AN: This has been sitting on my computer for years. It's unfinished but I dont think I ever will so I thought I would let it see the light of day! Set season 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist
Jane loved the CBI building.
He liked the noise; it calmed him and kept him distracted. He slept there sometimes, when self-loathing wasn't too intense. He preferred to have Elvis staring down on him, rather than the twisted, bloody reminder of what his own pride and greed cost him.
Jane's favourite part however was the floors—not the carpeting though. Some of the offices were carpeted. Bosco's was. They hadn't bothered to replace the carpet; they just bleached it. As far as they were concerned they had got rid of all the blood but you could still see the stain if you knew where to look. Lisbon never went in that office; in fact she did her best to avoid that part of the building altogether.
No, Jane preferred the wooden floors. All his favourite rooms had them: the bullpen, the kitchen, Lisbon's office...
What he loved most though was what the floors told him. He could lie on his couch; eyes closed, absolutely relaxed and still know what was going on.
Rigsby's heavy footsteps told Jane that he was probably going off to check if any of last week's case-close-pizza was still there. If Van Pelt was tapping her feet a tad bit faster than her usual steady beat, then it meant that the lead Lisbon had told her to check out was a bust. If the chair squeaked and he heard nothing else, Cho was probably back from the library down the street.
But what Jane really looked out for were the rhythmic beats that could only come from a pair of Lisbon Loafers and the whiff of cinnamon that accompanied them.
It was today in particular that Jane's ears strained for that sound. Why? Because today was the day Jane asked Lisbon to have lunch with him; albeit a very late lunch but lunch none the less.
Why not? He had thought. He knew for a fact that she hadn't had anything but an apple for breakfast. Plus they had wrapped up their case early; he hadn't pulled any 'funny tricks' (Lisbon always made his cunning sound so childish!). It had been a rather obvious crime of passion so he let the team do it their way: fingerprints, DNA evidence and all that jazz.
It had been an awfully boring day, but hey, it put a smile on Lisbon's face and a spring in her step. Well...it had until he asked her to accompany him for lunch. She abandoned him at the prep's house and he had to grab a ride back with Rigsby—he hated going with Rigsby, she knew that! His car always smelt like food. Honestly, that woman overreacted...
Jane opened his eyes lazily and studied the stains surrounding Elvis. He was starting to think one of them looked a bit like John Lennon. He sighed; he was tempted to go have lunch by himself. Lisbon probably only had a couple of papers to sign, meaning that she was just staying holed up in her office hoping he'd give up and leave .
Jane closed his eyes again and crossed his arms. Well, he wasn't going anywhere.
Lisbon tapped her fingers against her desk restlessly, feeling absolutely ridiculous. She faced down hardcore criminals almost every day and yet, here she was cowering behind her desk. Hiding...and from Patrick Jane of all people. It was too pathetic for words.
That wretched man made everything so complicated. Everything had been so perfect; they worked well together; he liked her, and she, regardless of his antics and mind games and the sheer number of tension headaches he gave her, liked him too—more than she'd ever admit. She had liked Bosco a lot too—almost loved him. But she couldn't let herself fall in love with a married man; she couldn't ruin a beautiful marriage, a happy family, for something that may have just ended up being an office fling. And then there was Jane, who may not have been legally married, but he still, without a doubt loved his family too much to think about starting another one; and she could never get in the way of that.
But now he had gone and turned everything upside down. He had asked her out for lunch. As in alone; no Cho to munch silently or Van Pelt to combat Jane's atheist views or even Rigsby to order copious amounts of food and attempt to make awkward conversation with Van Pelt.
They would be all alone together, they'd order food and make conversation and she would love every moment but it could end up being such a disaster. Mainly because she had no idea what it would mean to him. Was this lunch between colleagues, friends... or something more?
She just had to know.
What pulled Jane back into consciousness was Lisbon calling his name and gently shaking his shoulder; a very welcome change compared to the usual kick to the sofa. She drew back as soon as she saw he was awake, blushing slightly. Jane took note of her obvious embarrassment; he would use the information later to evoke more adorable flushes.
Jane sat up. "Ah, so our fierce leader finally emerges!"
Lisbon avoided his eyes as she replied (he caught her there!). "Well some of us have actual work to do."
"On the contrary my dear Lisbon, you signed your last report over an hour ago."
She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off: "No matter though, I booked us a late reservation just in case," he said with a wink.
"Reservation?"
"Well, of course! Now come on, or we'll be late."
When she didn't move, he grabbed her hand and led her towards the door, trying to ignore how right it felt to hold her small, warm hand in his own.
She pulled it out his grasp and stopped. "Jane, where are we going? What are we even doing?"
He turned to look at her. "We're going out for lunch."
"Jane," she growled out, obviously not satisfied.
Jane gave in, knowing her analytical mind would not let her relax and enjoy lunch till he clarified.
"We are two good friends going out to celebrate an easy case."
She worried her bottom lip a moment before giving her quirky smile and bringing her green gaze to finally meet his.
"I'm driving."
Lisbon and Jane shared several meals after their first impromptu lunch date; Lisbon quickly learnt that a meal with Jane was nothing like working with him.
He was kind and considerate and even went as far as to pull out her chair for her; an act of chivalry she thought had died out long ago. He didn't play any mind games or try to guess what she would order for dessert. He was delightfully open and unguarded and nothing like the man who slept half-awake, alone on his couch: the Jane that hated the world for what it did to him and who hated himself even more; the Jane who wanted nothing but vengeance.
Lisbon also learnt that Jane was a bloody fantastic cook.
After the death of their mother and the several subsequent dishes of burnt macaroni and cheese; the Lisbon brothers finally accepted the fact that their sister (who could pull off handstands and skip stones with the best of them) couldn't cook a meal to save her life. It was during these desperate times that Tommy, the youngest of the Lisbons, discovered he had inherited the culinary skills of his late mother. His pasta especially, with its secret tomato sauce, was to die for.
Lisbon articulated this particular thought, one evening over dinner at a delightful Italian restaurant; Jane in response, promised her pasta that would have her craving for more.
So that Sunday evening, he came over armed to the teeth with groceries, for he had (correctly) predicted she would have nothing but cereal, milk and (of course) strawberries.
It was also that particular evening that Lisbon learnt she wanted to kiss Patrick Jane ...forever.
Their first kiss was brief and unexpected, but she loved every millisecond of it. She was seeing him to the door after they had finished dinner; his pasta had been wonderful, even better than Tommy's (though she'd never admit it). He was standing in the doorway; she had thanked him for the lovely dinner and had tried to hide her blush when he said it was pleasure.
There was silence for a moment; her eyes met his for second.
He wasn't even sure how it happened. He didn't remember leaning in, but somehow his lips were on hers, and her hands were wrapped in his hair in a grip that was almost painful. Her lips were warm and soft. She tasted like mint, cool and nothing like the warm cinnamon that rolled off her in waves.
It was over in less than a minutes, but it felt like something so right that he should keep doing it forever. They stopped not quite pulling back, breathing deeply. Then she pulled back, pupils dilated, surrounded by a ring of green. He saw confusion, desire and something even he couldn't read.
Then he walked away.
Jane stared at the bloody face on his wall; he had kissed Lisbon not more than an hour ago. It was the most magical moment of the last few, miserable years of his existence. And it was tearing him apart.
He examined the ring on his finger; it was a plain gold band. His wife had loved the matching pair.
Simple yet elegant; that's what she always used to say.
Jane vision started to blur, and he realised he was crying.
What was he doing?