Short fics that plot bunnies wouldn't let go
It was just him and the boys, after-hours, Friday night, and totally lit.
"Man I still think you're lying about the psychic thing," Rigsby slurred.
Jane cocked a lazy eyebrow. "You too, Cho?"
Cho shrugged.
"What do I have to do to prove th-I'm fake?"
"Get something wrong once in a while, geez," Rigsby said.
"Not gonna happen," Jane grinned. "I'm never wrong."
"'Cept for the times you are," Cho quipped.
Jane cut his eyes at him but it looked hilariously sleepy, not threatening.
"Your mom's psychic," he said, totally amused with himself.
Cho rolled his eyes.
Van Pelt shut a nearby drawer on purpose, causing Rigsby to groan, rubbing his temples. "Not so loud, please? Have some respect for the dead..."
She smirked. "You're not dead yet. How late were you guys out?"
Cho replied without looking up from his paperwork. "Late."
"Must be, Jane's still sleeping," Van Pelt looked over at the couch where he was snoozing peacefully. "Lucky him," Rigsby felt like death warmed over wanting nothing more than to bury his head in one of the desk drawers and never come out.
As Van Pelt walked away, Rigsby looked over confused at Cho. "Thought you drank as much as the rest of us?"
"I did. My head is killing me." Cho said, looking no different than he usually does.
"Just not fair," Rigsby grimaced. "I'm never drinking with you guys again."
Over on the couch, Jane smiled without opening his eyes.