Author's Note
I spent hours looking for decent reader insert/OC-centric fics for The Mentalist and came up woefully short. So, I made my own. I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to finish this (I started on a whim, and I honestly have no idea where I'm taking this) but, as long as I've got some kind of feedback to work with here and on AO3, I'll try my best to keep on writing!
You sit patiently at a stainless steel table a the the CBI headquarters. It's nearly midnight, and you wish you could think of better things to do. Think of other things at all, actually. Clearly your mind of the corpse that had been lingering in it for the past several hours was something you desperately wanted.
"Miss Benraft?" A woman enters the ceiling-less room. You can't help but notice how much confidence she exudes as she walks. You perk at the mention of your name and sit straighter. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long," the agent apologizes and takes a seat in front of you. "I'm special agent Lisbon, this is Patrick Jane." She gestures at the man who follows behind her.
He deposits a cup of tea in its saucer in front of you before sitting himself next to agent Lisbon. You incline your head in acknowledgement and cautiously bring the cup of tea to your lips. You're pleasantly surprised; it's sweet and doesn't actually scorch your mouth. There's the tell-tale sign of honey, what you're sure is green tea, and a fruity note you can't quite place.
"Can you tell us what happened, Miss Benraft?," agent Lisbon asks quietly and patiently. She seems like a wonderful person. Honest, patient, very strong. You keep your eyes downcast, attempting to stare through the bottom of your startlingly yellow teacup.
"Tommy's a local favourite," you start slowly, trying to calm yourself to better recall the series of events. "I was walking home from a café and his house is on the way. His wife passed a few years ago so we, uh, you know. The other people my age. We make a point to make sure he's okay, right? So when I noticed the front door was open I didn't think much of it? Someone probably popped in to say hi, or something, no one really locks their door in that neighborhood.
"When I noticed the driver and passenger doors to his car were open, I got a little worried? So I walked up to touch the hood and it was cold. Um. That's… the car had been off for a while, right? So I guessed he wasn't bringing in groceries, and, um."
You paused uncomfortably and closed your eyes. Terrible idea; you could see the blood in the living room. You took a shaky breath and put the teacup back in its saucer. You flattened your hands against the cool table and screwed your face. This day could not be over fast enough.
"It's alright, Skye," Lisbon offers softly, placing one of her hands on the table as well. Leans forward. Bless this woman, you think. She's great at her job.
You don't see Mr Jane's hand moving to cover your left one. The warmth startles you. Knee bangs against a table leg, teacups rattle in their saucers. You mutter a quick panicked apology. Notice that the hand still covers your.
"You're safe with us, Miss Benraft," Mr Jane says quietly, his thumb barely rubbing yours. You look at both your hands on the table and frown. It's the only expression your face seems capable of, right now. "Just breathe, slowly. In, and out. Just focus on your own breathing. In… and out."
He continues that way for a moment, and you're acutely aware of what he's doing. You breathe as he tells you regardless, feel the tension ebbing from your muscles. Flowing out. Shoulders slump with a stuttering sigh. Apparently satisfied, Jane removes his hand and leans back in his chair, crosses his legs. Looks at Lisbon. Oh, yeah, that's self satisfaction all over his face.
You continue forcing yourself to breathe steadily. "Right, sorry, it's just…"
"We can do this tomorrow if you need to," agent Lisbon offers helpfully. You shake your head. "Alright. Take your time."
You don't quite laugh; the sound is choked and probably sounds more painful than intended. You clear your throat. Steel yourself, and continue.
"So. The car hadn't been on for a while, the doors were open and the front door was open, and I got worried."
"Why didn't you call 911 right away?" Lisbon's tone is soft and inquisitive; you don't read the accusation in your voice that you think is there.
"He's ninety… Tommy was 93, he was old. Old people tend to uh. Well, forget? Things? So I thought, maybe he just got distracted, and I didn't really want to deal with upset first responders because I called emergency services for no reason, so I mean. I waited to see if there was actually something wrong.
"So, I went up to the front door and noticed that the frame was busted at the handle and I just. I, um."
Take a deep, steadying breath. Warm hand on your again. Jane's face is so impassive. He barely seems disturbed by any of this. Lisbon seems far more upset by this murder than he does.
You remember to think about it later.
"I dialed 911 when I saw that. I was calling out for him when I walked through the door and that's. That's, uh. The kitchen's down the hallway when you come in and the living room's just of to the right and that. That's… jesus christ."
You stop yourself when you feel a lump rising in your throat. Down the rest of the tea, hope the heat will help dissolve the anxiety and fear. You're so close to being done, to being able to go home. Though, really, you're not sure you want to. It doesn't feel nearly as safe right now.
"That's when you found him," Jane completes, helpfully and thankfully. You nod and screw your eyes shut again. Not vomiting while recalling the image is hard. You manage, somehow.
"Yeah. Yeah that's when I saw the body. He was white a snow and there was. Just, there was so much blood, and his eyes were open? And he wasn't… it didn't look like he was breathing so I, I just… What happened? After that? I don't remember."
You place the teacup back in its saucer with a slightly louder clanging of porcelain than you'd like. Agent Lisbon and Mr Jane look at each other with a look that probably holds an entire conversation that you're blissfully unaware of.
"Did you see anything, before going inside the house?," Lisbon asks, with a hint of hesitation that you don't miss. You shake your head slowly. "Nobody, no cars around?"
"I don't think so, no. What happened? You two look like you know something I don't," you try again, wringing your hands in your lap and leaning forward.
Jane clearly his throat and leans on the table with his elbows. His posture feels conspirational. You can't quite figure out what's bothering you about it.
"Well, Skye, the 911 recording has you on hysterics on the phone and then just, nothing." He motions vaguely in front of him before clasping his hands together. "EMTs found you in Thomas' kitchen looking into the sink and kind of muttering to yourself."
Don't look at him directly, and frown at his hands. "...was the sink full?" You repeat yourself; you'd asked too quietly the first time.
Lisbon frowns at Jane before looking at you. "Yeah, it was. Did you do that?"
"I don't…" You shake your head. "I don't know, I can't remember what I did after dialing 911. Do you know what I was saying?" You grab the edge of the table in front of you, look at the agent.
"EMTs said they couldn't make out what you were saying," she replied, although it feels uneasy.
"Something about a hatchet and a river," Jane adds. Frown deeper. A hatchet? There's no river near your neighborhood either? "Does that mean anything to you, Skye?"
Shake your head again. Haven't seen a hatchet in years; haven't had the need for one, really. The sink, though, it still bothers you. Silence hangs for a moment after that. More and more people start milling around. A skeleton crew to staff the early hours of this investigation is your best guess. You run a hand down your face. Through your hair.
What a shitty day.
If you hadn't gone for coffee, maybe…
"Well, Miss Benraft, I think that'll be—" agent Lisbon begins, but you interrupt her.
"Sorry, uh, was the sink—the water in it, was it clear? Was it like, dishwater? Or something?"
Lisbon frowns. "It was clear," Mr Jane replies smoothly. Ah, there is is. Some kind of facial expression on him that doesn't look forced. He looks genuinely intrigued, if not a little confused.
You nod to yourself. "One um. One last thing? I don't really feel safe going back home. I mean I live close by so is. Is there anywhere..?"
You leave the question hanging, but agent Lisbon seems to get the gist of it. "Sure, of course. I can see about booking a room at a nearby hotel for you and have someone stand guard, if that's okay?"
"Oh nonsense Lisbon," Jane pipes up. The eagerness in his voice does nothing for the tension back in your body. "She can stay here, can't see? I wouldn't mind talking with her more." He turns to you, and there's something not quite right between his expression and what's in his eyes. "Would that be alright with you, Miss Benraft?"
Off guard, you flounder for words. "Um, sure? I mean I don't mind? Is that really okay? I mean it's not like I saw anything and I really don't want to get in the way—" You turn to agent Lisbon but she seems to be nearly as confused as you are. She's about to reply, but gets waved off by Jane.
"Of course it's fine. You said you can't remember what happened after the call, right? I can help you remember." He stands and take both your teacups and offers his elbow to help you up. "Come on, I'll make you another cup of tea."