There is a bit of blood in this one (only in a dream). If it bothers you beware.

"Noooo! Don't. NO!"

"Jane! Wake up. Jane." She finally had to reach over and grab his arms. "Wake up!"

His hair was matted down with sweat and he kept turning and groaning, caught in the throws of a nightmare. This had been the third time this week and Teresa wasn't sure what to do.

"You have to wake up Patrick", she said, more forcefully. "You're having a nightmare."

"Huh?" His eyes opened suddenly, and he looked as if he'd seen something terrible. It took him a moment before he was able to focus. "Teresa?" He sounded terrified, and before she'd had a chance to reply he'd grabbed her and pulled her to him, holding on to her so tightly she could barely breathe.

"Patrick, what is it?" She wrapped her arms around him, returning his fierce hug.

He shook his head, not answering but only holding on more tightly. She realized then that he was in no shape to respond, but simply continued to hold him until he calmed. Finally, after about twenty minutes she could feel him take a deep breath and his arms relaxed.

"I'm sorry", he said softly. "Don't know what happened."

"You had a nightmare."

"Yeah." He pulled away from her completely, and gave her a smile. She could tell it didn't reach his eyes and he was only pretending.

"Do you remember what it was about?" She had asked each time he'd woken up from the throws of one of the bad dreams but each time he'd claimed he couldn't remember anything. She was suspicious that he knew more than he was letting on and suspected he was keeping things from her in order to protect her.

He opened his mouth to tell her that no, he didn't remember, when he stopped. He needed some help to figure this out and who better than her? She knew him better than anyone had ever known him and might be able to help sort out some of the things he was seeing.

But he didn't know if he could let her in to the one nightmare that had haunted him for almost thirteen years. He hadn't had it in a while – and had hoped that it was gone for good. But it had returned this last week, even though it was beginning to change in its details. That frightened him and made him consider that maybe it was time to tell someone – to tell Teresa.

"I – it was all mixed up", he told her, sounding hesitant. "It started out the same as most of my dreams but then it changed and – it's confusing."

"Can you tell me about it? Maybe I can help sort it out."

"I – guess. I don't know." He pushed his fingers through his hair. "Maybe I'm just going crazy."

"You are not going crazy. You've been under a lot of pressure lately and this is just your minds way of trying to deal with everything. Come on Jane, you can't go on like this. Talk to me and maybe we can get to the bottom of these nightmares."

He nodded, looking as if he was still trying to deal with the horrors of whatever he'd seen in his nightmare. It was at times like this that the tragedy that had shaped his life was the most evident. Usually he used his charm and innate gentleness to deflect people from even thinking about the scars he must bear.

"Come on, sit back." She piled pillows behind him and helped him move so that he was leaning up against the headboard. She then snuggled in beside him. "Okay, tell me whatever you can."

He nodded and took a breath. Just as he was about to speak he turned into her and put his arms around her. "I love you." He said softly. "And I don't know if I can do this."

"Yes you can. Just close your eyes and breathe. You're safe here and everything is just fine. It was only a dream – a nightmare. None of it is real." She spoke softly, hoping to lull him into a state of relaxation and make it easier for him to speak.

"You've been studying my technique Lisbon", he said quietly, his eyes closed.

She grinned. "Of course. Now relax." She continued to watch him as he sat there, just breathing. After a while she could see the tension begin to leave his body. At one point he searched with his hand until he found hers and grasped it gently. He gave a squeeze and then began to speak.

"It started the same as always", he said quietly. "I walked up the stairs in my house and found Red John's note. I always expect to open the door and see – the face, the blood. But instead, in my dream, Angela and Charlotte are still alive and he's there. He's wearing a mask and he's there with them. He's holding Charlotte and he's got his other arm wrapped around Angela, a knife at her neck."

Teresa was horrified – not just at the dream but at the calm way Patrick was telling it to her. It was very clear that this was a common scenario in his dreams and she wondered, perhaps for the thousandth time, how he was as sane as he was.

"He began taunting me. He asked me to take back what I said on TV, to admit I'm not a psychic and that I lied. I try to do it, but for some reason I can't move, I can't talk. No matter how hard I try I can't say anything." His voice begins to sound panicked so Teresa quickly reached over and strokes his face.

"It's okay", she says quietly. "It's just a dream. You're here, you're safe."

His hand comes up and gently touches hers, but he is obviously still caught up in the story. "I keep trying to speak but I can't. I know that if I do I can save them, that he'll let them go but – I just stand there. And then -" He stops and takes a deep breath. "And then he laughs at me and tells me it's too late. He tells me I clearly don't love them enough and then he – he takes his knife and – cuts her open."

Teresa whimpers, she can't help it and Jane pulls her tightly to him. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this."

"No – don't stop. I'm sorry – you need to keep going. Please."

After a moment he lets out a puff of air but then continues. "He let's her drop to the floor and I can see her blood running – it turns into a puddle on the floor that just grows and grows. I just stare at it, watching it grow and I want to scream but I still can't speak or move. Red John then asks me the same questions again. Oh God Teresa, he's going to kill my little girl and I can't stop him. No matter how hard I try I can't talk. Charlotte is crying, begging me to save her, to help her. She keeps saying Daddy, please, over and over and I still can't do anything. Then he takes the knife and – and just like her mother she dies, blood flowing all over the floor, mixing with Angela. Red John stands there and laughs."

"Oh God Jane –I'm so sorry, so very sorry." She holds him closely, feeling the tension, which has returned. She can also feel him shaking, although he's obviously trying to control it. She wonders how he has been able to go on over the years, and suddenly understands clearly his insomnia and the reason for his constant short naps at both the CBI and the FBI buildings. "Are you alright?" she asks, when it appears as if he is calmer.

He takes a few breaths but finally nods and then gives a watery chuckle. "I should be used to it by now. But Teresa, the last few nights the dream has changed and I don't' know what that means. For years it's been the same, with small variations, but now – now it's changed."

"Changed how?"

"Well, it's not Charlotte in some of them, at least not Charlotte at five years old. A couple of times it was the Charlotte I saw in my belladonna induced hallucination. He - killed her too", he said, and she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. Even the hallucination was tainted by Red John.

"And a couple of times it was - it was Christina Scott." Jane stopped and glanced at the woman holding him so tightly.

Teresa blinked a couple of times, a frown of concentration on her face. "Well, you have been working on her case lately, so it's probably not surprising that she's gotten mixed up in your dream."

"But that has never happened before", he said, "and we've dealt with some pretty bad cases. And – that's not all."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"In a couple of my dreams the scene – changes. It's not Red John holding her but someone else – and it's not in my bedroom. It takes place somewhere else but I don't know where. I see the man holding her but his face is in shadow. In one of the dreams I watch as he -" he closes his eyes and leans back, his face pale.

"What do you see?" she asked gently. She didn't really want to know but thought it might be better for him if he could talk about it.

"He pushes her down and – and I see her struggling and she screams. I think he raped her, although I couldn't see clearly. All I know is I just stand there and can't do a thing."

"Oh God – Jane. You need to stop this investigation. You can't go on like this."

"In the next dream I saw him kill her", he said, going on as if he hadn't even heard her. "She was screaming and he told her to 'shut up' but she wouldn't. That's when he took out a knife and he cut her throat. She stopped screaming."

"That's enough Jane. You can't do this. Tell Abbott that you're off the case and someone else can look into it."

He turned to her, blinking as if he just realized she was there. "What?" he frowned. "No – no, I can't give up. We're so close to finding something, I saw him Teresa and I saw where he killed her. I just have to figure it out."

"Jane, it was a dream. It wasn't real. You know we need real evidence, not something that you imagined."

"But what if I saw something in the file or when talking to Eckert that – that made me dream these things?"

She didn't see how that could be, but recognized that there was no way she was going to change his mind. "You've found another obsession", she said heavily, seeing the signs return.

"What?" No – no Teresa. This isn't the same, I promise."

"Isn't it? You're going to keep going, keep looking for clues until you find who did this. What I want to know is why Jane? Why are you so determined? Is it Andrea?"

"Who? What? Andrea?" He looked totally confused, but then his expression changed. "You think I'm doing this because of Andrea Scott?" he asked, no inflection in his voice.

"Aren't you?"

He sighed. "No – it has nothing to do with her. No, that's not fair – I started this because no parent should suffer what she did and never get justice. But that's not why I need to finish this. It's – I don't know why, I wish I could figure it out. But I promise you it isn't because of her."

"Look", he turned so that he was facing Teresa, "you know I love you right?" he asked.

Teresa nodded but didn't say anything. She knew he did – and yet couldn't help but feel a sense of disquiet about this whole thing. She had the distinct feeling that Andrea Scott had asked Jane for his help for reasons that went beyond his work with the FBI or even his history. He was an attractive man and she figured this was not going to be the last time women went after him. Suddenly she wondered if she should ask him to put his ring back on. At least that had kept some women away.

"Well then, you should know that I'm not interested in any other women. Teresa – you've brought me the happiness I never expected to have again, that I didn't think I deserved. I love you and there's nothing in this world I want more than to wake up beside you every day. I told you on the plane, I can't imagine waking up and you're not there."

She smiled at that and leaned forward. "And did I tell you that I feel the same? Well, I do." She chuckled. "I think I may have to get you another ring just to keep those women away."

"Are you proposing?"

"What?" Her breath caught and she looked at him, her eyes huge in her face. It was only when she saw the laughter in his eyes that she realized he was teasing her. She almost laughed but then suddenly her expression grew serious. She could see him become worried at the change.

"I was just teasing", he told her hurriedly.

"Were you? You don't want to get married."

"Uh – what?"

"Is it something you've thought about or does it frighten you?" she asked seriously. "I know you were teasing, but it's not something we've talked about and I think maybe we should. We didn't talk about children and look at what happened."

How the conversation had gone from his nightmares to marriage he didn't know. He rubbed his face, trying to get his head around it. "Uh – does it frighten me?" He thought for a moment. "No. What does frighten me is having another person that I love so much and that loves me in my life. I'm terrified that something will happen and I don't think I could survive that, not a second time."

"Then why are you with me?" she asked gently.

"Because losing you now scares me even more", he admitted. "Look – I expect I'll always have a measure of fear but the longer we're together the more I can deal with it. And It's not like I think about it all the time – just – sometimes, when something reminds me."

She nodded. "Like the nightmares?"

"Sort of – but it's okay as long as when I wake up you're here with me."

She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "I'll be with you", she told him.

"So – to answer your question again. No, marriage itself doesn't frighten me. In fact, I can't think of anything I'd like more than to wear your ring. How about you?"

"Me", she smiled and snuggled down with him. "Like I said, I feel the same way."

He grinned and pulled her to him. "So, when the time is right -?"

"Mmm hmm – although you'd better do it right and not on a plane full of people."

"Hey, I was the one that already boarded a plane illegally to tell you I love you. This time it's your turn."

She laughed, but agreed, feeling happier than she'd ever remembered feeling. After that - well, that and a bit of passion, they agreed to leave off thinking or talking about the dream or the Scott case for the rest of the weekend. Teresa knew it still bothered him, but he was working hard to not let it become another obsession. She wished she knew what to do to help.

"Teresa", he called from the bedroom. It was the evening before his next group session.

"What?"

"Where did you put my box?" He stepped out of the room, looking too sexy for his own good.

"Huh?"

"My box – with Charlotte's things. I need something out of it."

"Oh – I put it in the spare room, in the closest. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"No, I've got it, thanks."

She sat on the couch, wondering what he was doing. The day after he'd shown her the photo album, he'd asked if he could leave the box with her. Although his ostensible reason was the lack of space in his trailer, she knew that it had been an incredible show of trust. It also proved to her that he was planning to stick with her. She just wished that he would move himself over, not just his box, although after their discussion of the other morning she was hopeful that was coming.

He brought the box into the living room and sat down. He stared at it for a moment, still clearly affected by it. He sighed. "I have to take something of hers to the group tomorrow night", he explained. "We're each to bring a memento with us to share with the others."

"Do you know what you're going to take?" she asked gently, understanding how difficult this had to be for him.

"Mmm", he replied noncommittally. "Not really." He looked up at that. "Do you think it's terrible of me that I don't even have their picture or anything of theirs with me?" he asked seriously.

She bent her head as she considered the question. She knew by now that he wanted an honest answer. "No – I don't think you were ready for that", she said carefully. "I don't think you were ready to have those reminders around you. Now – maybe you are."

He nodded. "Maybe." He reached over and lifted the lid off the box. Again he looked down at the little paper heart, a smile on his face this time. He picked up the album and carefully opened it. After looking at a number of pictures he took out a small one – one of the last pictures of his daughter being held by his wife. It had been taken shortly before they were killed. Without a word he pulled out his wallet and placed it inside.

Next he took a deep breath and began to pull more things out of the box. A few times he stopped, overcome with emotion, but then he would resume. Finally he came to something which very obviously affected him deeply. Teresa could see the tears fill his eyes.

He reached in slowly and pulled out a fuzzy white rabbit – slightly worn, it had clearly been well-loved.

"Her cuddly", Teresa asked gently.

"Cuddy?" Jane smiled, although it didn't last. "I gave it to her when she was a baby and she carried it with her everywhere." He gently stroked the long ears. "I could never figure out why it wasn't with her when she died", he said softly. "She must have been so scared without him."

"Jane", she said gently, not sure what to say but knowing how painful this must be.

He looked up and gave her a soft smile. "Sorry. It's silly to even think that, I know. It's just – I've gone around these things so many times." He continued to look at the rabbit but then lifted his head and regarded her seriously. "Do you know what Kristina Frye once told me?"

She shook her head.

"She asked me if there was a question about that night that had always bothered me. And there was. There was something in particular I agonized about."

"What was it?"

"Kristina told me she'd talked to Angela", he went on, not directly answering her. "She told me that Angela had said to tell me that Charlotte slept through the whole thing, that she didn't wake up and wasn't afraid."

Teresa didn't say anything, not sure what Jane wanted or needed to hear. All she knew was that she wanted to cry – to cry for his loss, and to cry for the little girl who hadn't had a chance to grow up, to cry for the woman and child who had died so horribly.

"I've thought about what she said more times than you an imagine. I didn't believe that she was truly psychic, because I don't believe there is such a thing – but – I wanted to."

She nodded, knowing what a terrible burden that must be. "I'm sorry", she told him, knowing how he must still suffer over that question - and over whether Kristina Frye could talk to the dead. "So – are you going to take the rabbit?" she asked, hoping to draw him back to the present.

"Mr. Nibbles?" he asked, grinning down at the rabbit, a happy memory in his eyes. "Yes, I'll take him."

He looked around the room and could see that everyone had brought something with them. People were holding onto their items, whether held in the open or in bags, as something precious.

"So tonight we're going to share a bit more about our children by bringing in a memento that reminds us of them. If you feel comfortable sharing that with us, or anything about it or your child, please do. If you don't want to share, as always, don't feel you have to. Now, does anyone want to begin?

It was again heart wrenching. For some reason, why Patrick didn't know, he had an especially difficult time with this exercise. After each person finished speaking they would pass the item around the room, so that each person could hold the memento and through it, get to know their child.

Touching the items had disturbed him, although in what way he couldn't say. He ended up holding them only long enough not to appear rude but by the time Andrea passed the dance shoes that were Christina's, he was ready to bolt.

He managed to take them, although he only held them long enough to not appear rude. He got such a strange feeling when he did, and he knew it was because of the case and because of his dream. He passed them to Marissa, who was sitting on his left, and tried to clear his mind.

Fortunately he got through the evening – although sharing about Charlotte's rabbit was even more difficult than he'd thought. He'd ended up in tears when he talked about it not being with her when she died. At the end, as everyone was leaving, he was given a number of hugs from some of the other parents. He didn't say much, but he was grateful. For the first time he could begin to tolerate and even accept the sympathy of others.

He stopped himself. No – the reason he could handle this was because it wasn't sympathy – it was empathy. These people felt what he felt, suffered what he did and understood.

But what about Teresa, he asked himself? She hadn't been through this. No – but even if she couldn't understand what it was like to lose a child, she understood him – understood him, loved him and was there for him. He trusted her and not only could he tolerate her sympathy, he rejoiced in it.

"Thank you everyone", Carl said quietly. "As always, drive safely tonight. Next week we're going to discuss siblings and/or whether to have more children after a loss. Have a good week."

Jane stood up slowly, as always exhausted by the evening. He was thinking about Teresa, about how much he wanted and needed her right now. He was also thinking about next week and whether or not he could handle the discussion. And finally, he was thinking about how much he missed Charlotte.

"Patrick?"

"Huh?" He looked up, surprised to see that Andrea was watching him. "Oh sorry – I didn't see you there. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Have you found anything?" she asked, getting to the point quickly.

"Uh – not really", he frowned. "Did you not get my message?" He'd left her a voice message giving her a quick update the day before. "We're working every angle, but it takes time and you know I can't promise that we'll find anything."

"But you'll keep looking, right?"

"As long as we can", he assured her gently.

"You didn't give up until you found Red John", she reminded him.

"No", he sighed. "We're trying Andrea. I'll let you know if we find anything."

She had to be content with that although clearly she wasn't happy. He wondered if she really expected him to take on her daughter's murder the same way he'd taken on his.

"How did it go", Teresa was sitting on the couch, looking up at him carefully.

"Fine", he said, not elaborating. "I'm tired."

"I made you a nice cup of chamomile tea. Let me get it for you while you get ready for bed."

He smiled and nodded, thinking how nice it was to come home again to someone who loved him. He thought back briefly to the times Angela had met him after a busy day, a cup of his favorite tea in hand. He allowed himself a fleeting moment of memory and then let it go. His life was here, now, with Teresa – and it was time he thought only of her.

"Thank you", he said, leaning back on the headboard, taking a sip of tea. "Perfect."

She smiled and climbed up beside him. "I hope you know I only make tea for the man I love."

"Even more perfect then", he smiled. He took one more sip and then put the cup down on the night table. "Come here", he said, opening his arms. "Love me please."

"Of course."