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She doesn’t move until Jane does. It feels like she doesn’t even breathe, until he turns from the door and goes back down the stairs. She follows after him, quiet, sitting one step behind him after he lowers himself.
Much like they had stood in the doorway, they now sit, their breathing the only thing in the silence and stillness of Jane’s house. She knows, despite the unease she feels in her gut, that bringing him here was the right thing to do. That Jane hated the man he had been, before he came on as a consultant, that he wouldn’t want to be like that, again.
She knew she needed to wait, to let him speak first, but she had to do something. She and Jane had their Things, as the team liked to point out. Small things they only did with (or to) each other. One of the first things she always did when something involved red John and Patrick needed to come back down to earth was take two of her fingers, and tap down his arm. Usually she would emphasize the touch with words, but now wasn’t her turn to break the fragile silence they were in.
She leans forward just enough to tap his shoulder, down to his elbow, pausing at his wrist. She lets her fingers rest over his pulse point, the fast beat of his heart a stark difference to the stillness surrounding them.
Eventually, Jane brings his other hand to rest on top of hers, the only sign that he was present enough to realize he wasn’t alone, that she hadn’t left him.
“Teresa,” Jane whispers, “thank you.”
Now that he’s spoken, she feels she can, too.
“I don’t think this is the kind of thing to be thanked for, Patrick,” she whispers back. “I just made you remember the worst night of your life.”
“Which I was going to remember either way,” he reminds her with a huff, turning just enough to lock their gazes. His eyes are glassy and red rimmed, and it sends another pang of guilt through her. “Instead of letting me remember it, say, when we’re interrogating a suspect, or with some sleaze in Vegas, you brought me here. Controlled environment.” Then, almost hesitantly, adds, “Only person I’d want around me when I remembered, too, but you probably didn’t think about that,” he smiles slightly, tip toeing around other things he could say with that confession.
He squeezes her hand, before moving both of his to his lap, adjusting himself on the stairs so that her legs press into his back. He lets his head fall until it hits just above her knee, opens his eyes so all he can see is her, albeit upside down. And this is — well, it’s not something they do. Teresa Lisbon is not one for casual touch, and Jane is usually using it to fake someone out. This might be the most they’ve ever touched at once, save being pressed close together in a car or on Jane’s couch while working a case.
“Will you sit here with me, Teresa?” He asks after a few minutes of silence. Her head is already buzzing, with the events of the past 48 hours bringing in a bone-deep exhaustion as they settled in her mind. His question makes her let out a breath that almost resembles a laugh.
“Like I haven’t already been?” She replies, amused, and finds her hands moving to his hair.
He hums in response to that, his eyes closing as her fingers card through the mess of curls. She closes her eyes, too, and sits with him until the sun rises, already knowing she’ll feel this in her back for the next week, but not really caring.
Because she has Jane back, her Jane, and she would sit with him for years as long as it meant he would be there next to her.