A/N: I have been wanting to write about the teacup for soooo long. I even started something a few times which didn't really amount to much, but this epi gave me the perfect foundation for a fic, so enjoy.

Spoiler: Up to and including 7x06 Green Light.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to The Mentalist, but I do own two Patrick Jane teacups, which I just love!

"You kept the pieces." The utter surprise was evident in his voice. This was truly a gift from the heart, but that wasn't what surprised him, Lisbon was the most caring person he knew. There had been no doubt in his mind that what she'd come up with would be something thoughtful and heartfelt. But not in his wildest dreams had he imagined this.

His CBI teacup.

The one and only. Not a new and shiny one, fresh out of the flames of the furnace and glazed over in oceanic blue. No this was his cup, the one that had followed him for years - not unlike Lisbon herself - It had seen his ups and downs, highs and lows, sadness and sorrows. Provided him with comfort when no one else was around or any other options for relief and repose were fruitless.

"Tea, it's like a hug in a cup." He'd said once, and he'd meant it. How many times had he drawn strength and support from a nicely brewed cup of flavoured hot water... Countless. For him, Lisbon had in a way become the personification of his cup, along the way she and it had merged and become one. Ever since he'd met her she had been his one constant in life, his safe place, his home, and so the cup had become his touchstone, one of the few personal items he'd allowed himself to possess. After what had happened to his family worldly possessions had seemed entirely unimportant, owning the world did not make you the riches person in it. When he had consciously and unconsciously pulled away from her he still had the cup close. It meant something to him, but it was an object, a thing, that if it was broken could be fixed or replaced, unlike a human being, it was a much safer thing to love.

xXx

The thought of her going back, after he had left the empty bullpen, to pick the shattered pieces up off the floor while Abbott and his men tore down what was left of the CBI - the place she had dedicated over a decade of her life too - tugged heavily at his heartstrings. She could have left it there, made someone else deal with the mess they'd caused themselves, but no, that wasn't like his Lisbon. His favourite cup had not been allowed to end its days in a hostile environment. What had made her hold onto the fragments for so long? Keeping them safe for more than two years. Did it remind her of him? Of the broken man he'd been when he'd met her that first time? Or the man he was now? He wondered if she'd seen the potential in the cup right away, the potential for it to be whole, to shine bright once again, or if she had simply kept the pieces and waited for the potential to somehow show itself? Reveal what was hidden inside in its own time. What reason had she had for keeping something so useless around? What good was a broken cup? It served no purpose. But that was Lisbon, she saw the good, the beauty, the best in everyone and everything. Even in the dark world in which she lived her life, light somehow found its way through the cracks and reached her eyes. She had never been the sappy, dreamy type, but there could be no other explanation for what she'd done, than the cup or what was left of it held sentimental value for her.

It dawned on him that for Lisbon he had been the cup. He might have looked shiny on the outside, but the truth was that on the inside he was broken, a collection of fractions which had required her kind heart and apt hands to put back together, to make him whole again. He was the Humpty Dumpty to her Fix-it Felix. Like the cup, he was now less smooth but still as useful. She had given him his purpose back. And for many years received little but tremendous heartbreak in return. Loving someone has a high cost, he knew that better than anyone.

Having kept the pieces - and him - for so long proved how deep funded her love for him was and had been for a very long time, just like his own. Not that he needed any proof, he was a mentalist after all, not a detective.. well kinda, but no, not really. Proof only went so far. Now, puzzles they intrigued him, which was why crime fighting tickled his mind, or more accurately the enigmas surrounding them, like the who, what, where, when and why. But there was one riddling conundrum that remained mysterious even for him, the mysteries of the heart. Love. An unpredictable force that springs up in the most unlikeliest of places.

Being able to love her openly and having her return his affections was the greatest feeling in the world. He still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve her presence in his life, but as long as she was happy he was happy - he had been truthful when he'd told her that. They had both been messes when they'd found each other, him undoubtedly much more than her, but somehow along the way they had managed to heal each other, mend each other's broken cups.

xXx

The world changes you for worse and for better. It leaves scars. It breaks you down and builds you back up again and really you're just along for the ride. No one leaves this place as they entered with perfectly smooth baby skin, no amount of magical drug treatments, revitalizing night crèmes or plastic surgery can take us back to something we ones were. We strive to obtain second chances, to right whatever went wrong, which is why the untouched, unsullied, untarnished and new seems ideal for us. But nothing stays the same forever, the pyramids crumble, oceans dry out, and even the sun expands. Change is just another part of nature. But that doesn't mean that every drop in the ocean is not important, it is. And without every note the melody will not come together to form a grand and magnificent symphony. Even when things are tough quitting is not the answer. If you persevere, you survive. Things might be out of control for a while, but you'll come out on the other side and your battle scars - be they visible or invisible - will eventually heal. Letting go does not mean giving up. It means not giving in to hopelessness and despair, because those feelings will eventually drown you. It isn't about being perfect or whole, it's about the people we are, the people we become and how we behave towards ourselves and others.

Gifts don't necessarily have to be grand gestures measured in size and value. Presents with a personal touch is often the ones we treasure the most. Gifts from the heart are more valuable than gold. It means that somebody cares.

The cup - although simple looking in the eyes of the uninitiated - held a deep meaning for both him and Lisbon. It was both of them and they were both the cup. It was a great gift and the perfect symbol of their love for one another.

A/N: I'm seriously sorry, sometimes my writing just flies out a philosophical tangent and it ends up not making any sense. I'll try to rein it in better.