I thought I would never post again, but I can't let The Mentalist go, so I thought maybe I should give it one more go because I don't want the fandom here to die.

This scene from the end of The Copper Bullet has always bothered me. It might have changed those awful moments at the end of Nothing Gold Can Stay if only they had talked properly that night, listening instead of just repeating. I know how I want this story to end, obviously I do, but these two characters are being so damned awkward I'm not sure how we'll get there. I do know it diverges from canon and will have a happy ending. Any plot suggestions along the way would be most welcome.

Thank you.


Patrick Jane adored dancing. Teresa Lisbon knew this from experience.

In all the years she'd known him they'd only danced together twice, although she fondly remembered the multiple occasions she'd caught glimpses of him whirling, twirling and tapping his toes. He'd dance in inappropriate places or at inappropriate times for no other reason than to amuse. Sometimes it was a show, like that time he danced past her office door just to make her smile; but mostly he just loved a little soft shoe shuffle. Dancing was one of the little things that helped him through the days.

On that particular night getting Jane to dance hadn't been so easy. It was no surprise really, Lisbon thought, after her clumsily handled attempt to resolve the issue of her job. It hadn't gone well. The timing was shocking, diving into a serious chat at a celebration. And when that became apparent and when the platitudes had been trotted out and tentatively accepted, when she'd given up and he'd given in, she'd actually had to almost drag him out of his seat and onto the dance floor. He wasn't in the mood for jollity, but after some negotiation he'd caved and ventured into the noisy mass of moving bodies with a weak but willing smile. In fact he'd promised her two dances and joked about it.

For the first few minutes, minutes that seemed to way too long, she'd been unable to shake the image that still lingered under his smile … the imprinted image of distress on his face … "I just don't want to lose you" … so haunting that it erased the desperate words that followed … 'I don't know how I would react.'

In fact she'd barely even heard those last words. Or at least, never registered what they might mean.

So they'd danced under the moonlight, embraced by a canopy of twinkling fairy lights and energised by the music of a popular local band. Nothing sophisticated. Just a bit of joyous fun. They'd danced to celebrate Kimball Cho's promotion and the moving on to better things of Dennis Abbot and his wife.

And, because Patrick Jane loved her and loved to dance, those two promised dances turned into three a.m.

Once she'd got him lost in the music, once she'd felt his body relax into the rhythm, he laughed and spun her in his arms as if he hadn't a care in the world. And she'd hoped. She'd watched the happiness shining in his face, marvelled at the lightness in his step as he steered her expertly around the crowded floor in the fast dances. And she'd felt so, so safe when he held her head gently to his shoulder in the slow ones.

For those few hours he'd truly seemed happy again, so she'd hoped that he had danced away his fear, hoped that he would still be happy tomorrow and the day after, the day after that and all the days thereafter.

Was it only wishful thinking, she wondered as she watched him dutifully saying his goodbyes from the edge of the dance floor.

He seemed fine, but would he be able to keep the promise made only hours before, to focus on 'what's going on right now' because 'right here it's good … it's very, very good'.

There'd been resignation in the softness of his words, no weight behind his commitment when he'd agreed quietly.

It hadn't been a promise. He'd sighed the words out on a heavy breath, like he was giving up.

"Yeah ... okay."

But in the end he'd still danced and smiled like everything was fine.

So maybe there was hope.

But would hope be dashed by the harsh light of day.

They'd had a bit to drink that night, which she thought was probably a good thing; Jane wasn't a big drinker, but at least he was a happy drunk rather than a maudlin one. She was definitely more sober than he, so after the party they went back to her place, which was closer, and more comfortable. Jane seemed lighter of spirit than he'd been in weeks and she kidded herself it wasn't just the drink. They giggled and kissed in the back seat of the cab like a couple of teenagers and tumbled into bed just as the first hints of dawn were beginning to glow in a rose tinted silvery line between earth and sky. They fell asleep holding hands, but they didn't talk.

She woke late to a chilly space where Jane should have been and found him sitting statue like at the kitchen table, staring into an empty cup. They had breakfast on autopilot, in virtual but not uncomfortable silence. Jane made strong coffee for her and more cups of tea for himself, while she rustled up some toast to settle their post party stomachs. They went about their morning routines without much mention of the night before and drove to work in Lisbon's car like it was any normal day with no case to get their teeth into.

An almost empty office greeted them when they trailed in together, Lisbon leading and a subdued Jane following behind, late but well before mid morning.

"See Lisbon. I told you not to worry about being late," Jane commented quietly. "We've got the place to ourselves."

"Cho's in."

"Cho doesn't count."

Their new boss looked up from a desk occupied by little more than a computer, his office landline phone and some odd souvenirs of his past. His bland features warmed at the sight of his two old friends. He wasn't surprised to see them. Concessions had been made in deference to the very late night and most had taken advantage of the opportunity, but Lisbon was a conscientious woman and, where she went, these days Jane felt compelled to follow. He watched as they both settled wordlessly into their respective places, Jane arranged in an elegant slump on his couch, and Lisbon neatly at her desk.

Something was off. Cho put it down to drink, though he knew it wasn't that, and left them to it.

Thankfully it was a quiet morning: no violent incidents calling them to action, no evil, uncooperative villains to interrogate or hypnotise and no sobbing victims to comfort. They all found things to occupy themselves. Cho got acclimatised to being boss. After a cup of tea Jane spent his time reviewing some statements on a stubborn case that was driving his pride to distraction. There was something he'd missed … and that couldn't be possible. Lisbon updated her notes on their previous case. And the elephant in the room hid behind a screen in the corner.

They got on with their day. And from his office Cho observed his friends as gradually the odd tension between them eased.

Periodically Jane would lean forward from his couch, pull back Lisbon's chair and swing it round to give her a secret kiss and say something sweet or amusing. Lisbon would hush him and try to hide a smile and the morning would drift quietly on.

But at lunchtime he leapt up with a smile and declared, "I have a little errand to run. Back in a bit."

Fifteen minutes later, when her belly had recovered from the night before and was talking to her loudly, he bounded back into the office, shimmed over, bowed with a deep flourish and placed a takeaway bag on her desk and a modest bunch of sweet smelling narcissi next to it.

"For you, Agent Lisbon. Will you join me for coffee and pastries?"

She raised her head from the paper work he'd had the audacity to push aside and tried to glare at him as she might have done in the past. But it was no good, no adherence to tradition, no gurgling stomach nor any lingering hangover head was competition for such an innocently appealing invitation. It was these little things Jane did, and the way he did them that made her dull days bright.

Sometimes on these occasions the glare would come out just to wind him up. Today was not one of those days, so she smiled coyly.

"Why, I'd love to Mr. Jane."

He guided her to sit on his couch, pulled over the little side table, carefully setting the lamp and his precious books on the floor, retrieved the bag from her desk, then ran off to the refreshment area, returning almost instantly with a glass carafe filled with water which he put her flowers in. He arranged them to his satisfaction at her desk, then with great ceremony, placed the flowers on the table in front of her, smiled proudly and joined her on the couch.

After a few moments he turned to face her, moved her head with gentle fingers on her cheek, so that he could stare seriously into her eyes. "I enjoyed myself last night Teresa. I'd very much like to be able to dance the night away with you again … often."

Half taken aback by her lover's formality and half amused by the same, Lisbon hardly knew what to say or do, so settled for a warm smile. "I had a good time too Jane."

"That's good," he said. "I like to make you happy."

"Is that what all this is about? Making me happy." she asked, waving a hand over the table full of goodies. "Because you didn't need to."

He gave a self deprecating shrug, " I always want you to be happy. But you can call this positive reinforcement if you like."

That made her smile, so he carried on. "Also, the flowers were on offer outside the coffee shop and I like narcissi. I knew you needed a sweet treat, so it was a double whammy. Plus I'm famished. And thirsty."

"I'm happy," she said, almost laughing now.

"And alcohol's dehydrating. So you can call it medicine too."

"Coffee's dehydrating too," she countered smuggly.

"It's decaff."

And so, the weirdness was gone, and they sat and did their jokey small talk routine, carefully skirting around everything that still needed saying, and everything that had been said, until their drinks were gone and only crumbs and sticky fingers were left.

Then they got back to work without one mention of the cloud that hung doggedly over Jane. It wasn't so much the thundercloud of last night when he'd first expressed his fear of losing her, but a damp grey melancholy that seemed to envelope him and drag all the light from his eyes. Occasionally Lisbon could see it, when he wasn't paying attention, and she told herself it wasn't there. But she knew, and wasn't really surprised, that he still wasn't quite himself. Oh, he was trying, he'd been trying all day long, but when he smiled the smile was fraudulent; the thing that made his lips turn up into a jolly curve was just a poor imitation, like someone was pulling the strings of a puppet.

The afternoon dragged on and when they left that evening, Jane took the flowers from her desk and wrapped them in some paper he'd stolen from somewhere.

He smiled encouragingly at her when he put them in her hand. "You should put these on your nightstand." Then he raised his eyebrows, "Did you know that narcissus means new beginnings?"

She didn't but she was too tired and preoccupied to ask and Jane seemed to accept that.

He waited patiently while she gathered her things and while they stood together waiting for the elevator to arrive, Jane stood a few feet back. It felt uncomfortably like that dark evening a few weeks ago when he'd confirmed her worst fear; his paranoia would make him unable to let her do her job.

The ting sounded, the big shiny doors slid open and Jane stepped forward with a protective arm around her. "Ladies first."

She smiled warmly at him and he smiled back as she turned and stepped forward into the elevator.

But he didn't follow. His reflection in the full wall mirror hesitated and she watched as the smile floated off his face and the everpresent furrows in his forehead deepened. There was something he wanted to say.

"I was thinking, Teresa. We had a late one last night didn't we?"

It wasn't quite what she expected, but she didn't drop her own smile. She spun round to ask him lightly. "Fun though, eh?"

He took a big stride into the silvery box, swivelling to stand beside her.

"Yeah. Fun." he agreed, "But I'm tired."

"Me too. Thought I was going to faceplant my paperwork. Don't know how you managed to stay awake."

He found a wry grin from somewhere. "Neither do I."

Quite moments later the lift doors opened and Jane ushered Lisbon gallantly out with a gentle hand on her back as he always did. As he did he spoke again.

"Would you mind if I slept in the airstream tonight," he said. "I'd very much like to spend the night with you. You know that. But I have some things I have to attend to before I hit the sack."

There it was. What he really meant to say. She couldn't refuse. He asked so nicely. So she drove him back to the airstream, glowing gold on silver in the early evening light, the symbol of his freedom and a reminder of his roots. And she sat in the car and watched as he put his key in the lock and opened the door. She watched him turn and smile slowly and follow it with a cheery wave, then as he was about to go inside, his blond head popped out and he blew her one last kiss.

"See you tomorrow Lisbon. Sleep tight."

She took one more look at him standing with the cloud that she refused to see hanging over his head and then she drove away to think.