Author's Notes: Thank you SO much for the all the wonderful comments! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the interest and encouragement. The last chapter got long so I broke it into two, but I'm posting both at once. So here's the conclusion, without further delay.

Chapter Six

A search unearthed a packet of spaghetti and a jar of sauce, so Teresa got her food in just a few minutes. Patrick normally preferred to make his own sauce, so she wasn't sure why he even had the jar, but under the circumstances she had no complaints. It tasted fine to her. They both ate hungrily for a few minutes, sitting at his little table. When they'd finished, he put the dishes in the sink and turned around to look at her, leaning back against the counter.

"Now what? Are we done, Doctor?"

"I don't think so." She looked at him steadily, tempted as he was to just go to sleep now and finish dealing with their problems later. But nothing was solved yet, and postponing wouldn't help. It had been so hard to start their conversation, she dreaded having to go through that again. Better to just keep going now. She took a deep breath. Here comes the worst part. We can do this.

"I think I have a pretty good idea what you dreamed about all those years at the CBI, and why you hated sleeping so much." He grimaced and half-shrugged, agreeing that she probably did. "You said some of that got better while you were... away."

He nodded. "Yes. The nightmares got better. Or at least, a lot less frequent. While I was away, as you put it, I started having better dreams. Happier memories, or wishes. A lot of them were about you."

"Me? You dreamed about me?" Teresa smiled and felt herself blushing a little, remembering the dreams she'd had about him. Some of them had kept her warm on cold Washington nights.

Patrick appeared to have no trouble reading what she was thinking, and smiled back, slow and suggestive. "Oh yes. Frequently. I can't say they were exactly restful dreams, although they were very pleasant." His smile was positively wicked now, and a warm tingle went through her. But... He's distracting me. I must be getting close. Here goes.

"So what are you dreaming about now?"

He froze, then moved abruptly, going back to sit on the couch, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together and staring down at his hands. After a moment, when he didn't speak, she got up and went to join him, sitting next to him and reaching out to lay her hand on top of his. He changed his grip, entwining their fingers, holding onto her. When he finally answered, his voice was husky, barely above a whisper.

"Still about you. Only... the way I used to. Before. When the dreams... changed."

"Changed how?" she prompted, her voice just as soft.

"For years, I would dream about - that night. You know. When it happened. Then, after a while, after - we'd been working together for a long time... they started to change. I would walk up the steps and down the hall in my house, just the same, but when I opened the door... sometimes... sometimes it would be you lying there. And it was just as bad."

He was breathing faster now and she could feel a tremor beginning in his hands.

"It's okay. Patrick, it's okay. I'm here. Just breathe." He obeyed, taking a deep breath and regaining control. Then he continued.

"After Las Vegas, after I knew he knew how much you meant to me... all the dreams were like that. All the things he could do to you, in bloody technicolor. It's why I got so desperate to find him, to stop him before he got to you... And then..." He stopped, swallowing hard. She knew what was next, the stuff of her own Red John nightmares for a long time. She leaned against his shoulder, trying to comfort both of them with touch.

"When he - took you, when I heard his voice on the phone..." He turned his head and looked at her, tears in his eyes. "Teresa, I was so scared. I've never been so scared in my life. I thought I'd lost you, and it was the worst thing I could imagine. It's still the worst thing." He paused for a moment and licked his dry lips before admitting, "That's what I dream about. Ever since the other day, with Foster, it's all come back. All that fear, of losing you."

He released her hands and rose, taking a few steps away, wanting to pace but frustrated by the limited space. He went as far as he could down the narrow walkway before coming back to stand in front of her.

"I keep seeing it, over and over, what could have happened. All the ways he could have killed you. I walk into that convenience store and it's you lying in the pool of blood. Or I get there just in time to hear the shot and see you on the ground. Or I'm standing there looking into your eyes and he -" He choked but forced himself on. "He blows your head off. I can taste the blood."

He walked away again and stood still for a moment before turning back to face her. She met his eyes over the short distance between them, tears stinging in her own. His voice was only a little unsteady as he went on. "Every time I fall asleep, you die. I see it, I feel it. And you know -"

He came back to kneel in front of her, taking her hands. "We both know it could happen. This job is dangerous. Any day, any case, it could happen. You could die. And I can't endure that again. I can't, Teresa. How do I stop being afraid of the worst thing I can imagine, when the danger is real?"

She looked down, and a tear dripped onto his hand. She sniffed and shook her head, refusing to give in. "I don't know. But we have to try. Yes, our job is dangerous, but it's not unique. Life is dangerous. Crossing the street, driving a car. Anybody might die at any time. How do they deal with it?"

He frowned, getting up, and for a moment Teresa feared she'd said the wrong thing and he would stop talking, but then he sat back down next to her. His tone was only a little clipped when he replied. "Mostly they ignore it. But I'm finding that a little hard at the moment."

She turned to face him, swiping impatiently at her eyes with her hands. "I'm afraid of losing you too. And probably with more reason. You're a lot worse than I am about going into dangerous situations without backup." He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't let him. "Does the name Crystal Markham ring a bell? How about Richard Haibach? And that's just since we've been in Austin. You're not the only one who's scared, Jane. But what can we do about it? The only way to not be afraid is to not care. Do you think that's an option? Should we just stop loving each other?"

"Don't be silly," he said roughly. "I'll stop breathing before I stop loving you."

She smiled a little shakily. "Yeah. Me too. So I guess we'll just have to accept that love is freaking terrifying and find a way to deal with it."

He looked at her seriously. "How?" He seemed to really expect an answer.

Unfortunately, she didn't have one. She opened her mouth anyway and prayed for inspiration. "I don't know. I'm trying to figure this out too. But the one thing I'm sure of is that we need to figure it out together. Not shut each other out."

He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Agreed."

"Really?" He nodded again, his lips beginning to curve into a tiny smile for the first time in what felt like hours. She smiled back warmly. We can do this, she thought. We really can.

"Okay. Yes, it's true that either or both of us might die tomorrow. But we're not dead yet. I think we need to focus on the positive. I've been a cop for almost twenty years, and been in quite a few dangerous situations, but so far, I've survived all of them. You, even with your uncanny ability to infuriate people, have survived too. That's a pretty good track record. And we spent years dealing with the worst psychopath anybody could ever expect to face. We're still here. He's not. That's got to prove something. We're not easy to kill."

"We've also been lucky. Luck runs out. Cole Foster had a gun to your head."

"But he only pulled the trigger in your nightmares. In real life, he didn't. I'm alive and he's in jail. That's what you need to keep telling yourself. The horrible things you imagine didn't happen."

"This time. My track record's not so good, if you remember." His voice was harsh, but she knew the anger was directed at himself. "People do die because of me. And the next time I send you off on a plan that goes wrong, so could you."

Enlightenment struck her abruptly. "So that's it. I should have known. You're taking this so badly because you think it's your fault I was in that situation. If something had happened to me, you'd have blamed yourself."

"Because it was my fault. The prison break was my idea. You were never supposed to meet Foster."

"Yeah, and Foster was supposed to be a simple car thief. We none of us knew he was a raving psycho. Do you think I'd have stood around and let him murder that store clerk if I'd had the least hint that it might happen? We didn't know! And unless you're claiming you really are psychic now, you didn't know either. So lay off this guilt crap."

"And what about next time, when something that's 'supposed' to be simple goes wrong? When I miss some other crucial fact? That time it could kill you!"

Teresa took a deep breath. Losing her temper wasn't going to help. "We're careful, and we're good at what we do. We'll keep being careful, and make sure we have backup before we go into anything even potentially dangerous. Okay? And you can't blame yourself for 'missing' something you had no earthly way of knowing. News flash. You aren't psychic."

Patrick wasn't making any effort to keep calm. He stood up abruptly and took two agitated steps away before turning back to her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "No, I'm not. But I need to be! If I'm going to protect you. I wish I could just -" He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, then turned away, opened the door of the RV and went outside.

Startled, Teresa took a moment to realize her mouth was hanging open. Where did that come from? He'd never believed in psychics. So what...? She found she was holding her breath, listening for a car. When she was sure he wasn't leaving, she sighed. He was full of surprises, her Patrick. At least he couldn't go far with no shoes on.

Deciding to let him have a few minutes alone, she visited the Airstream's tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red, so she washed her face, cupping the cool water in her hands. It felt good. The quiet was soothing, nothing to be heard but crickets, and tiredness hit her suddenly. Coming out of the bathroom, she looked longingly at the bed. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and rest. Time to finish this.