He must be having another dream, he thought, as his eyes opened slowly. There was absolutely no other reason why Rigsby would be sitting beside his bed, looking down at him.
He saw movement behind the big guy and tried to squint to see what it was. He quickly gave up when he realized that anything, including squinting or moving, took more energy than he had.
The next thing he knew there was a buzz of noise around him, although he had no idea what it signified. Everything was so fuzzy, so out of focus that he decided to simply close his eyes.
"Is he okay?" Wayne asked the nurse worriedly. "He didn't seem to understand me."
"He's still on lots of pain medication and he's weak from blood loss. It's going to take him quite a while before he's alert", the nurse told him as she walked around and checked Jane's vitals.
"But he's okay?"
She switched out one of the IV bags and glanced down at the still man in the bed. "He's still very ill", she said quietly. "He's out of danger – barring complications – but he has a long way to go before he's well again. Don't expect much from him, but it's important that he knows someone is with him. It helps."
Rigsby nodded, although he kept his eyes focused on Jane. He still couldn't believe how terrible the poor man looked. His face appeared as if it was made of parchment paper stretched over bone, with the addition of dark circles around his eyes. His lips held no color, which gave him a strange, ghost-like appearance. Besides that he looked like some kind of cyborg, with wires and tubes and monitors covering half his body.
Rigsby had a hard time when he thought about what had happened to Jane. Just as the man was getting his life back together and was finding some happiness again, this had to happen. Although Wayne had to admit his respect for Jane had grown tremendously.
He'd always liked him – or at least he'd grown to like him after the first few months he'd been with the CBI. He'd also grown to appreciate Jane's many, although often hidden, talents. He had learned, over the years, that the former psychic and con-man was a decent man, even thought his actions sometimes seemed to contradict that.
He knew he shouldn't really be surprised that Jane had thrown himself in front of a bullet for Teresa. He'd sacrificed in the past to protect those he cared for – even if that was a relatively small number of people. But he also knew how frightened Jane was of violence and especially of guns. The fact that he'd done it showed the depth of his love for her.
"You're crazy", he whispered. "But I'm glad you made it."
He continued to sit and watch his friend, even though Jane kept on sleeping. He'd promised Lisbon he'd watch over him, and so stay he would, even though his butt was growing numb.
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He watched the still water of the pond, enjoying the cool breeze and the sunlight that just touched his shoulders. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the peace of the moment to wash over him.
"It's beautiful here."
His eyes flew open and his head turned. There she was again – the woman who looked and sounded like his mother. "What are you doing here?"
Her eyebrows lifted. "I don't know. You're the one who brought me." She scanned the area around the pond. "I've never been here before."
"Stop it!" He stood and walked a few steps away, his back to the pond, facing her. "Just stop this!"
"I'm not doing anything Patrick. I'm just sitting here enjoying the day with my son." Her eyes suddenly glistened with the faint touch of tears. "That's it", she whispered. "You brought me here because it reminds you of our place."
"First, I didn't bring you and second – reminds me of what place?"
"Of that lake. Remember? We spent one whole August there that summer. We were performing in Lincoln, Nebraska and it was a short distance away from the fairground. You remember, don't you?" she peered up at him, a gentle look on her face.
He wanted to deny it, but the memory was there – it had appeared suddenly in his mind as if it happened yesterday. He must have been about eight years old.
He thought back to life on the carny circuit and remembered that during the morning there was little for him at the carnival – the shows started later in the afternoon. That was the time he usually spend studying with his mother, or helping his father with chores. This time, however, he remembered his mother telling them they were going to have a little holiday. She took his hand and they walked away from the carnival.
He recalled being somewhat fearful, walking out in the country, but his mother held his hand and began to sing. Soon he joined in with her and the two of them laughed and then ran through the fields. Eventually they came to the small lake and he threw himself to the ground, reveling in the unaccustomed freedom.
He could hear his mother laugh as she sat down beside him. She had brought a small canvas bag with her and was soon pulling out lots of goodies. After filling themselves on all sorts of good food his mother took him down to the lake side and they lay in the grass, enjoying the warmth of the day.
"Paddy, look", she'd whispered. Her finger was pointed towards the lake and he turned. Floating by, only a few feet away, was a mother duck, followed by six tiny ducklings.
He wanted to rush to the water's edge but his mother had stopped him. "Shhh", she'd said softly. "We don't want to scare her."
"But I won't hurt her Mommy", he's whispered back.
"I know baby, but she doesn't know that. Her babies are tiny and we'll scare her and them. Just watch from here."
They must have sat there for forty-five minutes, just watching as the ducks swam close to shore. Once they'd gone he and his mother had spent the rest of the morning coming up with silly names for the baby ducks.
They'd returned to the carnival and their trailer after that and soon he had to go on stage with his father. He'd already started the 'boy wonder' act, although it was mostly his father who performed, with just small bits from him.
They went back many times after that, watching as the ducklings grew bigger and bigger. Patrick didn't think they'd ever told his father about their trips to the lake. He remembered it as magical time.
It was strange that it was a memory that he hadn't thought of in years. After his mother's death he couldn't bear to remember the happy times, and then over the years other things had seemed more important.
It was strange, he realized, that the hardest memories to deal with after you lost someone you loved were those special times – those magical moments. He'd lost those after Angela and Charlotte had died, and was only now able to start recalling those times.
"You remember, don't you Paddy?"
He took a startled breath. He'd forgotten where he was or who was with him. He frowned. Not that he really knew what was going on or why he was here. "Yes", he nodded, deciding to tell the truth. "I remember going with my mother to the lake."
She smiled – a smile so like his that it was eerie. He remembered how often people mentioned the fact that he looked so much like his mother. His eyes and his mouth especially, everyone had said. He'd liked that as a child although by the time he was eleven he had begun to wish he looked more like his father.
He lost the desire to be like his father in any way by the time he was fifteen.
"Why are you here?" he asked again, more gently this time.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm here because you want me here."
He laughed and shook his head. "Oh no – don't think you can blame this on me. I have nothing to do with this."
"Patrick, where are you?"
"Huh?" He looked around. "I'm at Elker's Pond – by the FBI building."
"Are you? Do you remember walking here today? And what day is it? Where are Teresa or Cho or any of your colleagues."
He frowned. "They're at work", he told her defiantly.
"And do you remember walking here?" she asked again.
He tried to think, but everything was indistinct – at least everything but being here and the memory of his mother when he was a child. He started to panic and his breath came in short gasps. He had to bend over, his hands on his thighs. "I don't understand", he gasped.
She stood quickly and walked over to him. Pulling him up until he was standing straight she put her arms around him and held him tightly. "It's okay Paddy, Mama's here", she said lovingly. "Always remember, you are safe, you are loved and you are wise."
"MOM!" He gasped and his eyes shot open.
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"Jane? Are you okay?"
Jane looked at him, his eyes blinking slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure if he was awake. "What", he choked out. Two small ridges appeared between his brows and his eyes shifted to look beyond Rigsby.
"Uh – I'm sorry, your Mom's not here", he told the ill man with a frown. He hadn't known that Jane's mother was even still alive. He hadn't heard him talk about her at all."
Jane looked terribly confused for a moment and looked as if he were trying to speak. Finally he was able to get out a soft sound. "No – Ter -"
"Oh – Teresa!" he said, sounding relieved. "Teresa went home to shower and rest. She's fine."
Patrick continued to look troubled and even opened his mouth as if to say something. He tried licking his lips and Wayne suddenly realized he must be parched.
"Hey – do you want some ice? The nurse said you might. Just wait a second and I'll get you some." He stood and left the room quickly, leaving an even more confused Jane.
It was only a few seconds before Rigsby returned, but Jane was already almost asleep. The spoon with the heavenly feel of cold, cold ice touched his lips, bringing him back awake almost instantly. He opened his mouth and relaxed. He'd never thought that ice could be quite so wonderful.
A few cubes later and he felt a bit more alert, but now the pain was beginning to increase. He grew restless, as the pain expanded everywhere. He groaned softly, scaring the pants off of Wayne, who stood up and leaned over the consultant.
"What is it Jane? Can I get you something?"
Jane shook his head, not sure what he wanted. He had wanted to ask Wayne something, something important but he couldn't remember what it was. And then there was the fire burning in his chest. In his bleary mind he suddenly remembered that Rigsby had once worked for the arson squad. He'd know how to put out fires.
"Burning", he managed to gasp. When Rigsby looked at him in confusion he wanted to groan. "Put it – out", he groaned. "Hurts", he finally managed to utter.
That sent Wayne once again scurrying out of the room. By this time Patrick wasn't sure if he could handle the intense agony that had now blossomed across his chest. He just wanted someone to shoot him – please. Put out the fire.
Again he heard noises and next he felt something tug on his hand. It stung but wasn't anything compared to the agony of his chest. By this time he could only hear whimpering, but was in so much pain he didn't realize it was from him. A few seconds later and he began to feel a tingling in his body, starting with his toes and quickly working its way up. By the time the tingling reached his neck he was feeling an incredible sense of relief. The pain had exhausted him, however, and a moment later he was back asleep.
"God, that was scary", Wayne said to the nurse.
"I know", she said sympathetically. "It's hard to watch someone you care about in pain. But don't worry. I'll tell the doctor and we'll make sure he doesn't have to go through that again."
"He's okay though?"
"Oh yes. He's sleeping now and I'll make sure to talk to the doctor as soon as he's in. Don't worry", she repeated with a small smile. "Mr. Jane is fine."
"Wayne, how is he?" Teresa walked in and her first words were about Jane. Her eyes were fixed on him as if to ensure herself that he was still there.
"He woke up a couple of times", he told her. "He's still pretty out of it but the nurse said that's normal. The last time he woke up he was in a lot of pain so the doctor changed his meds. But he said that Jane is doing well."
She nodded, glad to know he was still doing well but distressed that he had been in such pain. He didn't deserve that. She reached down and took his hand in hers. "Thank you Wayne", she finally looked up and smiled at her friend. "I appreciate you staying with him."
"Hey, it's no problem, you know that. Both of you are our friends. There's no where else we'd be."
"Thank you", she smiled. "You realize I'm going to hold that to you when Jane gets better."
"I had my fingers crossed", he told her at that. "I can take it back."
"Nope. No take-backs!"
The two friends smiled at one another, both of them greatly relieved that Patrick was going to be okay.
"Uh Teresa?" Wayne asked a few minutes later, sounding hesitant.
"Mmm hmm?" her eyebrows lifted Teresa looked over at him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. What is it?"
"Does Jane have a mother?"
She grinned at that. "Uh – I'm pretty sure most people do."
"No. I mean, is she still alive?"
Teresa pursed her lips, looking rather serious. "No, she's dead. Although I don't have any details. He never really talks about her."
"Mmm."
"But he has mentioned his father?"
"A couple of times, that's all. I guess his father was a con-man. Jane doesn't have much good to say about him. Can I ask why you want to know?"
"Yeah. The last time he woke up he -" Rigsby paused.
"He?"
"He called for his Mom. I was surprised because like you I'd never heard him speak of her before. I was just curious."
She nodded, admitting to herself that she was curious too. She'd have to ask him when he was awake.
That brought a feeling of dizzying relief. She was going to be able to ask him questions, because he was still alive! She felt her eyes water from the reaction.
"You know, don't you, that he's going to be a pain in the ass while he's recuperating", Wayne pointed out, seeming to sense that she needed a change of topic.
"Yes, I know", she answered, with a small sniff and a surreptitious wipe of her eyes. "I'm trying to figure out how to avoid him then."
"I don't think you can do that", he told her seriously, although with a twinkle. He knew darn well she would stick like a leech to Jane while he was recuperating. "He did save your life so I think you're required to stay close."
Rigsby soon had to leave to meet Grace. She said goodbye and thanked him again for staying and then settled in beside the man she loved. He was starting to look more alive than dead, thankfully. For the first few days he'd looked more like a corpse than a real human being.
It wasn't long before she felt him stir and a short while later his eyes slowly opened.
"Hey, you're awake", she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
His eyes slowly drifted towards her voice. He was so tired but he felt a wash of relief to know she was with him. "Kay", he managed to whisper in reply to her question. He couldn't really see her clearly – she was all fuzzy, but he felt her hand grasp his. He sighed with pleasure.
"Hey you", she told him tenderly. "It's good to see you awake."
"Don't – know if – I am", he replied, his eyes wanting to close. "You – okay? Baby?"
"I'm fine", she told him gently as she carefully moved the hair off his forehead. "And the baby is fine too. You saved our lives Patrick."
He smiled slightly. "I – did – good then."
"Yes, you did good. Now rest. All you have to do is sleep and get better. I'm here to watch over you."
He nodded. "Safe and loved – and wise", he whispered. The next second he was sound asleep.
She frowned slightly, although there was a smile on he face. She wondered what his words had meant. She'd have to ask him when he was better."
"Hey, you're awake!" She'd gotten here as early as possible after a good and restful night. Now that he was out of danger she was able to sleep and knew it was important for the baby's sake. She looked at Jane, who was sitting with the bed raised slightly. He was looking much better today, although he was still pale and his eyes still had that fogged look from heavy painkillers.
"It's good to see you conscious", she told him with a big smile.
"It's good to see you period", he replied weakly.
The smile disappeared and she stared at him in panic. Oh no – don't tell her that he'd forgotten everything ag –
"Got you", he told her, a grin appearing.
She shook her head. "You almost died and you're joking around." The grin reappeared and she leaned over and kissed him. "And this time you can grab my butt."
He sighed. "That's really cruel", he whined.
"What's cruel?" she asked with raised brows.
"Teasing me about that when I don't have the energy to enjoy it."
"Well, we'll save it up for later."
"Good." His smile faded and he closed his eyes. The brief interlude had already exhausted him. Teresa looked at him, worried at how pale and listless he still was.
"Stop worrying", he told her, still not opening his eyes. "I'm fine – just tired."
"You're sure?"
"Of course." He looked at her and then held out his hand. She didn't say anything about how shaky it was but instead simply clasped it in her own. "The doctor said it would take me a while to get my strength back and until then you're going to have to wait on me."
"I am, am I", she told him with a 'you've got to be kidding' look. "I think you'll have to ask the nurses to do that, not me."
His face darkened and he frowned. "Bloodthirsty vampires", he grumped.
"Who", she laughed. "The nurses? They're nice."
"They're nice when you're here", he complained. "Their sole purpose is to make me suffer!"
"Patrick! Are you giving them a hard time already? You've barely been conscious for a day."
"Hey, I'm lying her, sick and in pain. I'm not the one giving anyone a hard time." He glowered again. "It's them."
"Hi Mr. Jane", one of the nurses walked in just at that moment. "How are you feeling."
He glared at her, even though it took almost more energy than he had. "Fine."
"Good. I'm just going to check on your IV and then I'll leave you and your wife alone."
That got a swift look from Jane and he opened his mouth to comment when Teresa squeezed his hand.
"He gets grumpy when he's sick", she told the nurse.
"That's okay", the young woman smiled. "We're used to it. There you go Mr. Jane, all done. Let me know if you need anything."
"Why?" he griped. "You won't bring me anything I ask for anyway."
"I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to hold down any solid food right now and you can't have caffeine. I'm sorry."
"See?" whined Jane. By this time he was exhausted and closed his eyes. "Can't even – get a – cup of tea."
Once the nurse was gone he dozed for a while, although he was still aware that Teresa remained by his bed. He loved the fact that she was holding his hand and it allowed him to drift.
He yawned and opened his eyes, feeling slightly better for the short nap. Teresa was still sitting beside him and appeared as if she'd been looking at him the whole time. "Hey – you need to rest", he told her.
"I did", she smiled. "I had a great night's sleep last night. I'm feeling good."
"Okay – but don't overdo it." He watched her watching him and finally smiled. "I love you", he told her.
"And I love you too. But if you ever throw yourself in front of a bullet again, I will personally shoot you myself. Do you understand?"
He smiled – which always got to her, and Jane knew it so it had become his way of not answering a direct question.
"Jane?"
"Teresa, I love you and I'm always going to put your life first – your life and the baby's so there's no point in discussing this."
She nodded, knowing it was futile. She sighed. "Just – promise me you'll be careful then, okay?"
"Okay."
After a few more moments of silence, when Jane continued to doze, she finally got up the courage to ask.
"Patrick?"
"What?" he turned bleary eyes towards her.
"Can I ask something? Something personal?"
He shrugged although he looked slightly uncomfortable. After a moment his demeanor changed and he tried to straighten up, although the pain and the bed kept him from being totally successful.
"Okay", he nodded – and waited.
"It's about your mother."
He blinked, confused as to what she'd just asked. "My mother?"
"Yes. You – called out for her yesterday, just as you woke up. I wondered, because you've never really talk about her."
He suddenly remembered the trailer and the cookies – and then the ducks. He didn't know what it was all about but he knew the woman in his dreams couldn't be his mother. He was sure. He had to be.
He lifted his eyes until they were staring directly into Teresa's. "I told you, she's dead. She died when I was eleven", he told her.
There – that was the end of it. He wasn't about to let his dreams lead him into believing that his mother was still alive, no matter how appealing that was and he certainly didn't want to discuss her.
Teresa reached out and gently touched him arm. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. It was a long time ago", he closed out the conversation right there. "I think I want to sleep Lisbon", he yawned again. "Could you put the bed down?"
A moment later he was stretched out on the mattress, sound asleep.
Teresa watched him as he slept and sighed. Life would never be simple and straightforward, not with Patrick Jane around.