Work Text:
I love you. Three simple words. But instead, I replace them with "I feel the same way." You understand. You see how those stubborn words twist on the tip of my tongue, ready to break free at almost any moment. When you bring coffee to my desk at the office — not from the machine, but from that café on the corner. When I'm buried in a report and suddenly catch the scent of "Bear's Claw." My heart skips a beat. You're near. When you laugh — really laugh — at something Wylie said, and I look at you and understand: there it is.
You know these words don't always bring happiness. You know that better than anyone. I'm afraid to say them not because they'll break us. These words won't break us. Quite the opposite. It's the truth. And I feel that it's too much. I feel the weight of these words even though I haven't spoken them yet. It will make everything real. And real is something that can be lost.
And you know that. And I think that's why you're not rushing me. You want to enjoy this slightly carefree state between us. Like you're just a guy and I'm just a girl. And everything is easy.
And I'm also afraid that when everything goes to hell, you'll leave. You might smirk right now, because I'm sure everything will go to hell. We'll torture each other. I have issues with attachment and commitment, and you... You always run, you leave me standing there, and I'm left watching your back. I won't be able to handle it if I tell you those three words and you walk away. And even though I've learned — really learned — not to count on the men in my life, but you... You're different.
You're old-fashioned. You wear shoes that are years old and take them to the repair shop because they're comfortable. And I suspect Angela bought them for you... You're devoted to habits — three-piece suits, and every tea time turns into a ceremony with leaves brewed for exactly three minutes at a specific temperature... You're the kind of person who learned how to fix things. Maybe that's why I kept the shards of your mug. I want to fix it. And that's my way of saying I love you without saying those words.
And I also know you want to put a ring on my finger. I know. I see it. And every time we check into a hotel or sit in a café, you notice the looks waitresses or random strangers in the store give us. You notice. You twist that gold band on your finger, your ring catching the sunlight. Simple, gold, heavy. Once you couldn't take it anymore and joked that I'd sent mine in to be resized... You were smiling, trying to cheer me up and break the tension, but I saw how much it hurt you. It hurt me too.
And I'm also afraid that you might take it off for the wrong reasons, when you're not ready yet. I'm afraid that in your heart, the word "wife" is already taken... And always will be. Of course, you'd say I don't have to change my last name, or we could use a hyphenated one. You'd say it just like that — softly, with that half-smile of yours, like you've already thought it all through but don't want to push.
But one day...
One day we stopped by the circus, and for one moment, all of them were expecting to see a completely different woman with you... I'm not that stupid, Patrick. I notice a lot too. They hid that disappointment quickly with jokes. They're good people. No, really, I think they're good. They love you. But for a second — for one short second — I wasn't who they were waiting for.
You'll be the cause of my tears.
And I know I'll be the cause of your tears and sleepless nights. Because I won't give up my job. The job has always been with me. It was there when you weren't.
I'm not that woman... That's not how your fantasies about family life are built. You only have to look at your house in Malibu... And I... I come home late, sometimes my clothes are ruined by bullets and knife wounds, not by roasts and drops of oil, I can't even cook — only reheated frozen meals. And when I don't pick up the phone because I'm out in the field, you'll imagine God knows what, you'll sit there waiting... And being silent... Maybe just look at me with reproach. And it will tear you apart from the inside, until you... Until you leave.
It's just... Sometimes, when you look at me a certain way, I'm not quite sure who exactly you're seeing.
It's just... If I say it and you run — I won't be able to take it. I can't. Not this time.
So I stay silent. I hold those words back. I replace them with others. Safer ones. I replace them with a moan. A look. Your name.
And I think you know that perfectly well.
You know. And you wait. Because you're Patrick Jane. You're a master manipulator. And you know how to wait better than anyone else. You know how to read silence better than words. And you know that when I finally do say it — it won't just be a phrase. It will be a surrender.
And for now... For now, "I feel the same way." And you understand that for now, that's enough.