Disclaimer: The Mentalist does not belong to me, but to the heartless tease, Bruno Heller. I make no profit from this work.
Author's Note: This little piece was inspired by an interview with Bruno Heller, Simon Baker, and Robin Tunney. Simon Baker was asked a question regarding the possibility of a relationship between Jane and Lisbon…his response got my creative juices flowing. I've posted the link in my profile, check it out!
The first time he met her, somewhere in the back of his brain a voice that hadn't been consumed by thoughts of grief and revenge tried to scream at her, "You will be mine."
On some level, he was aware of this thought, but due to the shambles his life was currently in, it would be the worst thing in the world to act upon it.
However, the thought never went away. He carried it with him every day, and over time, that little voice got stronger and stronger.
He had never before considered himself a possessive man. It had never been necessary with Angela. It was obvious to everyone who saw them that they belonged irrevocably to each other.
But, with Lisbon, it was a whole other ball game.
He was no more capable of declaring himself and his feelings to her, thereby showing the rest of the world that she was taken, than he was making Red John appear out of thin air.
The possessiveness he felt towards her could drive him mad sometimes. Every smile that she gave to someone who wasn't him made his gut start churning. Every upward quirk of her lips at something humorous another man said made him contemplate murder.
And even though he had encouraged Lisbon on several occasions to indulge herself in a life outside of the CBI (in a relationship outside of the CBI), and even though he knew that she deserved nights of empty glamor with Mashburn, irrational jealousy still burned within him.
He knew it wasn't right, he knew that it was selfish. Nevertheless, he selfishly hoped that when this whole thing with Red John was over, Lisbon would be waiting for him. She would tell him that she had always been his, and that the other men (goddamn those other men!) had never meant anything, would never mean anything, and that there would never be a man besides him in her bed ever again.
But until that day, he would sit and watch her. Greedily soaking up every minute he spent in her company. He would do his best to be unselfish; he would try to ignore the days that she would come into the office with an extra bounce in her step, no doubt put there by some anonymous man from some dark, smoky bar.
He would try not to be angry with her for only doing what it was natural for her to do: seek out physical affection from men who were unavailable, who didn't have a devil on their backs.
He would do all that for her while he waited for the day that he could take her into his arms and proclaim to all and sundry that Teresa Lisbon belonged to Patrick Jane, and after she walloped him for his presumption, he would whisper into her ear that he belonged to her too.