Fanfic | The Mentalist | Stronger than Tea
Title: Stronger than Tea
Fandom: The Mentalist
Author: frickangel
Pairing: Maybe tiny hints of Jane/Lisbon though that was all subconsciously written. It was always meant to be a friendship piece.
Spoilers/Time line: Season 3; post ‘The Red Mile’.
Rating: G
Character(s): Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Don’t know. Don’t I wish.
Summary: Patrick Jane found himself accompanied by death yet again. But this time, Lisbon is there to remind him that he’s still very much alive. [One Shot]
A/N: After three years of watching the show, I’m finally compelled to write a little something only because the episode’s ending struck a chord with me.
Oh hello, Muse, where have you been?
Also, there may be the most tiniest ever reference to ‘Fringe’. Very tiny.
Warning:Un-beta’d
---------
“It was years ago, God knows;
When you strained to tell me your whole truth;
That you were not mine to save;
That you could not change.”
~Vienna Teng
---------
It was as if Hartley’s murder hadn’t created enough troubles with two storey’s high worth of paperwork, compliments of Jane’s ridiculous stunt with the fire alarm to Steiner’s publicity stint, the latter being something that had Jane’s name written all over it.
Now, there was an added burden of writing just exactly how the district pathologist could possibly overdose on pain medication while in the presence of an official CBI consultant. Especially when the aforementioned CBI agent was the ever famous-or more like infamous-Patrick Jane.
When Lisbon first heard about Jane being the one who called in Steiner's death, she was sure that their consultant had finally snapped and actually killed someone. On the other hand, she was still waiting for the man to turn around and point a finger at her with an 'I-got-you-didn't-I-?' expression on his face. Maybe in the next two hours, she'll get a call from the morgue announcing that Steiner had risen from the dead and it was all a ploy to capture some other unsuspecting crook.
Wishful thinking.
Quietly sighing to herself as she strode down the empty hall and pass her agents' desks, she watched her feet take one foot forward and then another and another until she came to her own door. Wrapping her fingers around the knob, she twisted it and found comfort in the familiar squeak of the hinges as the door swung open.
It was dark and she preferred it so, giving her a chance to avoid the temptation of sleep that the couch presented to her and allowing her to finish the remaining reports she had.
Maybe if she took just a 30 minute nap and...
Special agent Teresa Lisbon was no screamer, but tonight, she made an exception. She also promised to kill Jane when she had the chance. Especially now, with the lights on, he sat there in her couch and looked at her with that smug look on his face.
Her heart was still beating hard and she could hear the blood pump through as she clutched securely on the light switch, “Jane!”
“Hello, Teresa.”
“This isn’t funny!”
He paused just long enough to give her a casual shrug, “It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”
“Then why were you lurking in my office, hiding in the shadows with the lights off?!”
“Technically, there was no lurking involved,” Jane refuted, “I was sitting down. No lurking.”
There must’ve been something she had done immensely wrong during her lifetime. Was it the underage drinking? Or that she had lied to her parents about studying overnight at Lizzy’s place when actually she was out losing her virginity to a boy named Charlie? What sin had she committed that she was now stuck with a narcissistic know-it-all like Jane?
Deep breaths, Teresa; just like the therapist said, take deep breaths.
“Jane…” she slowly said through clenched teeth. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
She noted the tightness around his eyes as the usually quick-witted man was suddenly at a loss for words. No funny comeback or a quirky statement of facts.
Something was wrong.
Releasing her death grip on the light switch, she took an inch or two forward thinking that maybe closing the distance between them would help him remember where he was, “Jane?”
He remained as he was, sitting there and it seemed to her that he sank deeper into her leather couch, his usually proud figure crushed beneath an unseen burden upon his shoulders. She recognised the symptoms of emotional baggage; after all, her brothers all went through it. They always held everything in thinking they were strong enough to handle it. Eventually that fortress holding it back crumbles bit by bit. Unfortunately, Teresa had inherited that emotional independence as well.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally spoke; his voice was turned down about two hundred shades softer.
“That has never stopped you before.”
He shrugged again.
Her lips parted to call out to him, ask him again what the hell he was doing here, or just place two hands around his neck and strangle him. Instead, what Teresa found herself doing was finally closing the space between them until she stood right before him. He didn’t react to her and she wasn’t even sure if he noticed her presence. “It’s not your fault.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what went down in the deceased coroner’s apartment. Had Jane merely find the older man already motionless or did he struggle gasping for breath? Either way, her consultant wasn’t someone who dealt with death easily. She supposed it had hit quite close to home for him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He was such a horrible liar. At least when it came to matters of the heart.
“It was obviously his choice.”
“Really, Teresa, leave the deductions and conclusions to me. You’re good at the cop thing so let the solving part alone.”
“Firstly, I’ve known you long enough, Jane, to realise when you’re lying. Secondly, before you came along we were doing fine making our own deductions and conclusions.” The last sentence came out a little harsher than she intended but it was said, and like she knew she would, Teresa felt herself cringe at the regret. “Jane...” she half said and sighed while stuffing her hands into the pockets of her slacks. She hated heart-to-heart talks to begin with and having one with Patrick Jane was not on the list of things she was comfortable doing.
“You don’t have to.”
What?
“What?” Teresa echoed her thoughts while emphasising it with a half grimace and a raised eyebrow.
His body was slumped back against her couch, shoulders slack and head down. It surprised her really, how docile Jane looked when burdened by something that his quick-thinking mind couldn’t wrap its nimble fingers around. Completely surprising.
“Don’t have to comfort me,” he finally mumbled as Teresa stared at him with, what she suspected, may have been a partially bored look.
“Jane,” she repeated his name for an umpteenth time that night, “I know, but here’s the thing, you’re in my office, sitting on my couch, which by default makes it my responsibility to understand what the hell is going on with my staff.”
“Not your staff either,” he tightly replied.
“Oh most definitely yes,” she added, while frowning at his defensiveness, “I answer for all the crap stunts you pull, fill out about two millions forms for it, and not to mention profusely apologise to everyone you've ever wronged including the governor of this town!”
He shrugged but never looked up.
Remember, Teresa, deep breaths in.
And then it dawned upon her like the ‘oh’ moment in a complicated puzzle that hadn’t made any sense from beginning but was now slowly taking the form of its solution. The light bulb brightly lit, and the metaphorical chime or the microwave’s bell pinged as everything fell into place.
Patrick Jane already knew it wasn’t his fault. Patrick Jane was not here to be reaffirmed. Patrick Jane was here to just be normal.
Well, as normal as he ever could be.
With one final glance at the unfinished paperwork on her desk, Teresa made a decision and stuck to it. “Jane…”
“I’m fine, Lisbon.”
“Oh just shut up,” she barked at him and shuffled a little while thinking of a relatively normal activity Jane might like that Teresa could stand. “I think you should drink something. How about a cup of tea?” the word ‘tea’ was such a foreign element that it rolled off her lips with so much discomfort that it could’ve been mistaken for sarcasm.
He flinched.
“Anything but tea,” Jane finally looked up and Teresa fought the urge to pity him. That was the last thing the consultant needed at the moment. “Anything stronger than tea?”
She couldn’t help it but the man had a supernatural ability in letting lose the cynical monster in her as Teresa proceeded to roll her eyes. She stopped short of a smart retort as she bit the inside of her cheek. Instead, she drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I might have.”
A smile grew on his lips as if to say, ‘Aha! I knew it’ and Teresa is relieved slightly that Jane still has that odd sense of humour.
Looks like he’ll be all right. A little banged up, but he’ll pull through.
“How about a Red Russian?”
No more conflicted, Jane’s expression is now one full of curiosity.
Okay, maybe just a little conflicted but at least he’s not mopping about like an abandoned puppy.
“Is that anything to do with the KGB and a death sentence?” he asked with a hint of the mischievousness that she was accustomed to.
Taking three steps backwards, she pulled open the door, “KGB. No,” she shrugged and motioned for him to go out, “death sentence maybe. That is if I have enough vodka and there’s some mint tea left lying around.”
He paused midway out the door and right before Teresa, giving her a raised eyebrow.
“No one’s died yet,” she smirked before ushering him out again, her hand now on the light switch and flipped it down, throwing the blanket of black upon her private space once more.
Shuffling out of the office slowly, she took a breath of relief as she fell in step next to Jane, satisfied that she had done her job and consoled him to the best of her ability, proving that she wasn’t too bed of a leader. Not too bad at all.
“Lisbon?”
She stopped just as he had suddenly and turned towards him, worried that maybe the relief was a little premature and that it was a precursor to a larger and more turbulent storm.
Eyebrows knitted into a frown, Jane looked down and she could hear him take deep breaths. Teresa was unsure if she wanted to hear what he had to say, if he was going to confess to something that had conspired today in Hartley’s apartment.
She did not want to become his liability.
“I…” he whispered and took a moment again.
‘Please God, please don’t let Jane confess.’
Glancing up again, she held her breath and Jane’s expression spoke volumes of the final decision he had come to. There was lightness in his eyes as if he had just released the biggest burden on his shoulders, “Can I have it without the mint tea?”
In her mind she mentally rolled her eyes again and she was prepared to slap him hard across the cheek. But instead, Teresa laughed and shook her head. “Sure… why not?” she threw her hands up and turned towards the break room.
But before she could move further than two steps, she felt a force hold her back and she turned in slight shock as Jane held on to her hand. “Thank you,” he gently said before smiling at her. Without waiting for a reply, he moved forward and released his quiet grip on her.
Watching him go, this time his head held a little higher, Teresa learnt something new today.
That Patrick Jane had a soul after all.
“Anytime, Jane,” she whispered back. “Anytime.”
---------
THE END
---------
Thanks for reading.
Comments and criticism is most welcomed.
-Jo
Fandom: The Mentalist
Author: frickangel
Pairing: Maybe tiny hints of Jane/Lisbon though that was all subconsciously written. It was always meant to be a friendship piece.
Spoilers/Time line: Season 3; post ‘The Red Mile’.
Rating: G
Character(s): Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon
Disclaimer: Don’t own. Don’t know. Don’t I wish.
Summary: Patrick Jane found himself accompanied by death yet again. But this time, Lisbon is there to remind him that he’s still very much alive. [One Shot]
A/N: After three years of watching the show, I’m finally compelled to write a little something only because the episode’s ending struck a chord with me.
Oh hello, Muse, where have you been?
Also, there may be the most tiniest ever reference to ‘Fringe’. Very tiny.
Warning:Un-beta’d
---------
“It was years ago, God knows;
When you strained to tell me your whole truth;
That you were not mine to save;
That you could not change.”
~Vienna Teng
---------
It was as if Hartley’s murder hadn’t created enough troubles with two storey’s high worth of paperwork, compliments of Jane’s ridiculous stunt with the fire alarm to Steiner’s publicity stint, the latter being something that had Jane’s name written all over it.
Now, there was an added burden of writing just exactly how the district pathologist could possibly overdose on pain medication while in the presence of an official CBI consultant. Especially when the aforementioned CBI agent was the ever famous-or more like infamous-Patrick Jane.
When Lisbon first heard about Jane being the one who called in Steiner's death, she was sure that their consultant had finally snapped and actually killed someone. On the other hand, she was still waiting for the man to turn around and point a finger at her with an 'I-got-you-didn't-I-?' expression on his face. Maybe in the next two hours, she'll get a call from the morgue announcing that Steiner had risen from the dead and it was all a ploy to capture some other unsuspecting crook.
Wishful thinking.
Quietly sighing to herself as she strode down the empty hall and pass her agents' desks, she watched her feet take one foot forward and then another and another until she came to her own door. Wrapping her fingers around the knob, she twisted it and found comfort in the familiar squeak of the hinges as the door swung open.
It was dark and she preferred it so, giving her a chance to avoid the temptation of sleep that the couch presented to her and allowing her to finish the remaining reports she had.
Maybe if she took just a 30 minute nap and...
Special agent Teresa Lisbon was no screamer, but tonight, she made an exception. She also promised to kill Jane when she had the chance. Especially now, with the lights on, he sat there in her couch and looked at her with that smug look on his face.
Her heart was still beating hard and she could hear the blood pump through as she clutched securely on the light switch, “Jane!”
“Hello, Teresa.”
“This isn’t funny!”
He paused just long enough to give her a casual shrug, “It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”
“Then why were you lurking in my office, hiding in the shadows with the lights off?!”
“Technically, there was no lurking involved,” Jane refuted, “I was sitting down. No lurking.”
There must’ve been something she had done immensely wrong during her lifetime. Was it the underage drinking? Or that she had lied to her parents about studying overnight at Lizzy’s place when actually she was out losing her virginity to a boy named Charlie? What sin had she committed that she was now stuck with a narcissistic know-it-all like Jane?
Deep breaths, Teresa; just like the therapist said, take deep breaths.
“Jane…” she slowly said through clenched teeth. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
She noted the tightness around his eyes as the usually quick-witted man was suddenly at a loss for words. No funny comeback or a quirky statement of facts.
Something was wrong.
Releasing her death grip on the light switch, she took an inch or two forward thinking that maybe closing the distance between them would help him remember where he was, “Jane?”
He remained as he was, sitting there and it seemed to her that he sank deeper into her leather couch, his usually proud figure crushed beneath an unseen burden upon his shoulders. She recognised the symptoms of emotional baggage; after all, her brothers all went through it. They always held everything in thinking they were strong enough to handle it. Eventually that fortress holding it back crumbles bit by bit. Unfortunately, Teresa had inherited that emotional independence as well.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally spoke; his voice was turned down about two hundred shades softer.
“That has never stopped you before.”
He shrugged again.
Her lips parted to call out to him, ask him again what the hell he was doing here, or just place two hands around his neck and strangle him. Instead, what Teresa found herself doing was finally closing the space between them until she stood right before him. He didn’t react to her and she wasn’t even sure if he noticed her presence. “It’s not your fault.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what went down in the deceased coroner’s apartment. Had Jane merely find the older man already motionless or did he struggle gasping for breath? Either way, her consultant wasn’t someone who dealt with death easily. She supposed it had hit quite close to home for him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He was such a horrible liar. At least when it came to matters of the heart.
“It was obviously his choice.”
“Really, Teresa, leave the deductions and conclusions to me. You’re good at the cop thing so let the solving part alone.”
“Firstly, I’ve known you long enough, Jane, to realise when you’re lying. Secondly, before you came along we were doing fine making our own deductions and conclusions.” The last sentence came out a little harsher than she intended but it was said, and like she knew she would, Teresa felt herself cringe at the regret. “Jane...” she half said and sighed while stuffing her hands into the pockets of her slacks. She hated heart-to-heart talks to begin with and having one with Patrick Jane was not on the list of things she was comfortable doing.
“You don’t have to.”
What?
“What?” Teresa echoed her thoughts while emphasising it with a half grimace and a raised eyebrow.
His body was slumped back against her couch, shoulders slack and head down. It surprised her really, how docile Jane looked when burdened by something that his quick-thinking mind couldn’t wrap its nimble fingers around. Completely surprising.
“Don’t have to comfort me,” he finally mumbled as Teresa stared at him with, what she suspected, may have been a partially bored look.
“Jane,” she repeated his name for an umpteenth time that night, “I know, but here’s the thing, you’re in my office, sitting on my couch, which by default makes it my responsibility to understand what the hell is going on with my staff.”
“Not your staff either,” he tightly replied.
“Oh most definitely yes,” she added, while frowning at his defensiveness, “I answer for all the crap stunts you pull, fill out about two millions forms for it, and not to mention profusely apologise to everyone you've ever wronged including the governor of this town!”
He shrugged but never looked up.
Remember, Teresa, deep breaths in.
And then it dawned upon her like the ‘oh’ moment in a complicated puzzle that hadn’t made any sense from beginning but was now slowly taking the form of its solution. The light bulb brightly lit, and the metaphorical chime or the microwave’s bell pinged as everything fell into place.
Patrick Jane already knew it wasn’t his fault. Patrick Jane was not here to be reaffirmed. Patrick Jane was here to just be normal.
Well, as normal as he ever could be.
With one final glance at the unfinished paperwork on her desk, Teresa made a decision and stuck to it. “Jane…”
“I’m fine, Lisbon.”
“Oh just shut up,” she barked at him and shuffled a little while thinking of a relatively normal activity Jane might like that Teresa could stand. “I think you should drink something. How about a cup of tea?” the word ‘tea’ was such a foreign element that it rolled off her lips with so much discomfort that it could’ve been mistaken for sarcasm.
He flinched.
“Anything but tea,” Jane finally looked up and Teresa fought the urge to pity him. That was the last thing the consultant needed at the moment. “Anything stronger than tea?”
She couldn’t help it but the man had a supernatural ability in letting lose the cynical monster in her as Teresa proceeded to roll her eyes. She stopped short of a smart retort as she bit the inside of her cheek. Instead, she drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I might have.”
A smile grew on his lips as if to say, ‘Aha! I knew it’ and Teresa is relieved slightly that Jane still has that odd sense of humour.
Looks like he’ll be all right. A little banged up, but he’ll pull through.
“How about a Red Russian?”
No more conflicted, Jane’s expression is now one full of curiosity.
Okay, maybe just a little conflicted but at least he’s not mopping about like an abandoned puppy.
“Is that anything to do with the KGB and a death sentence?” he asked with a hint of the mischievousness that she was accustomed to.
Taking three steps backwards, she pulled open the door, “KGB. No,” she shrugged and motioned for him to go out, “death sentence maybe. That is if I have enough vodka and there’s some mint tea left lying around.”
He paused midway out the door and right before Teresa, giving her a raised eyebrow.
“No one’s died yet,” she smirked before ushering him out again, her hand now on the light switch and flipped it down, throwing the blanket of black upon her private space once more.
Shuffling out of the office slowly, she took a breath of relief as she fell in step next to Jane, satisfied that she had done her job and consoled him to the best of her ability, proving that she wasn’t too bed of a leader. Not too bad at all.
“Lisbon?”
She stopped just as he had suddenly and turned towards him, worried that maybe the relief was a little premature and that it was a precursor to a larger and more turbulent storm.
Eyebrows knitted into a frown, Jane looked down and she could hear him take deep breaths. Teresa was unsure if she wanted to hear what he had to say, if he was going to confess to something that had conspired today in Hartley’s apartment.
She did not want to become his liability.
“I…” he whispered and took a moment again.
‘Please God, please don’t let Jane confess.’
Glancing up again, she held her breath and Jane’s expression spoke volumes of the final decision he had come to. There was lightness in his eyes as if he had just released the biggest burden on his shoulders, “Can I have it without the mint tea?”
In her mind she mentally rolled her eyes again and she was prepared to slap him hard across the cheek. But instead, Teresa laughed and shook her head. “Sure… why not?” she threw her hands up and turned towards the break room.
But before she could move further than two steps, she felt a force hold her back and she turned in slight shock as Jane held on to her hand. “Thank you,” he gently said before smiling at her. Without waiting for a reply, he moved forward and released his quiet grip on her.
Watching him go, this time his head held a little higher, Teresa learnt something new today.
That Patrick Jane had a soul after all.
“Anytime, Jane,” she whispered back. “Anytime.”
---------
THE END
---------
Thanks for reading.
Comments and criticism is most welcomed.
-Jo