Hello there, this is my first post on this website, and I apologise, it is not very long at all. I guess from this you can possibly see where my story is going, whether or not you'd like to continue following it, the style in which I write and whatnot. This is just a mini kind of prologue- my story will advance from here and I hope you will have enough faith in me and the characters, whom I have tried to remain as OC as possible. Please let me know if there are any errors or adjustments you think I should make, I would be so grateful!
Disclaimer- The Mentalist obviously belongs to the wonderful Bruno Heller. I do not own any of the characters, not even Patrick, much to my disappointment.
I ship Jisbon, if you have a strong loathing for anything related to this, don't waste your time reading it. There will be different subplots dotted throughout, so it won't purely be based on one topic, but it's really your choice on whether you'd like to read it or not.
Anyway, on with the story!
Prologue
Patrick Jane collapsed onto his sofa, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in deep concentration. Untamed thoughts were darting through his brilliant mind, leaving everything a little hazy in their wake. CBI head-quarters were, as usual, bustling and noisy, leaving him little peace to still his erratic state of mind. Along the hall, phones were ringing- uniformed detectives striding around with heavy, important looking portfolios in their arms: the life story of the latest criminal to grace their attention. The sound was a persistent buzz, taunting him. Occasionally, someone would walk past and look at him reprovingly; reprimanding him for his apparent ease, lounging on a sofa whilst around him work and reality remained constant. Patrick was far from at ease. If they could even comprehend the harsh reality he faced every single day of his life, they would realise he lived not in a relaxed, casual dream-world but a world of regret, self-torture and agony. Sighing, Patrick swung his legs from the floor and propped them up onto the arm of the sofa so he was lying horizontally. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to drift away from everything, to find sleep somewhere in the torment. It would be so pleasant to just lie there and float up into nothingness, as dreamless slumber consumed him-
"Jane. McHearty case: the girls' father was up at a bar in Richmond on the night of the murder, and his alibi seems legit, so I guess that's him off the list of suspects. We still have to check out the friend though. Jane?"
Hearing an impatient sigh and feeling a glare penetrate his lids, Patrick half opened his eyes to squint up at his boss. Teresa Lisbon leaned over him, arms folded, disgruntled at his lack of motivation.
"Oh. Okay." He smiled at her innocently; feeling her grow ever more frustrated as he once again closed his eyes and waited for a reaction from the increasingly aggravated woman before him.
Her response was to flick him sharply on the side of his nose, making him flinch and mutter an "ouch" in protest. He opened his eyes to see Lisbon poised, ready to strike out again. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, swung his legs over the side of the sofa and practically leaped into a standing position. Swaying, he blinked and grasped Teresa's shoulder for support.
"Ah, got up too fast. Sorry, just wait for a minute, stay still while I-"
Lisbon scowled up at him impatiently, tapping her foot. After a few moments, balance regained, Patrick beamed at her and released her shoulder. She grimaced and rubbed it, still feeling the burn of his fingers through the fabric from the force of his grip.
"There, much better." He smiled at her again. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was pounding ruthlessly inside her chest. 'Shut up' her brain whispered furiously. Grabbing her jacket, she slung it over her shoulders and stalked out of the office, unaware that Patrick Jane was watching her curiously as she left.