Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.
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Her hand wound around his waist, the other at his neck as he deepened the kiss. Unlike him, Van Pelt had no hypnotic-induced lack of inhibition, so what was her excuse? As soon as the thought came the kiss ended, foreheads together briefly before she pushed away from him.
"Unhypnotise him then!"
"You sure?"
She shook herself awake from her doze and turned to the man of her reveries, now onto his third doughnut. This stake-out routine was, aside from uncomfortable, getting old. Getting out in the field is all well and good as long as there's something in the field to be observing.
Checking her watch, Van Pelt reached for the coffee flask and, finding the contents cold, opened the second.
"Thirsty?" she asked, and Rigsby took the offered cup with an embarrassed smile. Van Pelt wondered if he had remembered the kiss.
The two agents drank in silence, watching for their suspect, until Van Pelt began to feel drowsy.
"I thought coffee was a stimulant..." began Rigsby, before they both realised the truth. They pulled their weapons, Van Pelt looking for the long-departed assailant and Rigsby calling Lisbon.
Teresa Lisbon answered her phone, and listened as Rigsby started to tell her what had happened. He fell silent, the drug taking affect, then noises of movement as the two unconscious agents were pulled from the SUV and placed on the back seat.
A new voice on the line now, "Here, first part done. See you there."
She clicked her phone shut and smiled.