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I do not own these Mentalist characters, and I make no monetary profit from my scribbling here. Thanks Mr. Heller.

AN: This tag is so short and late I almost decided not to post it, but what the heck. You know the Beatles song, right? Beep beep and beep beep, yeah!

This picks up immediately at the end of 7.01 – Nothing but Blue Skies. Lisbon's POV:

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"I'm afraid to ask how you got this," I say, but at the moment, I don't really care. The sun is shining, the wind is warm in my face, and Jane is wearing his most infectious grin as he eases us out of the FBI parking lot. He navigates the marvelous old car onto the highway, turning heads left and right along the way.

Somewhere up there, my Grandpa Gleeson is smiling. He told me when he gave me that model car that he always wished he'd had a car like that so he could've courted my grandmother in style. That was during the Great Depression, though, and he had no car at all to woo the woman he loved. "She married me anyway," he would say, and he would pitch his head back and laugh that deep, echoing laugh that I'll always remember. And all those years later, as a successful businessman, he kept that model car front and center on his desk. Until he gave it to me.

Now, here I am, motoring around Austin, Texas in a real 1930 Caddie. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm being courted. Jane would look right at home in an ascot and 30's attire, I muse. He honks the quaint "beep beep" horn at some captivated kids on the sidewalk, which earns him a cheer.

"This is fantastic," I admit, as he drives the car out of town toward the nearby hill country.

"You like it?"

"Yes." His eyes crinkle with delight at my answer and he gives my hand a little squeeze. He's happy that he's made me happy.

Eventually we stop at a roadside diner for supper, and he leaves the last bite of our hot fudge sundae for me. Whoever said Patrick Jane isn't a good man?

Later that night, after we get home, he makes full use of his considerable mentalist talents as we make love. He knows what I need, and when, and as a consequence, I spend what seems like several minutes without a single coherent thought. Afterward, as we lie side by side, I gradually recover my mental faculties. Judging by the stupidly content look on his face, I must have read him pretty well, too.

"Hey," I say, scooching a little closer into his side.

"Umm." It makes me happy that I have reduced the great Patrick Jane to monosyllables.

I can't resist asking him, "So this afternoon, when you said we should just do what feels right, is this what you meant?"

He emits a throaty chuckle in reply.

"Well," I quip," you've certainly come up with worse plans."

He props himself up on one elbow, pauses for a moment, and then kisses me again.

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AN: I have a (longer) tag nearly finished for 7.02, which should be up by tonight or tomorrow and will be published as a new installment of my "Partners" series. Thanks for reading.