted.

Teresa pulled into her church parking lot and locked her car, thankful that God wouldn't care about her casual attire as she made her way to the sanctuary. Her priest was there standing in the front of the church and talking to a pale looking teenage girl. He smiled when he saw her approaching them.

"Teresa, early morning I see," he said in way of greeting.

"Yes. . . a friend needed me," she answered. "I'm just here to pray this morning, no confessional or anything."

She couldn't talk to him even if she needed to. She couldn't let him see the hidden secrets of her heart today. It would make it more real to say it aloud. Besides, what would she say? That she was falling in love with a man who was practically still married to his ex-wife? That said ex-wife was marrying somebody else. . . it wasn't any of her business to tell. Even though the world already knew about some of the things Patrick had confided in her, thanks to Us Weekly and People.

"Go on," he said, interrupting her thoughts, his kind smile giving her a tiny sliver of peace.

She lit two candles, one for Jill and one for Patrick and then with trembling fingers and an even shakier heart, she knelt down and prayed for a number of things in quick succession. When she opened her eyes, she was all by herself.

She got up, not feeling any more peaceful than she had before she had first come into the church. She needed somebody to talk to, but she didn't have any girlfriends to chat with over a two-margarita lunch or a mother to pour or woes out to. And she couldn't trouble her father with problems that weren't even her own.

But Teresa was used to dealing with things on her own; she had been doing it for a long time. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to try and brave the day and whatever else it would bring at her.

When she got home, she impulsively decided to stop at Mrs. Smith's apartment. She didn't know what had made her want to go over there, but when the older women opened the door dressed in a satin, lilac-colored robe and smiled at her, she suddenly felt like crying and not dealing with anything by herself.

"Teresa, darling, come on in!"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Teresa asked anxiously.

"Of course not," she answered. "I was just about to eat some breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"I already ate," Teresa replied. "It was an early morning."

Mrs. Smith laughed and turned down the Perry Como album that seemed to constantly be playing on repeat. "I had an early morning too. Frank and I went to LA last night for one of the Turner Classic Movie film festivals, it didn't get over until late and then he. . . well, needless to say, I never got to bed."

"Didn't you go dancing with Frank the other night?" Teresa asked.

"No darling, that was Louis. Frank isn't much for dancing, but I love it. So, Louis takes me dancing once a week. The other six days are dedicated to Frank though," Mrs. Smith said. "Coffee?"

Teresa shook her head, she never turned down coffee, but she was shaking like a leaf, she didn't think she needed to add to her jitters. "I shouldn't."

"Chocolate milk then," Mrs. Smith answered. "Martha darling!"

Martha came out from the kitchen. "Mrs. Smith?"

"Would you be a gem and make a chocolate milk for Miss Lisbon?"

"Of course," Martha answered. "Will Miss Lisbon be joining you for breakfast as well?"

"Not this morning, no. She's just keeping me company," Mrs. Smith replied.

"Very well," Martha said, smiling at her boss and going back to the kitchen to mix up the chocolate milk like she had been told to.

"So, you had an early morning," Mrs. Smith said, pouring her coffee into a teacup and adding a splash of cream. "Did you not make it to bed last night either?"

Teresa blushed. "No! I mean, yes, I made it to bed last night. I was just woken up early."

"By the young man I saw you with the other day?" Mrs. Smith asked, raising a well-groomed, silver eyebrow. "I must say that he is quite delectable, isn't he?"

"Is he?" Teresa asked fervently. "I can't say that I've noticed."

"So, what is it that brought you to my doorstep so early this morning?"

"I don't know," Teresa lied. "I guess I didn't want to go back to my empty apartment. And I needed somebody to talk to; I haven't had anybody to talk to in a long time."

Mrs. Smith took a sip of coffee. "What's on your mind?"

Teresa sighed. "Everything."

"Well, that's a loaded statement if I ever did hear one. How can everything possibly be on your mind? You're young and beautiful; you shouldn't be burdened with so many problems. But it seems like you need a pal, do you want to tell me about everything that's on your mind?"

"Yes," Teresa answered. "But I don't know how to."

Mrs. Smith smiled. "Well, we need to start with a good foundation. You have no reason to trust me or to tell me anything. You don't know anything about me except for the small details that you've probably observed, my name and the names of the men that I date. So, how about instead of you talking to me, I talk to you?"

Martha bustled out of the kitchen then with a silver tray, her chocolate milk was in a tall crystal glass. And Teresa realized that everything was an event with Mrs. Smith and her housekeeper. She found that she quite liked it.

"Yeah," Teresa answered after Martha had left. "I think I'd like to know more about you."

She spent the better part of the morning listening to Mrs. Smith describe a life that sounded like something out of a movie, about how she married her first husband, Bill when she was just a teenager and how they had been something like gypsies before finally settling down and starting a family later than most of their friends. She found out about she had met Frank shortly after Bill had died. She hadn't been looking to fall in love again because her first love had been completely magical and passionate.

Falling in love with Frank had happened completely by accident, he had been helping her out of the car one night and there had been a street performer playing La Vie En Rose on his saxophone when she had looked into his beautiful steel grey eyes and she had known. Not loving Frank Coleman just wasn't an option. Something in her had told her that she had loved him since before she had been born.

When she was finished, Martha was serving them lunch. Teresa vaguely remembered she was supposed to meet Patrick, but he hadn't called her to say it was okay to go and get him. So, she settled in and took her turn, pouring her heart out to Mrs. Smith like she would have if her mother had been alive.

.

Patrick looked at his watch and sighed. It was way past the proper time to tell Teresa that he couldn't go and meet her for lunch. The case had quickly taken over his life for the time being as they turned up another dead end with the service that Jill had been working for. The man who had hired her had done it for somebody he worked for, who in turn had done it for a friend.

And he wasn't giving up his friend's name for anything.

He made a cup of tea and hoped that Teresa would forgive him for not calling her and telling her that he couldn't make it for lunch. He tried not to feel relieved that he didn't have to see her again yet and try to make sense of his conflicting emotions for her.

"We knew this wouldn't be a slam dunk case," Bosco said, interrupting his thoughts as he poured himself a fifth cup of coffee, Patrick was relieved to see that it was at least decaf this time. "It is Red John, you know."

"I know," Patrick said.

"Except that isn't what you're thinking about, is it?"

Patrick smiled and shook his head. "I'm not going to talk about it, Bosco."

"Fine," Bosco answered. "But you do know that it's okay to let her in like that. You have nothing to lose."

Patrick shook his head and sighed. "I have everything to lose though," he said, leaving it at that because he really didn't want to talk about it.

But Bosco didn't let it go because he was never good at dropping an issue. "You do know that nobody would judge you if you weren't just her friend."

"We're in the middle of a case," Patrick reminded him. "It isn't appropriate to talk about it right now."

Bosco frowned. "What makes this case so different from any of the other ones?" and then it dawned on him and he smiled. "Okay then, we won't talk about it. If it'll make you feel any better about it. But remember denial isn't a river in Egypt."

"Bosco. . ." Patrick said in exasperation.

"I have to go and meet Mandee for dinner," Bosco answered. "Try not to stay here too late; maybe a change of scenery will be good for you."

"I know what you're suggesting."

Bosco smirked. "I wasn't suggesting anything. You came up with that all by yourself. Have a goodnight Paddy."

"You too Sammy," Patrick replied, rolling his eyes as his partner left him alone for the night.

.

He was at home, lying on the floor, doing breathing exercises and listening to classical music, trying desperately to relax when his phone rang. He reached for it and pressed the receiver to his ear, not even bothering to sit up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Patrick, it's me."

The voice on the other end of the line made him sit up right away, like she could see him. "Teresa?"

"I got your home phone number from the Yellow Pages, is that alright?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course! Listen, I'm sorry that I didn't call you about lunch earlier. . . things got a lot busier than I thought they would be."

"It's okay," Teresa assured him. "I was kind of tied up too. Listen, I know its kind of late but do you want to meet for a late pizza? I'd kind of like to see you again today. . ."

Patrick's pulse tripped a little bit, she kind of wanted to see him again? It probably didn't match how much he wanted to see her again. He swallowed hard and shook his head, pushing the thought away as hard as he could.

"Yes," he answered instead, releasing a deep breath. "I mean, yes I would love to get something to eat with you tonight. I haven't eaten dinner yet."

There was another pause and then she released a deep breath. "Who looks out for you Patrick?"

"I look out for myself," Patrick replied.

"Not anymore," Teresa whispered before clearing her throat and suggested a pizza place.

It was one he knew well, him and the rest of the team would order their closed case pizza from the restaurant all the time. He fiddled with the undone buttons on his vest and nodded. "Sounds good. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'd like that," she answered; he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'll be there soon," he promised, discarding his vest completely and reaching for his keys.

She was waiting for him on the porch, still dressed like she was in the morning, her face still void of any make up. She was humming a Billy Joel song and she looked young and beautiful and impossibly unreachable as he came towards her. His stomach flipped uncomfortably and he knew in that moment that even if he didn't say it aloud, he was in so much trouble.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Teresa said, smiling at him.

"I couldn't say no even if I didn't want to," Patrick told her.

Her whole face lit up at this statement. "I hope that's a good thing," she answered.

"I think it might be a very dangerous thing," Patrick replied.

"Oh. Well, come on let's go and get some dinner. I'm starving," Teresa told him as she hopped off the porch and walked a little bit ahead of him.

Patrick followed her. "What's with you tonight?" he asked.

Teresa frowned and turned around to look at him, folding her arms across her chest. "You tell me, you're the world-renowned psychic."

"Ex-psychic," Patrick reminded her. "Nobody cares about me anymore."

Teresa's frown was replaced with another one of her heart melting smiles. "That's where you're wrong my friend. There are people who care about you."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" Teresa answered. "Come on; let's not talk about it anymore. We'll talk about it again when you're ready to. In the meantime, let's go and get some pizza."

"What are you talking about?" Patrick asked as she stopped by his car, waiting for him to open the passenger door for her.

"You'll know what I'm talking about when you don't have to ask that question again," Teresa answered, leaving his mind to wander to all the possibilities of what it could be she wanted to discuss with him.

TBC. . .

.

Author's Note II:

Sorry about the delay in posting. This week was crazy, what with the memorial service for my grandmother, a long church meeting, the Mentalist episode, my sister having surgery on Thursday and redecorating the master bedroom I forgot all about this until I was in bed last night and it was too late to do anything about it. I would have posted it this afternoon, but we went to the city to have lunch and meet my sister's boyfriend's best friend and his wife. Then we went to every bookstore downtown. So, despite the day late posting in this, I hope you will tell me what you thought and depending on what happens this coming week, I will try and be punctual with posting on Friday night!

Until Next Time!

Love,

Holly, 2/7/2015_