A/N; Hi everybody. Now, this is a bit different than my usual fandom, but I really like the Mentalist, soo, yeah. XD. No, its not REALLY Patrick X Sofa (although... n-nevermind). I actually have two versions of this story, the other one strays far, FAR away, so I dunno if I'm going to post it. But, if you want to see it, I'll be happy to. Okay, nuff of this author's note. Please enjoy, and drop a review if you like it. Or if you dont like it. But please, say why! xD
Two Seconds
Light.
Heat.
Warmth.
Sun.
"Nghh…"
A sleepy mumble escapes his lips. He rolls over, burying his face in the mattress. He had just fallen asleep, it couldn't be time to wake up already...
But a quick glance at the clock proves it is.
Very, very, reluctantly, Patrick Jane pulls himself up.
Just get through the day, he thinks to himself. Just get through the day.
The action of getting dressed, his movements sluggish and still clinging with sleep. Splashing water on his face, the shock sustaining him for a moment. Maybe enough for a few hours.
The process of making a single cup of tea. Put on the kettle, wait for its whistle, pour, careful, add, stir, blow, add, stir, blow, wait.
Wait.
Wait...
Stir. Blow.
Sip? Wait. Stir.
Sip.
Perfect.
The cup is empty already?
No time for another one. Time for work.
A glance at the clock, and he's off.
Rubbing his eyes as he pulls himself into his car. The engine starts. Vibrations. Rearview mirror check. A pair of tired blue eyes.
Start driving. Pull onto the highway.
Acceleration.
Coasting.
Deceleration.
Tired, so, so tired.
Can't keep eyes open…
Closing…
A horn, jerk awake. Stop drifting. Drive to work.
Arrive.
Slightly early. Could've slept in. Yawning. So tired…
Exit car. Clip on ID. Gather things from car. Close door.
Make way inside building.
Stares at feet. Asphalt gives way to tiles.
Hold the elevator.
Riding, up, up.
Ding. Arrival.
Exit elevator.
Mostly empty hallway. The slight buzz of fluorescents.
Open glass door.
Brown, leather sofa.
Sweet relief.
Fall onto sofa. It gives way slightly. Lay down head. Eyes close. Drift away.
"Jane!"
So close.
Eyes open. "Morning, Lisbon." Stifle a yawn. Steal a glance at the clock. Thirty minutes? More like seconds.
She's talking again.
"Jane? Jane!"
"Lisbon."
She rolls her eyes.
He's not going to say how silly she looks, how she should really stop doing that.
He sits up. Crosses his legs. Folds his hands on his knee.
He waits.
People start trickling in.
Cho, first, then Rigsby. Van Pelt follows suite minutes later.
Plaster on a small grin, give a wave. "Greetings, all. Nice to see you all alert."
Van Pelt steals a glance over the rim of her styrofoam coffee cup.
He's not going to say how bad styrofoam is for the environment.
He's not going to crack a joke about Rigsby's socks, or Cho's constant lack of smile.
Where did Lisbon go?
Oh, there she is, in her office.
He closes his eyes and waits for time to pass….
A scarlet smile welcomes his unconscious state. Forever branded when he enters sleep.
Drifting.
A phone rings. It blares. It is louder than the sirens that constantly echos in his ears. He opens his eyes.
The bullpen is busy now. People are moving swiftly. Typing, writing, talking. Organizing. A piece of paper flutters to the floor.
His eyes flick over to Lisbon's office. She's still there. Talking on the phone.
She hangs up. He can't see her face. She stands. She's pacing now. She sits. She stands. She sits again.
He uncrosses his legs and lays his head against the cushion.
He falls asleep.
He is dreaming.
Glimpses of memories flash by. The sound of a child playing. Blood. Himself, standing at the top of a very high cliff. The ocean licks the bottom. A baseball. A woman, laughing.
Gunshots.
A dripping smile.
"Jane!"
Eyes open.
"Oh, hello Lisbon, nice to see you aw--"
"Jane, get up."
He rights himself.
"Are we going on a field trip?"
She drops a slight glare.
"We have to interview the victim's family--"
"Again? But didn't we just do that yesterday--?"
There is a whine in his voice. Lisbon isn't taking his crap today. "Now."
A sigh, slight frown, stifle a yawn. Still tired. Always tired.
Picks himself up. Lisbon is already heading out, and down the hall. He quickly follows, catching up with her shortly.
"Everything okay?" Jane asks.
Lisbon shoots him a look.
"You sound tired," he continues.
She nods curtly.
Me too.
His head lightens. He is aware that he is slowing down, falling behind. Stars dance at the edge of the vision. So tired. So achingly, painfully, tired.
He can't see.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
S--
"Jane?"
Vision clears. He is embarrassed. Lisbon's face is a cross between annoyance and curiosity, but also much concern.
He fixes his face into a brighter expression. And smiles.
"I'm fine."
He passes her and reaches the elevator. He presses the button to call it, looking over his shoulder where he left her standing. He smiles once she catches up.
Just get through the day. Just get through the day.