Fic: Insensible, The Mentalist, Cho/Van Pelt
So before I go back to school tomorrow (30 kids in a prefab, trying to steer clear of swine flu) I offer the proof that maggis is an evil, evil woman. I'm still not sure how I feel about this, but I figure if I don't post it now, it's going to languish on my hard drive for far too long. *eyes hard drive to figure out what else I can let go of*
Title: Insensible
Author: helsinkibaby
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Cho/Van Pelt
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,226
Summary: The morning after.
Something is different when I wake up, but it takes me a moment to realise what it is. Actually, it takes me a moment to realise a couple of different somethings.
Firstly, as I twist myself around trying to see my alarm clock which has not yet gone off, I realise that my snuggley PJs are nowhere to be felt. Which instantly brings back a flood of memories of sharing a pizza with Cho on the office couch, and of somehow ending up kissing him and bringing him back to my place, where pizza and PJs were somehow the last thing on my mind.
Those memories make me flush red, but they also cause me to realise that Cho’s not lying beside me. There’s a part of me that’s instantly relieved, because at least I get to avoid the awkwardness of morning after conversation. Hot on the heels of relief, however, is a sense of disappointment that I can’t quite suppress - Cho doesn’t seem the type to run out on a girl without a word.
Still though, it looks like that’s what he’s done, and I’m going to have to face him for the first time in the office, under the watchful gaze of Patrick Jane, who misses nothing. The thought makes my stomach turn, makes me take a deep breath, and that’s when I have another realisation.
There is the smell of cooking coming from my kitchen.
Not just cooking, good cooking. I take another deep breath, just to be sure, which is when I catch another aroma, coffee. Sitting up in bed, I look towards the door and see a tell-tale sign that Cho has not, despite appearances, left after all - his tie is still lying on the floor where I threw it last night.
Standing up, I find my robe and slippers, make my way into the kitchen where, sure enough, Cho is standing at my stove, intent on his creation. “Hey,” I hear myself saying, tucking my hair behind my ears and wishing that I’d taken an extra couple of minutes to run a brush through it. After all, Cho is looking as dapper as he always does - the man’s shirt isn’t even creased, and I have a distinct memory of throwing that across my bedroom too.
“Hey,” he says, “I was just about to wake you… I made breakfast.” As he speaks, he’s reaching towards the coffee maker, pouring me a cup and handing it to me. One sip assures me it’s perfect, just the way I like it, and maybe it’s that, maybe it’s the words he just said, that makes me smile.
“So I see,” I say, peering past him to the stove. “French toast… my favourite.” I wonder did he know that, and I’m looking at him closely as I say it. I might not be Patrick Jane, but I don’t miss how the very edges of his lips turn up ever so slightly, and how he looks pleased with himself. “You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him as he plates up, motions me to the table.
“Well,” he says as he sits down, “I just figured that this might be awkward… between us, I mean. And there’s no point feeling awkward and being hungry, so… breakfast.”
He sounds so reasonable, so straightforward; I could be sitting in the office talking to him about a case. And I realise that the funny thing is, I don’t feel awkward. I’m sitting at my kitchen table, in my fluffy bathrobe and slippers, with bed-head, having breakfast with Kimball Cho, and it doesn’t feel awkward.
It feels nice.
“It doesn’t.” The words come from my lips unbidden, and he looks up, blinking in surprise. “Feel awkward,” I add, just in case he doesn’t understand me, and I know he does when once again, his lips quirk up at the edges.
We eat in silence then, and while I thought some awkwardness might sneak in, it doesn’t. At least until he speaks again. “We don’t have to do this,” he says, and it’s my turn to blink. “I know how you feel about workplace relationships,” he continues. “And if you don’t want this to go any further… well, I just want you to know that I understand.”
He’s speaking in that calm, measured way he always does, making perfect sense as he always does. He’s not wrong about my feelings about dating in the workplace either, but somehow that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. “Is that what you want?” I ask him. “Or what you think I want?”
“Does it matter?” He looks like he’s going to say something else, then closes his mouth, shoulders rising and falling. “Grace…” The way he says my name, a long sigh, makes gooseflesh rise on my arms, because that’s exactly the way he said it last night. “I wanted last night to happen… I think, since the first time I saw you.” A smile crosses his lips, stays there. “You were wearing that navy suits and a green blouse, and heels that you must have wanted to take off after about the first hour…”
I duck my head and smile, because he’s almost right on the money. “Half-hour,” I correct, electing not to tell him that those heels were consigned to the trash that very night - even now, the thought of wearing them again makes me want to wince.
His eyes are dancing, lips still smiling, but he visibly shakes himself, puts back on what I’ve come to refer to as his “interrogation face” before he continues. “Anyway, no matter how much I wanted it... I just never thought it would happen. And if you think it was a mistake… well, I can’t say that I agree. But we work together… and doing the job we do…with the people we do it with… it’s not exactly sensible.”
I nod. “We are the sensible ones.”
“We are.” He sounds as enthusiastic about that description as I feel, which is to say not very.
“But last night…” I take a deep breath, knowing the words I say now are about to change everything. “It might not have been sensible… but I like being insensible with you.”
I feel myself going red as I speak, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, not if the way that he leans over and kisses me is anything to go by. When he pulls back, there’s a very satisfied look on his face. “You know, that’s not the right usage of ‘insensible’.”
An answering smile springs to my lips. “Yes it is,” I tell him, because I know exactly what I meant, and when the meaning hits him, he smiles, a broad, beaming smile and wow. He really should smile like that more often. Of course if he did, I’m not sure I’d get any work done, but for the first time in my life, that doesn’t seem like a bad thing.
Still smiling, he stands up, takes my hand. “We’ve got some time this morning,” he says. “Fancy being insensible again?”
As he pulls me up, my robe falls open and I take an enormous amount of pleasure in the way his eyes widen at the sight, even as I turn away from him, leading him back towards my bedroom. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Title: Insensible
Author: helsinkibaby
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Cho/Van Pelt
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,226
Summary: The morning after.
Something is different when I wake up, but it takes me a moment to realise what it is. Actually, it takes me a moment to realise a couple of different somethings.
Firstly, as I twist myself around trying to see my alarm clock which has not yet gone off, I realise that my snuggley PJs are nowhere to be felt. Which instantly brings back a flood of memories of sharing a pizza with Cho on the office couch, and of somehow ending up kissing him and bringing him back to my place, where pizza and PJs were somehow the last thing on my mind.
Those memories make me flush red, but they also cause me to realise that Cho’s not lying beside me. There’s a part of me that’s instantly relieved, because at least I get to avoid the awkwardness of morning after conversation. Hot on the heels of relief, however, is a sense of disappointment that I can’t quite suppress - Cho doesn’t seem the type to run out on a girl without a word.
Still though, it looks like that’s what he’s done, and I’m going to have to face him for the first time in the office, under the watchful gaze of Patrick Jane, who misses nothing. The thought makes my stomach turn, makes me take a deep breath, and that’s when I have another realisation.
There is the smell of cooking coming from my kitchen.
Not just cooking, good cooking. I take another deep breath, just to be sure, which is when I catch another aroma, coffee. Sitting up in bed, I look towards the door and see a tell-tale sign that Cho has not, despite appearances, left after all - his tie is still lying on the floor where I threw it last night.
Standing up, I find my robe and slippers, make my way into the kitchen where, sure enough, Cho is standing at my stove, intent on his creation. “Hey,” I hear myself saying, tucking my hair behind my ears and wishing that I’d taken an extra couple of minutes to run a brush through it. After all, Cho is looking as dapper as he always does - the man’s shirt isn’t even creased, and I have a distinct memory of throwing that across my bedroom too.
“Hey,” he says, “I was just about to wake you… I made breakfast.” As he speaks, he’s reaching towards the coffee maker, pouring me a cup and handing it to me. One sip assures me it’s perfect, just the way I like it, and maybe it’s that, maybe it’s the words he just said, that makes me smile.
“So I see,” I say, peering past him to the stove. “French toast… my favourite.” I wonder did he know that, and I’m looking at him closely as I say it. I might not be Patrick Jane, but I don’t miss how the very edges of his lips turn up ever so slightly, and how he looks pleased with himself. “You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him as he plates up, motions me to the table.
“Well,” he says as he sits down, “I just figured that this might be awkward… between us, I mean. And there’s no point feeling awkward and being hungry, so… breakfast.”
He sounds so reasonable, so straightforward; I could be sitting in the office talking to him about a case. And I realise that the funny thing is, I don’t feel awkward. I’m sitting at my kitchen table, in my fluffy bathrobe and slippers, with bed-head, having breakfast with Kimball Cho, and it doesn’t feel awkward.
It feels nice.
“It doesn’t.” The words come from my lips unbidden, and he looks up, blinking in surprise. “Feel awkward,” I add, just in case he doesn’t understand me, and I know he does when once again, his lips quirk up at the edges.
We eat in silence then, and while I thought some awkwardness might sneak in, it doesn’t. At least until he speaks again. “We don’t have to do this,” he says, and it’s my turn to blink. “I know how you feel about workplace relationships,” he continues. “And if you don’t want this to go any further… well, I just want you to know that I understand.”
He’s speaking in that calm, measured way he always does, making perfect sense as he always does. He’s not wrong about my feelings about dating in the workplace either, but somehow that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. “Is that what you want?” I ask him. “Or what you think I want?”
“Does it matter?” He looks like he’s going to say something else, then closes his mouth, shoulders rising and falling. “Grace…” The way he says my name, a long sigh, makes gooseflesh rise on my arms, because that’s exactly the way he said it last night. “I wanted last night to happen… I think, since the first time I saw you.” A smile crosses his lips, stays there. “You were wearing that navy suits and a green blouse, and heels that you must have wanted to take off after about the first hour…”
I duck my head and smile, because he’s almost right on the money. “Half-hour,” I correct, electing not to tell him that those heels were consigned to the trash that very night - even now, the thought of wearing them again makes me want to wince.
His eyes are dancing, lips still smiling, but he visibly shakes himself, puts back on what I’ve come to refer to as his “interrogation face” before he continues. “Anyway, no matter how much I wanted it... I just never thought it would happen. And if you think it was a mistake… well, I can’t say that I agree. But we work together… and doing the job we do…with the people we do it with… it’s not exactly sensible.”
I nod. “We are the sensible ones.”
“We are.” He sounds as enthusiastic about that description as I feel, which is to say not very.
“But last night…” I take a deep breath, knowing the words I say now are about to change everything. “It might not have been sensible… but I like being insensible with you.”
I feel myself going red as I speak, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, not if the way that he leans over and kisses me is anything to go by. When he pulls back, there’s a very satisfied look on his face. “You know, that’s not the right usage of ‘insensible’.”
An answering smile springs to my lips. “Yes it is,” I tell him, because I know exactly what I meant, and when the meaning hits him, he smiles, a broad, beaming smile and wow. He really should smile like that more often. Of course if he did, I’m not sure I’d get any work done, but for the first time in my life, that doesn’t seem like a bad thing.
Still smiling, he stands up, takes my hand. “We’ve got some time this morning,” he says. “Fancy being insensible again?”
As he pulls me up, my robe falls open and I take an enormous amount of pleasure in the way his eyes widen at the sight, even as I turn away from him, leading him back towards my bedroom. “I thought you’d never ask.”