Disclaimer: Unless there's something really cool in my stocking this year, I don't own even a tiny piece of The Mentalist and am making no money from this.
Author's Note: This is a little new and scary for me since I usually write in third person. But I guess my Muse wants to stretch her wings!
"Were you two ever...involved?"
I can't believe she just asked me that. Especially after visibly editing herself earlier when she explained suspecting me of being Jane's accomplice by saying, "You're his...friend." I wonder what she almost said instead. Girlfriend? Maybe, since Abbott uses words like that when he talks about us. It's his way of demeaning us, making us seem childish compared to the big, bad FBI.
Well, I've got news for the big, bad FBI: you're no match for Patrick Jane. None of us are ever going to see him again unless he decides we should. And he knows better than to write me this time, so I've lost him for good. Thanks for that, assholes.
"That's a strange question," I say, though it really isn't. Abbott and Fischer have no professional respect for me, so they assume Jane's interest in me must be sexual. They really don't know him at all. Or me, but I don't care about that. I don't have to. They're not paying my salary and they can't fire me. They can go to hell.
Of course, maybe Fischer is making assumptions based on her own past with Jane. He was so lonely on that island. Fischer could probably have seduced him if she'd been twice her age. He's always been susceptible to women with ulterior motives: Erica Flynn, Lorelei, and now Kim. The thought annoys me all over again, because seriously, how can he be so brilliant and so dense at the same time?
"Why would you ask me that?" I add, doing a little fishing of my own. I can't ask Jane what happened between them, and wouldn't even if he were here. But her assumptions are coming from someplace.
That got her flustered. I feel a vicious sense of satisfaction that I know I'm going to have to bring up in confession when I get home. These people lured Jane here under false pretenses and then kept him in isolation for three months, trying to break him. They wouldn't even deliver my letters. I'm damned if I'm going to help them find or "handle" him.
My poker face works perfectly well on people who aren't Jane. She thinks I'm sympathizing with her, and we go back to the briefing because she still thinks they'll find Jane, so I'm stuck here until they give up.
How did I make it work so long? I know, but I'll never tell her. I made it work because Jane trusted me. He did what he wanted 99% of the time, sure. But when it counted, when I let him know that I meant it, he backed down (except for taking me to his showdown with Red John, but I knew all along that was too much to ask). Because he trusted me, and because he valued our friendship. I used to worry it was purely because he needed the CBI to find Red John, but the second time I found a letter from the island I knew it had been more than that.
Writing once was a courtesy, to set my mind at rest. Writing me weekly, sometimes even more, meant that I did mean more to him than a useful mark. He could have written to Sam and Pete, after all, if he was lonely. But he chose me. And he chose me again when he decided to come back, though I have a few words to say to him about trying to re-commandeer my life. If I ever see him again, which seems unlikely.
I can't be entirely sorry he ran, though. You run, Jane. Go find a good life, not so lonely this time. Send me a postcard someday to let me know you're okay and that you haven't forgotten me. You deserve better than Abbott and Fischer trying to turn you into their own Boy Wonder act.
See, Agent Fischer, I am involved with Jane. He's never so much as kissed me, but there's more than one way to be involved. And I will help and protect him as much as I can, even if I never see him again. Because he's my friend, and we understand each other. And being understood is important. It takes a lot of effort to really know someone, after all.
And you will never know Patrick Jane like I do.
mmm
Despite my determination to remain impervious to Jane's antics, since he has decided to grace us with his presence again in, of course, the most absurd and theatrical way possible, I can't help but smile a little at the lengths he goes to so we can sit together on the plane. Last minute bookers can't be choosers, after all. He has to charm the good-looking guy next to me in the aisle seat to trade for his middle seat in the back of the plane, and it's a tough sell. I don't help him out because I'm still pissed at him and frankly I'd rather chat with a stranger at this point, but Jane uses that to his advantage.
Apparently there's a paragraph in the Guy Code about having to help another guy get out of the doghouse. My seat neighbor gives in just as the flight attendants are about to pounce and wrestle Jane into his own seat. They look like they expected to enjoy it, too.
Who knew Jane knew the Guy Code? It must be another one of the rule books he has memorized but chooses to ignore unless it suits him.
Yeah, Jane, so you're cute and charming. Tell me something I don't know. I'm still going to ignore you for as long as possible. The case file makes a nice prop, though I have it almost by heart by now.
It's only when he quits playing around and asks me seriously what's the matter that I give him a response. It's not the one he was expecting, either. If we're going to do this—and I haven't decided if we are—I have some terms of my own.
Jane doesn't get to run my life.
He doesn't like what I'm telling him, and if he wasn't stuck in a plane seat I'm sure he would have made an excuse to leave until I was "in a better mood," but he hears me out. He even apologizes. Okay, he gets a point for that. The man has apologized for about one-tenth of one percent of the crap he should have apologized to me for over the years. If he expects me to stick around, he's got to bring that number up. Way, way up.
I feel a little like I've kicked a puppy when I'm through, but I'm not taking it back. He IS difficult and exhausting, even when I'm not his boss. And I didn't work my ass off to end up as his sidekick. He needs to think about that for a minute and stop taking me for granted.
I missed him. And I like being with him again. But I'm not going to let him suck all the air out of my life anymore. It's not healthy for either of us. If he wants me to throw my life out the window and come work with him, he needs to accept my terms.
He seems to be getting it. I knew he would. He's a bright boy.
mmm
When Fischer calls to tell me Abbott is giving in to Jane's demands and that I'll be receiving an official job offer via email in the next 24 hours, I can hardly believe it. Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
Jane's a lot more fun when I'm not the one paying for his stunts. And I'm dying to know how he pulled this one off. Hypnotism? Blackmail? Does Abbott wear a thong from Victoria's Secret or something?
Fischer says they haven't told Jane yet. I guess neither one of them wants to watch him gloat.
For once, I do.
mmm
I'm getting used to the way Jane smiles at me now, I think. Sure, it gives me a little thrill, but I no longer have the urge to check my pockets. It's taken some adjusting to get used to him being so happy to see me and not thinking it's part of some scheme.
I hope those days are over. And when he grins and says, "Let's see what kind of trouble we can make," that "we" warms my heart.
I'm not his boss. He doesn't need to give me deniability anymore, and I don't have to keep him from causing trouble everywhere he goes. This really could be fun.
When he makes a fuss over the socks, I know it's not just about the socks. I made it clear I'm calling the shots in my own life, and I've chosen to come back to him. Just like he chose to come back to me. That means something to both of us. Something big and deep and complicated.
We are involved, but not in any way Fischer would understand.
And together, we'll be unstoppable.