Work Text:
"I carry you in my heart
your memory comes over me like the dark"
Carolina - Eric Church
It started with a name whispered to the wind in an aisle of a Safeway in Sacramento, just in front of the instant noodles.
Teresa was in such a hurry, wanting to get home and fix something very fast in order to rest a bit after a 36 hours long shift due to a double homicide. Her hair was messily arranged in a loose bun at the top of her head, the bags under her eyes were so deep and dark that she looked like a zombie and every pore of her body screamed at the world that she had worn out all her strength. Her leather jacket that normally brought comfort was now just a reminder of a warm blanket and what she could have as soon as she got to her room. The stylish gray jeans had become another piece of clothing bothering her ultra-sensitive, tired, skin.
She remembered being a kid and cutting potatoes, carrots, and hot-dogs, cooking everything together, and throwing noodles in the pan when it was cooked. Every time someone got sick at the Lisbon household her mom would make it. It ended up becoming her comfort food. It wasn't much, but always improved her mood and helped to relax her. In her state, two steps away from getting really sick and passing out, she deserved that food, no matter how unhealthy it was. Tomorrow she’d make up for it with a salad, she thought, apologizing to her own body.
Then, out of nowhere, came that voice and it opened a wormhole straight to the summer of 1994. Back to being thrown out of the carnival because it was too late, to hot nights driving around in an old jeep, to the moon shining on the infinity of Lake Michigan, in the outskirts of Chicago, to the wind dancing on overexposed skins... to Bruce Springsteen playing on the radio station’s throwback hour and two voices singing “oh, oh, oh, oh, oh's” completely out of tune just to feel like they were watching a private show together. Two souls that complemented each other, two opposite personalities, and complicity that could only come from people who were ready to change drastically everything about their lives.
“Teresa?”
It was impossible. The last time a voice took all the air from her lungs and sent chills down her arms... The woman turned around on her heels in shock.
- Jane? Patrick Jane?
Chicago - Illinois, August 1994
“Come on, Teresa!” The blond boy sitting in the driver's seat of the 1985 navy blue Jeep CJ5 had a huge smile on his lips, bigger than the moon in the sky. And it shone just as bright. “You only live once.”
The girl, who just had completed eighteen years two weeks before, couldn’t look away from the boy, a hand on the steering wheel, guiding the car through the shore of the lake sunk in darkness. The old trap had no top or doors and he was using it as an excuse to stick his other hand out, cutting the wind that insisted on messing up the golden curls parted in half.
He was so handsome, she couldn't deny it, with his sea-green eyes full of happiness and ahead on the dirt road, Patrick’s figure in his baggy jeans and the floral button-down shirt was disconcertingly gorgeous. He had to be on TVs all over the country. All over the world! Parading on walkways and leaving everyone breathless. Not in a car falling apart in the outskirts of Chicago with a girl who had to have been asleep, but was running away from her alcoholic father. And yet, like most nights since they met, the two of them were together.
"And I intend to be alive come tomorrow," Teresa replied, rolling her eyes and tightening the grip of her hand on the car frame. However, her lips were traitors and curved upward, making it obvious to the boy, that was naturally good at reading people, she was really considering the idea. “There was a no trespassing sign two hundred yards ago!”
The boy didn’t even deign to answer that part, turning up the volume of the radio as the beginning of I Wanna Sex You Up played. He sang along to the jam, the arm he stuck outside dancing the wave to the rhythm and Teresa could no longer contain her smile, which soon progressed to full belly laughter on account of his ridiculous take on the song. It was encompassing and light as if only that moment existed and the world outside vanished. No college in a week, no troubled family, no nomadic life to shatter the illusion of being just the two of them and no complications.
Without realizing it, the girl accepted the boy’s suggestion, standing up, still holding the cold metal frame for dear life and even bringing the hand that was fisted in her washed-up jeans rising to join the other. It was freezing because of the speed they were going at, but it didn't bother her at all because she finally felt free, her hair as black as the sky above them and her thick gray and red plaid flannel shirt floating on the wind. The white-sleeved shirt she wore underneath the flannel was very thin and did nothing to prevent her nipples from hardening and, being braless made the experience even more exciting.
When the brunette closed her eyes and opened her arms, her smile was bigger than she could remember allowing herself to smile, teeth showing and mouth open, her chest heaving with emotion. The blonde boy’s cry of approval only served to immortalize the scene in her head.
Later, still in a forbidden zone, Patrick parked right next to the lake so that they could enjoy each other's company and the beautiful view. Teresa decided to climb on the hood of the car, her back against the glass, and then there was a head full of thick locks on her lap. It was three in the morning and they didn't feel an ounce of sleep, her hands running through his hair as they looked out over the landscape and Billy Joel's We Didn't Start The Fire filled the comfortable silence.
"Your fiancé must have been very sad you lost his mother's ring."
It was a sentence that, had it come from anyone, could have been taken as a common misinterpretation. Coming from a level A con man, in that false tone of his, it was not a mistake. He had already made his intentions towards her very clear, he wanted her. This was just him fishing for information straight from her, knowing the success of his endeavor depended on it.
"I wouldn’t know," Teresa shrugged, still staring at the horizon. “I don't have a fiancé anymore. Once Greg gets home from his trip he’ll find his wedding ring and a note saying I can’t do it on his nightstand.”
For an instant, she thought of everything she was going to leave behind when she fled from Chicago. A troubled family, a sweet fiancé, but who pressured her a lot, a future stuck forever in the lower-middle class, struggling to feed the mouths of three children while Greg stood there and didn't help at all. Killing herself in a horrible job and still having to desperately drive home to cook and clean without any type of support. She thanked God for the scholarship she from the University of North Carolina. Her brothers were old enough to take care of themselves, Teresa was younger than Jimmy when their mother died and she was responsible for everyone. They would be ok once she was gone.
“Cruel, Teresa, cruel.” Patrick's voice made her realize that the hand in his hair had stalled when she got lost in her own mind.
A little flushed, she risked looking down to his sea-green eyes, only to find them staring at her in playfulness, without any scolding, as if he couldn't care less about what she had done and as if she was the most incredible being on earth. With Patrick it was always like that, even when she was wrong, she got it right. No defeats, just victories.
Suddenly, without warnings, the boy got up, jumped to the ground, and turned around with a smile that could light up Chicago. Before she could ask what was going on or even had the time to do more than to frown and tilt her head, the girl recognized the first chords of their favorite song cutting through the night.
“Dance with Me.”
And Teresa did. No pressure, just dancing to Bruce Springsteen, who sang about their lives without even knowing them. Two people on opposite sides, in their differences reaching stagnation, a dull repetition of their routines. Through singular paths, achieving the same exhaustion and realizing they needed a flame to revive their hearts, rekindle the fire, and create the strength to reach their new one.
There was no pitch in their screaming voices, “Man, I ain't getting nowhere, I'm just living in a dump like this. There's something happening somewhere. Baby, I just know there is.” It was simple as that and it made her happy. Being there, living a romance that wouldn't last, but that would mark her more than all the rest because he had taught her to be herself.
Neither of them could tell who started the kiss and it didn't matter, either. They were single and could take advantage of that.
For endless moments they just enjoyed each other's touches. Hands, mouths, all the skin not covered by clothes and whatever they could reach without removing any pieces. She wasn’t ready for that and the boy seemed to know her inside out. Still, when an hour later he stopped the jeep under her window so that she could climb up the rail and pretend she had spent the night there, Teresa hesitated. Her father never went into her room and the boys seemed to think that the more she slept the less work they had to do. So could she?
"Don’t go," She murmured between kisses, her hands buried in his blond locks, bringing his delicious pink lips closer. “Come up with me?”
When Teresa woke up, Patrick was no longer in her bed, but the marks of his kisses and hickeys were visible all over her lap to remind her of the night they spent kissing. Her body sang odes to his touches and she almost regretted not having done more.
Almost...
The message he left in her mirror with the only lipstick she had said that they would meet again.
“Dear Teresa,
For now, life at the carnival awaits me. I have to confess, though, getting out of your bed with you sleeping in my arms was more difficult than I thought it would be. Today you can choose where to, as long as I can kiss you all night.
Love,
Patrick. ”
Sacramento - California, present.
She couldn't believe that the beautiful boy who had stolen her heart on a summer a long time ago was there in Sacramento, years later and miles away. Patrick Jane had changed so much that she didn’t recognize him in her tired state, which decided to disappear once she recognized who that voice belonged to.
The eyes in which she used to get lost now had lines of expression like the ones one would see in those who smiled a lot throughout their lives and he exuded an air of those who had lived well. Gone were the button-down shirts and baggy jeans, in their place he wore an expensive-looking navy blue suit, a vest of matching color over an off-white shirt. The boy who wore clothes that were too big for him was now a refined man, more handsome than ever. Not in a boyish way, as he was when he was just out of his teen years, but in a mature, experienced way, even though he was still just as mischievous as before. Even the hair that was still featured in her dreams from time to time had changed. No longer parted in half in that horrible nineties’ style, but shorter, played to the right side in a careful and yet messy way, as if he had just gotten out of bed.
If Patrick hadn't called her name, Teresa would’ve never been able to connect the boy from the summer before college to that man in the same supermarket aisle she was, his hands in his pocket and a confident pose.
“Time’s been good on you,” His eyes seemed sincere, but you could never know with the blonde. He was a master at deceiving. Or at least used. And honestly, she knew she wasn't at her best. “Just take the compliment, it's true. You look as beautiful as in 94. And you’re just as transparent as well.”
She couldn't help smiling.
“And you’re still reading everyone else's minds, aren't you? You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Coming from Teresa Lisbon, I will take as a, wow, you look wonderful.” Patrick stood still, looking at her with happiness all over his features and the brunette found herself doing the same, unable to erase that damned smile from her lips.
“Don't know what you mean by coming from me, but you always understood what you wanted, I'm not the one who’s going to change it. What are you doing here in Sacramento?
The blonde shifted the weight on his feet, removed his hands from his pockets, and pointed at the cup noodles with his left one. It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on her. Shining underneath the green light of the supermarket was a golden ring.
There was no reason as to why she felt so sad, it was clear that life had moved on for both of them and he was an incredible man, there was no way he was single.
“Every year we choose a different city to live in after the tour. You can take the man off of the carnival, but you can’t take the carnival out of the man.” He offered, taking a beef-flavored package. “My daughter picked Sacramento. We try to choose cities we didn’t visit.”
He left the wanderer’s life, but not really. Got married, had children, and was now rich. It looked like Patrick from 94 had gotten everything he wanted. And she only had her job. Of course, she was the director of the CBI before the age of 45, but she was exhausted. She just wanted her bed.
“I'm a widower, you know?” The man smiled, shaking his head and Teresa realized with some shock that she hadn’t managed to hide her surprise from him. Did he ever fail? “You are better trying to hide your reactions now, but not by much. She died a long time ago, my girl was only five.”
Blushing violently, the woman turned around to take what she came there to get and in the process hiding her face from him as she said, "I'm sorry."
“It’s okay; it was a long time ago. I already made peace with myself.” The brunette was unable to lift her head to face the man, shame consuming her insides. It was amazing how after twenty-seven years he still could make her feel things out of her control.
“I don't blame you; I thought the same thing when I saw you.” Patrick continued and curiosity won her over, looking at him sideways, the sensual air with which he looked at her making her shiver. “You still get me confused after all this time later. Twenty-five years, Teresa. Twenty-five years and my first reaction still are: I need to say hi to this girl or else I’ll never see her again.
The memory of their first meeting flashed behind her eyelids, she was leaving an ice cream parlor back in her hometown on a hot July day. She remembered lying in his arms a month later and hearing him tell her about how just one look she had disarmed him all over, how he knew it was just the beginning of his heart racing and his head spinning like the wheels of the old Jeep on the streets around Chicago during their summer nights. She thought it was poetic, the way he described what was going on inside herself. That was when she realized what he had said.
Patrick didn't get anything wrong, especially dates.
- Twenty-five years?
It was his turn to scratch the back of his neck in a gesture of discomfort and look away.
“I went to North Carolina in 96. You had a flower in your hair and it was like I’d gone back to that weekend we went on a ride in that roller coaster,” At that moment Patrick seemed so lost in his own thoughts that even Teresa herself let it go, trying to remember when was it that she wore a flower in her hair back in college, but her memory seemed to fail. “I was going to ask Angela, my wife, to marry me. It didn't seem fair. I loved you, but you were mine what if. I needed to know what could have been.”
“I never saw you...” Teresa murmured sadly.
She would have loved to see him, to have been in his arms one last time. Maybe she wouldn't be able to ignore the fact he was about to get engaged, but hugging him and finally stopping missing the man would have been nice.
“I know... I didn’t want you to see me.” He gave her a coy smile as if to apologize. “Your hair was short and all curly. The flower was white and so was your dress and you were there with your friends. They were all taller than you and you were waiting in line to go on a roller coaster just like we were two years before, only this time it was at the beach.”
With each word, it was as if acid had been poured on her stomach. The day had become clear in her head. Annie's birthday, dancing in the sand, laughing and drinking, that gigantic old contraption they had gotten into, eating with the girls on the pier, and finally sleeping at Shawna's house. If he had said hi the day would have been even more perfect.
Then she realized, Patrick got married and never said hi. Her chest felt heavy as Teresa concluded that upon seeing her, the image of the what-if was lost.
“It wasn’t like that, Teresa.” For an instant, the two of them simply stared, lost in each other's eyes, nostalgia mixed with pain for the director and pure regret for the man. “The moment I saw you I knew it wasn't over. But you were so happy; you weren’t supposed to be with a guy who had no idea how he was going to eat the day after. Angela grew up on that, she supported me and I loved her in my own way. I couldn't ask you to do that. I was a conman, bordering criminal, and you were studying law enforcement at a top college. I understood I was a summer memory just like that flower on your hair.”
Who would she be if Patrick had revealed himself that day? She would’ve never left college for him, that was for sure, but she could have spent all the free time she had with the man. Could she travel with him wherever he went if he were really an outlaw? Would she be able to ignore her heart saying the things he did were wrong just to be who she was with him?
“And now?” Teresa asked feeling her tiredness start to break her resolution. It was fatigue plus melancholy for something that could have been and curiosity about what could be.
“Do you want to know if I'm still a conman?”- Patrick smiled as if he were waiting for that question. “I’m a showman. One season a year, every summer, it’s called The Mentalist. The rest of the time I have an agreement with the government and I help the police where I choose to stay. I think I already know who I'm going to help this year”.
The possibility of spending a whole year with Patrick Jane created something akin to hope inside her chest and she found herself smiling back.
“You need to convince the director first.”
“For real?” He raised an eyebrow. “I think it won't be that difficult. I don't know a single person who hasn't fall for my charms.”
“She's really tough.” Teresa crossed her arms in front of her chest with a defiant air.
“Is she? What is the name of this tough director?”
“Teresa Lisbon.” The two shared a look, long-forgotten complicity mischievously brought to the surface.
“I think I can win her over dinner. I’d like to meet this woman. Tomorrow, eight o’clock.”
“She definitely wants to meet you too.”