Author's note at end

Chapter Five

For long moments they just held each other, enjoying the warmth, and she felt it when he began to relax. He bent his head, nuzzling her neck, and said, "We could try going to bed now. I am extremely tired..." He was trying to sound pathetic, and she might have bought it, knowing how little sleep he'd had in the past week, if his body's reaction hadn't made it obvious that he had something else in mind.

Teresa pulled back a little, laying her hands flat on his chest. "Nope. Talk first, other, uh... forms of relaxation later."

Patrick sighed, but didn't argue, just saying in a resigned tone, "So, how do you want to do this, Doctor Lisbon? Shall I lie on the couch?"

She really didn't have the slightest idea. "Um, sitting will be just fine."

Obediently, he moved to the built-in couch in the front of the RV and sat, pulling her down next to him, holding her hands. When she didn't speak, after a moment he tried to lighten the growing tension. "So how many times have you read The Interpretation of Dreams anyway, Doctor?"

"I haven't," she admitted. "But I think I must be the world's greatest authority on the interpretation of Patrick Jane, so that will have to do." He smiled and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her claim. She took a deep breath and decided to start slow. "Maybe some background? You told me you've always had dreams and trouble sleeping. How did it start, how old were you?"

He answered readily enough, after letting out a noisy breath. "Hmm. Almost as long ago as I can remember. It would get better sometimes, but then there would be bad patches. It was really bad for a while when I was nine..." His eyes were far away, haunted.

Very gently, Teresa prompted, "What happened when you were nine?"

It was no surprise when he said softly, "My mother died."

She squeezed his hands and said shyly, "I had nightmares too. When I was twelve. After my mother... It's hard. The hardest thing there is for a child, I think." He looked at her, his eyes now soft and warm, accepting her confidence, encouraging her, until she went on. "She had a car accident, you know. I would try to imagine it, but all I knew was what I'd seen in the movies. In the dreams, there was always... a lot of blood. It was horrible. I'd wake up crying." He raised her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. "I never told anyone that." She'd never had anyone to tell. No one who would listen. Neither had he, probably. She caressed his cheek. "What happened to your mother?"

He took a deep breath and let it out before answering. "She was sick. It took a long time. Nobody ever really explained to me what was wrong, and I kept hoping she'd get well, but... she didn't. After she died, I kept dreaming... I kept imagining that she wasn't really gone, that I needed to find her, to talk to her, but I - I never could." He let out a shuddering sigh. "It was a complicated time. A lot changed around then." She had a strong feeling that was a major understatement, but for now they should probably stick to his sleep issues. Maybe someday he would tell her the rest.

"But you'd had nightmares even before that? What were those like?"

Patrick cleared his throat nervously, a thing he rarely did, and she could feel his discomfort growing. But he answered. "I had - they call them night terrors. You wake up suddenly, usually, uh... screaming..." He shrugged one shoulder, embarrassed. "It feels kind of like a panic attack. Heart pounding, can't breathe. Takes a while to calm down." Interesting that he admitted familiarity with panic attacks, she noted to herself. Another issue for later. She didn't interrupt. "Fortunately you grow out of them, usually in adolescence. I did. Well, mostly." He immediately appeared to regret that last word, looking alarmed.

To distract him, she commented, "It sounds absolutely awful."

"Yeah, it kind of was. But it's even worse to watch. It runs in families apparently. My - Charlotte had it. Seeing her like that... she couldn't stop crying. It was..." He shook his head, and after a minute, cleared his throat again. "We didn't know what it was when I was a kid, but that's what the doctor said when we took her. There's not much they can do for it. Just wait for it to stop."

Charlotte never had the chance to grow out of it. She could read that thought very clearly in his expression, and then, as his face changed, thought she understood the next. She smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand, not lightly.

"Ow! What was that for?" He looked shocked, but the darkness had left his eyes.

"You're blaming yourself because she got it from you. A thing you had no control over, that you didn't even know could be inherited. Stop it. I know you have a long list of things you feel guilty for that weren't your fault, and I'm not letting you add that. You're not responsible for your genes."

"Oh." He watched her for a minute, judging the odds of her hitting him again, and decided to play it safe. "Okay. You're right, I guess."

"Damn straight." Teresa nodded. In the old days, she'd barely heard him utter his daughter's name. Now he'd told her something about Charlotte voluntarily. He really was making progress. Maybe this talking thing really worked. She was feeling better, anyway. But they were a long way from finished.

"So the night-terror thing got better when you were a teenager? Did you sleep okay then? What about nightmares in general?"

Patrick nodded at her first question. "I had some. Doesn't everybody? It wasn't bad though, most of the time. I slept... well, I caught naps when I needed to. The carnival keeps late hours. And my father..." He looked sideways at her. She kept her face calm, waiting. "Well, he kept late hours, too. He'd come in after playing poker half the night. Sometimes he'd been drinking, or he'd... uh, bring a woman. We lived in a very small trailer, so..." He shrugged as if he didn't care, as if a teenage boy having to listen to his father having sex with strange women was perfectly normal, but she felt slightly horrified.

He appeared not to notice her reaction. "I could always go sleep in the hay with Daisy. The elephant, you remember? She never minded. She liked me. But a lot of people were afraid of her, so it was - um, safe, there." Teresa had the feeling there was something he wasn't going to tell her, about whatever had made him feel not-safe, but she was realizing that dredging up all the traumas of his childhood would be way too much for her, if not for him.

I'm Doctor Freud, she reminded herself. Focus on his dreams. She took a deep breath, and tried to project sympathetic calm.

"Okay. So let's skip ahead a bit. What about... Sorry. When you were married. Did you have the insomnia or dream a lot then?"

He gazed at her steadily, assessing her reaction. Teresa almost cringed. Asking about his marriage was something she just didn't do, but he seemed completely unbothered. "I always dream, but they're not always bad. The dreams were mostly good after we got settled." Then he completely surprised her by giving her a wicked little smile. "As you know, I find regular sex is very relaxing. So I'd say I slept better then than any other time in my life." She felt herself blushing, and his smile widened for a moment. Then his mood shifted, in that sudden, mercurial way of his, and she understood he had decided to reveal something.

"You should understand what you're getting into, wanting to stay close to me," Patrick said, warning in his tone. "I told you I'd mostly gotten over the night terrors. It still happens every once in a while. Not often, but I never know when. And when it does... I, uh, don't know where I am at first, or... or who I'm with. And sometimes I..." He looked away, continuing very softly, "...strike out."

He got up, moving away from her for the first time since they began talking, and she could feel his shame. "Once I... God. I hit Angela." He swallowed convulsively, looking sick, and without thinking she followed him, coming up behind him to press against his back and wrap her arms around his waist. He gripped her hands. "I didn't even recognize her. I was just afraid, and I... I hit her in the face. Gave her a black eye."

He turned abruptly in her embrace and gripped her upper arms to hold her away from him, looking into her eyes. "Teresa, if I ever do that to you, hurt you the way your fa-" He cut off that thought, to her relief, but rushed on. "I would never forgive myself. I should have told you before we..."

Teresa put her hand over his mouth to stop him before he talked himself into regretting sleeping with her. Even if it was only the sleep part he regretted. This they definitely needed to resolve, immediately.

"Let me get this straight. You were asleep and had one of those terror/panic attacks. What did Angela do?"

"I'm not sure. Tried to wake me up somehow."

"Touched you? Shook you?"

"Probably. It doesn't matter. I never should have -"

"You didn't know who she was or what was happening, except that you were terrified and someone you didn't recognize was doing something to you. While you were basically still asleep. Have I got that right?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"No buts. It was an accident, that's all. You didn't intend to hurt her. I'm sure you were way more upset about it than she was. Am I right?"

"Uh..."

Taking that as agreement, she ceremonially laid both her hands on Patrick's head. "Okay. I hereby officially absolve you. There's no way you would ever hit her on purpose. Or me. You struck out blindly without knowing what you were doing and just happened to make contact. If you ever manage to punch me, it would be a really lucky shot."

Seeing he still looked rather stricken, she softened, moving her hands to cup his face. "It's okay. You've warned me, so I know what could happen. You're not responsible for your unconscious reactions. You don't need to worry about it any more. Now I know to be careful if you have one of these episodes." She smiled at him affectionately. "And to watch out for your right hook. Yeah, you're pretty fast and pretty strong, but let's be realistic. The only way you're ever going to hit me is if I do something really stupid. And I will try very hard to avoid that. So just trust me, okay?"

"Okay." Finally, he relaxed, smiling back at her.

The smile broadened the next moment, when her stomach growled loudly. Becoming aware of her surroundings, she saw it had gotten dark. It was a long time since lunch. She was hungry, and they could both use a break from the heavy emotional stuff. "You got any food in this bucket?"

"Uh, not really. I've been spending most of my time elsewhere lately, if you recall."

"Hm, might ring a faint bell." Her smile was teasing.

"Glad to know I've made such an impression." He mock-frowned but couldn't hold it, smiling at her again irresistibly with such warmth she couldn't help reaching out to take hold of his shirt collar and pull him down for a kiss. Then she released him and turned him around, giving him a little push toward his kitchen cabinets.

"If you want to make a good impression right now, you'd better feed me."

"Yes ma'am, right away ma'am," he said smartly, and opened the cabinet door.

Author's note: I am working on another story about Jane's childhood and what happened with his mother, which will explain part of what he refers to here, if anybody is interested. I hit a couple of snags with it, but now I really want to go back and finish, so let's hope that story will be coming before too much longer.