I own an old dogeared copy of Animal Farm, but I do not own The Mentalist characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

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This chapter takes place about a week after the Season 5 finale, and the day directly after this series' 5th chapter (Shape of My Heart). Reading the previous chapter is not completely necessary to the understanding of this one, but the beginning will make more sense if you have read it. The title is taken from the old Beach Boys tune.

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Teresa Lisbon had decided to treat this Saturday like a regular workday. The team was "on" this weekend, next in line for a case, so there was no point in her pretending she'd have the day off. She needed to catch up on the stuff she didn't do yesterday afternoon, while she was out getting her horoscope read at the circus. The fact that this was actually an accurate statement made her chuckle.

She arrived at the CBI ridiculously early, though she hadn't really planned it that way. The anticipation of hearing about her own room in Jane's memory palace had apparently caused her to rush through her morning routine a few steps faster. She opened her office door to find Jane asleep on her couch, wrapped up like a burrito in a blue afghan tortilla. Surely he hadn't been there all night, she hoped? She eased her jacket and briefcase onto her desk without waking him, and made a beeline for the kitchen. Thankfully, someone had already made coffee. While she poured herself a second morning dose of caffeine, she spied Jane's aqua cup and decided to make him some tea while she was there.

When Lisbon reentered her office, Jane began to stir. He turned his head to look at her and blinked open his sleepy eyes. There were few times she found her handsome consultant sexier than when he was first waking up, so she dared not look at him lest he catch any hint of her inappropriate thoughts.

"Get up, Jane," she said in a business like voice. "I brought you some tea."

He sat up slowly, yawning. "That's very nice of you, Lisbon," he said as he stretched his arms backward. Something cracked and he grimaced. "Thank you. You're here early," he observed.

"Did you sleep here all night?" she asked, cautiously sampling her steaming coffee as she sat down at the table close to him.

"I was tired," he shrugged. "First decent night of sleep I've had since…last week." She knew what he really meant was…since he'd watched Red John's DVD message. "I did get up and take a shower about midnight, but when I laid back down, I was out like a light."

"I'm glad you finally got some sleep," she said sincerely. Then she glanced at her watch impatiently and began to fidget. "Jane."

"I believe my identity is established."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

"Oh, the shower was quite invigorating, and I have a lovely new brand of soap…"

"No, dammit, " she interrupted. "I want to hear about my room!"

"Oh, that," he feigned surprise and grinned. "That."

"Yes, that! C'mon Jane, you promised."

"Very well, Lisbon." Jane rose briefly to fetch his cup and saucer from the table and then settled himself back on the couch, crossing his legs. He lifted the teacup to his nose and breathed in deeply. "Umm. Assam. Nice choice."

She lowered her chin and shot daggers at him with her eyes.

"Now, about your room…"

With impeccable timing, Lisbon's phone began to buzz. She rolled her eyes in irritation and yanked it from her pocket. "Lisbon!" she barked.

Jane tensed visibly as she sat listening to her caller relate the necessary information. No doubt he was hoping Red John hadn't struck this quickly, and dread was written all over his face.

"Got it," Lisbon said as she snapped her phone shut. She wasted no time before easing his fears. "Just a regular homicide," she assured him, and he let out the breath he had been holding. "Up on the north side of town. Shall we?" she said, motioning to the door.

"I'll catch up, Lisbon, I have an errand to run. Text me the address?"

"Hey, what about my room? You could tell me on the way."

"Lunch, Lisbon. We'll do lunch. How about that?"

She scowled at him. "You'd better make good on this, Jane."

"I will m'dear. Lunch at The Siam Palace? My treat? Noon?"

She raised her eyebrows. It was a classy place with a beautiful open air terrace, and they served a Thai crunch salad that was to die for. "Okay," she agreed, smirking at the irony of the name. Not a coincidence, she was certain of that.

"See you at the crime scene – I won't be long," he promised and with that, he was out her door in a flash.

It must not have been much of an errand, because Jane was already at the site when the rest of the team arrived. By eleven they had made short work of the investigation, and she sent Cho and Rigsby back to CBI with a suspect in custody. If only every case were this easy, she lamented. Jane had quickly related a few crucial observations, announced that the team had things under control, and abruptly disappeared.

When she got to the restaurant a couple of minutes early, Jane was already seated at one of the terrace tables, waiting for her. The crisp white tablecloth and fresh flowers combined with the mild, sunny weather to set a near perfect scene, and she smiled in appreciation as she sat down across from him. He was drinking some sort of fruity drink with an umbrella, and she found herself wanting one as well.

"Shall I order you one, Lisbon?" he asked.

How did he do that – know what she was thinking all the time? "Thanks, I can't." She still had interviews to do when she got back, and he knew it.

"It's a shame. The pineapple is fresh. Here," he handed his glass to her. "Taste."

She took a small sip and nodded her appreciation. "Yum."

"Yes, definitely," he said with an amused smile. "Yum."

Teresa tilted her head and looked at him expectantly, and he read her gesture like a book. "Let's order first," he suggested. "Then I will tell you everything."

The waiter was by shortly and the instant he departed with their order, Lisbon crossed her arms on the table and leaned in. But she wasn't sure what to make of Jane's apprehensive expression.

He hesitated, took a deep breath, and began. "Lisbon, your room in my memory palace is actually…er…a…" he diverted his eyes briefly, "…a horse trailer." He let that revelation hang in the air for a moment, watching for her reaction.

"What!?" she exclaimed so loudly that the couple at the next table turned to look at them.

He lifted a finger to his lips, and Lisbon glanced nervously around the terrace, slightly embarrassed.

"It's not a bad thing, really. Let me explain."

She shot him a skeptical look. "I've gotta hear this."

"It's not just any horse trailer. It's one like Arlo Ferguson's."

"Oh! Well. That's okay then!" she said, dripping sarcasm.

"Be patient, Lisbon, and give me a chance," he admonished her. A weighty sigh was her only reply, so he continued.

"Arlo ran a string of trick horses and he joined the show starting back when I was about was about eight or nine. He travelled in a brand new Featherlite trailer. The back held six stalls and the front contained a very nice living quarters, with a bunk area over the gooseneck. He pulled the whole outfit," Jane gestured outward with both hands for emphasis, "with a silver F250 dualie pickup. It was a very sweet setup. Those trailers are pretty common now, but back then it was unusual – something special."

He paused briefly to down a gulp of his drink, and then continued. "Now Arlo was an eccentric fellow, but he was devoted to his animals and absolutely fastidious. The stall portion of his rig was a good deal cleaner than my father's trailer. He fed his animals at the same time every day, religiously, without fail - claimed that horses were creatures of habit and they would only trust him implicitly if he was reliable about their feeding times."

Jane's hands were busy, adding motion to his descriptions. This man is in his element when he is telling a story, Lisbon mused to herself.

"Sometimes he would have things he needed to do, of course, and when he knew he was going to be late, he asked me to feed his horses. I was young, but he found out he could count on me to be on time, and I was happy to do the job because I loved being around the horses.

When I showed up to feed, the horses would all nicker. I'd drop the grain into their buckets and soon they'd all be crunching away. Teresa, you will never hear a more contented sound than a horse at his feed." Now Jane's eyes were far away, remembering. "When it was cold outside, smoke would rise out of their noses while they ate, like dragons."

The waiter refilled their water glasses and the clink of the ice cubes snapped Jane back abruptly to the present. He took a moment to snarf down a spring roll before resuming his explanation.

"Anyway, I got to know the inside of his very orderly rig quite well, so it was a logical place for me to add as a room for someone in my memory palace. When you and I first met, you quoted policy to me right off the bat, Lisbon. Do you remember that?"

She remembered trying to dissuade Jane from getting the Red John files, but she didn't remember her exact words. "Not that well."

"You were very orderly and by the book. When Hannigan punched me and you came to my rescue, I decided you were going to be important, and that I needed to create a room for you, to remember things about you. I deduced from my cold reading that you most likely wanted a pony as a child and never got one, so between that and the orderly thing, a Featherlite seemed a good place to put you in my memory palace."

He paused to regard Lisbon, and she knew he was trying to read her. "Still disappointed?"

"Go on," she replied noncommittally as she took another sip of his drink.

"Everything I know about you has its place in there - in a silly way - but that's how the technique works. Arlo kept a chalkboard with all the horses' names on it, where he listed how much grain they were supposed to get. It varied with the size of the horse and what kind of work they were doing at the time.

On my chalkboard, your brothers are all listed there with their birthdays. Tommy, December 9th, James, April 18th…" Jane proceeded to list her brothers' birthdays, and all their childrens' birthdays without missing a beat. Her jaw dropped open. She couldn't even remember all those without looking.

"Things you like – mint chocolate chip ice cream, cloth napkins…" Lisbon's hand involuntarily dipped to touch the cloth napkin in her lap. "…Giordano's pizza, cinnamon bath gel – the list goes on. I've placed them all in the oven. Things you are hot for. There's a turtleneck in the oven," he grinned mischievously. "Things you don't like are in the fridge. There's a bottle of A1 sauce dressed in a paisley jacket, and he's playing elevator music on an accordion, for instance."

"Fascinating," she admitted.

"And for things you really hate? Instead of manure on the stall floor, there are little clusters of Brussels sprouts lying in the straw."

She couldn't help but laugh out loud at that one.

Jane spent the next fifteen minutes describing the trailer to her in exquisite detail - to the point of making her blush uncomfortably at just how much he knew about her - all while she contentedly munched on her salad. She finally stopped him, citing the excuse that he'd barely touched his entrée. "Jane, you're not eating."

"What, am I embarrassing you?" he asked with a grin and dug into his Pad Thai with enthusiasm. "You said you wanted to hear this."

"No, it's not that. I just want you to eat," she began, and then decided to come clean. "Well. A little."

"You can learn a lot about a person in ten years, Lisbon." They both contemplated the truth of his statement for a few moments as they dined.

"You want a bite?" he asked. "This is delicious."

"Sure," she accepted his offer, reaching over with her fork to take a sample.

"Um, tasty. Great peanut sauce."

'You're still a little disappointed that your room is a horse trailer." It was a statement rather than a question.

"No," she denied with a shake of her head. "It's just not what I expected, that's all." That didn't come out as convincingly as she'd hoped.

Jane sat back and took measure of her, as if he were deciding something. Then he put down his fork and leaned forward slightly, closing the space between them. "Sometimes while we were on the circuit, if we made a particularly good haul one night, my dad would stay out late playing poker. It was never a good idea for me to stay home on those nights, just in case he lost, so I would go over to Arlo's trailer and he would let me sleep there."

Jane dropped his gaze to his plate, and lowered the volume of his voice slightly. "Sometimes my dad would come looking for me, all liquored up and needing someone to blame for his bad luck. Arlo would let me hide in the stall underneath his big Belgian, Edgar." Jane's eyes rose, as if looking upward at something. "Belgians are huge horses, with feet as big as pie plates, but very gentle. Arlo never gave me up, but Dad still suspected I was there. He would start down the stalls, searching for me, but Edgar's size intimidated him and my father never came close enough to see me crouched down, hiding in the straw beside those big hooves.

Sometimes I even fell asleep there in the straw, but Edgar never stepped on me. Early the next morning Arlo would always fix me some eggs before he'd send me back, while my dad slept it off. "

Jane placed both of his palms onto the table and lifted his eyes to meet hers squarely. "The truth is, Teresa, you must have made me feel safe," he shrugged in conclusion. "So… you got the trailer…"

She drew in a breath at his admission, and impulsively reached to touch his hand.

"Jane."

Her touch elicited a small smile from him. "You see? It was a good room." His open, apologetic expression revealed a vulnerability she hadn't seen since he'd admitted his stint in the psych hospital to her. "From my point of view."

"It's perfect," she replied as tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you for that," she whispered.

"Lisbon, promise me something, will you?" he asked.

"What's that?"

"That you'll let me take you horseback riding sometime." He didn't say it, but she heard the rest of that sentence as surely as if he had voiced it. "If we come out of this alive."

"Sure, that'd be great," Lisbon nodded eagerly. She wondered if they'd ever get the chance.

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I lean over, peering out at the two of them on the terrace from my secluded booth inside the restaurant.

Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon. For such a smart woman, you have been played so easily. I've let you live so far because you are my ace in the hole against Patrick. And perhaps because I respect your work and I'm vaguely intrigued by that naïve, wholesome aura that you radiate. The perfect target for a charlatan like Jane.

I'd been wondering if he shared the list with you, but now I see that he has. The intimate body language is unmistakable. It will be fun to see just how badly you will handle our next meeting. I will act no differently, and that is sure to make you squirm. I look forward to it.

Not as much, however, as I look forward to our final meeting. I have a few more subjects to take care of before then, of course. I will use them to multiply Patrick's fear with every killing. By the time I'm through, he will quake with terror each morning, waiting to see just who else I've taken from him.

Then, when I sense he's about to crack, I will obtain both Patrick, my friend and nemesis, and you, his confidant, for my exquisite finale.

I can hardly wait to see his face as he watches me take you as my wife. After he begs me unsuccessfully for mercy, I'll give him my knife and let him take his own life as I watch. He will do my final bidding for me, as is my wish.

I breathe in deeply, savoring the thought. Soon, Patrick, soon. I signal for the waiter to bring my check, so that I may leave undetected.

I'll have to come back here, though. The food is excellent.