A/N: For the first time someone from the crew/cast of The Mentalist, Tim Kang, made it kind of official on Twitter yesterday that season 7 is definitely going to be the last one and that there'll most likely only be 13 episodes left to wrap everything up nicely. He also said that it'll be a fun season and that even Cho would smile once in a while… These bittersweet news/this confirmation – though not unexpected – made me sad. I'm not ready to let go of this show. I love it so much! And I hope that even after the last episode has aired at some point in 2015, our wonderful fandom will live on for a long time – for example in works of art like in fanfiction stories on this site… and that the friendships I've formed over the shared love for our favorite show with people from all around the world will survive! A big hug to all of you mentalistas and mentalistos!

Sorry if this sounded a lot like a goodbye…I guess, I'm a bit of a senti-mentalist today… ;-)


This Is Not A Drill – Twelve

The smell of fresh paint wafted through the bedroom in which a blond man, equipped with a paint roller and clad in a hideous orange coverall, was busy adding a coat of dark green paint to a wall. He was humming some jazzy music piece and was in a splendid mood if the big smile on his face was anything to go by. He had just immersed the roller in fresh paint and was holding it above the paint bucket to let it drain a bit when the door bell rang.

"It's open, honey," the man shouted, which was followed by the sound of the entrance door opening and closing and heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. "Either you've bought cement boots or this isn't you, Lisbon," the man added in a tone that only people who knew him very well would suspect of containing a hint of worry.

The face of the intruder appeared in the bedroom doorway. "It's me, Jane," he announced. "And I've brought beer."

"Oh, hi Cho. What brings you here? Sorry, I can't greet you properly. Give me a minute," Jane replied. He went over to the piece of wall he was currently working on and resumed his coating until the paint roller was empty again. Then he set it done and joined his guest who had taken a step into the bedroom.

"Lisbon's told me to tell you, she won't make it here tonight. It was nearly seven already when I left and they were just taking a break. The seminar is taking a lot longer than she'd thought," Cho explained and handed the blond man a bottle of beer. That he had stopped short at the sight of the very unusual outfit Jane was sporting had been barely noticeable.

"Ah, I half expected that," Jane said and took the offered bottle. "But it's a good thing that Abbott's sending her to all these training thingies. Shows that he values her and wants her to take over more responsibility now that Fischer's leaving." He cast the other man a challenging look.

Cho accepted the meaningful glance with a nod of stoic acknowledgment and invited Jane to clink bottles with him which the consultant did with gusto and a small smile. Then he eyed his guest intently and noted the jeans and old t-shirt he was wearing. "So, you gonna help me paint? Or do you only want the grand tour of the house, Cho?"

"Both," was the simple answer he got.

Jane pointed around them with the exaggerated gesture of an overzealous tour guide. "This – as you might have surmised all by yourself, fine detective that you are – is the master bedroom, in which things beyond your imagination are going to happen in a few short weeks time. They would certainly blow your mind," he announced smugly, eliciting a fleeting look of disgust and horror on Cho's face which the agent managed to mask quickly – probably in order to prevent the consultant from torturing him with further details. Not quickly enough for the mentalist however, who offered him his most shit-eating smirk in return. "Follow me, my friend…"


An hour later Kimball Cho had learnt more about home improvement (and Jane's and Lisbon's current and future domestic habits) than he'd ever wished to know. But he didn't mind too much. Watching the enthusiasm of the other man in light of building a home with the woman he so obviously loved, and adored, and wanted to take care off and spoil warmed the heart of the stoic agent – not that it was visible in his demeanor to anyone but Jane…

"Nice place," was Cho's final verdict and Jane's beaming smile confirmed that he'd gotten all the many hidden layers of meaning behind those two simple words.

They went back into the master bedroom. Jane informed Cho about the color scheme he and Lisbon had chosen for the room together and then the two men continued with the painting.

"How are the preparations for your undercover job coming along?" Cho inquired after a while of them working side by side in companionable silence. "I haven't really been involved much so far."

"Good, I think. I've suggested a special program to be tailor-made for the group of second-chancers allowing us to read part-time. And which will introduce us to several of the subjects offered by the College Of Liberal Arts. Thus we'll be able to gain some basic knowledge of the most important methods and theories and I'll be able to get access to as many of the staff as possible," Jane explained.

"I've picked out a variety of courses I deem suitable and I'm currently working on some kind of framework for examination regulations and such, based on what the college usually offers. My ultimate plan is to create something that the other participants can continue with after my undercover work is done. To give them a real chance to get a college diploma. Dennis is in contact with the education authorities to get the program approved. The big guns in DC are helping with that. And the state politicians in Austin have taken quite an interest in the whole matter. Good PR apparently," Jane elaborated on the subject with some obvious pride.

"I already pity your professors," Cho stated. "But it's a good thing, you're doing there."

Jane grinned. "It'll be fun, I'm sure. Might even learn something new. Who knows…"

Cho snorted.


They continued to work for a while until Cho's phone rang. Jane could tell from his friend's reaction that it was a call from the FBI. And sure enough his first words after finishing was, "We're up. Homicide here in Austin. The deputy mayor has been killed in his home."

Jane looked down at himself and took in the small, dark green and white stains of paint covering his naked arms and he surmised that his face showed a similar design. "Well, shit. Probably no time to get back to the Airstream for a shower then. As you know – bathrooms here aren't finished yet. But we have running water in the kitchen at least."

"I just hope, you're wearing something underneath that coverall," Cho replied dryly.

"Do boxer shorts count?" Jane asked with a grin at the amused face of his normally stoic friend. "Don't worry. I have a change of clothes in my bag by the entrance door. I'll go and change and try to get the worst off my arms and face in the kitchen. You look alright by the way – well, if you like abstract green patterns on black t-shirts, that is…"

"Okay. Make it quick and I'll wait. Guess, you need a ride," the Asian agent said.


Seven minutes later they left. Cho had raised his brows when Jane had re-appeared clad in jeans and a green t-shirt but he hadn't commented on this second unusually sight of the evening.

The site of the crime was only a quick drive away, so another fifteen minutes later they reached their destination. Agents Abbott, Fischer, and Wylie had arrived shortly before them, Lisbon was nowhere to be seen. She was probably still caught up at that seminar, Jane concluded.

"The victim is deputy mayor William Richardson, 57. Found dead by the family butler who called 911 about eighty minutes ago. Preliminary COD is blunt force trauma to the back of his head. Probable murder weapon is a bronze statue of the Norse trickster god Loki. It was found next to the body with traces of blood on the bottom. Approximate TOD between two to three hours ago," Agent Abbott summarized the facts for them when they'd entered the place where the murder had happened.

"No signs of forced entry but then again according to the family butler they obviously only really lock up during the night which seems a bit odd considering the objects of value in this place. Oh, and said butler was out running some errands for his master at the time the murder happened," he added. "The victim was married to Charlene Richardson, 55. No children. Family has been living in Austin for several generations. Old money. The mayor called me personally. Wants this solved ASAP."

After finishing his summary, the supervising agent eyed the two last arrivals of his team with a bit of amusement despite the direness of the situation. His consultant wore a clean but for him very odd outfit and his hair showed dark green highlights, while the agent wore jeans and a black t-shirt with splashes in the same color. "I'm sure, there's a perfectly good explanation for your unusual attires, Jane, Cho? It's not really appropriate but considering the late hour… Let's get to work."


After taking a look around at the crime scene which was located in the vast sitting room of the mansion and was crawling with forensics, Jane, Abbott, and Cho proceeded to the library, which was even bigger, to talk to the victim's wife and the family butler, a James Thompson.

Everything screamed wealth and power though Jane was pretty sure that quite a few of the pieces of art decorating the walls weren't originals. His keen eyes had also noticed that a lot of the details in the mansion only looked grand at first sight but were timeworn and poorly preserved, such as the antique, plush sofas and armchairs and other furnishings. And also the opulent brocade draperies had seen better days, as well as the once magnificent wooden flooring which was in dire need of a sanding down. Care products had been used to cover the worst of it and someone who didn't take a close enough look probably wouldn't see it. But Jane of course did.

Servant and landlady shared one of the plush sofas that were evenly spread around the library in convenient places for reading. After introductions had been made, Jane was walking around the room, watching the widow and the butler intently out of the corner of his eyes and making note of several important little clues in his memory palace, while Abbott and Cho asked their usual routine questions. The wife had come back home after the butler had informed her of her husband's death. She'd been with friends in the neighborhood. Cho made her write down their names and addresses on his pad so they could check her alibi later and Jane, who stood right behind her at the time, noted with a short raise of his brows that it turned out to be only one name and a male one. It confirmed one of his theories.

When there was a small pause in the questioning, Jane chimed in, "So how long have you been struggling with financial problems, Mrs. Richardson?"

The widow, a dignified, dyed blonde lady wearing an elegant, but not quite up-to-date designer dress in shades of blue, looked up at him and examined him thoroughly. She was good at keeping a straight face, Jane noted, but the little glimmer of anger in her eyes still gave her away. Talking about money was not something she thought appropriate and least of all with a stranger who was so obviously beneath her. "I don't know what you're talking about Mr…? What was your name again?" she inquired derisively, looking down her nose.

"Jane, Patrick Jane, ma'am. Oh, and I know, what you're thinking. Something like 'What business does this unkempt, lowly law enforcement officer think he has with my family's financial affairs.' But I want to remind you that first looks can be quite deceiving, Mrs. Richardson. You would know all about that, of course," Jane replied with a smug little smile, pointing at the décor around them. "This mansion hasn't seen any renovations in a while, has it? And neither have you," he added merrily.

"How dare you?" the victim's spouse asked coldly. "I just lost my husband. You're out of line, agent Jane."

Abbott cast his consultant a warning glance. "I'm not an agent, just cop adjacent. And I'm sorry for your loss. My main concern, however, is to find out who killed your husband. I'm afraid, questions about your personal life are an unavoidable part of the investigation," was Jane's relatively polite reply that got him a nod of approval from his boss. After a small pause Jane went on, "So, back to the matter at hand: money problems for how long?"

"Mr. Jane, this property has been in the Richardson family for nearly 150 years. It's difficult to maintain a mansion like this these days. But we were planning some major renovations for the upcoming anniversary in two years," the widow responded evenly.

Jane nodded and smiled. "A very diplomatic answer. You seem very proud of your husband's family which leads me to believe that it's yours too. He was something like your second cousin maybe?"

"Very astute, Mr. Jane. I'm the daughter of William's granduncle," she stated haughtily.

"Mhm, as I thought," Jane muttered, confirming another one of his theories. He'd noticed some similarities in the facial structures of Mr. and Mrs. Richardson on a picture of the couple, which had been on display on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. "So more a marriage of convenience than of love, I suppose? Keep it in the family?"

Charlene Richardson looked at him with barely masked irritation. "Love is seriously overrated. Our marriage was a good one, Mr. Jane."

"Well, that's debatable. Going by his expression, your butler here, Mr. Thompson, seems to disagree with you. Not sure yet with which part though," Jane answered thoughtfully.


Before the consultant could continue the verbal sparring match with the victim's wife, Wylie entered the room and waved the three FBI detectives over to him. They joined him out of hearing range from the butler and the widow. "Sir? I've got some preliminary information about Richardson's financials," the young computer specialist announced.

"Out with it, agent," Abbott requested.

Looking at the tablet in his hands, Wylie gave them the main facts, "Essentially, the family is completely bankrupt. They used to be well off. Old money. But William Richardson made some very bad investments a few years ago – mainly during the new economy hype. The crash cost him dearly. From what I could find out at such a short notice, he's tried to save himself lately by making some high risk investments. Unfortunately for him that didn't pay off and he's lost the rest of the family fortune. Looks like he got that information very recently, maybe a couple of days ago. Apart from his regular income from his work as deputy mayor, he's nothing to support himself."

"Interesting," Jane said, a knowing smile on his face.

"Good work. Thanks, agent. Find out whether the wife has any income or fortune of her own." Abbott motioned for the young man to leave and get on with his research.

The three agents stepped back to the two other occupants of the library. Jane turned his attention to the butler. "So, Mr. Thompson, how long have you been serving this family?"

"I've had that honor for the last 29 years," the man, wearing the traditional uniform of a man-servant, replied proudly. He had grey hair, a wiry build, and was in his early fifties.

"Interesting," Jane repeated to himself. "Oh, and what did you say you were doing while your boss was battered to death?"

With visible indignation at the accusation of neglecting his duty to protect his master that was hidden in the question, Thompson stated, "I was fetching Mr. Richardson's suits at the cleaner's. Upon my return I found Mr. Richardson already dead on the floor."

"Wasn't it a tad late for a visit to the cleaner's?" Jane inquired.

"The Richardsons have been regular clients of Porter's Prim and Proper for over five decades, Mr. Jane. Some allowances are being made for the old families. I had a busy day and couldn't make it there earlier," Thompson explained snootily.

"Fair enough," Jane said merrily. "And where would we find Porter's Prim and Proper? Rather conveniently located, I presume?"

Puffing out his chest, the butler replied, "It's always been the Richardson family's habit to support local businesses."

"Aha." Jane stood in deep contemplation for a few minutes, tapping his lower lip with his pointer finger.


The silence obviously made the butler and the victim's spouse nervous, but both Abbott and Cho agreed with a nod of mutual understanding not to interrupt their consultant. He was obviously on to something.

Then finally a sunny smile spread all over Jane's face and he grinned. "Eureka," he exclaimed cheerily. "I know who the killer is. Well, I suspected it right away but now I'm sure and I also know why. Had to figure out whether the motive was the wife's infidelity or the financial situation or – as it turns out – both."

The butler and the widow gasped in surprise and shock while Jane rubbed his hands together with glee and glanced at his two colleagues, hoping for some acclaim. Abbott looked at him with slight amusement but also with challenge in his eyes. Cho just looked.

Jane shrugged and then his grin grew even wider. "Working in law enforcement does have its merits after all. Gotta love a good cliché. And who would've thought that I would get a second chance to say this? I'm so blessed, really." He paused and then all of a sudden and scaring the wits out of everybody around him, he started to bounce up and down on his toes in excitement and pointed and shouted, "The butler! It was the butler! The butler did it! Arrest him, arrest him!"


Screams of outrage and indignation followed, both Thompson and Mrs. Richardson had jumped to their feet and were gesticulating wildly, threatening the FBI, Jane, and Abbott with dire repercussions for the wrongful accusations, and demanded for Jane to be removed from the premises of the Richardson family immediately.

Cho and Abbott did their best to de-escalate the situation while Jane stood a little to the side and grinned. The pandemonium was just calming down a bit when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and a warm smile spread all over his face. "Hi Lisbon," he greeted his partner.

"Where the hell are you, Jane? I've been to the house on my way home to see whether you were still there painting and might need a ride back but everything was dark. And now I'm home and you're not here either. Are you still with Cho?" Lisbon inquired. "I haven't seen you all day. I miss you," she added gently.

"I miss you too, Teresa," he replied just as gently. "I'm just out with Dennis and the gang, catching a killer."

"We have a case?" Lisbon asked. "Do I need to come? Is Agent Abbott with you? Ask him if he needs me."

"Well, technically speaking, the killer's already kind of caught, so we won't be needing you. Believe it or not: it was the butler, Lisbon. The butler. Hilarious, isn't it? Now I only have to make him confess. Easy-peasy. Won't take long. I'll be home soon," he explained merrily, while the noise level around him increased dramatically again.

"Jane? Did you do anything stupid? Sounds like you've caused trouble already," Lisbon scolded him.

He chuckled. "Ah, don't worry, my dear. Everything is under control. Trust me. But I need to close this thing now so I can come home to you. I'll call you later. Bye, honey." Not waiting for her reply he hung up the phone and looked up at the chaos he'd produced…


All eyes were on Jane when he'd finished his call. "What?" he asked innocently. "Just had to tell my wonderful girlfriend that I'll be home soon. You won't be needing Lisbon here, Dennis, will you?" Not giving his boss a chance to reply he went on, "No? Excellent. Now back to the case at hand," he said cheerily. "If you want to do us all a favor, Mr. Thompson, just confess and have this whole mess over with."

"I didn't do it," the butler protested.

"Did too," Jane retorted and shrugged. "And I actually kind of sympathize with you a bit." He looked at the other man with an understanding expression. "But you did such sloppy work." He pulled a dismayed face. "I mean, I'm sure, you tried to fix some of it before you called 911, but, alas…" He sighed theatrically and shook his head in mock resignation. "Why not make things easier for everybody – yourself included – and just tell us the truth. Might help you in the long run. DAs usually like that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure, forensics will find enough evidence to convict you in any case, so…? What's it gonna be?"

Thompson eyed the consultant warily. "I didn't do it. Why would I? These are ridiculous accusations. The Richardson family has been nothing but good to me."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Jane replied cheerfully. "Especially Mrs. Richardson here has been extra good to you, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thompson inquired angrily.

Jane swayed his head a bit, raised his brows, and hemmed and hawed a little, mocking hesitance. "Do you really want me to spell it out?" he finally asked.

"What? Spell out what? What are you talking about?" The butler looked furious.

With a saucy grin Jane bent a little in his direction and winked, then he said in a low voice, "About you, sir, offering special services to our dear Mrs. Richardson. Special room service. Or make that bedroom service."

The widow gasped. "Mr. Jane, that's outrageous!"

Jane nodded his agreement. "Yes, you could probably say that. But don't worry, I won't judge you, ma'am. A loveless marriage can't be any fun. Got to get it somewhere else."

The consultant addressed Thompson again, ignoring the sounds of protest from Mrs. Richardson. "So, how do you want to play it? I mean, I can help things along, if you want. I'll just tell the sorry story and you can chime in whenever you want, James. May I call you James? Is that really your true name? Hilarious, really. Butler James." Jane snickered. "Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. Let me tell the sordid tale and feel free to correct me, should I be wrong at any point. Not very likely but who knows…" He grinned smugly.

"Jane…!?" Abbott warned him.

"Don't worry, Dennis. I know, what I'm doing. It's all so glaringly obvious. William Richardson called his butler into the sitting room approximately three hours ago to inform him of his imminent dismissal. After nearly 30 years of loyal services. Unfortunately, butlers are a dying species and considering that our dear James here is already in his fifties, he would have had a hard time finding a new position in his only area of expertise. Richardson knew that of course and expressed his sincere dismay but he had no choice. He'd just gambled away the last of the family fortune and couldn't afford a servant any longer. How am I doing so far?"

Thompson was white as a sheet and stared at Jane in open-mouthed shock. It took Abbott and Cho only one short glance at the distraught man to know that their consultant had hit bull's eye.

"No protests?" Jane asked, letting his gaze wander from one occupant of the room to the next, obviously looking for approval, which he seemed to find in the eyes of his two colleagues. "On we go," Jane announced cheerily. "Thompson tried to argue with his boss, told him that his wife wouldn't stand for this and to reconsider. But Mr. Richardson was adamant. Told him that his wife had no say in the matter anyway. And he might've even implied that he knew about the little hanky-pankying going on between servant and mistress and that that was over in any case."

Thompson had sunken down into an armchair – a pitiful figure, slumped shoulders, defeated look, all life seemed to have left him. Mrs. Richardson sat in open-mouthed shock but was trying her best to conceal it, a deep red blush indicating her indignation at the thought of her private affairs being the subject of such public discussion.

Completely unperturbed Jane continued, "James here couldn't allow that because he's in love with you, Mrs. Richardson, and the thought of being separated from his lover was unbearable for him. He told his boss that his beloved Charlene would never let that happen in any case because they loved each other."

The consultant cast Thompson a look of commiseration. "I presume that Mr. Richardson had a good laugh at that. He knew better. He knew very well that his wife just used men to get the sexual thrill and satisfaction their arranged marriage didn't offer. I'm pretty sure that you," Jane cast the widow a pointed look, "you wouldn't know love even if it bit you in your… well, your behind."

Mrs. Richardson looked scandalized but didn't protest in the least, Thompson scraped together the last of his resolve and made an attempt to defend the honor of his mistress. Jane just chuckled. "Oh, James," he said sadly, shaking his head at the idiocy of the other man. "Do you really think, Charlene is in love with you? A mere butler? Tsktsk."

"She loves me, of course she does! Tell them, Charlene, tell them! We've been lovers for years and with… with that impotent loser gone, we can finally be together for real. Right, love? Right? Doesn't mean that I killed him though," he hurried to add.

Mrs. Richardson sat with her face buried in her hands, shaking her head.

Jane squinched up his face into an expression of pity. "Oh James," he repeated again in the same patronizing tone as before. "Who do you think Mrs. Richardson was with while you smashed her husband's head?"

He made a dramatic pause. "She was with one of her other paramours of course. A certain Jean-Claude La Farge. Frenchmen, heh? They do make the best lovers, non?" Jane addressed the widow with a sly grin.

"No, no," Thompson whimpered. "That's not true. Charlene, tell them that it's not true. You love me, I know it."

"Of course not," Mrs. Richardson spat out in great indignation. "Love you? A mere domestic? Oh, please! That's ridiculous. You were a nice distraction at times. Love…" She snorted. "What idiocy! Now, Thompson," she continued in a cold voice, "What's this about you murdering my husband? Look at me, you little worm. Look at me and tell me outright: did you kill William? Did you kill my husband, you moron? The last heir of the great Richardson family? Tell me!" she demanded.

"Yes, he did," Jane chimed in. "He tried to defend your undying love, Mrs. Richardson. But Mr. Richardson wouldn't have any of it. Just turned his back on him and told him to leave. So dear James grabbed the nearest weapon – which happened to be a statue of a trickster – how fitting by the way. And BAM! Then he went to the cleaner's to get himself an alibi. After his return he called the police to further avert suspicion. Didn't fool me for a second of course. Guilt all over his face."

"But I did it for you! For us, Charlene, darling. For our future. He wanted to send me away. Please, you know, you love me. Deep down, you do. I'm sure. Everything will be alright. Our love is strong enough to handle this, right? Tell me that you love me, please," Thompson pleaded while Cho had followed Abbott's nodded order and stepped over to the distraught butler, handcuffs at the ready.

"Stand up, hands behind your back, Mr. Thompson. You're under arrest for the murder of William Richardson…" The agent proceeded to tell him his Miranda rights.

Jane stood by, smug expression on his face, rocking back and forth on his feet. "That was woefully easy… Now Dennis, I think, my work is done here. I trust, you can handle the rest on your own?" he asked with a wink while he stepped over to the other man.

The supervising agent shook his head in a mixture of amusement and resignation. "Go home to your girlfriend, Patrick. I don't want to see you again until after lunch tomorrow. Lisbon too. And now: shoo…" He motioned for Jane to leave.

"I need your car, Dennis. Can I have your keys, please?" Jane asked perkily, holding out his hand. "Cho was my ride here. I'm stranded."

Abbott cast him a withering look. "Call a cab, hitch a hike, walk for all I care, but get out of my sight now, Jane!"

The consultant shrugged. "And here I wanted to be polite... Well, it was worth a try." He held up a set of car keys with a self-satisfied grin. "I happen to have them already but I thought it would be the civilized thing to ask. See you tomorrow, Dennis."

With that he turned on his heals and started to run. Abbott cursed but obviously deemed it a lost cause and just let his most annoying employee leave. "Bring it back in one piece tomorrow, Jane," he shouted after him. "Or you won't like the consequences."

"Duly noted," Jane shouted back, his voice echoing from the walls of the vast entrance hall of the huge mansion for a long moment after the consultant had already left.


Even three weeks into their relationship, Lisbon and Jane could still not get enough of each other and despite the cramped space they were sharing they hadn't tired of the other's closeness at all. Quite the opposite, really. After a day of separation with Lisbon attending an all-day leadership seminar for FBI agents and Jane doing some work at the office and leaving in the afternoon to continue with some renovations at their house – which they planned to move into in a few weeks – both were missing the other fiercely.

Jane had called his partner from Dennis's car, notifying her of his impending return. And thus the moment he'd opened the door of the Airstream, he had his arms full of green-eyed, brown-haired, excited female happiness. With practiced ease their mouths found each other and sighs of contentment at being where they belonged filled the inside of their trailer home. After a long, thorough kiss and a tight embrace, they separated enough to look into each other's eyes. Lisbon snickered. "Your hair, Jane! It's dotted green all over! Did you work a case looking like that? I bet, agent Abbott liked that."

"Ah, yes. I need a shower. It's high time that the bathrooms are finally being finished at the house. But Dennis had no reason to complain. He called us after 9 pm after all. Can't expect us to look like professionals 24/7," Jane said with a grin, pecking her on the nose.

"Not to burst your bubble, Jane, but you nearly never look like a professional, let alone act like one," she teased him with a cocky smile.

He squeezed her butt with an even bigger grin. "No bubbles to burst, my dear. I don't aim to be professional. How boring would that be?"

"Which reminds me: how much of a mess did you cause tonight? Usually they are exponentially bigger, the quicker you close a case," she inquired, trying to appear stern while biting her upper lip in an attempt to stop her amusement to become too prominent on her face.

He freed her abused lip, sucking it in between his own and caressing it with the tip of his tongue. "No mess at all," he mumbled afterwards. "Not much of one, anyway. And since the victim was the deputy mayor of Austin and the mayor wanted it solved ASAP – I'd say, no one has any reason to complain. Oh, and by the way: we both have the morning off tomorrow."

"You can tell me all about it after your shower. I'll make you some tea," Lisbon said while playing with an extra green curl on his brow.

"Wouldn't you rather we added a few more reasons for me to shower first?" he whispered into her ear in a seductive tone.

She pretended to ponder the question carefully but Jane took that as a yes. She squeaked when she was suddenly lifted off her feet and put on top of the table. She found herself sitting on the edge of it. He stepped between her legs and held her face gently with the palms of his hands. He smiled at her, love-struck but also longingly and she returned his look. "I love you, Teresa," he said quietly. "And I missed you."

"I love you too, Patrick," she replied just as warmly.


They made quick work of their clothes and were both naked in no time. Lisbon wrapped her legs around Jane's hips and pulled him close. They kissed hungrily, hands touching, caressing, and squeezing whatever part of naked skin they could reach. "God, your so beautiful, Teresa! I can't get enough of you. Want you more every day," Jane moaned.

Lisbon just pulled him even closer in answer. She felt his achingly hard erection pressed between them and she was dripping wet herself. With a sigh she released her hold on him a little and took him into her fists. He groaned. She stroked him up and down a few times, watching with avid attention how he cast back his head in aroused pleasure. He looked majestic, gorgeous, absolutely stunning and she couldn't wait a second longer to be united with him. In a determined move she aligned his shaft with her core. The increased pressure of her legs around his hips made him sink into her. Both cried out.

She lowered the hold her legs had on him and he started to push into her in easy strokes. They kissed, battling with their tongues but neither fought for real dominance. Their arousal grew with each thrust until the lazy pace wasn't enough anymore. Gently he pushed her back down on the table. He took her legs and raised them up so her feet came to rest on his shoulders and started to pound into her for real, drops of sweat forming on his forehead, drops that - unseen by the two lovers - had a light green tinge to them.

When he felt his orgasm approaching, he manouvered one of his hands in between them and stimulated her clit with feather light touches in time with his strokes. She exploded around him in the matter of seconds, pulling him over the edge with her, both shouting the other's name in pure bliss.


Jane had his eyes still closed, trying to regain his breath after the powerful release when the sweetest little giggle brought him out of his stupor. "You've green stripes on your face, Jane. You look like an alien. A very cute, sexy alien."

He opened his eyes and looked into the grinning face of his beloved. Then he lowered his gaze a little and giggled as well. "You're one to talk! Your tits are polka-dotted, Lisbon."

"Guess, we both need that shower now. Just too bad, the one here's so tiny…," Lisbon replied with a cheeky smile.

Gently he helped her up from the table. "You can go first if you want, love," Jane offered.

She shook her head and couldn't repress another snicker. "Believe me – you need it more than me, Patrick. You have no idea what you look like right now."

"Like our bedroom wall perhaps?" Jane asked with a grin.

"I sincerely hope not," she replied with another snicker. Then she pulled herself together. "Go, shower, Jane," she ordered.

He looked at her hungrily. "Ah, I love bossy Lisbon. Makes me so hot."

"Go, shower. Now, mister!" she ordered again and gave him a resounding spank on his butt.

"Woohooo." He grinned naughtily and entered the little bathroom. "Now I'll have to make it a cold one…" he shouted from inside.


It was well after midnight already by the time they were both freshly showered and cuddling on the sofa with a cup of herbal tea each. Considering that they could sleep in the next morning, they'd decided to delay retiring for the night a while longer.

"So how was your day?" he inquired, his left hand busy playing with her still slightly damp hair.

"Boring for the most part," she answered with a sigh. "I've done workshops like that many times before at the CBI. Hardly anything new. But I guess, I have to endure it if I ever want a chance at a higher position inside the FBI. Didn't have to go to Quantico after all."

"But they made you do a trust fall at least, I hope?" Jane asked with a wink.

She shook her head. "Nope. No trust fall."

"No trust fall? Tsk." He sighed theatrically. "What do they teach you kids these days…? Everybody knows that a trust fall is the absolute leadership 101. I mean, just look at us, Lisbon. All it took was one measly trust fall and here we are… blissfully happy and bursting with trust."

"Yeah, as easy as pie," Lisbon replied dryly. "Maybe they should let you teach those seminars."

He grinned. "What a splendid idea, my dear! The FBI would become such a warm and cuddly place under my tutelage. The criminals would come to us and confess of their own free will, just to be a part of all that beatific happiness for a little while." Lisbon couldn't help but giggle.

Mocking the inflection of a psychologist Jane lectured, "Aren't most crimes nothing but a silent cry for love, Lisbon? Those unfortunate perps are simply in dire need a of a bit of TLC." And with a self-important expression he added, "I would hold seminars like 'A Group Hug For The Mob Boss' or 'Snuggling With Sociopaths'. Would do wonders."

Lisbon was snorting with laughter by now. "'Snuggling With Sociopaths'? Seriously, Jane?"

"Hey, you're actually just doing that," he replied cheerfully and pulled her even closer.

She snickered. "But you are my very own sociopath and a very domesticated one at that," she added a bit more seriously and pecked him on the cheek.

"Must be all the snuggling," he chimed in, making her snort again.

Then she paused a moment and looked up at him. "Now tell me about your day, Patrick."

"Oh, it was relatively boring too," he stated.

She raised her brows. "But you just got to solve a case," she countered.

"Meh. It was too easy. Totally artless. I knew who the killer was two minutes into the investigation. The rest was just dull details – you know how it is," he explained smugly. "Entirely beneath someone of my abilities."

"Geez! You're such an arrogant brat, Jane," she scolded him lightly.

He shrugged. "Can't help it if I'm brilliant, my dear."

Lisbon pretended to free herself from his embrace. "I suddenly feel really claustrophobic. I'm not sure, there's enough room left for me next to that outsized ego of yours."

"Oh, don't worry," he replied cheerfully. "I'll always make room for you, Teresa. It's not like you're that big anyway."

She glared at him. "I can still whip your ass in line any time, Jane. Never forget that."

He smiled his most doting smile at her, melting away her slight irritation immediately. "Oh, yes, you can. How could I ever forget that, my love? I'm counting on it," he said sweetly.

They kissed passionately and almost caused a mess with their tea but when the first splash of hot liquid landed on his naked thigh, Jane released a girly squeak that brought them back to reality. They both grinned at each other and snuggled even tighter together.

"Our house and especially our bedroom will be so wonderful, Lisbon. The color looks even better on the walls than on me and that's saying something. I mean, I was a work of art earlier, wasn't I?" Jane declared.

Lisbon just snickered and nuzzled his neck. "God, I love you, you idiot," she mumbled against his skin, the tickling sensation it evoked made him shudder with delight – just as her words did.

"I love you too, Teresa. And we're gonna move into our very own house soon and it'll be so great! I still can't believe it sometimes. I'm so happy. Never thought, I could ever be that happy again. Thank you. Thank you so much for making me happy," he rambled.

"I've never been that happy before, Patrick. Never thought, it could be like this. So, thank you for that too," she whispered and caressed his cheek.

He bent his head so his mouth was just above her ear. "You wanna go to bed and add getting lucky to being happy?" he breathed seductively.

"Lead the way, hotshot," she replied eagerly.


TBC

Your feedback and comments are always welcome and much, much appreciated!

PS: Against all odds we just won the voting for the Fall Fan Awards on the CBS site ("The new season's most anticipated moments") , electing Jane and Lisbon (Jisbon) as the winners in the category "Can't wait for more sizzling chemistry"! I've been voting like crazy for days and I know that many of you did too. So this chapter is dedicated to all of you who helped winning this thing! The Mentalist fandom seriously rocks! Well done, everybody!