Author's Note: Oooo! I love to mess with characters that aren't mine! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and would not be foolish enough to claim to.
"Here you are." Jane said softly, bending at the waist to hand a cup of tea on a delicate saucer to the old woman perched upon the settee.
Curly, white hair trembling slightly as she looked up, Mrs. Ruskin smiled at him with an almost dreamy air. "Thank you, dear."
Clearing his throat a little, Jane mixed his own cup quickly and sat in the high-backed chair across from her with forced nonchalance. He was getting better at this he noticed, as he took his first sip of steaming liquid and found it just hot enough to singe his tongue without scalding off his taste buds.
Once upon a time, he hadn't really cared for any hot beverages, but living in this stuffy old mansion had slanted his style into making one exception. Tea was now officially his favorite. After all, there wasn't the bitter, burnt taste one often found in coffee, nor the fiery acidity of alcohol. Just sweet steeped leaves with a hint of sugar. He closed his eyes and took another, longer sip, letting it flood his senses to near oblivion.
It wasn't so bad here, Jane had to admit. Mrs. Ruskin was probably the nicest person he had ever met and though their posh surroundings were made for looks rather than comfort- from the elegant furnishings to the expensive artwork and tapestries on the walls- this wing of the mansion at least had a used, homey air about it.
And no wonder. Mrs. Ruskin had lived here her entire life with her husband and it was here among the old photographs and ancient books that she had raised her only daughter. Jane shook his head gently and took a longer swallow of tea. To have so much only to lose the most precious things by having them torn away from you. Death really was blind and deaf.
Looking over at his companion, he caught the old woman giving him a pleased, yet knowing kind of smile.
"Is there anything else you would like, Grandmother?" Jane asked politely, giving her a slanting smile to put her at ease.
She hummed contentedly and shook her head. "No, I think not." The teacup rattled, already empty, as she set it down and strained to rise on age weakened legs.
Jane hurried to help her, but as soon as she was relatively upright she pushed him away.
"Now now, don't fuss." She smiled widely, softening her rebuke to a mere tease. "I may be older than the firmament, but that doesn't mean I'm daft. I know a young man your age has better things to do with his time than to wait around for his ailing grandmother to go to bed, so I'll just see myself off and bid you goodnight."
Returning her smile, Jane kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Grandmother."
"Don't stay up too late listening to your music again, alright?"
"I won't." Jane laughed.
When she had left the room and the settled silence had stretched on for almost ten minutes, Jane finally gathered the tea tray and took it to the kitchens. The maid and cook were out for the day, since they were only really needed part-time and it was late besides, so Jane rinsed the china clean and set it to dry before heading off to his room. Once inside, he calmly selected a record, flipped open the lid on Mrs. Ruskin's old gramophone, and set the needle to play.
The first notes of Rachmaninoff's 2nd filled the still air and Jane took a second to listen and wait so that he could fully appreciate the curving addition of the Orchestra to the deep melody. Jane sighed. It really was a beautiful piece and one of his favorite's, but he didn't have the time to simply lay down and listen right now. There was something he needed to do.
Padding over to the window, Jane eased it open and with slow, quiet movements he slid his legs out feet first, finding purchase on the ground below before ducking his head down and through to follow. Once free, he inched the window closed again, wincing whenever it gave a particularly hard screech that made his stomach squirm. This was why he disliked old buildings. If he wasn't careful, he was going to alert Mrs. Ruskin to his absence. The woman was ninety-six years old but still had the hearing of a fox and the intelligence to match. She was a tough old bird, he'd give her that. Had outlived her beloved husband by almost three years now. Pretending to be her grandson wasn't as hard as pretending he was a picture perfect teenager though. She was practically blind and lonely enough now as she slipped into the last stages of her life that she seemed all too eager to be deluded on that topic.
At last able to move without having to sneak, Jane sped up his steps to a light trot across the well-manicured lawns and through a hidden gap in the hedge and fencing out onto the street beyond. This neighborhood was quiet and abandoned at this time of night, homes just as fancy as Mrs. Ruskin's already dark and sleeping. He stuck his hands in his pockets and peered around to make sure no one was about before moving off. Walking calmly now through the shadows, he let the peaceful, open air outside under the stars sooth him into a kind of haze as he walked, steps taking him block after block farther from the mansion where he had been staying.