Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to the Mentalist or to Darius Rucker, which saddens me quite a bit.

A/N: This is a request from a friend. I hope you like it too!

Come Back Song

The rain pounded against the roof of the house that had once been full of life. It was earlier than most would get out of bed, but for him it was late. He breathed a sigh and rolled out of bed. He began his normal morning routine flipping on the coffee maker without a second thought. The teakettle makes it to the stove only seconds later. He makes his tea and allows it to cool while he showers. The coffee pot percolates away.

The smell of burnt coffee greets his nostrils when he re-enters the kitchen. She would usually be on her second cup by now finishing off the last drop out of the small pot he bought for her. He wrinkles his nose at the sludge that slides out of the pot as he dumps what was once some of the most expensive coffee down the drain. The water swirls in the sink washing the last remnants of his failed endeavor. Another sigh escapes him as he turns to his now cold tea. That follows the coffee along the same path.

She had lived in the house until recently. It had taken him awhile to get used to her constant reassuring presence. It had been a comfort until a few weeks ago. Then, he would have forcefully removed her if he could have. Instead, she left, all by herself. She made the decision after he had no longer treated her the way that she deserved. The dead were more interesting than the living. Of course, he only realized that he was wrong after his only company became the dead.

He passed her in the hall at work, a mechanical smile plastered on his face. He had been hiding for so long that he does it automatically now. She gave him a genially happy smile back as her phone rings. A man's voice was heard on the line and she laughs. The sound only causes his mood to plummet more, but he didn't allow it to show. He had made many mistakes in his life. This was not the worst one. Yet, it felt as though it could be fairly high on his long list.

That night, he waited until he can no longer call it night, but must refer to morning as the time when he crawled into bed. The bed is too big for one. It had been bought what feels like a lifetime ago. His single had needed to be upgraded the day she decided to move in with him. The memories that linger on this bed are more numerous than he cares to count. He never heard the creaking of the front door or her silent trek up the stairs. He didn't see her frame outlined by the door. Her sent still permeated the air from the pillow beside him, so the increase in its potency went unnoticed. His normally active mind ripped into overdrive as he can almost feel his arms wrap around her slender frame. He whispered a heartfelt apology into the darkness of the room. His dreams, normally of a past life, feature her face every now and then.

The slight dip of the mattress brought him out of his dreams. At first he thought his dreams were not quite finished until he recognized the body that has taken residence in his bed. Morning light barely slid through the windows giving a glow to the room that few ever see. She was facing away from him, balanced precariously on the edge of the bed.

"Teresa?" he asked to the room. No verbal answer was provided; instead she turned around to face him. Deep circles under her bloodshot eyes met his gaze. It took her longer than usual to focus on him. He can see how much of a strain the entire process was for her. Without much thought, he carefully gathered her close. He enjoyed the few moments she allowed him to hold her.

"Don't do it again, Patrick," she whispered forcefully into the material of his shirt. Her grip became slightly tighter to convey how serious she was. He rested his chin on the top of her head before he whispered his final statement.

"Never again."