Good news! Since my other story is all wrapped up I will now be able to put more time into this story, which is great as now the updates shouldn't take quite as long.

Since the season premiere isn't until next Sunday, I thought I'd try and soothe my Mentalist withdrawals by writing a new chapter. Seems to have helped.

Disclaimer: On my wage, I can't even afford a decent car, let alone the rights to The Mentalist or anything else recognisable.

Let's kick things off with a lovely dance from our favourite duo…

She'd rather be ripped apart by ravenous dogs than admit it to him, but Lisbon thought that dancing with Jane was a rather pleasant experience. With these shoes on, she was exactly the right height for him, and he was a good enough dancer that he was able to steer them around the floor without her embarrassing herself.

She also quite enjoyed the resentful looks from the other women around the place. As a teenager, she'd never been the girl with the gorgeous boyfriend that everyone else wanted, but now it was kind of fun to have something over all the rich bitches here. Money couldn't buy you everything.

"Annabelle's watching us," said Jane quietly with a trace of a laugh. "She's looking at you like she wants to incinerate you with just her eyes. Here, look."

Without warning, he dipped her backwards dramatically, and she was awarded an upside-down view of Annabelle who had procured another glass of champagne from somewhere and with her eyes fixed on Lisbon as though willing her to drop dead on the spot.

Expertly, he pulled her back up into his arms again. If anyone else had tried a stunt like that, Lisbon would probably have punched them, but for some reason she trusted Jane enough not to drop her, and that he wouldn't be showing off like that if he didn't know what he was doing.

Lisbon laughed. "Guess she's not used to losing."

"Great. Just what I need; two stubborn-as-hell women in my life. One was enough."

"Thanks a lot."

"I meant that affectionately," he said. "I like that stubborn streak of yours."

She smiled a little. "How did you become such a good dancer anyway?" she asked.

"I'm not, really," he said. "But I am good at pretending. I just give off the illusion that I'm a good dancer. Fake it till you make it, and all that."

Smirking, he twirled her around as gracefully as any professional dancer.

"You're such a liar," she told him.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "We all have our crosses to bear."

She didn't know how much longer they danced together, but at some point she raised her head from his shoulder (she hadn't put it there, truly, it must have gone there all by itself) to see that there were only a few people still around and that they were the very last couple dancing.

"Jane!" she said, in a sharp whisper.

"What?" he asked, releasing her from what had begun as the traditional waltz hold and had at some stage turned into a very close, very intimate, embrace, (because he'd been able to feel her getting tired and didn't want her collapsing, and not just because he'd wanted an excuse to hold her. Honest.)

"Check it out," she said. "It looks like we're the last ones standing."

He looked around in surprise. "That's weird, I didn't even notice everyone else leaving."

"Me either."

Neither of them was game enough to admit that they'd been too caught up in their own little world to pay any attention to the other guests.

"Well I think we've put in enough of an appearance here," said Jane after a minute. "Let's go."

She nodded her agreement and they turned together and walked out of the gazebo.

If they'd wanted a measure of exactly how long they'd been dancing for, they would only have had to listen to the audible sigh of relief from the band as they put down their instruments, sincerely hoping that Annabelle Beckett was prepared to pay them the hour and a half's worth of overtime that they were due.

Once they started walking, Lisbon became suddenly, and painfully, aware of her feet, which had been trapped for hours in these damned stilettos. It felt like they were burning with every step she took and she was very grateful that they only had to go next door.

As soon as they got inside, and before he'd even switched the light on, Jane heard the thunk, thunk of the shoes hitting the wall as she kicked them off her feet. He wished she wouldn't; they had to return all this stuff once this assignment was over. Though he thought he might try and petition Minelli to let her keep the little black dress. You know, just in case.

"Thank God that's over," she said, turning the light on so she could retrieve the shoes.

"Which bit?" he asked. "The party, or wearing the shoes?"

"Both," she said.

"For the record, I thought you did very well," he said.

She grinned. "It'll be even easier next time now I've learned to embrace my inner airhead."

"Don't you think you're being a little unfair?" he asked, but feeling a smile creeping up on his face as he did so. He didn't think that anyone as clever, streetwise, and worldly as Lisbon could ever be considered an airhead, fake or not.

"Well I suppose I shouldn't include Meg in that," she admitted, fairly. "But she was certainly the exception rather than the rule."

She yawned, and it dawned on Jane how very tired she looked.

"You should go and get some sleep," he told her. "You're exhausted."

"Here's an idea," she said. "How about following your own advice for once? You don't exactly look sprightly and daisy-fresh yourself."

He chuckled.

"Goodnight, Lisbon."

"Night Jane."

She turned away and began to walk up the stairs.

"What, no goodnight kiss?" he asked, unable to help himself.

She paused halfway up the stairs, turned back towards him rolling her eyes, and ironically blew him a kiss.

He reached out a hand pretending to catch it.

"That's it?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"I know they say that the sex tapers off after marriage, but I didn't expect it be this bad," he joshed. "Honestly, you have to be the most unaffectionate wife that ever walked the planet. Sometimes I wonder why I even married you."

"Sometimes I wonder the same thing."

"And you always decide it was because of my good looks and irresistible charm, right?"

"Actually, I'm still wondering," said Lisbon nastily.

"Ouch," said Jane, putting a hand over his heart. "I'm not going to lie. That one hurt."

"Goodnight Jane," she repeated.

"Goodnight, cupcake," he said in his special butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth voice. "Sweet dreams."

Her eyes flashed dangerously at the 'cupcake' but she said nothing. She stomped up the rest of the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

He heard her footsteps overhead. Heard the shower turn on. Tried not to think about her slipping out of that dress. Tried even harder not to think about what was (or wasn't) underneath. Felt suddenly a little hot around the collar. Decided a cold shower for himself might be in order once she was done. Tried harder than ever not to think about the fact that she was probably naked right now, only feet above him.

Now he really needed that cold shower.

It was going to be a long night.

The next morning, Lisbon woke early again. This annoyed her.

She listened for whatever Jane was doing that had interrupted her sleep patterns this time, but heard nothing. He must've actually fallen asleep for once. This annoyed her even more, as now she couldn't even go and vent her frustrations on him.

Luckily the mystery of her sudden awakening was solved as her cell phone went off from the bedside table. She grabbed for it.

"Lisbon," she answered, groggily.

"About time! Why didn't you answer the first time I called?" demanded the irate voice of Virgil Minelli.

"Sorry boss," she said, stifling a yawn. "Had a late night."

"Doing what?" asked Minelli, unnecessarily suspiciously, she thought. What did he think they'd been doing, making out on the couch all night or something? She felt the heat rush to her cheeks at the thought. She already knew Jane was an excellent kisser; she had first-hand experience after all, but she wondered how much better he could be with hours of time on his hands and the total privacy of the house…but she shouldn't be thinking about that at all, because it was unprofessional and more importantly because she didn't care anyway, right? Right?

"The neighbour invited us to a party. We thought it'd be a good way to get the lay of the land."

"Good. Any alarm bells yet?"

"One or two," said Lisbon, thinking of Annabelle. "But nothing concrete. I'll give you a heads-up when we have one."

"Excellent. Now, the reason I called is because I needed to let you know that your liaison officer from the FBI will be dropping by today."

"What for?"

"It's nothing bad, just a meet-and greet. He'll be the one who you can go to if you need anything, so the sooner you meet him, the better."

"OK. Do you have any idea when we can expect him?"

"They said sometime this morning. Is that all right with you?"

"It's fine I guess. We didn't have anything planned." Damn Feds, always sticking their noses into everything. She didn't need them to send some lackey to check that she was doing her job properly.

"I know what you're thinking Teresa," said Minelli, breaking into her thoughts. "This is still their case you know. They have a right to know how things are progressing."

"I know, I know. I'll play nice."

"I know you will, you always do your job right. That's why you're such a good agent. So how are you and your husband getting on?" She could tell by his tone that he had been bursting to ask her this, but had restrained himself until he got the official business out of the way.

"It's been interesting," she said truthfully.

"Well I haven't heard of any brutal murders in your area thus far, so I'm guessing it's going all right."

"As well as can be expected."

"I have to go, I have to make a conference call," said Minelli. "We'll talk again in a couple of days." He rang off.

Well, she was awake now and with no chance of getting back to sleep. Coffee time.

She quietly got out of bed and padded down the stairs. She tiptoed behind the couch so as not to wake Jane, and into the kitchen and busied herself with the coffeemaker.

She sighed in satisfaction as she took the first sip of the delicious drink. How any person could ever survive with coffee, she'd never know. This coffeemaker was a definite upside to this undercover case, her cheap one at home paled in comparison. Maybe she could buy it off the CBI after this case was done.

"Good morning, sunshine," came a voice suddenly behind her, almost causing her to drop the cup.

She spun around to see Jane perched on one of the countertops holding his customary tea. She must have walked right past him without noticing; so eager was she to get to her coffee hit.

"You know, you really should do something about this caffeine dependency of yours," he said. "It's not good for your health."

"Don't do that!" she scolded him, putting her cup down next to the coffeemaker. "Clear your throat or cough or something in future, don't just sneak up on me like that."

"I didn't sneak up on you," he said, smiling. "You just didn't notice me because you were blinded by coffee withdrawals."

She grunted, but couldn't deny that it was true. Her world awareness did tend to diminish somewhat when coffee was nearby.

"So blinded in fact," he continued. "That you neglected to look in the mirror this morning before you came downstairs, I dare say. But I wouldn't worry about it, the bedhead look is actually kind of cute on you."

Horror-struck, Lisbon grabbed for the first reflective item within reach, which happened to be the stainless steel toaster. It was even worse than she'd feared. Her hair was tousled and sticking up in all directions. Desperately she tried to flatten it with one hand as Jane snickered at her from the opposite wall.

"There aren't many people who can pull off the 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' ensemble either," said Jane, as she realized that she was still in her pyjamas. Most nights she slept in one of her old college shirts and shorts but thank God last night had been cool enough to justify the wearing of actual pants. She was also silently thankful she hadn't accidentally brought along any of those ridiculous satin teddies that her sisters-in-law kept sending her from Victoria's Secret. ("Really Teresa, even if you did ever get a guy to come home with you, you'll never get him to seal the deal if you don't sell yourself a bit.")

Because her lack of a sex life had nothing to do with her crazy work schedule and everything to do with her wardrobe. Of course. Why hadn't she seen that before?

For the record, she didn't understand why people spent so much money on lingerie anyway. You were only ever wearing it for a few minutes, tops, and whether it had cost you thirty dollars or three hundred, in the end it all ended up in the same place: on the floor.

She felt herself turn red and was silently grateful that Jane couldn't actually read minds. The last thing she needed was him thinking that she associated him with her panties on the floor. The situation was embarrassing enough.

She surveyed him, looking for some imperfection that she could pick at. For the first time in living memory, he wasn't wearing a three-piece-suit but dark denim jeans and a simple red T-shirt. Admittedly, his usually perfect hair was mussed up by sleeping on the couch all night, but it seemed to enhance the casual effect of the outfit, making him look just as attractive as usual. Damn it.

He grinned at her some more. "Really Lisbon, I'm flattered you feel comfortable enough around me to wander around in your pyjamas. It's a sign of trust, you know."

"I thought you were asleep," she snapped, defensively.

"Oh come on, you had to know that was a long shot," he said. Indeed, ever since he'd woken at about three 'o' clock from a particularly vivid dream involving himself, Lisbon, and one very steamy shower, getting back to sleep hadn't really been an option.

It had been hard enough trying to cool down after the dream before that one where he'd grabbed her, shoved her against a wall, ripped apart that tight, black, so-damn-sexy-it-shouldn't-be-allowed dress and had his wicked way with her.

These dreams, while a vast improvement on his usual Red John related nightmares weren't anything he planned on sharing with her anytime soon. Thank God they weren't sharing the same room, or things could definitely have gotten a mite awkward.

Lisbon glared at him now, and swept out of the kitchen without another word.

The doorbell rang, and he went to answer it.

A tall man with black hair and a prominent nose stood on the step.

"Can I help you?" asked Jane.

"Patrick Jane?" asked the man brusquely, consulting a piece of paper. "I'm Special Agent Nicholas Sheens. I'm your FBI liaison." He flashed a gold badge in front of Jane's face.

"FBI liaison?"

"Basically I'm the guy who's been charged to keep an eye on you two while you're working undercover."

"Oh, right. Come in."

Sheens walked into the house. "Where's your partner?" he asked. "I have some things I need to discuss with both of you."

"She'll be down in a minute, she's just going to change."

An awkward silence fell as Jane finished the last of his tea and Sheens turned to look out the window.

"Nick? Is that you?" came Lisbon's voice from the foot of the stairs, as she took in the visitor. He swung around and Jane saw his jaw drop.

"No way," he said quietly. "Teresa?"

Jane wasn't sure he liked the idea of this guy being on first-name terms with Lisbon. They'd been working together for years and hadn't gotten that far yet.

"I don't believe it," said Nick. "Teresa Lisbon. How long has it been?"

"Too long," she said.

With several quick, long strides Nick crossed the room and enveloped Lisbon in a bear hug. He was so tall that he momentarily lifted her off her feet.

"It's so good to see you," he said, inspecting her face once he had let her go. "The years have been good to you."

She smiled at the compliment. "You didn't age too badly yourself."

Jane cleared his throat. "If we could put the brakes on this adorable little love-in for just one moment," he sneered. "Who the hell are you?" he asked Sheens bluntly.

"Jane!" she chided him for his rudeness.

"It's OK, Tessie," the other man said, smiling easily at her.

"Tessie?" Jane thought dubiously to himself.

"Sorry man," he said to Jane. "I just don't believe this, I never thought I'd see her again."

"How do you guys know each other?" asked Jane.

"We're old friends."

Sure they were.

"We were at the police academy together," explained Nick. "And this woman here was the best sharpshooter in our graduating class."

"Hey come on," she said. "You were just as good as I was. It always came down to you and me when we took accuracy tests."

"And you wiped the floor with me every time," said Nick, chuckling. "She was the star recruit of the academy," he said to Jane. "Everyone learned fast not to underestimate her."

"Sounds about right," said Jane.

"As much as I'm enjoying this trip down memory lane," she said. "Don't we have work to do?"

Nick grinned. "You always were one to get down to business," he said.

Half an hour later, he was standing on the front step again to head back to the office. Lisbon offered him a cup of coffee, which he politely declined. Jane was glad of this, as he wanted nothing more than for him to leave so he could find out what the score was from Lisbon.

"Here's my number," said Nick, holding out a business card to Lisbon. "If you need anything call me, day or night."

"Thanks," she said, reaching for it.

He snatched it away from her. "I mean it Tessie, I know how you are, wanting to do everything yourself. Anything happens, call me, or I swear the next time I see you I'll wring your neck," he said, playfully.

"I'd like to see you try," she said, taking the card from him.

He laughed, and to Jane's great annoyance, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

What was this, France for God's sake? Why couldn't he just say goodbye like a normal person? Jane didn't get to kiss her like that, so why the hell should this smug Fed have the right? They hadn't even seen each other for years.

He nodded his own goodbye and then shut the door, fuming.

His mood was not improved when he turned around to find Lisbon with a wide smile on her face, the one that he was usually responsible for putting there.

"So what's the deal between you and him?' he asked, spitefully. "Did you guys get a little cosy in the shooting gallery or something?" He dreaded the answer.

"No!" she said, apparently surprised by the question. "We're just friends."

Friends. A likely story. Because when most men took the trouble to get close to beautiful women like Lisbon, their intentions were always purely about the friendship.

"Besides," she added. "I'm not his type."

His type indeed. Not too long ago, Jane had thought his own 'type' was tall, and blonde with legs up to the chin. And then he'd met Lisbon, the polar opposite and realized that brunette and petite looked pretty damn good as well. Nobody had just one particular type.

And besides, he thought resentfully as she wandered into the kitchen to get some breakfast, she was everyone's type: a beautiful, confident, intelligent, sexy woman.

What more could a man want?

I've been having so much fun with jealous Lisbon, I thought I'd throw in somebody for Jane to hate as well, just to keep things even. All's fair in love and jealousy!