AN: Here's a Mentalist fanfic. I really enjoyed writing it. It brought out some sweetness and understanding. i have no clue if this is really how their minds work, but hey, it's fanfiction. anything can happen. read and review please1 Enjoy! :D

It was two o clock in the morning and Teresa Lisbon was wide awake. This particular job had her nerves heightened immensely. They had been chasing down this Red John copy cat for weeks. He wasn't as good as Red John, so naturally she was frustrated beyond belief that he was still out there. Or she, who really knows what gender, and what did it matter? A monster is a monster.

She was particularly worried about the toll it was taking on Jane. With every Red John case in the book it had snipped away at his defenses, and she was worried that one more case, real or not, would be his breaking point, and he would snap. These subtle differences were enough for Red John to think himself worshiped but not insulted. It was like a killer's fan fiction in a sick sort of way. She had seen her niece write them, and she could tell that these killings had great similarity to the writing style in the paying tribute kind of way. Too much similarity for Jane to be able to take it, and why should he be able to? Someone was praising the same sick person that had killed his wife and child. He was taking it better than she thought she ever could( aside from morbid murderous thoughts that is).

She sat up and turned on the television for the tenth time that night. she started flipping channels. Lifetime. Playing a movie. Hmmm. Bad movie. About some girl dying of leukemia. So typical for lifetime. Cartoon network. She shuddered. Those cartoons could sometimes give her the creeps.

She flipped again. ABC Family. Another movie. Another one about someone with a terminal illness. God, what was it with Hollywood? Couldn't they come up with a different plot? HBO. Die Hard. Bleh. Too much death to begin with. Come on Romantic Comedy. Hey, there's one. Hmmm. My Best Friend's Wedding. She always secretly thought George should've figured out he was misleading himself into thinking he was gay because he had commitment issues and that Julia Robert's character had broken him out of it when they had pretended to be engaged and he figured out he had feelings for her. It would have turned out better. Less realistic mind you, but better. All she was missing was the tub of Chocolate Chip ice cream. She sat calmly watching the movie. Unfortunately, the movie was almost over. When the credits came rolling across the screen, she turned the TV off and groaned in frustration. Van Pelt was fast asleep in the bed next to hers. For a split second she envied her. She could sleep through anything and have a good rest. Herself on the other hand had great difficulty in going to sleep and staying asleep. She walked outside in her bare feet into the hotel's hallway, still being restless. She decided she needed a walk. She meandered into the lobby. She was surprised by the familiar face of the blonde haired blue eyed consultant.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

"Nope," he confirmed, " I never can. I'm guessing you couldn't sleep either?" She nodded absent mindedly.

"So you don't sleep much?" she questioned. He smiled wearily. Of course he couldn't sleep much. He could never really get decent sleep since the murders. He would close his eyes and fall somewhat into sleep and see a taunting red smiley face staring at him. He would normally wake up with a gasp and wide eyed. He would try to calm his nerves but looking at the wall in front of him, really any flat surface, his mind played cruel tricks on him. He saw The smiley face staring back at him. He knew it was his mind's cruel torture, but that's the torture hardest to escape; your own, the one you imagine. It's in your head so how can you escape it?

Once his nerves did calm down and his mind stopped racing, he would turn on the light and stare about the room, searching for something to observe meticulously. After a while, he would just close his eyes and meditate, but that would always end badly. Always, that is, unless he was interrupted. Lisbon was usually the one to do this, so this was one of the many reasons why he was grateful she was in his life.

"No," he responded softly, "no I don't sleep at all." Lisbon frowned with a crease making it's way onto her brow. He sighed. Well crap, he thought, I've got no way out of this one. Not that he expected to, but there were moments where he was forever hopeful. Yes, 99.99% of the time he was cynical and pessimistic, but there was always that rare 0.01% that he had a shred of hope for something. He looked down at the hotel rug and tried to count how many colors he could find in it, but, just as always when Lisbon was around and no one else, his resilient concentration had failed and abandoned him and he was left with only sheer impulse.

This said impulse was telling him honesty. Honesty is what she wanted. It was what he was going to give her.

"I-...I have nightmares," he responded. Her confusion was flushed out and replaced with understanding. "You have the same thing, yes?" She looked down.

"Yes." She confirmed. He smiled softly at her, patting the spot beside him on the couch, beckoning her to sit with him. She looked from the spot to him to the spot on the couch again. She looked at him and didn't break eye contact as she hesitantly sat down next to him.

"About your mother." She nodded. She looked down at her hands not wanting to remember it. She always had terrible images. Yes, some exaggerated, but certain events normally were when so traumatic. Loosing a parent was pretty traumatic to her.

"You want to talk about it?" knowing the answer before he asked.

Silence.

"It might help."

"Would you say the same thing about your nightmares?" she asked him already knowing the answer to her own question. He looked down at his own hands with a faint smile. She knew him too well.

"No," he said, "but I'm willing to try if you are." She returned the faint smile and took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said, "first of all, um, there's always a car. And the screeching of breaks. And flashing red and blue lights, and blood. Not one dream have I had that there has not been blood. Police officers, the public, everyone just rushing around this mess of a car, completely totaled. So crushed that you can't even recognize it as a car. You see just a clump of metal, wrecked and jagged.' Her voice had gotten softer and softer as she continued. It was painful to recount her nightmares of her mother's death, the occurrence that left everyone broken and no one the same. She stopped for a moment. It was hard. She didn't think she could finish. She continued looking at her feet. This was harder than she thought it would be. She felt a reassuring arm wrap around her shoulders and bring her close to a warm body. She leaned against it and smiled knowing she wasn't alone.

Jane leaned his head against hers, knowing how hard it was for her to describe her worst nightmares. He couldn't help but admire the fact that she had enough strength to recount all of this. He honestly didn't think he would have the courage when she asked him next. She continued softly.

"I see my mother's face but it's not like I like to remember it. It's lifeless." She said. Her voice cracked. She wished Jane hadn't noticed, but of course, he had. He never missed things like that.

"She was always so happy. She used to be so kind towards us kids. I remember," she continued wistfully, "I remember when Christmas would be right around the corner and we would all stay up to wait for Grandma and Grandpa to arrive and give us peanut brittle and candy canes. We would all stay up in our pajamas and my mother would make us hot coco and always remembering to put extra marshmallows in mine." She smiled softly at the memory. "she would then put in a movie and we would watch movies until we all fell asleep there on the couch. She always watched them with us and always picked the best ones. Mom would always tell us that it was okay if we fell asleep because it was guaranteed that Grandpa and Grandma would be there the next morning when we woke up. When we'd wake up the next morning we could smell bacon and pancakes and hear Mom's laughter and Grandma's soft voice and Grandpa's whistling and rustling of the newspaper and we would all rush at once into the kitchen to greet them. Then the day came when there were movies and hot coco but there wasn't any extra marshmallows and there wasn't any Mom. Just us. I remember that first Christmas without her. Me and my younger brother Logan sat down by the tree, Him in my lap, holding a picture of her. I remember he would talk to her when opening his gifts, shrieking with excitement, just like he did when she was there." Tears were slowly making their way down her face. She attempted to wipe them away, but they were just replaced with more.

"It wasn't fair for her to die there, by some drunk, just another news story." She said shakily. She drew long, shaky breaths trying to steady her breathing. "Every night I try not to remember it, but I do. I can't fall asleep. Insomnia is an every day thing. I wake up in the middle of the night, remembering the news stories. With all of that, sleeping is an ordeal. It's the one place I can't escape my nightmares." Her breathing had become steady, but the tears were still coming. Jane gently wiped away one of the many coming down her face with his index finger. He moved her hair out of her face. she looked up at him, green eyes shining with moisture. He searched them for any signs of weakness, but to his surprise, found none. The tears were pure emotion. Emotion too great to explain, but her eyes had no weakness, just bravery and strength. He leaned in closer to her. he softly kissed the top of her head.

"You're brave Lisbon," he murmured into her hair. I faint blush creeped up onto her face, but only for a moment. Curiosity of his words chased the pink color from her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You fall asleep, or at lest try, even though you know fully what will happen once you fall into that slumber. I, however, can't. I've tried once or twice, but after that, I was scared and didn't. I just stopped sleeping. I adapted."

"Jane, that's not safe! See, and now I have yet another reason for you not to drive." She said with a soft joking smile. He chuckled.

"yeah, okay. Fine." he said, sitting up and removing his arm from around her shoulders. She felt a twinge of sadness when he did. She adjusted her position to look him in the eye.

"Your turn," she said. He looked at her with sad eyes. It seemed to her that there was a glint of wisdom in them, or maybe it was just a sign that he had seen too much.

"I don't know if I can," he replied honestly.

"You can Jane," she said taking his hand, "you can do anything you set your mind to." He glanced down at their intertwined hands and then back up to her. she averted her eyes as a blush creeped up to her face and stayed there this time. She hastily tried to remove her hand from his, but he held on, not breaking his searching gaze from her face. She looked up at him quizzically. Why did he want to hold her hand?

"It's reassuring," he answered. He could read her like a book sometimes. She had those few times when she considered the idea of him really being a psychic after all. New doubts clouded her mind. Why did she even try to hold his hand in the first place? It was impulse. But where did the impulse come from? She couldn't figure it out.

"Well, My nightmares always start out like good dreams. There's happiness and sun shining through the windows, my wife and daughter, alive and well. Then everything turns hazy and I'm standing in front of a closed door again with a note taped to it, and I relive that whole nightmare of a night. even though I know what's behind that door now, I can't stop myself from opening it an seeing that God forsaken smiley face staring back at me, taunting me, just begging me to try and do something about the situation even though every attempt would be futile." His voice cracked, and a single tear came down his face. He had cried before, but in front of someone, he just couldn't let go of his pride, or his mask. Lisbon had done it, but he couldn't., because even though she had cried, there was still strength there in her eyes. He knew if she saw through his mask, there would only be revenge and weakness. "Even when I wake up, I can't help but see the smiley face everywhere. It stays in my head, just like the mangled and distorted bodies of my wife and child. It stays with me, those images. I can't get them out of my mind." He looked down at his feet. Lisbon put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"See," she said gently, " I told you you could do it." she smiled warmly. She took her hand from his shoulder and gently lifted his chin. She left a tender and gentle kiss on his cheek and said, "Jane, you're brave too. Don't think otherwise. After all, who went after the mob boss like her was Al Pachino in order to solve a case?" she said, her eyes twinkling with humor. He chuckled.

" Well, I've always wanted to be like Al Pachino." They both laughed. She gently removed her hand from his. He had barely noticed he was still holding it. a faint blush crept up to his face. She caught it, but decided not to call him on that. After all, Patrick Jane never blushes. It's just a law of nature. She got up and grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. The lobby was empty. No one would mind.

"What movie Jane? We'll fid it somewhere on here."

"This is what you do when you can't sleep." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, but then again everything was a statement coming from Patrick Jane.

"Uh huh," she flipped to TV land.

"Old movie works for me." He said knowingly. She smiled.

"Ah! Operation Petticoat! I love this one!"

"ah yes, Tony Curtis and Cary Grant, the only two men who could ever pull off looking attractiv on a pink submarine. Or at least that's what my wife used to tell me." Jane said. He looked at her with an amused twinkle in his eye. She looked at him. She was glad to se the mention of his wife didn't bring him as much pain as before. maybe talking did solve some things.

"All we're missing is the Chocolate Chip ice cream." He said with a smile. She smiled back with a laugh. They leaned back into the couch. His arm around her shoulder. They watched the old movie until they both drifted off to sleep. This time there were no nightmares, no restlessness, no waking up gasping for air or having seat on their brow. It was a calm, comfortable, safe, and peaceful slumber, this time filled with good and please ant dreams that didn't go awry. Something they both hadn't experienced in a long time.

The next morning Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt all were gathered in the lobby, staring down at the consultant and their boss. Cho hd the neutral, blunt look on his face as he always did. Van Peltwas smiling whimsically like she was watching a romantic comedy. Rigsby was looking at them with a brow creased with confusion.

"What were they doing downstairs?" asked Rigsby.

"Watching a movie." Cho said bluntly. they looked at him.

"How do you know?"

"That's what Lisbon always does when she can't sleep."

"Again, how do you know?" asked Van Pelt.

"Old movies are scattered all over her living room, desk. I even found a copy of The Philidelphia Story on the couch in the office. She must have been watching it on her laptop one of the days shewas working late."

"Since when were you so observant?" Lisbon asked from her postition which was curled up in a tight ball with Jane as a pillow. They all jumped. she was awake, her eyes watching her agent's faces.

"I always have been." he said monotonously.

"You know he could probably take my job." jane said smiling and opening his eyes. The ygot p slowly from their postions.

"So how did you guys sleep?" Van pelt asked with a smile. Jane And Lisbon looked at each other and smiled knowingly.

"Great," they responded, "never better."