A/N: Hello! I had this crazy idea while writing Silver Quarantine. In that story I have them watch a movie, and this, (Thomas Crown Affair (1999)), was the one I had in mind. The art thief is the hero here, so the thought of Jane showing this particular movie to Pike really makes me laugh. And then I realized it would be a pretty great AU. So here it is! I hope you enjoy it! I'm still writing, but should be able to post 1-2 chapters a week. Since this story has an element of visual art, I have a twitter thread with some inspirations I found. You don't need an account to read it. nitro9_
Turns out writing fanfic and talking about The Mentalist is my happy place during these crazy times. I'm thankful for each and every one of you who are reading and creating and keeping this fandom alive! Shout out to my friends on discord!
Some dialog and situations have been taken from The Mentalist and The Thomas Crown Affair (both the original and remake). I do not own either one. Since this is AU, don't be surprised to see characters in new and unusual places. :o)
(I am also on ao3 if you prefer that reading format. Reviews are love!)
After all this time, he still didn't know how to not be a showman. With eyes on him, he slipped into that different version of himself. That self who didn't have any cares or concerns, apart from his sway on the audience. He knew how to perform.
"The human brain is built in layers— The homo sapien brain on top of the caveman on top of the animal. Way down, deep below, you will find the lizard brain. Lizard— all action and reaction, no subtlety. You cannot train it to not react." Patrick Jane stood facing a woman, their arms extended. He held her wrists loosely at shoulder level.
The crowd around them tittered and whispered to each other. There was something about the term lizard brain that always had this effect.
The woman in his grasp wore bright red lipstick and a sultry pout. Her dress left little to the imagination. His own smile was carefully detached, friendly. He studied her gaze and rotated her wrist, feeling the resistance against his pull. He led her backwards, then sideways, pausing as a cluster of people moved out of the way.
They were on a large patio. Behind them three wide glass doors opened into what could only be called a mansion. Elegant stone archways and carefully manicured grounds. Party-goers were clustered everywhere, watching the entertainment.
The strange dance continued as he mesmerized them with his voice. "You're telling me, right now, where the ring is. All the lizard brain knows is that something is hidden and you don't want it found. You can't hide your reaction." Another small group displaced, he didn't look away.
"Don't break his concentration," a man stated dramatically, startling some of the crowd out of his lull. The people around him laughed.
"Stay with me, I'm right here," Jane told his volunteer, the same smooth tone. "I hear you loud and clear. We're getting close." The woman he was guiding looked back at him and quirked into a smile. He paused and rotated her wrists again, stepped closer to the disruptive man. Her eyes flicked away. The man jumped away from them, went around to the other side.
"Am I out of your way now, Patrick?" he teased.
Jane released the woman's wrists and turned to him. "Would you stop hiding the ring in your pocket, Walter?"
"He complains when it's in my pocket, he complains when it's in someone's delightful décolletage," Walter Mashburn tilted his head and smiled innocently at the closest woman as the party guests laughed.
Patrick held out his hand and waited. Walter made a show of reluctantly pulling the ring from his inside suit pocket. He placed it delicately on Patrick's hand and claimed some of the bows as the audience clapped.
Patrick waved and thanked his volunteer, releasing her back to the party. He placed his wedding band firmly back on his finger.
A band started playing, horns accenting a loose jazz number.
"The night is young! Dance, mingle, yada yada." Walter waved widely and the guests dispersed into the space. He was pulled into a circle of partiers.
Patrick felt the shift as the attention faded and he became one of the crowd. He flexed his fingers and sidestepped away, over to the bar. He leaned in to be heard over the big band. "Your best whiskey, neat."
The bartender nodded in acknowledgment and Patrick turned to survey the grounds while he waited. Most of the party mingled on the patio and into the house, a smattering of folks walked the grounds. Space cleared for a dance floor in front of the band.
The bartender got his attention and he turned slightly to take his drink. Walter made a beeline towards him.
"That never gets old," he pointed with one finger extended from his glass and smiled wide.
"You used to call it a simple parlor trick."
"Did I?"
"You could put it anywhere," he stated, then emphasized, "Anywhere."
"I'm not the one who hid it." Walter winked at him. "One of these days I might not give it back."
Patrick shook his head before taking a long sip. The twinkle lights around the bar highlighted his golden curls as he tipped his head back. When he lowered his glass, Walter was shockingly close, his back to the bar and his arms spread out along it.
"I love our parties," he said happily.
"Thanks for hosting last minute. I have some very big acquisitions on the line this week."
"Yeah, yeah," Walter waved a hand at him, shushing him. He bent down and fluttered a wave towards the group of ladies he had walked away from, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He bumped against Patrick as he leaned into him. "I think she's the one," he whispered loudly.
Patrick set his nearly empty glass on the bar top and smoothed his vest. "What's different about her?"
"Different? They are each special, each and every one. Women are marvels, Patrick. You should dance."
"We'll see."
Walter turned to address him straight on. "I know, Patrick. I understand, I do. It's been… five years?"
He blinked hard. "Five, then five again."
"You still like women, don't you?"
Patrick hung his head briefly. This always came up when Walter had been drinking. "Yes. I like women just fine."
Walter pointed vaguely towards the group, turned to focus on his friend. His voice pitched high as he mocked, "'L.A.'s most eligible bachelor, billionaire pretty boy Patrick Jane.'"
"Jealous?" he chided, straightening his shirt cuffs.
"Damn straight. I help build you up, and you get the title. I'm more eligible than you," he pouted. "You gotta loosen up, change your standards. Lose the trust issues, or whatever this is."
"Trust?"
"I mean, sure they like money. Who doesn't? You got enough to share!"
"It's more complicated than that."
"Doesn't have to be."
Patrick absentmindedly found his wedding band, spun it on his finger. "A tricky thing, trust. Has to go both ways."
"Hold on, you saying women can't trust you?"
He lost focus, staring into the crowd. His voice came out hollow and distant. "I'm not sure I trust myself."
Walter laughed, bringing him back to himself. He smiled weakly in response. "That's enough thinking. Come dance." Two women were approaching them. One ran a slow hand along Walter's arm, pulling him into her, moving them towards the dance floor. He reached out to Patrick as he went, an invitation.
Patrick held himself back, picked up his drink. "I'll follow you in a minute," he promised lightly, appeasing his friend who immediately turned away and left him behind.
The other woman approached slowly. Her heels brought her to an equal height with him, she stood straight and confident, her mouth a subtle shade of red to match her dress. She stopped within his reach, but not too close. "He'll never understand, will he?" She had a slight accent. German.
He finished his drink, taking time to study her. "You think you do?"
"Walter says you have," she stopped to find the words, "'a tortured past.'"
"Walter says a lot of things."
"You need to shake things up, try something new."
He dipped his head at her boldness, suppressing a smile. "You're not wrong."
"Dance with me."
He hesitated.
"It will get Walter off your back."
He set down his glass and offered his arm. Time to perform again. "Then let's dance."
X
A pint of beer thumped on the table in front of her, spilling slightly. Teresa Lisbon nodded at the server and pulled the drink closer. Next to her Grace Van Pelt was already half way through her drink. She set it down and sighed. "That's good."
Grace's husband, Wayne Rigsby, looked like he wanted to comment, but held back. Lisbon smiled. "It's been awhile, huh?"
"I don't usually miss it. But Maddy's been teething lately, she's attached to me all day long. It feels really good to be out, and not for work."
They grinned at each other.
"How is the work?" Kimball Cho asked from her other side. He was sticking with water.
"Picking up," answered Rigsby. "We've been getting some good referrals. Between that and the kids, we're staying busy."
"Very busy."
Lisbon watched Grace wrinkle her nose and lean into her husband. They had no free time, but they were thriving. The job, their marriage, and a family. She tamped down the jealousy and drank one swallow of beer.
"Hey, boss. You making it down to L.A. anytime soon?"
She set the drink down and smiled before she turned to him. Cho saw everything, that's why he was her second. She wasn't going to call him out on it.
"Taking a half day on Friday," she announced.
"Oh, that's great!" Van Pelt exclaimed. "You and Marcus have big plans?"
"He's taking me somewhere straight from the airport. That's all I know."
"Aw, that's so sweet!" she leaned forward, then hissed. "Do you think he'll propose?"
Lisbon's smile froze into a grimace. "No?" She cringed at her squeaky voice.
"Grace, baby, you gotta try this salsa." Rigsby pulled her gently back by the shoulders, and put a chip in front of her. "She can't hold her liquor anymore," he mouthed.
Lisbon hid a laugh behind her hand and took another small sip. She turned back to Cho.
"How about you, Kimball? Dating anyone lately?"
"No," he deadpanned.
"Oh, come on," Wayne said. "What about —"
"Not going there," Cho stated.
"You started it," Lisbon reminded him.
"Yeah, I asked about L.A., not about your sex life."
Grace pointed a chip at him. "Asking boss about L.A. when her boyfriend lives there is not not asking about her sex life, Kimball."
Lisbon snorted, beer spraying on the table. All three of her friends were quick to offer napkins, Van Pelt mopped up the worst of it.
"Sorry, boss," Cho offered. She wasn't sure if he was talking about the way the conversation had gone, or the mess that had resulted.
She took another clean napkin from a stack and wiped her hands and mouth. "It's all right," she acknowledged.
They all sat awkwardly for a moment. Van Pelt smiled at them all, then nudged her husband as she spoke. "Well this is nice… being all together. This place hasn't changed a bit."
"We still miss you guys at the office," Lisbon exclaimed.
"We miss you, too," Rigsby said. "Sometimes I miss the job."
"I do not miss the dead bodies," Van Pelt blew some hair out of her face. "I have to deal with enough bodily fluids at home."
Rigsby held another chip in front of her and she eyed it suspiciously. "The new guys working out all right?" he asked.
"It's been three years," Cho stated.
"Okay, the not-so-new-guys," Rigsby amended.
"It's fine," Lisbon jumped in. "We're closing cases. We get along."
"Not the same," Cho added.
"I know, buddy," Rigsby said. They tapped their glasses and drank together.
"You're not going to make me ask to see pictures, are you," Lisbon demanded. "Your kids must be getting so big!" Both parents scrambled for their phones. Van Pelt got her screen in front of Lisbon and Rigsby settled for Cho.
The stoic agent mumbled, "Cute," with barely a glance, taking another sip of his drink. Rigsby put his phone away.
After a few minutes of smiling and nodding, Lisbon was done too. She was glad when the server reappeared with their food.
Conversation lulled again. Van Pelt bumped her shoulder into Rigsby with a goofy smile on her face. Rigsby swallowed and cleared his throat. "Right, I'll go first."
"First for what?" Lisbon questioned. Van Pelt was suddenly serious.
He fidgeted with his fork. "Five years ago," he started, then paused.
Lisbon went cold.
"Five years ago we laid to rest the worst serial killer case California has ever seen. It changed us, put us through hell. But we're still here, stronger than ever."
"We had each other's backs," Cho added.
"It helped me appreciate the little things — the everyday stuff of life," Van Pelt piped up. "When we took out Red John —"
"No," said Lisbon. Her hands were splayed on the table, she couldn't meet their eyes.
"Boss?"
Her eyes cut to Van Pelt's, anger simmering behind them. "It's just another damn day. I came to see my friends. There have been dozens of cases since then."
"It was a big deal," Rigsby said softly.
"Every case is a big deal," Lisbon reprimanded him.
"Not every case takes four years," Cho said.
"And we weren't the first ones to get it."
"It touched all of us, changed us."
"It brought us together."
"We were sloppy and we got lucky." She sucked in a staggering breath. "I'm thankful for you all, every day. That you picked up the pieces, stuck it out, kept going. I couldn't have asked for a better team."
"You're acting like we did something wrong," Van Pelt stepped in.
"Serial killers make for messy cases," Cho added.
"He killed over twenty people and we stopped him. I could wish a million things different, but I can't hold onto regrets. You have nothing to regret," said Rigsby.
Cho's phone rang and he pushed his chair away from the table to answer it.
"I was the special agent in charge," Lisbon managed to keep her voice low, but there was anger simmering there. "Everything fell to me. We should have solved it sooner."
"There were events out of our control."
"You're not still mad at Patrick Ja —"
"No." It wasn't an answer, it was an avoidance.
In the sudden silence, Cho spoke into his phone. "We're not on call, is there anyone else —"
"Is that a case?" Lisbon snapped.
"Yeah."
"Text me the address. I'll go." She slid her chair back and stood up.
"Boss."
"Teresa."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know I don't like to talk about it."
"Then we'll stop."
"You planned for this. 'Five years ago', my ass."
"You've been drinking."
"Barely. I'm fine." She pushed aside her mostly full glass. "It's the job. I'll do the job."
"It's good to talk about it, have you ever —"
"Don't." Her phone pinged with a text. She glanced at it. "Thanks, Cho."
"I could come with you."
"No," she sighed. "You should stay. I'll call Fischer if I have to."
"Hey. We good?"
She bit back on her teeth, closed her eyes, made herself relax. When she opened them again, her anger had faded. These were her friends, the good guys. "Every case is a big deal," she repeated. "We'll do this again sometime soon. Without the…" she dismissed the heated topic with a hand wave.
"Yeah. We'd like that," answered Van Pelt, a little subdued.
She knocked on the table in front of Cho. "Don't stay out too late. I might need you tomorrow."
"Yes, boss," Rigsby answered. Cho looked at him. "What?"