Tonight - Sara Evans {The Mentalist, Jane/Lisbon}
~If I had a weakness
You sure found it tonight
Some hidden desperation
You saw floatin' in my eyes
Moments just like these, baby
Wrong can feel so right
And I don't wanna go home tonight
Rigsby and Van Pelt's road from co-workers to husband and wife had been a long one, full of bumps and obstacles, but they had made it. Together on the dance floor, he looked almost stupidly happy and she was radiant. Love that even the rules couldn't deny.
Even Cho had broken into a smile when they exchanged their I dos. Teresa could admit to feeling a bit misty and Jane had been smiling, one of his soft, real smiles.
The reception was a lovely affair, dance floor crowded. Of course the bride and groom were up there, as were Cho and Elise, swaying to a soft song and enjoying the atmosphere of the evening. Even LaRoche was enjoying himself, spinning his date, Dr. Emily Montague through the crowd.
Montague had been a more common presence around CBI, as her analysis of Red John had helped them pick up the elusive killer's trail. Her style contrasted sharply with Jane's, but together they did really impressive work. They had been out with Rigsby, checking on a lead when they hit pay dirt…and walked into a Red John trap.
The man had bound them and stuck a knife in Rigsby's stomach as Jane tried to pull himself free of the tape and ropes holding him down. The serial killer felt a need to have Jane watch what he was doing, slowly killing someone Jane cared for in front of him…In fact, he was so wrapped up in Jane's reactions that he more or less ignored Montegue.
With her tiny, fine boned hands, the FBI profiler managed to slip free pf her bindings, something a larger person never could have done. While Red John continued to taunt Jane she grabbed a nearby pipe and used his skull for batting practice.
Montague had played softball all through college. She said it was because the statistical nature of the game appealed to her, but she had also developed a hell of a swing and split Red John's head open like a ripe cantaloupe. He was the only person not to survive that encounter.
Watching the two of them, Teresa was reminded of their tearful reunion at the hospital, relief causing them to drop all professional pretenses. Surprisingly, LaRoche had just looked at the scene and said there were loopholes to every rule.
As the current song ended, Jane surprised her by holding out his hand. She'd seen him up on the dance floor twice that night, once humoring Van Pelt and then her mother. He'd skillfully managed to deflect the attentions of a number of the younger woman's cousins, instead choosing to observe from their table.
Shrugging, Teresa placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor, holding her close as he had during the one dance they had shared ages ago at a high school reunion. Not either of theirs, but that was a long story….
He'd been a bit different since Red John's death. Though he hadn't struck the fatal blow, he'd seen the life drain out of the man. The one time they discussed it, he said he wasn't sure how he felt. He'd spent so long with the goal of killing the man that he felt a bit adrift without that to drive him on.
She'd been worried that he'd do something foolish, but time passed and Jane was still Jane, maybe a little less troubled and quicker to give a real smile, but he wasn't any more traumatized than usual.
"Have I mentioned how lovely you look tonight?" Jane murmured quietly as they shuffled across the floor.
Hiding an unladylike short in the shoulder of his jacket, she muttered, "I'm wearing a shrimp colored dress. Literally."
Van Pelt had picked perfectly reasonable bridesmaids dresses, but the color was just awful.
"Dress aside," he said, smiling down at her. "I've seen quite a few young men attempting to coax you out onto the floor. In fact, I think a few of your admirers are a bit jealous right now."
"Please," she grumbled, but smirked. She had been asked to dance a number of times. "You're the one with a queue of 20 something Iowa farm girls just waiting for you crook a finger at them."
Cocking his head to the side, Jane replied, "Not exactly my type."
His fingers brushed gently over her spine, left bare by the halter style dress, and she shuddered a bit. In recent months, Jane's frequent touches had drifted from carefully casual to slightly more lingering. Instead of a hand between her shoulder blades while walking, it would settle lower, still proper but more intimate. The other day, he'd brushed her hair back off of her face, tucking the tress behind her ear as they stood by her car, discussing a case. Another time, he commented when she switched from her usual shampoo to something apple scented.
She did nothing to discourage him. In fact, she found herself leaning into his little touches, enjoying the fact that he took the time to notice these little things. Of course, she took notice of him too.
Instead of smelling like the musty attic, he, more and more often, smelled like the sea. His skin took on a deeper tan and his wing migrated from his wedding finger to a chain around his neck.
There had always been a connection there, one they circled, never venturing too close, always aware of the white elephant in the room. Even without the looming specter of Red John, neither of them were untroubled souls.
In an odd way, it made sense that they were drawn together.
Shifting, she let her arm slide around his body, under his jacket and his fingers continued to flutter over her skin. Neither of them seemed to know exactly how to break from the dance they had been caught in for years, but maybe they didn't have to try.
Letting things happen naturally seemed to be working out nicely, Teresa reflected, smiling as she laid her cheek on Jane's shoulder once again.