Disclaimer: I own $14 and a vanilla cream scented candle. Not The Mentalist. I am sad for me too.
Patrick Jane groggily wakes up. Pushing himself up with his elbows, he takes a look around. He does not recognize his surroundings. He also does not remember anything that has happened since Monday at 4:30 pm. He raises his arms to stretch but finds them bonded. His right arm is anchored to the bed, yet he is in the middle. Giving it not much thought, he becomes intrigued that his left arm is connecting to someone's hand. Wrapping his own hand around it, he comes to the conclusion that it belongs to an alive, healthy girl. Most likely a tomboy with a maternal instinct. He carefully grips her wrist and maneuvers to the edge of the covers. He tugs and the blanket falls to a lovely brunette with long, flowing hair blocking the features of her face. He briefly takes in her unknown beauty before curiosity gets the best of him. Leaning up, he manages to blow into her ear, ruffling her hair.
"Not now…" the girl grumbles under her breath.
Jane freezes. He knows that voice. He reluctantly whistles through her ear in an attempt to get her attention. Then, she could just turn around and see him. Maybe she would know how they wound up in this compromising situation. Sure enough, the girl shifts over, revealing her identity. However, she does not open her eyes.
"What's wrong?" she whispers, still heavy from sleep.
"Teresa?" he hesitates. No answer. "Teresa?" he whispers again. She mutters something unrecognizable. "Teresa Lisbon." He speaks huskily and her eyes flutter open.
"Jane." There is a pause. "Jane?" she asks with alarm. "You… why are you in my…" She looks around, mid-thought, and gasps. "This isn't my room."
She wraps the bedsheet around her torso with her free hand before sitting up with Jane. As he struggles with the dead weight to his right, Lisbon uses the time to successfully check beneath the covers. To her relief, she is wearing a black halter-top and dark green boxer shorts. Unaware of where her clothes are or whose these are, she sighs and decides to solve the mystery later. She turns to face a shirtless Jane and an unexpectant moan filters out. Without fully comprehending her own actions, Lisbon wraps her outward arm around Jane's neck and he pulls her in for a soft kiss. She gasps, breaking the kiss, because she hears a rustling from the other side of the bed.
"Jane," she whispers as a warning.
"Teresa." Jane laughs. "You could at least call me Patrick. We are in bed together, practically naked, and…"
"Not that." Lisbon remarks. "Someone's in here, with us." She points to the lump on the other side of Jane. "I saw it move. It's breathing! Who is it?"
Jane cradles Lisbon then kicks the covers off. Lisbon subconsciously glances down to find her protector wearing Lisbon's pants. They are ripped and shredded, with the entire left leg missing. She stifles a chuckle. Jane reaches over with a bare foot and draws away the covers. The man beside them rolls over toward the center.
"Cho!?" Lisbon and Jane cry out in confusion.
"Hmm?" Cho slowly attempts to open his eyes, then blinks several times in perplexity.
He sits up, contemplating scenarios of how he got wherever he is and why his co-worker and his boss are in bed with him. He tries to push himself from the bed but instead is pulled back. He stares down and notices the cuffs. He then gingerly lifts up the blanket separating him from the couple. He relieves a sigh riddled with liberation and discomfort. He is covered, but only by a silk skirt.