This fic was an absolute delight to write. I enjoy this show and this couple has such potential. I hope I captured the devastation that is inherent in a Patrick/anyone coupling, and that his progression felt natural. A challenging fic to write though and I hope you all like it, so please let me know. I own nothing and mean no harm and would love to hear what you think about it.
Her understanding was driving him mad.
Her patience made him want to shake her.
Her strength made the day bearable.
Her smiles made him feel guilty.
Her love made him want to live again.
Her understanding was driving him mad.
After the impromptu kiss New Year's Eve he had avoided her. Spending the holidays locked away, dreading the phone call, a new assignment; which would inevitably lead to seeing her again. And he didn't want to face her. But the phone had rung and the case had opened and she had been there.
Her pointed effort to maintain a civil distance, purely for his sake, because her smile, her welcome, had told him she wanted to be anywhere but further away. Only she had maintained the distance until he hadn't been able to stand it; insisting on accompanying her on a run to interview the hotel employees where their latest suspect frequented.
Alone in the car he had prepared himself for her questions, her barrage of emotions; but there had been none of that. The drive, twenty-seven minutes of it, had been filled with her stories of holidays past. The Van Pelts it seemed knew how to decorate and subsequently destroy a Christmas tree.
The ease of her mood put him on edge; had she not obsessed over the intimate moment? Had she not considered a repeat performance?
Their eyes met as the SUV came to rest in the parking lot. Heat flared; understanding, of course she had but she was waiting for him, letting him acclimate to her presence.
Leaning across the seat, kissing her sober, was a revelation; total understanding.
Her patience made him want to shake her.
Back and forth over the spring months and into the summer he fought a war on two fronts. His need for revenge, for justice, and he would have Red Johns' blood on his hands so very soon, and Grace.
For any moment with her was a war of mind of body of heart. Their first coupling had been a hard and angry fuck; brutal in its movements and intentions. He had been so appalled the moment after he had climaxed that he could do nothing but let her hold him and whisper reassurances into his hair.
He had left California for ten days that very night.
He didn't call or contact her in any way; and only came back when Lisbon threatened termination.
Grace had met him at the airport with the case file and a hug. Not an ounce of regret or condemnation in her eyes. There should have been yelling and slapping and cursing; not the professional catch up on all he had missed.
She was prepared to wait for him, ready to hold out while he battled one demon and would be there when he laid it to rest. This she told him as he slid into her warm and willing body.
That moment of connection, of subsequent pleasure he had made sure would be worth her wait. She cried, she begged, she panted as he drug it out, made her wait, 'patience' he had whispered; had made himself wait, because in the end it would be so worth it.
Her strength made the day bearable.
Cornered, locked away, Red John was at his mercy; finally. Pieces of his heart were breaking off as he remembered the sights, the smells of that night, and really all he wanted to in that moment was to forget.
Grace had followed him, had only touched his arm softly before stepping back. There were no words of determent, he would do this, and she knew it and though it went against so much of what she was, she stood back and let him open that door.
The strength it took for her gun to remain holstered, for her phone to remain in her pocket she sent to him through one last fleeting touch between his shoulder blades; a simple touch that steeled him.
Dimly he was aware of her voice calling Lisbon as he locked the door. He would have his moment. The blood would flow. On the other side there would be more pain, of that he was certain, and he hesitated seeing past the monster and into what lay ahead.
Pain; so much pain.
Her voice again, louder this time yelling into her phone, reception here must be bad. Grace, his eyes flicked down at the man shaking at his feet, Grace would be there.
She had lent him her strength and he would have to give it back; with interest. He smiled as he considered the many ways of repayment, but pushed the thought aside as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
Before paying out to anyone he had his own debt to collect on first.
Her smiles made him feel guilty.
She smiled too much, too often, and with so many variations he had become obsessed with cataloging them.
The work smiles were the most frequent, perfectly stretched lips showing just the right amount of teeth with a lipstick that said 'strong woman'; her eyes though didn't reflect the emotion.
There were the casual smiles that had gotten his attention months ago. The skin was looser around her mouth, her tongue would run over the shiner, more feminine lips gloss; her eyes saw everything then, saw the room, the people, their lives, thoughts, and him. Her eyes always settled on him as the smile faded.
Her smile of understanding was a good one; not to be confused with comprehension, a subtle difference to be sure but one that was there. At each corner of her mouth there was a twitch in either direction separating the two.
Her smile of derision was one to stay away from. There was a cruel slant of her mouth; a twisted abomination of a smile that manifested itself through her anger. The blood would rush to her face, her lips darkening and he was alternately afraid for whoever brought on the look and aroused by the absolute conviction in her eyes.
Then he would see it, would catch a glimpse of the soft smile she would send only him. Throughout the day that smile would slide his way and make his chest ache; how dare he crave that smile, that knowing look in her eyes. How dare he?
The guilt would eat him; doubts and recriminations would drive him away from her for hours and days. Desperation would drive him back; only the smile of wonder, of pleasure that she would give him the second before her orgasm hit would push every other blessed thought away. He longed for that moment of complete clarity; only she gave that to him now.
Each and every smile was noted, noticed and considered; none surpassed that lone October morning when she had rolled over, sleep easing away and recognition settling in. The moment she saw and realized and accepted that he had stayed; that smile the absolute everything in it broke his heart.
Her love made him want to live again.
The excuses were running out; they sounded weak at this point even to him.
As the Spring met the Summer tempers were flaring as the heat bore down; unrelenting.
The sweat she wiped from her brow was done without complaint; the heat she told him was a state of mind.
Everyday a little more of her state of mind was revealed to him. She hated olives, would allow him to pick them off her side of the pizza and drop on his side; she wouldn't let anyone else touch her hot food.
At his insistence she had stopped trying to return the gifts he bought her, large and small, she kept them now; had kept the accompanying notes and wrappings as well. Those he had discovered by accident while digging out her cross country skis from the hall closet.
Birthdays were a big deal for her. Not one person at the office passed through their special day without a cake in their honor. Of course it would be in their favorite flavor; his had been carrot, hand made, with a most spectacular butter crème icing. A late night conversation and some tequila and he had revealed that and she remembered.
She remembered everything; when your heart is in it you could recall every detail. That she had whispered one night after she had rented his favorite action film of 1971; how could he have forgotten that? How wonderful was it of her to remind him.
Her heart had wrapped itself around him.
She loved him.
It was there. Simple and true and a bright shining light that he had only begun to blink at; slowing his thoughts were accepting it, his eyes were adjusting, and he could see her, Grace.
Every day, every moment, she sent him her understanding, her patience, her strength, her smiles, and now her love; and he wanted them, ached for them, would finally, finally live for them. He would live for her, because of her; because he loved her.
Smiling, he pressed a kiss to his fingers, and smoothed them over the marble of the gravestones; his heart was expanding, room in there now for more love and life and memories.
There was a confidence in his steps, a new purpose to his stride. Grace was there, at the car, waiting for him; she was good at waiting, he would enjoy telling her the wait was over.