The title "Red Bricks of Babel" was inspired by the new Mumford and Sons album and song "Babel," in which the singer writes about tearing the walls that we have built so high down.
Mentalist OC. GASP! I know, there's only like two in this whole fandom! For very good reason though and I will be the first to admit that. The Mentalist is written fantastically and the characters are so beautifully developed that the fandom doesn't really need an OC. But I wrote one just for the fun of it.
This fic is a mix of genres Romance/Family/Drama/Action/Comedy etc.
Start this fic out pretty light but it can get a little dramatic; above all I wanted to stick to the feel of the show.
I tried to keep the feel as true to the show as possible and the characters as in-character as possible. It is my greatest distress to start reading a fic with potential that's characters are OOC. I apologize if that's you, but I am far too in love with these characters to start changing them.
After much debate, this fic takes place roughly in the beginning of season 2. I felt like it would allow me to play with the episodes and cases without worrying about major spoilers for those who might not be that far in yet.
Let me finish this A/N by saying, yes this is a Jane/OC fic. BUT I am a HUGE HUGE HUGE Jisbon fan. Because I don't like messing with the characters personalities, I also don't like messing with their intrapersonal dynamics. I do believe that they will be together one day and have faith that the writers will do it splendidly so I personally don't feel the need to mess with that. (AGAIN not offending Jisbon writers! Lord knows I've read my fair share of Jisbon fics; simply put, I personally don't want to mess with it.)
No, I do not own the Mentalist or any of its characters, as I believe I have clearly stated previously but will say again for good measure.
On with the show.
Press my nose up to the glass around your heart,
I should've known I was weaker from the start.
You'll build your walls and I will play my bloody part,
To tear, tear them down.
-"Babel" Mumford and Sons
Chapter 1:
Shelter also gave their shade,
But in the dark I have no name.
-Hopeless Wanderer
It was THAT feeling.
Jane would, until the day he dies, deny being psychic. Why? Because to quote the blonde man in question: "there's no such thing as psychics."
But Patrick Jane could never deny the authenticity of that particular feeling. The one that stirs your insides and makes the microscopic hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
Call it a psychic hunch but he knew better.
And it was THAT feeling that he was having right now.
Patrick Jane was being watched.
Jane was lounging in the CBI break room.
Leisurely leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, his tea on the table before him, he held his book out, completely eclipsing his face. He only pretended to be enraptured by the Shakespearean sonnets as he actively perceived what was going on around him.
The consultant didn't take too kindly to being watched. He was the watcher, not the watchee, and that was just the way of things; he had no intention of allowing the simple laws of Jane-related physics to be broken.
Jane lowered his book just enough to peek over the top, hoping to catch the perp mid-stare. No one.
He could've sworn he felt the stare from directly in front of him. Confused, he turned in his chair to look behind him and to his sides. No one.
Sighing, he returned to his previous position at the table.
Jane was completely taken off guard though and could not hold back the startled gasp that left his mouth.
There, right in front of him, though significantly further down than he had originally expected, was the perpetrator. Big, golden brown eyes stared back at him.
A tiny girl (he suspected around the age of five) with jet black curls sat in the chair across from him, staring at him intently with nary an expression on her lovely face.
At this point Jane felt rather silly (even more so than normal) for being taken so off guard by such a tiny thing. Jane chuckled in surprise. He put his book down on the table, careful not to upset his tea, and leaned forward to address the little girl.
The child also leaned forward attentively.
"Hmm… You look innocent enough, but before I let my guard down," Jane started playfully, "I need to ask you some preliminary questions." He paused for effect, changing his expression to one of feaux seriousness. "Are you, or have you ever been involved in international, political espionage?"
The girl stared blankly at him in response, no expression on her petite face.
Jane would not be deterred.
"I see..." He made a show of grabbing at an imaginary tablet to scribble out his observations, in mock-interrogation form. So absorbed in fake note taking, he didn't even notice the girl reach out into the air for her own imaginary tablet and mirror his movements to a t.
"Are you or have you ever been a member of the Justice League or the Avengers?"
He asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
He noted mentally that the little girl never once broke eye contact or made any facial expression changes, other than to narrow her own golden eyes back at him.
He licked the end of his imaginary pen theatrically, preparing to take more "notes" and watched in amusement as the tiny thing before him licked her own "pen."
If not for her dancing eyes, Jane wouldn't know what to think. Despite her serious, unchanging expression, however, Jane could practically see the gears in her apparently intelligent brain moving and her delight in finding a marvelous game through those ever-shifting eyes.
He was determined to win this game.
The unspoken challenge was obvious to its players and Jane was ready for it. Some might call him childish for his whole-hearted participation, but since when did he care about the opinions of such uppity critics. He didn't.
Jane clapped his hands quickly, watching the girl, though slightly startled by the sudden movement, clap back. He continued and she mirrored quickly and precisely every following movement, very good at this game.
Jane made a quick decision to up the ante and made his next moves very quick and sudden.
Lean back.
Cross legs.
Uncross legs.
Lift hands in mock roller coaster ride.
Shuffle feet.
Snap fingers.
Pound fists on the table.
He then suddenly shot out his chair, standing so abruptly that his seat fell over backwards. The little girl, mimicked expertly, never breaking into a smile.
The consultant pretended not to notice that his chair was no longer present and he went to sit back down, quickly tumbling and flailing onto his back side and splayed out dramatically across the floor.
Though he could no longer see her, he heard a light but hysterical giggle come from her direction and he smiled triumphantly for his spot on the dirty tile.
"Aha! I win." Jane said sitting up, pointing at the girl and grinning like a child himself.
The little girl laughed harder, making up for the lack of expression she had previously held so strong.
Again Jane was taken off guard (that was happening a lot lately) when another, unfamiliar but not unpleasant, laugh joined the child's.
He looked up and behind him to see a pretty, petite woman leaning against the door-frame, arms crossed, ankles crossed and gazing contently upon the scene, a delighted smile spread across her face at the child's amusement.
"Mommy!" The previously straight-faced little girl squealed and ran to leap into her awaiting mother's arms. Jane watched with mixed emotions at the display of affection shown between mother and child. He smiled at the sweet moment but could not suppress that twinge of sadness that accompanied it. When would he be able to see any mother/child combination without feeling that?
He shrugged off the feeling and rose abruptly to his feet as the woman planted a loving kiss to the still-giggling child's cheek and rubbed her back affectionately.
Jane took the tender moment to revert back to his normal role as observer. The woman before him in looks alone was not as he had heard it called "stop-traffic gorgeous," but no one could deny that the petite figure was quite pretty. It was in her countenance and how she carried herself, however, that made her truly a thing to behold.
Her figure was doubtless quite petite. Without the assistance of her tall heels, he would contend that she was significantly shorter than even their tiny but fearless leader Agent Lisbon. But the woman stood metaphorically tall. Even with the child in her arms, she held her back straight as a pin, shoulders squared without even a hint of a slouch. Her black pencil skirt and white sleeveless collared button-up said she meant business while her blue-suede pumps and shaggy-fem pixie cut suggested that she had a more playful side that would sneak it's way into situations rather than broadcast itself.
Jane observed that she wore very little make-up and did not over-accessorize as he noticed many women often do. Her simple mascara'd lashes and gold-studded earrings spoke of a confidence that didn't need embellishment.
Though her hair matched identically the color's of the child she held, he took note that the little girl must've inherited her father's eyes. The pair's eyes couldn't be more dissimilar. The girl's were a shiny golden brown, a depth that Jane found from their game could be easily read. The mother's eyes, however were as dark as her hair. In his quick observation, and in the low lighting of the break room, he found that he could not distinguish where the woman's pupils ended and her irises began, the color appearing solid, rather than two-toned.
Jane accepted the unreadability of her eyes as a challenge.
"She get away from you again Wayne?"
The woman's eyes turned towards the opposite entrance as Wayne Rigsby walked in, a relieved look on his face. He passed by Jane, still standing by his overturned chair, to address the pair.
He leaned down, eye-level to the child smiling admonishingly at her while addressing her mother.
"One minute Miss Sophie is right beside me playing detective and the next she is no where to be found."
"I was interrogating the suspect," she responded very matter-of-factly.
Jane grinned, very impressed by the little one's annunciation.
"Speaking of the suspect," he finally decided to speak up. He reached out his hand to the woman to introduce himself.
"Im-"
"Oh gosh! How rude of me," she interrupted, shifting her child to her hip as to free her right hand to shake the consultant's.
"Abigail. And your interrogator here is Sophie."
Sophie smiled at him in greeting.
"And you must be…" she drew out the word "be" looking quite thoughtful.
"Sam Bosco!" she smiled innocently, "Wayne has told me so much about you."
For just a moment, Jane was one step behind and his face showed it. Sam Bosco? That was absurd! No one could mistake him for the no-nonsense Sam Bosco! Then, the absurdity of it all truly hit him. The player was being played.
He glanced at Rigsby to see the tall man trying, and failing, to contain his mirth, practically biting his lips not to smile. Then, he looked back to Abigail and couldn't help but smile and laugh as she grinned knowingly back at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Of course I know who you are Mr. Jane. You could hardly be mistaken for anyone else, splayed across the floor like that."
Jane shrugged and nodded good naturedly, knowing how his unorthodox reputation preceded him.
"Jane," Rigsby said, seeming to remember himself and placing his hand to Abigail's back. "This is my sister-in-law and niece. They just moved here from New York where Abby worked with the NYPD as an undercover agent."
"Ah," Jane said rocking back on his heels, satisfied to have to puzzle of their relationship in order. Jane couldn't stifle his further curiosity though as his eyes wandered quickly to see a naked ring finger. In the place where a ring would normally be to garner the title "in-law" was a small tattoo of a capital, scripted "T."
"It was a pleasure to meet the famous Patrick Jane, but we really must be going," Abigail said looking to her daughter. "I'm afraid someone has already stayed up past bed-time one too many times this week."
Jane laughed at the un-hidden grimace that crossed the child's face.
"An agent with a bed-time? Preposterous. You have rights you know?" Jane said in mock-seriousness to Sophie, who giggled in return.
"Let me walk you out Abby."
"Thank you Wayne. Good-bye Mr. Jane. Thank you for entertaining my daughter." He nodded and smiled again as if to say it was no trouble. She smiled at him one last time before turning on her heels and heading towards the exit.
"See ya tomorrow," Rigsby waved to Jane before following the pair out.
Jane continued to smile at their retreating forms until they were out of sight. He then righted the overturned chair and sat back down crossing his legs. He grabbed for his cup of tea, taking a big sip and nearly gagged. Cold. He had been taken off guard one too many times tonight.
Let me know what you think.
Seriously, I would really appreciate it.
Fo reals.
Please and thank you.
