Chapter Two
The nightmares started the next night.
Having been on duty continuously during her time at the prison, Lisbon had the day off, and Abbott didn't even bother to call when Jane was late, nor did he seem at all surprised when Jane eventually texted to say he wasn't coming to work either. So they were able to sleep late and spend a lazy day engaged in pleasurable togetherness, mostly in bed. Or in the shower. Or on the sofa. And almost on the kitchen table, but Lisbon objected, demanding food instead. They had enough eggs, coffee, and tea for a late breakfast, but beyond that, the cupboard was pretty bare, and by late afternoon, having expended a good deal of energy being lazy together, they were both hungry. Lisbon suggested going to the grocery story, but Jane vetoed the idea, not wanting to let go of her for that long, so they ordered in from the nearest Chinese place, and ended up snuggled on the couch, trying to feed each other with chopsticks and laughing when it got messy. Teresa found herself giggling uncontrollably when Patrick gave up on the chopsticks and decided to just use her for a plate, proving his point about her being ticklish in the process. Breathless and sticky, she insisted on another visit to the shower, where she took the opportunity to tickle him back.
In short, it was a perfect day. After spending the evening sharing a bottle of wine and half-watching a movie, mostly as an excuse to cuddle on the couch some more, they were both feeling utterly relaxed and contented, and had no trouble falling asleep in each other's arms.
They had only been asleep for an hour or so, when sounds of distress began to infiltrate Teresa's pleasant dream, turning it dark. Finally she woke up enough to realize the sounds were real, and turned over. Patrick was having a nightmare, making little choked noises and trying to move, but too deep asleep to wake himself. She spoke to him softly before attempting to touch him, then laid her hand on his cheek, stroking gently until he calmed. Eventually he sighed, turning his face into her hand, and appeared to slide back into deeper sleep without ever waking.
It wasn't the first time he'd had a bad dream since they'd been together. He claimed his sleep had improved in Venezuela (after Red John), and even more since he'd come back to the US (to her), but he still had trouble. Though he seemed to fall sleep easily enough, especially after they'd made love, he was often awake before her. Sometimes he was lying quietly, watching her. A few times she woke up alone, finding him in the living room with a cup of tea. She suspected bad dreams on those occasions, though he didn't want to talk about it.
Three or four times he'd had actual nightmares, bad enough to wake both of them. He'd apologized for disturbing her, but deflected her concern, saying he'd always been prone to vivid dreams and nightmares, even before Red John, so she shouldn't worry. Teresa thought that was probably true. With a mind like his, his powerful, restless intelligence and brilliant imagination, it was very likely hard to turn off, even in sleep.
Still, she did worry. She remembered too well how exhausted he would get when his insomnia took a bad spell back in the CBI days. Though he'd never admitted to nightmares then, she'd watched him sleeping on the couch in her office, seen him twitching restlessly or startling awake, often enough to know how much dreams had bothered him. While he was clearly better now, his sleep was still a long way from normal.
She was being idiotically romantic, she told herself, to hope that lying in her arms could protect him from his demons, that being with her would make all his dreams happy.
Far from it, in fact. They'd both just made an enormous change in their lives, of course it wasn't going to be easy to adjust. For the first weeks, Teresa had been floating on the wonder of it all, the honeymoon bliss, and reality hadn't even begun to set in for her until they went back to work. Then her anxieties had threatened to reappear, but yesterday's demonstration of the depth of his love gave her a new certainty. The ground was beginning to feel solid under her feet again.
Patrick, however, had already admitted that the very idea of letting her close terrified him. They hadn't actually talked about it, too captivated by their new intimacy to pay any attention to the shadows, but that fear had to go somewhere. No wonder he was dreaming.
And after yesterday, she realized with a sinking feeling, it was only going to get worse. If losing her was his greatest fear, then seeing her threatened by a psychopath, only moments from death, would be the worst thing possible for him. It must have felt like falling back into the abyss he had only just managed to claw his way out of. Pretty much a guarantee of nightmares to come.
She would have to find a way to make him talk about it. He'd spent so much of his life alone in a dark place, and shutting himself away with his pain had become a habit. It was a habit she had to help him break. She was just as bad, Teresa acknowledged. Sharing their feelings, baring their souls, was something they had both always avoided, and that failure to communicate had caused all their worst problems. They couldn't fail now. There was too much at stake. They had braved their fears to get this far. Even if the worst wasn't quite over, they would make it through. They had to.
Resolving to sleep with one ear open for sounds of trouble, she kissed Patrick's shoulder softly and settled down close to him, resting one hand on his chest, so she could feel it if he tensed. She would protect him as she always had, even from his own mind, if she could. Nothing could be worse than what we've already survived, she reminded herself. And that was when we weren't fully together. Now, we can do anything.