She's lost track of how long she's been in the hospital waiting room, her mind whirring with every worst case scenario she can think of.
Patients come and go. Clicks of pens and incoherent chit chat fill the room. All of it is driving her insane, because she's been waiting here for God knows how long and they've given her no update on how Patrick is doing.
She's heard the saying before, that no news is good news. But in this case, she'd really like to know if the man she loves is going to live or not.
Luckily she doesn't have to be alone with her thoughts much longer, because a flash of red barrels into the hospital and Teresa can recognize the color from anywhere. She catches Grace's eye and the red head rushes over, green eyes wide and alert.
"Oh my god, are you okay? What happened? Is Patrick okay?" Questions tumble out of Grace's mouth before Teresa can even greet her. Not that she has much energy to do so anyway. Not even the large cup of hospital coffee she purchased is easing the misery she's in.
She swallows painfully, the lump in her throat growing as she thinks about Patrick. For all she knows he's in a hospital bed, his beautiful eyes shut, his body pricked with hundreds of needles.
All she wants to do is see him, but she's stuck wondering what's happening instead.
"I'm okay," she finally answers Grace, eyes burning with unshed tears. She's already cried so much that she's mentally exhausted. "Physically, at least. And I don't know if he's okay. The doctors won't tell me anything and they won't let me see him."
Grace sighs, plucking the now-cold coffee from her friend's fingers to sip on herself. "I can't believe this. Someone just randomly shot at him? In a deserted park?"
Teresa knows how strange is sounds. She's a cop, for crying out loud. But does she know why a stranger decided to shoot at Patrick? No, she doesn't.
But she's going to find out who did it and makes sure they pay.
"I can't believe it either," she murmurs, more to herself than to Grace. "One minute we were taking a walk, talking to each other, and then the next I heard a gunshot and found Patrick on the ground with blood soaked through his clothes."
Grace winces at the mental image. "I can't imagine how awful that must've been. I'm so sorry, Reese."
Teresa doesn't respond this time. The fear she felt in that moment is still fresh. If she would've lost him...
Hell, she could still lose him. But she doesn't want to think about that.
"I just want to know if he's okay," she croaks, and before she knows it the tears are falling again and a sob starts wracking her body.
"Oh, Reese." Grace envelops the other girl in a comforting hug, allowing her to cry as much as she needs to without belittling her for it. One thing Grace knows about Teresa is that she hates being vulnerable in front of people; she thinks it makes her seem weak. "Patrick is going to be fine, I'm sure of it."
Teresa wishes she had Grace's optimism. The minutes seem to tick by abnormally slowly, and she doesn't know how much longer she can stay in this chair without completely losing it.
As if sensing her distress building up, Grace says, "Wayne is with the kids, including Theo. They're all fast asleep. I'll stay for as long as you want me to, okay?"
Teresa nods robotically. She hears the words but she's not focusing on them. Instead her head is wrapped around Patrick and whether or not he's in pain. If he's asking for her.
If he's thinking about her like she's worrying about him.
Perhaps the universe has finally given in to her pleas, because a doctor steps out into the waiting room and calls, "anyone here for Patrick Jane?"
She shoots up from her chair like she's just been handed the Nobel Peace Prize. She speed-walks to the doctor with Grace in tow, her heart racing with both fear and hope.
"How is he? Is he okay?" She can't stop the questions from rolling off her tongue, but luckily the doctor doesn't seem annoyed by her interrogation.
"He's doing fine," the doctor—Dr. Winters, her name tag says—smiles reassuringly. "We had to rush him into surgery as soon as possible to remove the bullet, but it's done now and he's perfectly stable."
Teresa's entirely body sags in pure relief. "Thank God."
Dr. Winter''s smile doesn't falter, but her brown eyes flicker with consternation. "I have to ask: what in the world happened? How did he get shot?"
"Someone shot him out of nowhere," Teresa concedes softly, biting her lip as she recalls their stroll in the park. There's no way she's ever going to erase the image of him covered in blood from her mind, even when he fully recovers.
"Well, I'm very sorry that happened," Dr. Winters says sympathetically. "Luckily the bullet didn't hit any major arteries. He just needs to be on bed rest for a few weeks and has to be given antibiotics a few times a day."
She nods. "Bed rest. Antibiotics. Got it. Can I see him?"
She doesn't mean to sound rude and impatient, but the need to see him is overruling her typical manners. But Dr. Winters just smiles and nods. "I'll show you to his room."
Teresa follows almost frantically, momentarily forgetting that Grace is with her. It's only when they arrive at Patrick's room that she notices the fiery red hair right next to her.
Grace plants a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder, an understanding smile branding her lips. "Go see him. I'll be right out here. Might call Wayne and check on the kids."
Teresa sends her a grateful smile before entering the room, a sudden chill clobbering her face and the bared skin of her arms. Her eyes land on a cozy-looking Patrick in a hospital bed, his curls plastered on the stark white pillows, his face pale and eyes laser-focused on the TV mounted on the wall before him.
The door clicks shut behind her and that's when he tears his gaze from the TV, eyes finding hers immediately.
And then his lips quirk up in a breathtaking smile.
"Teresa," he says, voice all breathy and soft. She can't imagine the pain he's feeling right now. The antibiotics might ease the pain a little, but they don't take it away completely.
"Hi," she smiles at him, but it's wary. "How are you feeling?"
He has enough strength to shrug. "Like I've been shot," he jokes, expecting her to laugh.
She doesn't. If anything, her face hardens.
He sighs. "I'm okay, Teresa. Really. In a few weeks I'll be as good as new."
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the facts." She inches towards his bed and leans over him, brushing a wild curl out of his face. "You were shot tonight, Patrick. And as much as I want to feel differently, I know it wasn't an accident. Someone wanted you dead."
"Hm," he muses. "I do have a few enemies. Never thought they'd go as far as to kill me, though."
"Patrick, I'm being serious. You really scared me tonight."
Their eyes lock, ocean blue clashing with sea-green. Both being as stubborn as they are, it takes a few minutes before either of them stop the staring contest.
"I could've lost you," she continues, softer this time. Her fingers whisper across his cheek. A little color has finally returned to them. "I could've lost you, and I...I wouldn't be able to handle that."
"Oh, Teresa." He raises a hand to cup her cheek, the heat of his palm relaxing her instantly. "You're not going to lose me. I'm here for good."
"The person who...who shot you," she can barely get the words past her lips without wanting to clench her fists in fury, "they could come back. They could find you again. And how would you be able to defend yourself? You need to rest for at least a few weeks and you're against firearms."
"I'll be fine," he says, but his lips take on a frown, seeming unconvinced himself.
"No. You're moving in with me." Finality permeates the air, her green eyes daring him to argue.
Still, the man is stubborn. "Teresa, that's really not necessary. You have enough on your plate. I can't have you taking care of me like a needy pet."
"It is necessary," she insists. "And I don't care if you want this or not. It's happening. You're moving in with me and Theo. End of story."
Despite the annoying pain shooting through him when he moves, he pushes himself to sit up taller and gifts her with a smile. "Guess I'm becoming part of the family, huh?"
Her hand finds his, interlocking their fingers with the need to just touch him. "You are family, Patrick. You belong with us."
His smile widens. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
XxX
"Three boxes," Teresa cocks an eyebrow as she sets the final moving box down, sending a look of disbelief to the resting man on the couch. "You sure this is all you want to keep?"
"I live alone, Teresa," he says, eyes focused on the white ceiling above him. "I didn't exactly have much in the first place."
His tone is bland, lacking its usual optimism, and she frowns. "Patrick, I know you hate being on bed rest, but it's for your own good. You need to heal."
He'd been released from the hospital three days ago, and he's spent each day sulking about the fact that he can't do normal things without help, like getting up to use the bathroom. He isn't used to accepting help from people, so naturally he complains every time, insisting he can walk himself when really he'd fall over if she gave him the chance.
Instead of replying, he just grumbles under his breath like a child who's not getting what he wants. She's caught between the middle of wanting to smile and wanting to flick him on the nose for being so stubborn.
"You better watch your attitude, mister," she warns, sounding more like a mother than ever. The word mister even makes him crack a smile.
"Or what? You gonna punish me?" This time he lifts his head to look at her, finding her with her hands on her hips and a smile threatening to make an appearance.
"Yeah, I'm gonna spank you because you're acting like a child," she says sassily.
"I might like that," he admits, grinning.
She just rolls her eyes, too far away to swat him, and hefts one of his boxers into her arms. "I'm gonna take these to my room."
"You mean our room," he corrects her. "If we're going to be living together, I want to sleep with you. Both literally and sexually."
He takes pride in the way her cheeks immediately flush. "Patrick. Don't be inappropriate."
"Theo's taking a nap, he can't hear us."
"Doesn't matter. Now be good or I won't be giving you anything even when you're fully recovered." She raises an eyebrow, knowing damn well that threat will get him to behave.
He pouts, watching her carry the first box up the stairs, his eyes locked firmly on her ass. She's wearing another sundress today, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh. It would be so easy to bend her over someplace and flip it up.
Dammit, why did he have to get shot?
A few minutes after she disappears from his view, the soft sound of feet padding down the stairs catches his attention. He pushes himself onto his elbows to find Theo coming down the stairs, tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Hi, Pat," he yawns. "Whatcha doing?"
"Resting, unfortunately," Patrick answers. "Have a good nap?"
Theo shrugs, plopping himself down on the rug in front of the couch. His dark hair is mussed and Patrick can't resist the urge to reach over and mess it up some more.
The boy giggles, swatting his hand away. "What's mama doing?"
"Some girl stuff, I don't know." Teresa hasn't told Theo that he's moving in yet, claiming that it's not the right time. But he knows she's scared of scaring Theo. The last time they've lived with a man it had been Evan, and they all know how that turned out.
He'll just have to prove to Theo that he'll never be like Evan, even if it ends up taking years.
Theo suddenly points to the gunshot wound hiding beneath his white t-shirt. "Does it still hurt?"
He asks that everyday, thinking the answer will be different each time. He doesn't exactly understand what being shot means, or that the pain is unbearable to put it lightly.
"Yeah, buddy. Still hurts. But I'm fine."
"When can you play with me again?"
Patrick smiles warily. "Don't know when exactly, bud. I think in a few weeks."
"Aw, man." He pauses, then asks, "does that mean you're gonna stay here until you're better?"
He doesn't know how to answer that, but luckily Teresa descends the stairs so he doesn't have to. Theo jumps up at the sight of his mom and races over to her, tugging on the hem of her dress.
"Mama, can we order pizza for dinner? Please?"
Patrick watches Teresa's lips pucker as she thinks about it. "Hmm, I don't know. I was thinking about cooking fish with vegetables..." She lists off two of his most dreaded foods, chuckling when he gags.
"Yuck!"
"Okay, we can order pizza tonight," she concedes, making him cheer. "But tomorrow you're eating your vegetables!"
"Okay! I'm gonna go wash my hands!"
As he runs upstairs, she catches Patrick's look and rolls her eyes. "What?"
"Nothing," he shakes his head. "I just love you."
Pink instantly strikes her cheeks, still not used to those three words being said to her. And when he says them, they sound like heaven.
She walks over to him and crouches down, brushing her lips across his to tease him. He huffs with impatience and grabs the back of her head to crash their lips together, the sweet taste of her lips leaving him momentarily breathless.
When they finally pull apart, she pecks his cheek and stands up. "I just love you too."
She turns to go and order the pizza, swaying her hips purposely. She even goes as far as to send him a saucy wink over her shoulder.
He licks his lips and groans.
Such a tease.