fic: it's just a moment of change (jane/lisbon)
Title: it's just a moment of change
Pairing(s): Jane/Lisbon, background Van Pelt/Rigsby
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,300
Author's Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009, originally posted here.
Summary: "I think we need to discuss boundaries," she says, dryly, as he opens the cabinet above her sink.
"Closed case drinks?" Jane suggests, as Cho flattens the empty pizza box, and from the edge of Van Pelt's desk, Lisbon narrows her eyes at him, thoughtfully, as she wipes her fingers on a napkin but says nothing.
Rigsby looks up, interested. "Yeah?"
Jane turns expectantly to Cho, who shrugs. "Sure."
"I'll drive," Van Pelt offers, and Jane raises a finger.
"Me too."
Lisbon raises her eyebrows. "Fine with me."
Jane claps his hands, once - grins. "Great."
*
"I'll get the first round," Rigsby says, as they claim a booth.
"I'll help carry," Jane says, immediately.
Rigsby leans over to order, as Jane drums his fingertips on the bar top.
"What are you playing at?" Rigsby asks suddenly, and Jane feigns surprise.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you."
"Nothing."
"Sure," Rigsby snorts, grabbing the beers.
Jane grabs the two waters.
"I'm hurt," he says lightly, and Rigsby - who might've fallen for it twelve months ago - shakes his head.
*
"-I'll see if I can get Minelli to sign off on it," Lisbon's saying to Cho and Jane groans, gesturing for Rigsby to slide into the booth first.
"Can we talk about something else?" Jane protests, passing the other water to Van Pelt.
"Like what?" she asks, smiling at him.
"Oh, anything," he replies, leaning back in his seat. "I don't mind."
*
"How about some pool?" Jane suggests, and Rigsby straightens beside him.
"I could kick your ass," he replies, and Jane grins.
"Cho doesn't let me play anymore. But I'll watch."
"Why not?" Van Pelt asks.
"He cheats," Cho says, flatly.
"How do you cheat at pool?" Van Pelt wonders, almost under her breath.
"Exactly," Jane says, emphatically, "Thank you."
*
"Girls versus guys," Van Pelt suggests, and no-one argues. She turns to Rigsby, walks backwards as she adds to him, "Don't go easy on me."
He grins. "Oh, I won't."
*
"So," Jane says, taking Van Pelt's cue to chalk, "how's it going?"
Van Pelt pauses, before looking up. "How's what going?"
Jane tilts his head to the side slightly. "Really?" he half-asks.
"Really what?" she's wide eyed and innocent and he's not sure when her poker face got so much better.
*
"The five ball?" Jane asks, suddenly, "From that angle?"
Cho straightens up. "Come on, man."
Jane raises his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry."
Lisbon points her cue at him. "Not another word," she warns.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, grins. "Yes, ma'am."
Cho lines up his shot again; the five ball clips the edge of the table, rolls back into the middle. Jane smiles slightly, and Cho shakes his head.
*
Rigsby bends over the table, and Van Pelt laughingly nudges him further to his right. "You gotta - come around the ball," she tries to explain, and when Rigsby looks up at her blankly, she moves his hand on the table. "There."
He grunts his thanks, is oblivious to Lisbon's gaze.
*
Lisbon circles around the pool table, joins Rigsby in watching Van Pelt take her shot.
"You know it's against regulation," she says, drink at her mouth, without taking her eyes off the game.
"What is?" Rigsby asks, after a beat.
She turns to face him, then. "She's a good agent."
"She is," Rigsby agrees.
"And I don't want to lose her," she pauses, "She's good at the," she waves her free hand, "you know. Computer stuff."
"Yeah," is all Rigsby says.
"Just - be discreet, OK?"
"Yes, boss."
"And Rigsby?" she waits until he's looking at her again, "When you guys screw up? I'll swear up and down I knew nothing."
He grins at that. "Yes, boss," he repeats.
*
Lisbon stifles a yawn. "You ready?" she asks Jane.
He waves a hand towards the door. "Your chariot awaits," and as Van Pelt smiles, Lisbon rolls her eyes.
*
"I'd have been safer driving myself," she mutters.
"You're a bad passenger."
"I'm not a bad passenger. You're a bad driver."
"I'm not a bad driver," he protests, mock-indignantly.
"You're not a good driver."
He sighs, exaggeratedly, makes a show of slowing down slightly.
*
She turns to unbuckle her seatbelt, pauses. "You coming up?" she asks, a little hesitantly.
*
He's sorting through the magazines on her coffee table.
"So," he says, conversationally, "Rigsby and Van Pelt. Who saw that coming?" and it's deadpan, for him.
She smiles slightly. "How long have you known?"
"How long have you known?" he replies, genuinely curious.
"None of your business."
"You know, I think she likes me," he says, and she snorts.
"Give her time," she says, dryly. "She'll get over it."
*
"You know," he says, looking up as she approaches the couch, "if you wanted to burn some of those closed-case calories..."
She squints at him. "Seriously? That is the worst pick-up line-"
"It's not working at all?" he asks, holds his thumb and first finger up, "Not even a little?"
*
She wakes to find him staring at her, his head propped on his elbow.
"No," she mutters, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Morning," he replies, grinning, and she covers a yawn with the back of her hand.
"You're still here?" she deadpans, and he hums his amusement.
"You are - delightful - first thing in the morning."
She sighs, rolling to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to take a shower," she mumbles, her mouth still thick with sleep. She pauses, in the doorway of her bedroom. "Don't touch anything," she adds, flatly.
He flops back onto the bed, and his grin only grows at her scowl.
*
He knocks on the bathroom door as he enters; "Jane!" she exclaims, turning away from him.
"It's nothing I haven't seen," he points out, reasonably.
"That's ... not the point," she says, over her shoulder.
"Your puritanical streak intrigues me," he says conversationally.
"I'm not a Puritan," she scoffs.
"Of course not. Not literally."
"I think we need to discuss boundaries," she says, dryly, as he opens the cabinet above her sink.
"Uh huh," he says distractedly, "Might have been more meaningful, perhaps, before you starting sleeping with a co-worker, but go on, please. Do you have a spare toothbrush?"
"You're a consultant. Second shelf."
"Semantics. Thank you," he adds, grabbing the packaged toothbrush; he waves it at her in triumph, and she rolls her eyes.
"Exactly," she says, turning her face back into the spray. "You're a consultant. There aren't regulations about sleeping with consultants."
There's a pause - an amused, "You've researched this?"
She snorts, then. "Don't flatter yourself, Jane. It's my job to know things like that."
"Of course," he says, softly, and she doesn't have to turn around to know that he's smiling.
"Shut up."
She turns off the water and faces him; he has an unusually soft expression on his face that makes her flush slightly, and he loses it almost immediately. She drops her gaze, self-conscious.
"Hand me a towel?" she asks, voice low, and he does. She wraps it around her body, clutches the ends over her breasts. "Now turn around," she says.
"I'm sorry?" and she can hear the laughter in his voice.
She waves at him with her free hand. "Turn around," she insists, "I need to dry off."
*
"So," she says, pulling her hair into a ponytail, "I'll see you at work on Monday?"
"Why are you rushing me out of here?"
"I have - things to do."
"Things?" and it's lightly mocking, but good natured.
"Errands," she amends.
"Oh, errands," he nods, and she shoves at his chest. He catches her wrist, ducks his head a little to stare at her, intently.
"What are you doing?" she asks, resigned, and his eyes narrow in concentration.
"Reading your mind," he replies, gaze unwavering.
"No, you're not."
"I am," he says, then, recoiling, a mock-scandalized, "Why - Lisbon."
"Shut up," and despite her best efforts, she's actually smiling a little.
"Don't be embarrassed," he says, "It's perfectly understandable-"
"Bite me," she says, witheringly (but when he gently does, she laughs).
Disclaimer: The Mentalist belongs to Bruno Heller, CBS et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing(s): Jane/Lisbon, background Van Pelt/Rigsby
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,300
Author's Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009, originally posted here.
Summary: "I think we need to discuss boundaries," she says, dryly, as he opens the cabinet above her sink.
"Closed case drinks?" Jane suggests, as Cho flattens the empty pizza box, and from the edge of Van Pelt's desk, Lisbon narrows her eyes at him, thoughtfully, as she wipes her fingers on a napkin but says nothing.
Rigsby looks up, interested. "Yeah?"
Jane turns expectantly to Cho, who shrugs. "Sure."
"I'll drive," Van Pelt offers, and Jane raises a finger.
"Me too."
Lisbon raises her eyebrows. "Fine with me."
Jane claps his hands, once - grins. "Great."
*
"I'll get the first round," Rigsby says, as they claim a booth.
"I'll help carry," Jane says, immediately.
Rigsby leans over to order, as Jane drums his fingertips on the bar top.
"What are you playing at?" Rigsby asks suddenly, and Jane feigns surprise.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you."
"Nothing."
"Sure," Rigsby snorts, grabbing the beers.
Jane grabs the two waters.
"I'm hurt," he says lightly, and Rigsby - who might've fallen for it twelve months ago - shakes his head.
*
"-I'll see if I can get Minelli to sign off on it," Lisbon's saying to Cho and Jane groans, gesturing for Rigsby to slide into the booth first.
"Can we talk about something else?" Jane protests, passing the other water to Van Pelt.
"Like what?" she asks, smiling at him.
"Oh, anything," he replies, leaning back in his seat. "I don't mind."
*
"How about some pool?" Jane suggests, and Rigsby straightens beside him.
"I could kick your ass," he replies, and Jane grins.
"Cho doesn't let me play anymore. But I'll watch."
"Why not?" Van Pelt asks.
"He cheats," Cho says, flatly.
"How do you cheat at pool?" Van Pelt wonders, almost under her breath.
"Exactly," Jane says, emphatically, "Thank you."
*
"Girls versus guys," Van Pelt suggests, and no-one argues. She turns to Rigsby, walks backwards as she adds to him, "Don't go easy on me."
He grins. "Oh, I won't."
*
"So," Jane says, taking Van Pelt's cue to chalk, "how's it going?"
Van Pelt pauses, before looking up. "How's what going?"
Jane tilts his head to the side slightly. "Really?" he half-asks.
"Really what?" she's wide eyed and innocent and he's not sure when her poker face got so much better.
*
"The five ball?" Jane asks, suddenly, "From that angle?"
Cho straightens up. "Come on, man."
Jane raises his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry."
Lisbon points her cue at him. "Not another word," she warns.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, grins. "Yes, ma'am."
Cho lines up his shot again; the five ball clips the edge of the table, rolls back into the middle. Jane smiles slightly, and Cho shakes his head.
*
Rigsby bends over the table, and Van Pelt laughingly nudges him further to his right. "You gotta - come around the ball," she tries to explain, and when Rigsby looks up at her blankly, she moves his hand on the table. "There."
He grunts his thanks, is oblivious to Lisbon's gaze.
*
Lisbon circles around the pool table, joins Rigsby in watching Van Pelt take her shot.
"You know it's against regulation," she says, drink at her mouth, without taking her eyes off the game.
"What is?" Rigsby asks, after a beat.
She turns to face him, then. "She's a good agent."
"She is," Rigsby agrees.
"And I don't want to lose her," she pauses, "She's good at the," she waves her free hand, "you know. Computer stuff."
"Yeah," is all Rigsby says.
"Just - be discreet, OK?"
"Yes, boss."
"And Rigsby?" she waits until he's looking at her again, "When you guys screw up? I'll swear up and down I knew nothing."
He grins at that. "Yes, boss," he repeats.
*
Lisbon stifles a yawn. "You ready?" she asks Jane.
He waves a hand towards the door. "Your chariot awaits," and as Van Pelt smiles, Lisbon rolls her eyes.
*
"I'd have been safer driving myself," she mutters.
"You're a bad passenger."
"I'm not a bad passenger. You're a bad driver."
"I'm not a bad driver," he protests, mock-indignantly.
"You're not a good driver."
He sighs, exaggeratedly, makes a show of slowing down slightly.
*
She turns to unbuckle her seatbelt, pauses. "You coming up?" she asks, a little hesitantly.
*
He's sorting through the magazines on her coffee table.
"So," he says, conversationally, "Rigsby and Van Pelt. Who saw that coming?" and it's deadpan, for him.
She smiles slightly. "How long have you known?"
"How long have you known?" he replies, genuinely curious.
"None of your business."
"You know, I think she likes me," he says, and she snorts.
"Give her time," she says, dryly. "She'll get over it."
*
"You know," he says, looking up as she approaches the couch, "if you wanted to burn some of those closed-case calories..."
She squints at him. "Seriously? That is the worst pick-up line-"
"It's not working at all?" he asks, holds his thumb and first finger up, "Not even a little?"
*
She wakes to find him staring at her, his head propped on his elbow.
"No," she mutters, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Morning," he replies, grinning, and she covers a yawn with the back of her hand.
"You're still here?" she deadpans, and he hums his amusement.
"You are - delightful - first thing in the morning."
She sighs, rolling to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to take a shower," she mumbles, her mouth still thick with sleep. She pauses, in the doorway of her bedroom. "Don't touch anything," she adds, flatly.
He flops back onto the bed, and his grin only grows at her scowl.
*
He knocks on the bathroom door as he enters; "Jane!" she exclaims, turning away from him.
"It's nothing I haven't seen," he points out, reasonably.
"That's ... not the point," she says, over her shoulder.
"Your puritanical streak intrigues me," he says conversationally.
"I'm not a Puritan," she scoffs.
"Of course not. Not literally."
"I think we need to discuss boundaries," she says, dryly, as he opens the cabinet above her sink.
"Uh huh," he says distractedly, "Might have been more meaningful, perhaps, before you starting sleeping with a co-worker, but go on, please. Do you have a spare toothbrush?"
"You're a consultant. Second shelf."
"Semantics. Thank you," he adds, grabbing the packaged toothbrush; he waves it at her in triumph, and she rolls her eyes.
"Exactly," she says, turning her face back into the spray. "You're a consultant. There aren't regulations about sleeping with consultants."
There's a pause - an amused, "You've researched this?"
She snorts, then. "Don't flatter yourself, Jane. It's my job to know things like that."
"Of course," he says, softly, and she doesn't have to turn around to know that he's smiling.
"Shut up."
She turns off the water and faces him; he has an unusually soft expression on his face that makes her flush slightly, and he loses it almost immediately. She drops her gaze, self-conscious.
"Hand me a towel?" she asks, voice low, and he does. She wraps it around her body, clutches the ends over her breasts. "Now turn around," she says.
"I'm sorry?" and she can hear the laughter in his voice.
She waves at him with her free hand. "Turn around," she insists, "I need to dry off."
*
"So," she says, pulling her hair into a ponytail, "I'll see you at work on Monday?"
"Why are you rushing me out of here?"
"I have - things to do."
"Things?" and it's lightly mocking, but good natured.
"Errands," she amends.
"Oh, errands," he nods, and she shoves at his chest. He catches her wrist, ducks his head a little to stare at her, intently.
"What are you doing?" she asks, resigned, and his eyes narrow in concentration.
"Reading your mind," he replies, gaze unwavering.
"No, you're not."
"I am," he says, then, recoiling, a mock-scandalized, "Why - Lisbon."
"Shut up," and despite her best efforts, she's actually smiling a little.
"Don't be embarrassed," he says, "It's perfectly understandable-"
"Bite me," she says, witheringly (but when he gently does, she laughs).
Disclaimer: The Mentalist belongs to Bruno Heller, CBS et al. No copyright infringement is intended.