Author's Notes: I am thrilled by the lovely reviews! Thank you, thank you! As requested, posting more. More notes at the end down below.

Chapter Three

Unfortunately, Teresa's private prediction of more nightmares turned out to be only too correct. Patrick had another later that night, worse, jerking awake suddenly with a gasp. She could feel him trembling until he sat up, then slid out of bed. He shut himself in the bathroom for a few minutes, then went quietly out of the bedroom. She waited a few moments, then followed him to the kitchen. He didn't say anything, just took out another cup and made tea for her too.

She decided not to push him to talk quite yet, but sat with him quietly, sharing the tea. After a while he sighed and looked at her, meeting her eyes with a rueful little smile. She smiled back gently. He reached for her hand, and without a word, they went back to bed.

She thought he slept a little more after that, but he still looked tired when they got up to go to work. Their main task at the office that day involved finishing their reports on the Foster/Flanagan case, which was not calculated to ease Jane's anxieties. The CIA had taken charge of Foster, so they didn't have to actually see him again, but reviewing their initial statements required re-living the whole nasty experience. Lisbon found herself wishing for a new case, just to take their minds off it, but all the criminals seemed to be goofing off today.

They managed to escape for a while at lunchtime. She took Jane off to lunch at a place where they were unlikely to see any of their colleagues, just so they (okay, she) could be comfortable sitting close and touching. He smiled and joked, trying to seem relaxed, but she knew him too well now to miss the subtle lines of stress around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. After they'd eaten, and had a nice, normal debate about what to get at the grocery store to make for dinner that evening, she thought he really did feel better, but it was still a very long day.

That night they decided to go to bed early, only partly because they were both tired. Their lovemaking was more intense than gentle or playful, and Patrick held her just a little too tight. She ran her fingers through his hair, something they both enjoyed, until he fell asleep, and braced herself for a rough night.

Sure enough, he woke up three times, the dreams seeming to get worse each time. The first time she was able to soothe him back to sleep as she had the night before. The second time he reached for her, wrapping himself around her urgently as he had two nights ago, after their near-death experience, needing the comfort of her body. The third time, when he'd been thrashing and crying out, he gave up on sleep, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

Teresa wrapped her arms around his pillow, trying to think what to do next. Touch, reassurance, sex, even tea, all might calm him temporarily but did nothing to prevent the horror coming back. The next thing would have to be the dreaded talk. The therapist-types all insisted that it helped, and surely they couldn't all be wrong. While her own experience with psychiatrists had not been good, and Patrick despised doctors in general, even he had admitted that Sophie Miller had helped him.

The trouble was, she didn't even know how to start. Heart-to-heart talks were not something she had ever been good at. Hell, relationships were not something she was good at. For a moment, panic flared. What would she do if she couldn't help him, if she failed and this whole thing fell apart - No. She clutched his pillow tighter, buried her face in it, and suddenly the fear began to lessen. After a moment, she realized the pillow smelled like Patrick. Just breathing his scent made her feel better.

If only it could be that simple to ease his fears. She would be happy to act as his pillow for as long as he needed. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Earlier, he'd gone back to sleep in her arms with his head on her breast, and had still dreamed again. She rubbed her cheek on the pillowcase, breathing deep, and made up her mind.

If she wanted to help him face his fears, she had to face her own. She loved him too much to see him suffer, and letting the situation go on just risked him deciding to run away and hide the way he used to. He didn't want to hurt her like that, she knew, but the tireder he got, and the more freaked-out by the nightmare images, the worse his judgement would become, and he might convince himself it was the best thing to do. Anything but that, she thought. Words were his strong point, not hers, but she had to find a way.

As she heard the shower turn off, Teresa sent up a quick prayer that she could find the right words to convince him to talk to her, and that talking would help him. Coffee, she thought. When I've had my coffee and he's had his tea, then we'll talk. It's early. We'll have time before work.

But they didn't. As soon as he came out of the bathroom, before she even finished saying "good morning," the phone rang. It was Abbott. So much for her plan.

Someone had robbed a bank in a town a couple of hours away from Austin, shooting a guard in the process, and they were up. Cho and Vega went with them, so they couldn't even talk in the car. Jane seemed a little distracted, which worried her, not giving the case his full attention, so while he insisted afterwards that it was really very simple, he didn't solve it until the next day. The FBI only booked two rooms for the night, so Lisbon had to share with Vega and Jane with Cho, though she was sure Jane never actually went to bed. The next morning he had that over-caffeinated look he only got when he'd been drinking coffee, trying to stay awake. It made him a little hyper when he finally got to his big reveal of the culprit, but that was normal enough she knew Cho wouldn't think anything of it. As for Vega, she would just have to adjust. Jane was Jane.

On the drive back to Austin, he seemed to doze in the back seat. She tried to keep an eye on him surreptitiously in the rear-view mirror as she drove. She saw him twitch a couple of times, and once he appeared to wake suddenly, rubbing his hand over his face, then looked at her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She smiled slightly, and he relaxed, giving her a little smile back and blinking sleepily. At least he should be tired enough to sleep tonight, she thought hopefully, but of course, it couldn't be that easy.

They got back to Austin mid-afternoon. She'd made a good start on her report by four, when Abbott came by her desk and told her she could finish up tomorrow, since they'd had such an early start the day before. Jane was still in an interview room making his statement. (Given his hatred of typing, they'd found it saved grief all around to just let him dictate instead. And Lisbon was extremely happy she didn't have to do all his reports any more.) She dawdled a bit, hoping he would appear, but when she saw Abbott looking at her strangely, went on home.

And just like that, the crisis was upon her. Patrick didn't come.

Teresa stood it as long as she could, maybe an hour, but at the tenth time of picking up her phone, she finally touched her fingers to the screen to text him. She considered trying to play it cool, say something like, Abbott still got your nose to the grindstone?, but she knew she wouldn't fool him. Finally she just went straight for, Where are you?

The wait to see if he would reply was agonizing. She could hardly breathe. Then she realized she was flashing back to the time he'd disappeared to Vegas for six months, all the desperate calls and texts he'd never answered. It's not like that now, she reminded herself, closing her eyes and taking slow deep breaths. Holding the phone in both hands, she tried to will him to respond. For a moment, she thought she could actually feel him making up his mind, and then her phone dinged. Airstream, it said.

Here we go, she thought. Time to nip this in the bud. She wasn't going to let him hide from her, not any more. So she couldn't hide either. While her brain at the moment felt terrifyingly empty, she would find the words, the words that would bring him back, bring them together. Because she had to.

Notes, part 2: Yes, I know, three whole chapters without a word of dialogue. Bad. Sorry, sorry. They start talking in the next chapter, I promise. When I began this, I meant it to be one chapter of Lisbon reflecting on her issues and one chapter of conversation about Jane's. They've ended up demanding three chapters each. What can I do, they won't shut up. Chapter Four tomorrow.