A/N: Not a lot to say, just a short drabble while waiting for the season finale (squeeeeeee!) I don't own anything.
Patrick Jane knew the second his blue eyes fell on the sofa that they were meant for each other.
It was the perfect size for him to lie down with room to spare. The leather was broken in and soft, not stiff, and the cushions didn't slip apart when weight was shifted. It was in a nice area of the bullpen and it was so damn comfortable.
He could sleep there. Sleep, something he hadn't really done in a long time.
Patrick Jane couldn't sleep at his house of course. Not on that old mattress on the floor with the scarlet smile grinning down at him. His house was just a place to go so he wasn't wandering the streets each night. He'd lie on the bed--if you could call it that--roll over, and think. He knew he didn't sleep, he wait in limbo and glance at the clock every so often. Hours would go by.
These periods of time acted much like sleep, they kept him going. At first, when he dared not to enter his house, he tried sleeping in his car which was unpleasant at the least. Hotels were a bit better, he could actually get a few hours of sleep--not very deep, but genuine sleep.
That sofa was the only place that he could be out for hours, much to Lisbon's dismay, even though he could be waken with an annoyed jostle most of the time. Patrick Jane didn't like to be awoken like that, but even he knew that he didn't go to work just to sleep.
Well, that was debatable.