Hello guys! It's been a while since I posted my last Mentalist fanfiction but I really couldn't help myself after watching Panama Red. I have finally decided to post this and I hope you'll like it. Fair warning to all of you who have read "His fearful symmetry": That story was an experiment and this is something completely different - namely my usual style of writing.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Mentalist, I would be lying on the beach of a deserted island with Simon Baker instead of writing fanfiction. So ... nope.
Inebriated
a 05x10 tag
Lisbon unlocked the door to her apartment, still trying to fight the grin threatening to spread on her face. The look on Jane's face had been priceless. Really, she should find more ways to shock him. The sight of Patrick Jane caught off-guard was always worth the effort it took to achieve it.
Come to think of it, smashing that box with her hammer had not even been any effort. It was still worth it, though.
The whole thing had only one drawback: Jane was going to pester her about this, she was sure of it. She was expecting him to knock on her door any moment, that wonderfully annoyed expression on his face. "Why do you keep a hammer in your desk, Lisbon?"
Oh, she so loved riling him up. And the hammer had the added side benefit of making Jane focus entirely on this new Lisbon-mystery. Hell, he'd probably also be pretty miffed at her insinuation that he didn't know everything about her. In any case, it would finally distract him from the notebook containing his list of possible Red Johns, a.k.a. his latest obsession.
Nodding to herself, Lisbon decided to start making that pot of tea right now. It wasn't like she was going to get rid of him soon. If she closed the door in his face, he'd simply pick the lock, anyways.
Jane was definitely going to show up here soon.
Two hours passed and Lisbon didn't see or hear from Jane. No knock on her door. No annoying consultant allowing himself into her place while she was in the bathroom, waiting for her on the couch as she came down the stairs. Not even a damn phone call.
The tea had long gone cold and Lisbon was starting to worry. Jane could smell tea six miles downwind. Something was wrong.
Frowning, she reached for her cell, checking for any missed calls again. It was stupid because she had kept her phone on her the whole time. The worry mixed with annoyance. How dare he make her wait for him for hours? That bastard, she'd show him. Maybe she'd use that hammer on him instead of a wooden box this time. Maybe that was the way to decipher his secrets, figure out what he was hiding. Yes, a hammer would do nicely.
Twenty minutes later, she marched into the bullpen, fully expecting Jane to be there. He wasn't. The place was dark and empty. Everyone had gone home hours ago. Just to make sure, she also checked her office. Maybe he was hiding in there?
No Jane.
About to leave and search the attic, Lisbon's gaze caught at her desk. The drawer wasn't closed properly.
Curious - and with a healthy dose of suspicion - Lisbon drew it open and stared down at the contents. Her heart sank.
The hammer was still there, as was everything else she had put in there. Except for one thing.
Oh, she was going to kill him!
Suddenly furious, Lisbon slammed the drawer shut, whirled around and hurried out of her office, racing up the stairs to the attic. He was going to pay for this, she would make sure of that.
She started yelling before she even managed to wrench the door open far enough to get inside. "Jane, what the hell were you ..."
The attic was empty.
"... thinking?!"
Lisbon faltered, her shoulders slumping as she looked around the deserted place.
His jacket wasn't there, his phone wasn't lying on the table as it usually did, his turquoise cup was nowhere in sight. Clearly, Jane had left for the night.
She knew she should be glad about that - she hated when he slept up here - but right now she wasn't. And whatever she felt instead was way too complex to think about now.
With an angry huff, Lisbon turned back around, forcefully closed the door behind her and marched back down the stairs. So he had left and was hiding out in his hotel room to escape her wrath, huh? Newsflash: that wasn't going to help him.
Feeling an oncoming headache throbbing in her temples, Lisbon forcefully knocked on the door to Jane's hotel room. The nerve of the man! She had managed to work herself back into the angry mode that seemed to be her standard these days. Infuriating, annoying, brainless moron.
"Jane, open the damn door!," she called, not caring about his neighbors. That was for him to sort out tomorrow. Or never, knowing him.
It took him quite some time to do as she had said, only confirming her suspicions. The hotel room was far too small for him to take four minutes to make it to the door.
After another few minutes of angry pounding, she heard the lock turn and then the door was dragged open.
"Lisbon ... I thought that was your lovely voice I heard."
She took an involuntary step back as a waft of air from his room hit her. Then, her anger spiked again and she stepped closer, shoving Jane into the room and closing the door behind them.
"Jane, what the hell?!," she yelled for the second time that day.
He staggered, his hands going to her waist to help steady him. Lisbon tried not to notice how close he was. The attempt was made kind of impossible by the stench of pot.
"Have you completely lost your mind?," she asked, forcefully ripping his hands off her body and shoving him two steps back. "That was evidence!"
And that wasn't what she had meant to say.
Seriously, that man needed his head examined. She had confiscated the joints from their suspect today and since evidence was closed because the officer in charge was sick she had locked it in her desk, right next to the hammer, ready to be delivered first thing tomorrow. What the hell had gotten into him?
She focused on him, taking in the way he swayed where he stood, a stupid grin on his stupid face. Oh, she wanted to punch him. She wanted to plant her fist right on his nose with a resounding crack and watch him double over in pain.
Jane blinked slowly, looking as if it took some effort. "Evidence of what? It's just a joint, Lisbon." He pronounced it "Lizzbn". "No one is going to miss it."
She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "That's not the point, Jane! You can't just go around and steal drugs out of evidence bags. In fact, what the hell were you thinking anyhow? Doing drugs, really?"
He didn't reply and it took her a moment or two to realize he was staring at her, that stupid grin gone from his face and replaced by a disturbingly tender smile.
"What?," she snapped, feeling the last remnants of her patience dissipate.
"You're beautiful when you're angry," he said.
Her jaw dropped. "What?"
Clearly the dope was muddling his brain.
"You're really really beautiful, Teresa," he told her sincerely, slurring just a little and reaching out to tuck an errand strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her cheek, lingering a bit longer than strictly necessary.
"Jane," she protested weakly, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. She had no problem with getting compliments from him, but he usually didn't sound quite so serious ... and the dope clearly made him more uninhibited than was normal for him.
She couldn't be sure this wasn't just the drugs speaking. Best to ignore him, brush it off and pretend his words didn't matter.
He dropped his hand but his gaze remained fixed on her face. Then, his grin sprang up again, like some stupid jack-in-the-box and she suddenly remembered she was angry with him.
"Answer my question," she demanded, making her voice sound as forceful as possible.
He blinked. "What question, Teresa?"
"You know exactly what question I'm talking about. And stop calling me Teresa."
Jane frowned. "You don't like it when I use your first name?" It sounded more like a statement than a question, as if he was more puzzled by her reasons than the fact itself.
Lisbon shrugged. "Bad things happen everytime you do," she admitted, trying to keep the pain out of her voice.
Well, it was true.
He had called her Teresa when he had lost his memory and he had almost left the CBI.
'Good luck, Teresa. Love you' rang through her head. And then he had fake-shot her and everything had gone to hell and Red John had escaped again.
The next time he called her Teresa, he had been about to steal a freaking ambulance while hallucinating his dead daughter.
After that, he had called her Teresa shortly before breaking Lorelei out of prison.
And she didn't even want to know what was going to happen now.
"I don't want those things to happen," Jane told her seriously. She wasn't sure how much of his tone was actual sincerity and how much was the dope. It was only then that she noticed his eyes. They were wide open, pupils fully dilated and fixed on her.
'It's just the drugs' she told herself sternly, feeling her heart speed up anyways. Just the pot.
"Me neither," she replied, focusing on making her voice sound stern. She was supposed to be angry with him. And in fact, she was. "So why don't you just try and stop?"
But he obviously hadn't been listening. She knew that because his eyes were focused on a point slightly below her collarbone and another emotion crossed his face. Fascination?
"Jane?," she asked, realizing that reading him the Riot Act right now would probably lead to nothing. Or less than nothing, because nothing was the usual.
"I like your hair," he said and she gathered that was what had caught his attention. She should have kept it in a ponytail. Then again, who knew what Jane would do with that.
"Could you try and focus, please?" Her annoyance with him mixed with exasperation. He was worse than a child sometimes.
His stupid smile was back and she heaved an internal sigh. 'Make that constantly'.
"I am," he claimed, making an effort to keep his eyes on her face. They kept flickering back to her hair every few seconds.
Lisbon sighed. "Fine, then. Tell me why you decided stealing and smoking a joint was a good idea."
Fortunately - or unfortunately - Jane's ability to lie was absolutely zero right now, meaning she got brutal honesty.
"Rigsby looked happy."
She blinked. "Come again?"
"Rigsby," Jane repeated slowy. "Stoned. He looked happy."
There was a pause.
"Aaand?," she asked.
He hung his head, his answer so low she had to strain her ears to hear him. "I wanted to be happy, too."
Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a tight fist. "Oh Jane ..."
He raised his head a little, just enough to look at her. Even with fully delated pupils, he still looked sad. "I'm sick of being so sad," he said and the pain was right there in his voice, too.
There was a lump in her throat. How on earth was she supposed to react to that?
"Jane ..."
He didn't hear her, too caught up in his own mind. "And I miss you."
"I'm right here, Jane," she reminded him, taking a step closer and reaching out to touch his arm.
He shook his head. "Not the same thing," The way he looked at her was almost accusing. "You're always angry now," he pointed out and she was surprised he was still coherent enough to notice that. "And distant."
She opened her mouth to reply - though she had no idea what she was going to say - but he interrupted her before she got a word out, his focus having shifted abruptly.
"I'm sorry, Lisbon."
That caught her off-guard. "Huh?"
Jane ran a shaking hand through his hear and almost lost his balance at the movement. She grabbed his arm with both hands, steadying him, and helped him sit down on his bed. "For stealing the dope? Yeah, you should be sorry about that. I hope you'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow," she scolded him.
He waved a dismissive hand in the air, forcing her to jump back before he accidentally hit her. "Meh."
Lisbon sighed and sat next to him. She had had to deal with drunk Jane once and even with hungover Jane. But Jane high on dope? He had completely lost control. Or almost completely. She was pretty sure there were things he was still keeping bottled up, whether for his sake or hers she didn't know.
"Shouldn' 'ave left," he muttered, now showing clear signs of the drug affecting his speech.
A shiver went through her as she realized he wasn't talking about the case. He was talking about Vegas and the effects his disappearing act had had on their friendship. Lisbon realized he hated it. So did she, but he was the one who had left. He was the one who had walked out on them all, on her, and who had gone and slept with Lorelei.
And that still hurt.
"No," she whispered, that damned lump still clogging her throat. "No, you shouldn't have."
He peeked at her from the corner of his eyes and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Damn him for always making her forgive him.
His gaze dropped lower and his expression changed as he stared at her lips. Lisbon felt her heart give a little thump.
She watched, helplessly, as he turned, shifting closer. Oh no. This was not a good idea. No no no ...
But she couldn't make him stop, either.
His hand found her cheek at the same time that Lisbon found her voice.
"Jane." She noted how breathy her voice sounded and cringed on the inside. "What are you doing?"
He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her face, his hand cupping her cheek, drawing her closer.
When she had walked in, she hadn't seen any trace of the joint he had smoked, but now Lisbon wondered if maybe the fumes were getting to her. Clearly that was the only reason she hadn't put a stop to this insanity right away.
Jane beamed at her. "I'm high."
"I noticed," she told him dryly.
He nodded. "I'm doing what I want. And I really want to kiss you."
She swore she could feel her heart literally stop, then start racing.
Somewhere in her mind, Lisbon knew that this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to remember why that was.
Feeling slightly dazed, she stared into his eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Dark pupils stared back at her, surrounded by the small blue-green rings that were all that remained of his irises ...
Her hands shot up, pressing against his chest and shoving him back. "No, Jane. Stop. We need to stop this."
A look of disappointment flashed across his features and suddenly, she felt like a teenager, telling her boyfriend she wasn't ready. Except she wasn't a teenager. And Jane was most definitely not her boyfriend.
She needed to remember that.
Hastily she jumped up, shaking her head when he tried to follow her. "Get some sleep, Jane," she ordered. "I'll give you a piece of my mind about the pot tomorrow. Don't think you will get around that."
He grinned, flopping down on the bed and curling up on it, facing her. "Wouldn' dream of it," he murmured and she smiled softly.
Resolutely, she turned her back, reaching for the door.
"Bye Lisbon," he muttered. "Love you."
She froze, doorknob in hand. Not this again.
Slowly, she turned around, trying to find the words to explain to him how crazy all of this was, how he needed to stop telling her that. But when she looked at him, she realized he was already asleep, his hands tucked between his knees, giving the impression of a little boy.
All the air in her lungs expelled in one long whoosh. She couldn't just leave him like that. Hating herself for what she was doing, she dragged the covers up and over his body, pausing to brush a blonde curl away from his temple.
"Love you, too, Jane," she murmured, secure in the knowledge that he was out like a light.
Then, she finally left.
When Lisbon woke the next morning, she found a new text message on her phone. Frowning, she opened it and quickly read through it.
The frown morphed into a smile.
Maybe this whole thing didn't have to mean anything. But she would still chew him out for the dope.
Smiling to herself, Lisbon got up and went to take a shower, leaving her phone on the nightstand, the text message still open.
"Lisbon, why do you keep a hammer in your desk?"
THE END.
Well, that's it. A little shippery, a little all-over-the-place, hopefully also a little entertaining. Feel free to leave a comment, constructive criticism and stuff are always welcome.