EDIT:

This is my first time posting on FanFiction, and only my second time posting any fanfiction at all, so please excuse my mistakes, such as forgetting the author's note/disclaimer! Part of how I have written this fic is that there is a song that accompanies each chapter. This chapter's song is Anything But Ordinary by Avril Lavigne. Here is a youtube link if you want to hear it:

watch?v=upO6xtVi54E

Thank you for reading!

I do not own The Mentalist

Chapter 1 – Anything But Ordinary

Jane lay on his bed, staring at the wall. Yesterday he had been happy. Nothing special, just an ordinary day. He and Lisbon had solved a case; through his expertise and her assistance, everything had worked out alright in the end, just like it was supposed to. There hadn't even been much paper work for her to do. It bothered him that his crime-solving (and fun-seeking) habits caused her so much stress and paperwork. Not enough to make him stop, but it still irked him, in the back of his mind, that others in the world punished her for his deeds, instead of being man or woman enough to get back at him directly.

The alarm went off. He didn't know why he still set it- Patrick Jane hadn't slept deeply enough to need an alarm in the morning for nearly a decade.

Going around in his monotonous, dreary, morning routine, he continued his previous thoughts.

He had been too happy yesterday. Happiness was not something he deserved, or should even take for himself. Being alone, haunted and tormented by his demons was what he needed. It was his penance. Not that he was a pious man at all. But if there was a God, it wouldn't hurt to be on His good side. For Angela and Charlotte's sake, if nothing else, he thought, unlocking the door of his blue Citroen.

Driving was, however, an acceptable escape. But only if it was at least twenty miles over the speed limit (except in areas with children. He wouldn't dare take another one's life). Driving fast could leave your demons in the dust for a bit, if you drove just fast enough- even if you kept yours wrapped around your finger. Around your left ring finger, to be precise. Patrick drove fast because it was dangerous. His reflexes and awareness were far too good to get him into an accident, but if he did crash into say, a guard rail or light post, he wouldn't care. The aforementioned God wouldn't perform a miracle to save him certainly, and would be doing Jane a favor if He didn't. If Jane took someone with him to an early meeting behind the curtain, then he would feel guilty- but what was another one when you are weighed down by your wife and daughter, especially if you're already dead?

Jane slipped under the usual façade he used in public, and walked into the CBI. He was in before all the rest of the team, which was hardly a surprise; he was usually the first into the office. Lying down on his couch, his thoughts turned to his hated adversary- his nemesis, his Wicked Witch of the West, his Moriarty- Red John. If he had been on the outside looking in on this situation, on his obsession with catching this man, he would have enjoyed trying to identify and understand some of his serious problems. Patrick chuckled aloud. He was on the inside, had been for as long as there had been an inside, and he still didn't understand his problems, or even pretend to be able to.

Jane noted a quiet but heavy step coming up the stairs. Lisbon was the only one who would use the stairs in the morning, just to try and catch him by surprise. For being such a small woman, it was surprising that she had such a heavy footfall. As if she carried the world on her shoulders. It spoke volumes that at the same time they were such soft steps, for carrying all that weight. How does she mange to carry all that she does? How does she carry it, and with grace? Forget grace- with style? He would always be in awe of her for that.

There was a long silence, with both of them waiting for the other one to go first.

"Did you stay here all night, or did you go get some sleep?"

Jane sighed. "Lisbon, not using the elevator was a brilliant attempt to surprise me, but my keen psychic skills detected your presence as soon as you pulled into the parking lot."

"Now I'm worried. What did you do that I wouldn't approve of? Will I have to fill out paperwork?"

"What makes you think that I did anything of the sort? I'm hurt Lisbon."

"Because I've known you for longer than anyone could know you without committing a homicide, and I know how your excuses work, because I hear them every day, several times.

You severely needed more adult supervision as a child." Lisbon strode on to her office, with a small spring in her step. "Keen psychic skills, my ass…"

Jane smiled one of the sort of smiles he reserved for only when Lisbon's back was turned, and waited.

"JANE! Where's all my stuff!?"

Fixing a perfectly innocent look on his angelic face, he lept up from his couch to peer into Lisbon's office. Every object from her desk not made of paper or computer parts had vanished. To be more precise, every object that could possibly be thrown and reach its target.

"You should check with the security guard. He really should be more on top of this kind of thing. What kind of image does that show to the public, that the great CBI can't even control thievery in their own house?"

Lisbon sighed, and then fixed him with a playful glare. "Jane, I need my stuff back so that I can actually do my job."

"How about this. As you say, you have been around me for a long time. So… You be the psychic."

"What! There is no such thing as psyc-"

"No, there aren't. Just people smart enough to look like them, and follow the nonverbal cues of those around them. I admit it, I took your stuff. Now, use me to find it."

She looked open to the idea, while at the same time still wanting to be stubborn. Patrick loved that look. It meant she was about to give in.

"OK. You want me to do the trick where you hold the person's hand, guiding them around the room, and you follow the clues they give you? I can do it."

"Are you sure? Do you need any pointers? Because I'd be happy to-"

"Shut up and focus on the hiding place, genius."

Patrick was startled, as she roughly grabbed his hand. As soon as they touched, his blood started to pound. That is odd, he thought.

"No using your own powers!" She reminded him, holding of both his hands in both of hers, and stared into his eyes.

"Focus on where you hid them Jane. Visualize them in your mind."

The only problem was that Patrick was so focused on comparing Lisbon's eyes to emeralds that for a few moments he had no idea where anything was hidden.

She began to slowly lead him first around her office, then around the bullpen, pulling his arms this way and that, all the while focused on his eyes. It was a very peaceful experience. All he thought about was where he had hidden Lisbon's things- and Lisbon herself. Around the bullpen the second time, she stopped, and let go of his hands.

Lisbon strode over to the TV, opened the cabinet, and pulled out the basket full of cords. Underneath the cords, was her vast assortment of projectiles.

A whistle sounded. Apparently Rigsby and Cho had walked in and seen the whole thing, without either of them noticing.

Lisbon took off back to her office smiling triumphantly, with a short, "Good morning gentlemen."

"That is scary. Jane, are you giving the Boss lessons?" Rigsby was entirely wowed.

"Uh, no. Not in the traditional sense."

"Then how is she able to do that?"

"The real question is why aren't the rest of us able to do that, when we have fallen for those tricks so many more times than she has." Cho answered.

"Very true my friend, very true." Jane patted them both on the back, and sauntered towards the attic to brood in solitude.

How had Lisbon managed to do that so easily? It was scary, as Rigsby had said. Yes, they had been working together for nearly a decade, and she saw him pulling pranks like this quite frequently… Why hadn't he noticed earlier that she had been following him this closely? Looking back over the months since he had shot Timothy Carter, things had been different. Small, almost unnoticeable things, but prominent in their own way. She wasn't yelling at him as much, she was following his harebrained schemes without complaint, and she was beginning to think like him when she investigated. And then there was this sort of new found trust between them. She kept his secrets, spent more time with him, opened up to him, and gave him advice. And here was the kicker.

Teresa Lisbon had let him get away with murder, plain and simple. After all the talks about how she was going to stop him, she hadn't. She had helped him with that phone call, even. And then she had gotten him out of jail for it! She had always been there for him, but not like this.

Jane didn't know what was more interesting, that she hadn't stopped him, or that he hadn't cut open the man he thought was Red John regardless of the consequences, as he had openly said that he would.

He began to twist his ring around his finger. He hadn't lied when he told that girl (and Lisbon) years ago that revenge was for fools and madmen. It was true. He just happened to throw himself into the latter category.

Didn't Angela and Charlotte deserve to be avenged? Or was it just his meager attempts to piece his life back together via some contorted sense of closure? He couldn't be sure. He told himself it was what he wanted, so that was what he should do. That he was definitely sure of, that he wanted revenge. He had wanted it for so long that it really did shape not just his actions, but who he really was. But now, again, because of her, he wasn't so sure.

Damn that woman. Before he had started really opening up to her, he had never doubted what he should do, but now? He didn't regret it at all; it was just that everything was so much harder to see clearly because of it. Between Red John, Lisbon, and himself, everything was so tangled up in his head that the only reason he knew which way was up was because he used her as light and compass. First there was Sophie Miller, but she had just been a bridge. Lisbon was the real thing. Because of her, he wasn't sure that just breathing was enough in life. Should there be something more? Was it even enough to have loved so much, and lost in such a tremendous way? He had never been ordinary before, so why should he settle for it now? Settle for a life that wasn't marked by anything more than the common apes could feel and do. No, he wanted something far more, and far better than that. That was his drive. He didn't want to be ordinary, so he made sure that he wasn't. That's why he never followed the rules, and kept up this search for Red John. After being bounced around from team to team, that's why he'd picked Lisbon. She wasn't ordinary at all, and didn't seem to struggle with staying that way- maybe he could learn from that, he had thought. It had never occurred to him then that she would teach him far more than that, or that she would be so much to him.

Tomorrow was a big day- the ninth anniversary of Angela and Charlotte's murder. It was one of the very few things his life was marked by anymore.

But if there was one thing that Teresa Lisbon had taught him, it was that moving on is possible. Not just possible, but needed. After tomorrow, he would move on.