Finished/Unfinished Mentalist Fics
So, these are collecting dust on my hard drive. The first one was written as a gift fic for tromana, which I emailed to her but never posted because I intended to turn it into a themed series of detours/surprises for Lisbon courtesy of Jane. The first one is finished since it was originally written as a stand alone, but the second one I'm not certain is finished but I'm posting it as is regardless, and the third is just really short but probably done. The last one is totally unrelated to the first three, but since I felt it was finished it's getting posted.
All of these were beta'd by the lovely lady_of_scarlet. But I may have tweaked a few things afterwards : / Any boo-boos left behind are mine.
Title: What If
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Pretty sure this one's harmless.
Summary: A detour, a sunrise, and inner musings.
Notes: Written as a gift, a really, really late one, for tromana. Sorry it took me so long. Also, the first of what was supposed to be a series but in my usual fashion I failed at the follow through.
The fog diffuses the early morning light, casting a golden hue across the landscape. Green eyes take it in, watching as a new day unfolds. The haze dissipates from one moment to the next as dawn lightens the sky.
Lisbon doesn't know why she lets Jane talk her into these things. Their latest case wrapped up the day before, she'd told the team to sleep in but she'd had to leave well before dawn to make a court appearance. Jane had been leaning against the passenger door of the SUV when she'd made her way through a dimly lit parking lot at an ungodly hour. Not yet fully conscious, Lisbon hadn't bothered to argue his presence. She'd kept walking, not even affording him a glance, but when she hit the unlock button to the SUV twice, it was hard to miss his triumphant smile. One coffee stop and a half hour later, she was riding the caffeine high and Jane somehow talked her in to this little pitstop.
The cool air slowly warming, Lisbon's attention is drawn to a tree in the clearing. The sun hides behind its large mass as it ascends into the sky. Openings in the foliage let rays of light burst through, as though the tree itself holds the sun. But not for long.
At this rate she'll be late for court, but with the picturesque sunrise before her, Lisbon finds she doesn't care. Their world is more often filled with the dark complexities of the worst humanity has to offer. These quiet, simple moments are far too rare and precious.
And she's not enjoying it alone.
There's a slight incline beneath her leading to the otherwise flat, wide open field before them. Jane's sitting on the ground just a few feet away. With his suit jacket left behind, his usual immaculate coat of armor is incomplete, and something about the casual way his arms rest across his knees, one hand lightly clasping his wrist, draws Lisbon in.
Their world revolves around one another, more out of necessity than anything else (at least that's what she tells herself). There's a serial killer and his followers at every turn, it seems. They don't know who to trust anymore. The team, of course, but they're both afraid of pulling them in too deep. The rest of the world is suspect as far Jane's concerned, and his paranoia is catching.
As she settles down beside him, her body mirroring his, Lisbon thinks she's in too deep herself. She does know why she follows Jane, but she pushes it to the back of her mind, and most days she's successful at keeping it there.
The sun's almost to the top of the tree now, and the morning fog is slipping away in the gentle breeze. Lisbon's hand falls to the slightly damp patch of grass between them. She pulls the soft blades between her fingers, but doesn't take her eyes off the light as it moves up the tree.
In her mind it's giving them a little more time, holding the day at bay.
She feels Jane's gaze and something in it causes her to shiver. She's both relieved and disappointed when he turns away. More so the latter, when she hears him sigh. An unconscious emotional tell most people make, but Jane isn't most people and she knows this one wasn't calculated to elicit a response. It was genuine and, Lisbon's certain, not made out of relief.
Just a minute more and the sun will reveal itself and they can let this moment go and allow the day to begin. They'll get back on the road, back to reality, to serial killers and paranoia and things they're familiar with.
Suddenly Jane chuckles, and she watches as he falls back onto the grass. His hands fold behind his head and he stares up at the early morning sky.
He's going to have grass stains on that suit of his, she thinks, but her thoughts quickly take a different turn when the sun finally makes its appearance, bathing him in light. A smile forms without her permission and the ever observant Jane notices out of the corner of his eye.
"See Lisbon, this was worth a little tardiness."
She shakes her head at his aloofness.
"We'll see. How late and how much trouble I'm in will determine that. Come on, you."
She's up and dusting herself off, but, of course, Jane can't just do what she says.
"Help an old man up, would you?"
"Just the other day you were running from a pissed off wife with a spatula. You can get yourself up."
Lisbon starts to walk up to the SUV, but as she passes Jane grabs her hand. There's mischief in his eyes and she realizes he's reacted without thinking again, but he stops himself before he can follow through with his plan. She's certain he can feel her pulse racing, but she ignores it, grasps him tighter and pulls. He helps haul himself up, but she doesn't let go once he's standing. Jane squeezes once then releases and her hand falls back to her side.
"Thank you."
He's not thanking her for helping him up.
"You're welcome."
It's an automatic response, because she's too busy wondering--what if he hadn't turned away earlier and she'd had the courage to see the look in his eyes. What if she'd let him pull her down with him onto the grass. What if they hadn't let go.
If they weren't pawns in Red John's game, and Jane could lay the past to rest and move on, and she wasn't so damn afraid of what she's already willing to do for him that going all in would be akin to committing herself to an even bigger disaster than the one she's knows they're heading towards-it all flies through her head as Jane's hand finds the small of her back. They're slipping into what they know, what they've somehow agreed upon is acceptable without words.
She sighs and shuts down the litany of what ifs in her head.
This is it, and it'll have to be enough.
Title: Ungodly Hour
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: I guess the case reference isn't happy, but mostly squishy and harmless.
Summary: Sleepless nights and quirky diners.
Notes: Unfinished(?) I don't know. I've certainly given up on trying to add more.
Through the paper-thin walls he hears the occasional clicking of a keyboard. The walls aren't so ineffective that he can hear shuffling paper but he knows she'll have notes and reports close by, periodically referencing them as she searches for the key to solving the case.
He doesn't have it to give her. He has theories. His mind has been turning them over--it's why he's up at this hour too--but there're too many and he doesn't have a plan, and Lisbon knows. She's decided to singlehandedly make up for it the past three nights.
He's not sure which makes him feel more helpless, the little boy's murder he's yet to solve or the stubborn woman on the other side of the door who takes the weight of everything on her shoulders.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and slips on his shoes. He's been propped against the headboard in a wrinkled suit for hours but he doesn't bother changing.
"Lisbon?" He calls gently before knocking.
It opens softly and the woman standing on the other side of it lacks the fire he'd been expecting. She's worse off than he thought.
"Jane--"
He holds up his hand, knowing she's about to protest his presence with something hypocritical like he should be in bed asleep.
"We're going to dinner."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. There's a nice little diner just up the street. Why don't you change. I'll wait."
He's happy to note the spark in her narrowed eyes as she shuts the door.
---------------------------------------------
She casts another glance at the ancient Jukebox, neon lights and all, in the far corner of the diner, then to their waitress leaning on the counter beside the ancient register, cell phone in hand, texting away in a puke-pink colored dress.
She scrunches up her nose at the rest of the decor. Gray tabletops trimmed with worn and scuffed up wood, bar stools with too-bright pink legs and uncomfortable looking wooden seats, and tiled floors that look like they came straight out of her high school cafeteria.
It's half-assed fifties meets cheap and lazily thrown together, and Jane's convinced her to have dinner with him here at two in the morning. She wants to be annoyed, but the food is good. She didn't realize how hungry she was until a burger she could barely hold together and a mound of greasy fries appeared in front of her. She dug in, savouring the taste of creamy, melted cheddar and juicy, with just a hint of pink in the middle, beef smashed between a sesame see bun with onion, mayonnaise, and ketchup, only to look up halfway through her meal to see Jane's smiling face. She wasn't sure he was amused or just being smug. Probably both. Jerk.
"That's not very nice, Lisbon."
Sometimes she thinks he really can read minds, or maybe just hers.
"Neither is dragging me out of the bed in the middle of the night."
"Clearly your stomach is happy about it," Jane says as he points at her plate. There's a warmth in his eyes. She's been noticing it more often lately and she's not sure if it's new or its always been there and she just missed it (or he's just letting her see it now).
"There's a smile."
It doesn't leave Lisbon's face as she looks down and stabs another fry in her ketchup.
Title: Fireworks
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Harmless ball of fluff.
Summary: See title.
Notes: So, so short.
The telltale whiz is followed by a thunderous boom as the fireworks light up the night sky. The corners of Lisbon's mouth curve upwards, lips parting slightly, forming a smile halted on the edge of wonder.
He found an overlook on the side of the road that had a perfect view of the small town below and the Fourth of July display he read about on a flyer while passing through for their latest case. It's the little things. Small moments they can hold before everything closes back in.
Lisbon watches the show and he watches her and when the grand finale's over, she looks down before turning her head to the side and peering at him with a strange intensity.
He's caught off guard when she pushes off the door of the Citroen, quickly covering the few steps between them. Her body presses against his as she goes up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips lightly against his cheek.
The need to hold her in place wells up in his chest but all the reasons he can't ring inside his head and she's already gone by the time he regains his ability to move.
The crunch of gravel as she walks around to the passenger door seems infinitely louder than the fireworks before and he's still standing there long after her door has shut.
"Jane?"
He blinks, and remembers the keys in his pocket.
She's getting so much better at surprising him.
Title: The Darkest Sunset
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Er, kind of dark but it doesn't stay that way, so just keep going?
Summary: It's better if I don't say anything.
Notes: This one, as you will obviously notice, has nothing to do with the previous three. It was just an odd idea I decided to write one day.
Jane sinks into the sand with each anxious step. His grip on the knife tightens as he sees the silhouette of a man standing where the waves make their final reach.
On the beach at sunset isn't how he imagined the end.
So close. He sinks deeper, each step harder than the next. He's almost there. He can make out the man's clothes now, grey slacks and a white collared shirt, with his hands in his pockets as if he doesn't have a care in the world.
Jane can't stop the rush of rage. His heart beats an unforgiving rhythm as he pushes forward the last few steps. The beautiful sunset turns the sky red, but his vision narrows to the back of the man's head.
He wonders whose face he'll see before he plunges the knife in, wonders if he'll know him--if knowing will finally bring him peace.
He reaches out and raises the knife up more, ready. But Jane has to see his face. He wants to see him.
His hand lands on Red John's shoulder. He turns as Jane pulls, but the light of the dying sun is suddenly blinding. He panics. He can't let him have the upper hand. He's here. He's finally here. He pushes the knife in with all his rage and guilt and twists.
The white-washed world around him comes to life. He hears the waves crashing on the shore and a seagull's call in the distance. His vision comes back in a violent mix of color until it forms one whole image.
He chokes on his next breath and something inside him shatters.
He's staring into green eyes as her warm blood spills onto his hand.
"Jane."
He comes to gasping for air, propping himself up on his forearm as he leans over the side of the couch. Not even his considerable mental control can get his racing heart to slow. He feels sick and empty and he thinks lunch might come up on Lisbon's shoes.
"Are you all right?"
Lisbon's shoes. Lisbon.
He looks up as she squats down so she's level with him, watching him with concerned eyes. His silence must not be reassuring because her hand moves towards his arm. It still feels like he's dreaming, only this one’s too good to be true after the nightmare he just came from, and he follows her movements waiting for it all to be ripped away.
When her fingers curl around his forearm he sucks in a breath and his eyes suddenly burn. Her small hand blurs, but he hangs onto his last shred of control and doesn't let the tears fall.
Their faces inches away, he struggles to find his voice. He looks up and for a moment sees the horrified and pained expression of his nightmare.
He reaches out and his fingertips brush against her cheek. The nightmare falls away to reveal a wide-eyed Lisbon, a combination of surprise and confusion flashing in her eyes. His fingers curl into his palm and he pulls away. He feels guilty, ashamed, and the hand still gripping his forearm feels like a brand.
He knows it wasn't meant to be taken literally. Which only makes it so much worse. Because he knows what it represents is truth. He can hurt her, has hurt her, and it's entirely possible he'll get her killed someday, too. Maybe not by his own hand, but that's just a minor detail.
It'll still be his fault.
"I'm fine." He pats her hand and lies back down on the couch, doing his best to shut her out.
But she doesn't let him go. He's hurt her, he knows, but she's pissed off, too.
"You're not as mysterious as you'd like to think." She boldly leans forward and whispers harshly in his ear, "and I'm not going anywhere, Jane."
All of these were beta'd by the lovely lady_of_scarlet. But I may have tweaked a few things afterwards : / Any boo-boos left behind are mine.
Title: What If
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Pretty sure this one's harmless.
Summary: A detour, a sunrise, and inner musings.
Notes: Written as a gift, a really, really late one, for tromana. Sorry it took me so long. Also, the first of what was supposed to be a series but in my usual fashion I failed at the follow through.
The fog diffuses the early morning light, casting a golden hue across the landscape. Green eyes take it in, watching as a new day unfolds. The haze dissipates from one moment to the next as dawn lightens the sky.
Lisbon doesn't know why she lets Jane talk her into these things. Their latest case wrapped up the day before, she'd told the team to sleep in but she'd had to leave well before dawn to make a court appearance. Jane had been leaning against the passenger door of the SUV when she'd made her way through a dimly lit parking lot at an ungodly hour. Not yet fully conscious, Lisbon hadn't bothered to argue his presence. She'd kept walking, not even affording him a glance, but when she hit the unlock button to the SUV twice, it was hard to miss his triumphant smile. One coffee stop and a half hour later, she was riding the caffeine high and Jane somehow talked her in to this little pitstop.
The cool air slowly warming, Lisbon's attention is drawn to a tree in the clearing. The sun hides behind its large mass as it ascends into the sky. Openings in the foliage let rays of light burst through, as though the tree itself holds the sun. But not for long.
At this rate she'll be late for court, but with the picturesque sunrise before her, Lisbon finds she doesn't care. Their world is more often filled with the dark complexities of the worst humanity has to offer. These quiet, simple moments are far too rare and precious.
And she's not enjoying it alone.
There's a slight incline beneath her leading to the otherwise flat, wide open field before them. Jane's sitting on the ground just a few feet away. With his suit jacket left behind, his usual immaculate coat of armor is incomplete, and something about the casual way his arms rest across his knees, one hand lightly clasping his wrist, draws Lisbon in.
Their world revolves around one another, more out of necessity than anything else (at least that's what she tells herself). There's a serial killer and his followers at every turn, it seems. They don't know who to trust anymore. The team, of course, but they're both afraid of pulling them in too deep. The rest of the world is suspect as far Jane's concerned, and his paranoia is catching.
As she settles down beside him, her body mirroring his, Lisbon thinks she's in too deep herself. She does know why she follows Jane, but she pushes it to the back of her mind, and most days she's successful at keeping it there.
The sun's almost to the top of the tree now, and the morning fog is slipping away in the gentle breeze. Lisbon's hand falls to the slightly damp patch of grass between them. She pulls the soft blades between her fingers, but doesn't take her eyes off the light as it moves up the tree.
In her mind it's giving them a little more time, holding the day at bay.
She feels Jane's gaze and something in it causes her to shiver. She's both relieved and disappointed when he turns away. More so the latter, when she hears him sigh. An unconscious emotional tell most people make, but Jane isn't most people and she knows this one wasn't calculated to elicit a response. It was genuine and, Lisbon's certain, not made out of relief.
Just a minute more and the sun will reveal itself and they can let this moment go and allow the day to begin. They'll get back on the road, back to reality, to serial killers and paranoia and things they're familiar with.
Suddenly Jane chuckles, and she watches as he falls back onto the grass. His hands fold behind his head and he stares up at the early morning sky.
He's going to have grass stains on that suit of his, she thinks, but her thoughts quickly take a different turn when the sun finally makes its appearance, bathing him in light. A smile forms without her permission and the ever observant Jane notices out of the corner of his eye.
"See Lisbon, this was worth a little tardiness."
She shakes her head at his aloofness.
"We'll see. How late and how much trouble I'm in will determine that. Come on, you."
She's up and dusting herself off, but, of course, Jane can't just do what she says.
"Help an old man up, would you?"
"Just the other day you were running from a pissed off wife with a spatula. You can get yourself up."
Lisbon starts to walk up to the SUV, but as she passes Jane grabs her hand. There's mischief in his eyes and she realizes he's reacted without thinking again, but he stops himself before he can follow through with his plan. She's certain he can feel her pulse racing, but she ignores it, grasps him tighter and pulls. He helps haul himself up, but she doesn't let go once he's standing. Jane squeezes once then releases and her hand falls back to her side.
"Thank you."
He's not thanking her for helping him up.
"You're welcome."
It's an automatic response, because she's too busy wondering--what if he hadn't turned away earlier and she'd had the courage to see the look in his eyes. What if she'd let him pull her down with him onto the grass. What if they hadn't let go.
If they weren't pawns in Red John's game, and Jane could lay the past to rest and move on, and she wasn't so damn afraid of what she's already willing to do for him that going all in would be akin to committing herself to an even bigger disaster than the one she's knows they're heading towards-it all flies through her head as Jane's hand finds the small of her back. They're slipping into what they know, what they've somehow agreed upon is acceptable without words.
She sighs and shuts down the litany of what ifs in her head.
This is it, and it'll have to be enough.
Title: Ungodly Hour
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: I guess the case reference isn't happy, but mostly squishy and harmless.
Summary: Sleepless nights and quirky diners.
Notes: Unfinished(?) I don't know. I've certainly given up on trying to add more.
Through the paper-thin walls he hears the occasional clicking of a keyboard. The walls aren't so ineffective that he can hear shuffling paper but he knows she'll have notes and reports close by, periodically referencing them as she searches for the key to solving the case.
He doesn't have it to give her. He has theories. His mind has been turning them over--it's why he's up at this hour too--but there're too many and he doesn't have a plan, and Lisbon knows. She's decided to singlehandedly make up for it the past three nights.
He's not sure which makes him feel more helpless, the little boy's murder he's yet to solve or the stubborn woman on the other side of the door who takes the weight of everything on her shoulders.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and slips on his shoes. He's been propped against the headboard in a wrinkled suit for hours but he doesn't bother changing.
"Lisbon?" He calls gently before knocking.
It opens softly and the woman standing on the other side of it lacks the fire he'd been expecting. She's worse off than he thought.
"Jane--"
He holds up his hand, knowing she's about to protest his presence with something hypocritical like he should be in bed asleep.
"We're going to dinner."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. There's a nice little diner just up the street. Why don't you change. I'll wait."
He's happy to note the spark in her narrowed eyes as she shuts the door.
---------------------------------------------
She casts another glance at the ancient Jukebox, neon lights and all, in the far corner of the diner, then to their waitress leaning on the counter beside the ancient register, cell phone in hand, texting away in a puke-pink colored dress.
She scrunches up her nose at the rest of the decor. Gray tabletops trimmed with worn and scuffed up wood, bar stools with too-bright pink legs and uncomfortable looking wooden seats, and tiled floors that look like they came straight out of her high school cafeteria.
It's half-assed fifties meets cheap and lazily thrown together, and Jane's convinced her to have dinner with him here at two in the morning. She wants to be annoyed, but the food is good. She didn't realize how hungry she was until a burger she could barely hold together and a mound of greasy fries appeared in front of her. She dug in, savouring the taste of creamy, melted cheddar and juicy, with just a hint of pink in the middle, beef smashed between a sesame see bun with onion, mayonnaise, and ketchup, only to look up halfway through her meal to see Jane's smiling face. She wasn't sure he was amused or just being smug. Probably both. Jerk.
"That's not very nice, Lisbon."
Sometimes she thinks he really can read minds, or maybe just hers.
"Neither is dragging me out of the bed in the middle of the night."
"Clearly your stomach is happy about it," Jane says as he points at her plate. There's a warmth in his eyes. She's been noticing it more often lately and she's not sure if it's new or its always been there and she just missed it (or he's just letting her see it now).
"There's a smile."
It doesn't leave Lisbon's face as she looks down and stabs another fry in her ketchup.
Title: Fireworks
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Harmless ball of fluff.
Summary: See title.
Notes: So, so short.
The telltale whiz is followed by a thunderous boom as the fireworks light up the night sky. The corners of Lisbon's mouth curve upwards, lips parting slightly, forming a smile halted on the edge of wonder.
He found an overlook on the side of the road that had a perfect view of the small town below and the Fourth of July display he read about on a flyer while passing through for their latest case. It's the little things. Small moments they can hold before everything closes back in.
Lisbon watches the show and he watches her and when the grand finale's over, she looks down before turning her head to the side and peering at him with a strange intensity.
He's caught off guard when she pushes off the door of the Citroen, quickly covering the few steps between them. Her body presses against his as she goes up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips lightly against his cheek.
The need to hold her in place wells up in his chest but all the reasons he can't ring inside his head and she's already gone by the time he regains his ability to move.
The crunch of gravel as she walks around to the passenger door seems infinitely louder than the fireworks before and he's still standing there long after her door has shut.
"Jane?"
He blinks, and remembers the keys in his pocket.
She's getting so much better at surprising him.
Title: The Darkest Sunset
Fandom: Mentalist
Pairing: Jane/Lisbon
Rating/Warnings: Er, kind of dark but it doesn't stay that way, so just keep going?
Summary: It's better if I don't say anything.
Notes: This one, as you will obviously notice, has nothing to do with the previous three. It was just an odd idea I decided to write one day.
Jane sinks into the sand with each anxious step. His grip on the knife tightens as he sees the silhouette of a man standing where the waves make their final reach.
On the beach at sunset isn't how he imagined the end.
So close. He sinks deeper, each step harder than the next. He's almost there. He can make out the man's clothes now, grey slacks and a white collared shirt, with his hands in his pockets as if he doesn't have a care in the world.
Jane can't stop the rush of rage. His heart beats an unforgiving rhythm as he pushes forward the last few steps. The beautiful sunset turns the sky red, but his vision narrows to the back of the man's head.
He wonders whose face he'll see before he plunges the knife in, wonders if he'll know him--if knowing will finally bring him peace.
He reaches out and raises the knife up more, ready. But Jane has to see his face. He wants to see him.
His hand lands on Red John's shoulder. He turns as Jane pulls, but the light of the dying sun is suddenly blinding. He panics. He can't let him have the upper hand. He's here. He's finally here. He pushes the knife in with all his rage and guilt and twists.
The white-washed world around him comes to life. He hears the waves crashing on the shore and a seagull's call in the distance. His vision comes back in a violent mix of color until it forms one whole image.
He chokes on his next breath and something inside him shatters.
He's staring into green eyes as her warm blood spills onto his hand.
"Jane."
He comes to gasping for air, propping himself up on his forearm as he leans over the side of the couch. Not even his considerable mental control can get his racing heart to slow. He feels sick and empty and he thinks lunch might come up on Lisbon's shoes.
"Are you all right?"
Lisbon's shoes. Lisbon.
He looks up as she squats down so she's level with him, watching him with concerned eyes. His silence must not be reassuring because her hand moves towards his arm. It still feels like he's dreaming, only this one’s too good to be true after the nightmare he just came from, and he follows her movements waiting for it all to be ripped away.
When her fingers curl around his forearm he sucks in a breath and his eyes suddenly burn. Her small hand blurs, but he hangs onto his last shred of control and doesn't let the tears fall.
Their faces inches away, he struggles to find his voice. He looks up and for a moment sees the horrified and pained expression of his nightmare.
He reaches out and his fingertips brush against her cheek. The nightmare falls away to reveal a wide-eyed Lisbon, a combination of surprise and confusion flashing in her eyes. His fingers curl into his palm and he pulls away. He feels guilty, ashamed, and the hand still gripping his forearm feels like a brand.
He knows it wasn't meant to be taken literally. Which only makes it so much worse. Because he knows what it represents is truth. He can hurt her, has hurt her, and it's entirely possible he'll get her killed someday, too. Maybe not by his own hand, but that's just a minor detail.
It'll still be his fault.
"I'm fine." He pats her hand and lies back down on the couch, doing his best to shut her out.
But she doesn't let him go. He's hurt her, he knows, but she's pissed off, too.
"You're not as mysterious as you'd like to think." She boldly leans forward and whispers harshly in his ear, "and I'm not going anywhere, Jane."