In no way am I promoting or glorifying self harm, let's clear that up...

Jane watches as Teresa sits on the lid of the commode. A baggy t-shirt crumpling across the top of her thighs reveals a shadowed pair of plump lips beneath a trim of dark swirls. He had finally managed to persuade her to open the door and let him in. The atmosphere has a buzz of mortification on both of their behalves, yet neither one of them seems at all bothered; too busy focusing on their own thoughts instead.

"I should have noticed- should have checked," he stammers. She lowers her head, her eyelids flickering to keep the tears caged. "Why didn't you say anything?" He presses. No response. He drifts across the room and crouches in front of her, his hands on her knees, and looks up at her face. She avoids eye contact but he can sense there's some form of comfort for her with him finally knowing and not leaving.

"You don't know anything," she finally breaks, the tears seemingly carving into her skin as they fall. He creakily stands up in his underwear, his face one of anguish, and brings her head to his naked chest, refraining from alerting her of his upset.

"So tell me..." He whispers into her messy locks.

She watched as red rose to the surface and dribbled to the heel of her hand, a drop growing and splashing into the basin. The contrast of the deep burgundy on the white ceramic forced tears to finally glide to the ends of her lashes. The block of anger and pain melting into a cool puddle of sadness in her chest, weighing her heart. Thoughts frantically chased Sanity in her head and she slowly pressed the blade against her creamy skin to try to reap any kind of inner peace she had left. The sequence would begin again and end again, the desperation for serenity mounting with each fresh tear, they too emerging quicker than the last. The engraved pattern fusing into one red splodge as her eyesight blurred with an abundance of tears. Finally her legs could no longer take the weight of the flustered soggy mess and she dropped, the blade clattering and skidding across the tiled floor in front of her. She slowly lowered onto her side and enjoyed the cold of the surface against one of her burning cheeks. The tears calmed as she did and she lay inert on her bathroom floor.

She awoke with a start as her front door squeaked open, a sound she was familiar. She'd managed to scoop her weakened form from the uncomfortable tiles, wipe away the single trail of dried blood from her wrist and drag herself into bed and that is where Patrick found her at eleven thirty p.m on Friday night.

"Teresa?" She heard him call from the front door-which she imagined he had picked the lock. She rubbed her eyes and caught sight of the angry marks she'd inflicted just hours before and pulled her sleeve down and shoved it under the blanket. She watched the handle turn unusually slowly and he poked his head round the door with the same precaution.

"Phew..." He breathed. "You're here. I thought you had been kidnapped or something." He entered the room now and headed toward her bed.

"Where else would I be?"

"Well I knocked, but there was no answer. I started to get worried."

"So you decided to pick the lock?"

"I needed to know you were alright."

What she said next sent a sharp pain stabbing through her wrist, as if reminding her of the true events of the evening. "It is Friday night, I could've gone out."

"I know you too well to know that you were home," no you don't, not really. "Probably watching a movie or something, huh?" He smirked as he lifted up the comforter and scrambled in beside her. She kept her wrist pressed firmly against her thigh.

"Probably."

He didn't seem to notice her abrupt and blunt replies, as though he was too focused on what he was doing. She was grateful for his distraction however. He huddled closer to her and wrapped an arm around her tummy. She pulled her wrist away as if not wanting to touch him in fear of poisoning him with her masked depression. Again, he didn't notice. She stayed staring at the ceiling as he snuggled in and closed his eyes, his clothes feeling fresh from the night's air against her bare legs. She too, soon drifted back off.

When her alarm started ringing the next morning he was already awake, although still sleepy. She reached out to turn off the alarm and from the angle she was at caught a glimpse of the scabbed cuts. She slipped her arm back under the cover and pulled on the mask of normality, ready for the day ahead. She'd only resorted to the harm in recent weeks, the first time (during adulthood) being, perhaps... sixteen days ago. Those earliest cuts were healing well, just faint red scars now. She'd never cut deep, her tendency to be precarious was most likely the reason for that.

"Do you have work today?" He asked.

"You know I do."

"But on a Saturday, though?"

"Yes. Sunday is my day off, and you know it is."

"But can't you ask to have today too?"

Of all days for him to be clingy, she most certainly did not want it to be today.

"Am I sick?" She asked, getting up.

"No..."

She felt a pang of uneasiness, some people counted depression as an illness, although it felt more of a daily routine for her.

"Has something happened that needs my complete and utter attention?"

"Yes, your lonely partner needs some human contact that he can't have at work."

She tilted her head, showing him she was not amused by his games.

"Fine, go to work. But promise me you won't go out on the town tonight." He winked, referring back to her comment last night.

"I'll probably watch a movie or something," she retorted. She made a brisk exit to take a shower, which consisted of a nauseating guilt as she kept seeing her marks, and then went to work.

The day proved to be pointless as they followed up a cracked case with paperwork and then twiddled their thumbs for the entire afternoon. Apparently the whole of Texas had stayed in on their Friday night too, deciding to leave the killing and kidnapping for another day.

When she returned home she was feeling reasonably relaxed and in a better mood than she had left this morning, which Jane did pick up on immediately.

"It was pretty quiet at work, so why are you not jumping off the walls?"

"What?" She asked, confused by what he was trying to imply.

"You're like a dog. You need your regular exercise otherwise you're energetic, which on quiet days you often funnel into being temperamental. And then you won't sleep at night. This is good if you're horny, but only for so long because you tire me out and then I can't get to sleep with you constantly tossing and turning."

She raised her eyebrows at his soliloquy, surprised by how he had managed to bottle it up inside him for that long. Sure, they very rarely had quiet days, but sometimes she'd be on desk duty with Wiley, or doing a day's worth of paperwork, which has the same effect.

"Why haven't you said anything before?"

"Because I didn't want you to be grumpy or upset."

"I'm a big girl, I can take a complaint."

He approached her and placed a hand on each of her elbows. He won't notice, I'm wearing my suit jacket, she thought as her heart pounded in its chest.

"I know you're a big girl, but you're just my baby," he mumbled, looking hard done by.

She knew what he wanted. And in all fairness it had been some time, without much complaint from him... She felt bad... She wished she wanted the same, to make him happy. He had been so patient with her and hadn't asked questions.

"Jane..." She began, but trailed off. He nodded his head sadly, understanding what she wanted to say. Seeing him like this made guilt tear and rip through her body, he didn't ask for much and yet she still couldn't meet his wish. Maybe she could just do him? She wouldn't have to get involved where undressing was concerned. She reached up and kissed him, not ridiculously romantic but not brief. Just soft. And apologetic. "Maybe later tonight..." She added.

He seemed to perk up after she showed some interest in amorous activities. She decided that with the indefinitely postponed sex, his lust and desire would make it quick. She felt incredibly cruel for thinking like that, but decided if the worst came to the worst, he would find out. She would do everything in her power, including sinking as low as reminding him the dark times she stuck by him, to make him stay if he wanted to leave... But she hoped she knew him well enough to know he would stand by her... It was the possibility of misjudging him that stopped her from seeking his guidance for the situation in the past.

They ate dinner on the couch that night. She wasn't sure why. It was nothing fancy to eat, just his high-class scrambled eggs on buttered toast - delicious comfort food. She'd found that she was surprisingly hungry, a feeling she didn't seem to have felt much of in the past two weeks. She tidied the dinner plates away and they cuddled together on the sofa where a gentle argument broke out about whom got control of the TV remote, as neither of them wanted it tonight. They ended up settling on a wildlife documentary, as they both knew they wouldn't pay much attention to what was on. Like a young child looking through a storybook; they only paid attention to the pictures.

"We don't have to do anything tonight, Teresa," Jane said, breaking through the monotone voice of the documentary's narrator. Jane had been replaying the conversation they'd had when coming back from work and had analysed every word she'd said. He'd heard the reluctance in her voice yet couldn't understand what the issue was...
She nuzzled in closer to him, allowing him to take her silence and interpret it however he wanted.

"Can we talk?" He asked, carefully manoeuvring to sit up so he could talk to her directly. She too heaved herself into a more upright position.

"What's wrong?"

"Have you gone off me? Or have I done something?"

Her immediate expression gave him hope. "No, of course not. It took us over a decade to admit that we had something, so you're not going to get rid of me that easily. Why? Have you got cold feet?"

"No. No definitely not..." He paused, in deep thought and she could see that he was building up courage to say whatever he had to say next. She simply rested a hand, belonging to her non scarred wrist, on his knee and he enveloped it with his own. "I-I'm going to say something... And there are multiple ways you could react... But I just want the truth, okay?"

"Okay."

He nervously cleared his throat and looked into her eyes with an emotion she couldn't quite pin.

"Are... Are you... Pregnant?"

She was taken aback. She hadn't thought he was going to come out with that. "No, Jane, I'm not... D-did you want me to be?"

"I just don't understand... Is something wrong? Are you sick?"

"What's this about, Patrick?" She already had a fairly realistic idea in her head.

"... You don't seem... What's the word? Keen? To make love with me anymore."

"I've just been having a hard time and trouble sleeping is all. I want to do it tonight."

He looked at her with slight suspicion so she leant forward and kissed him, this time with a flare of passion burning inside. She wondered whether if she'd have tried to have done this sooner it would have saved countless tears.

He leans against the bathtub and she huddles in closer to him, her head resting on his firm thighs as he strokes her hair. He'd managed to calm her so she can explain things to him but he's worried to bring the topic up again.

"Teresa?" He asks quietly. "Tell me what's wrong... I'll stay right here, I promise."
She lifts her head, looks to him and then decides her head's too heavy again so settles on his shoulder. Seeing her helplessness makes him pull her nearer and he twirls a lock of brunette hair between his fingers, pressing a kiss to her scalp.

"You remember the black boot cast I had on a few weeks ago?" She says, sounding a little dazed.

"Yes."

"I had a very similar sprain, in the same ankle, when I was twelve..." She pauses, as if to catch breath. "He had been angry with my lack of culinary skills and pushed my down the stairs."

"But you were twelve. Hardly material for a master chef."

"It was only a sandwich though..."

"Teresa, you are in no way to blame for your father's disorderly actions."

She turns so her face can nuzzle into his neck, like a child scared of his nightmare's demons.

"Did it drag back memories?" He mutters, looking down at her.

"Some form of PTSD, then the childhood poison of depression."

"You also had depression when you were little? How old?"

It takes her a few seconds to decide on the age, the years of pain and suppressed anger blurring into one giant dark hole. "I don't know when that started... Probably never stopped after mom's death... But I remember I did this," she limply holds up her wrist. "When I was fifteen..."

"I'm so sorry... I was desperately naïve, hoping you were simply tired... I should have checked."

She can tell he's getting more and more racked with guilt.

They'd not made the effort to move to the bedroom and had begun undressing on the couch, the documentary breaking for commercials. His suit jacket and shirt had been carelessly discarded on the floor as had their shoes. She straddled his lap and all thoughts of depression were temporarily drained from her mind. He unbuckled her belt and slipped the button of her pants out of its hole. She rose on her knees to pull them as far down as possible and then he helped her get them the rest of the way off. He then threw them onto the coffee table; her panties fell out and dropped to the floor. He smirked as his hands cupped her naked ass cheeks. After his soft fondling he pushed her blazer off, causing her to remember the secret she wanted to hide. Her three-quarter length sleeves of her blouse hid the fresh injuries, so only the pale red scars were faced with the oxygen they breathed. Luckily the dim lighting from the lamps meant they were practically invisible. He started unbuttoning her blouse. She pressed her chest against his, either a sign of passion or unwillingness to be undressed. He slipped his hands into the opening of her shirt and ran them down her arms, removing the sleeves. He stripped her of the garment whilst caressing her lips with his. She could feel his hands trailing up and down her arms again but she didn't flinch away, the marks were on the underside; nowhere near where he was stroking. He bent to spread a warmth down her neck that reached her core as he kissed below her earlobe and crept his way to her collarbone. She had obviously misjudged the extent of her lashing out the night before as a smooth fingertip ran over a scabbed cut. He stopped all movement and focused on her poor owie. Then he felt another and an icy chill shot through her arm. He pulled away from her neck and picked up her arm so he could have a proper look at what had caused pain to his baby. She turned her head away, disgusted and ashamed of herself. He held her arm in front of him and saw the several cuts, some appearing deeper than others. He looked up to see if she had an explanation but she'd turned away. His eyes, drooped sadly, watched her, or the side of her head.

"W... What..." He didn't know what to say. She realised hanging around for this long was a mistake and she quickly pushed herself off the couch and fled to her bathroom, before he had chance to put a tight grip on her arm and stop her from leaving. If he'd even want to, that is...

She sat with her knees tucked under her chin on the toilet seat. She didn't cry. Didn't do anything. Just thought. Her shoulders started to get a bit chilly so she scooped up her nightshirt from where it had been discarded on the floor before her shower this morning and limply pulled it on over her head. After just a couple of minutes there was a rap on the door. She'd thought he'd left.

"Teresa? Let me in. Please?"

She couldn't figure out what was the best thing to do. Send him home? Let him in? Play childish games and make him wonder? She went for the latter and didn't reply.

"What are you doing? Please, don't hurt yourself..."
Again, she thought.

Her bathroom had a bolt, so no lock for him to pick. But right now she just wanted him to come in and cuddle her. She felt drained, as if the past two weeks of pretence had finally caught up to her and the tiredness was ready to kill.
"Teresa, you're... You're scaring me." He sounded the same way he sounded on the plane a few months ago, when he admitted his love for her. Terrified and genuine and caring and someone she really really wanted a hug from. She heaved herself up and plodded to the door. He could hear her footsteps and his heart lifted. He didn't think she was capable of... But his heart had still feared he would never hear the patter of her bare feet on the tiles. The bolt slid and he twisted the door knob. She stood looking up at him from her bowed head. He walked right up to her and wrapped one arm around her head and the other slid across her back. He pulled her as tightly to him as possible and he himself blinked away the sadness as his chin rested on top of her head. They stood like that for a while and he could almost feel the little remaining energy drain from her.

"Sit down..." He soothed as he led her to the toilet.

Jane watched as Teresa sat on the lid of the commode.