A/N: Little Things Mean A Lot by Willie Nelson (yes, I know Kitty Kallen made it famous, but I'm using Willie's version of the lyrics). There's an obvious tip of the hat to Corner Gas here too - you'll either get it or you won't.
Blow her a kiss from across the room
Say she looks nice when she's not
"Jane, what is this?"
Jane didn't look up from his tea. "I will never understand why you ask questions you already know the answer too. Please spare me the pain of guessing and just tell me already."
Lisbon took a deep breath to try and calm down. (It didn't work.) "The thermostat is set to 72 degrees."
"So? That's room temperature."
"Room temperature is 70! Everyone knows that!"
"There's no need to yell. Especially when what you're shouting is not true."
Lisbon poked at the innocent thermostat viciously. "It is so true!" she growled, not caring that she sounded like a five-year-old. Jane had that effect on her. "There," she announced, looking at him triumphantly. "70. And if you touch it again I'll break both your arms."
Two hours later Lisbon was standing in front of the thermostat again. "72?" she shrieked.
Jane was reading a book across the room. He swallowed down a smile and heaved a sigh. "What is your objection? You can't even feel the difference."
"A, I can too feel the difference. I'm so hot right now-"
Jane blew her a kiss. "You sure are, baby."
She shot him a look that would take the paint off the wall. "B, if you can't feel the difference, then just leave it at 70!"
"Oh, I said you can't. I, on the other hand, have much more sensitive skin, so I can detect these minute atmospheric changes. I'm shivering when it's at 70."
"Bite me. This thermostat is set at 70, and it is going to stay at 70. Do you hear me?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Let's compromise..."
When Cho came over that night to return a book he'd borrowed, he found Lisbon dressed in a tank and shorts, sipping a Coke on ice. Jane, on the other end of the couch, was huddled in a colourful afgan, holding a steaming cup of tea.
On the wall, the thermostat read 71.
Touch her hair as you pass her chair
Little things mean a lot
"Damn it!" Lisbon glared at her overdue credit statement.
Sitting on the floor with a bin of Lego, her sweet, angelic, innocent 18-month-old son looked up, beaming, and said distinctly: "Damit!"
Lisbon stared at him, shell-shocked. Jane burst into laughter. He ruffled her hair as he walked past. "Have to watch that dirty mouth of yours, dear."
Give her your arm as you cross the street
Call her at six on the dot
They watched as a bolt of light crossed the sky.
"A shooting star!"
"A helicopter, Teresa."
"Spoilsport."
"Doesn't matter. I know what your wish was and I can make it come true."
She narrowed her eyes. "Oh yeah? What I wanted was-"
"-Ice cream!" they chorused. Lisbon shook her head. Jane grinned.
"Come on, milady." He stood up, holding out his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. She sighed. What a fool he was sometimes. But (she looked around surreptitiously) she didn't see anyone she knew - so she allowed him to lead her across the street.
A line a day when you're far away
Little things mean a lot
Lisbon sat at her desk, staring at the pristine, virgin piece of paper that was staring back at her. She was halfway through (okay, one day in, but it felt like halfway through) a week-long conference for FBI agents. She had three lectures scheduled every day, each one about a different aspect of her job, each one personally interesting. She was bored out of her mind.
So here she sat, having decided to write Jane. It had seemed like such a good idea six minutes previously. Now she was staring at her desk. How should she start? Dear Jane? Dear Patrick? Dear Paddy? She wrote down Dear Jane, and promptly lost her train of thought.
Maybe she should write on the same plan as the ones she'd received from Jane, from the island. She closed her eyes. Jane had simply written down his thoughts. Well, she thought too. She could do the same. She opened her eyes. She concentrated. She couldn't muster a single thought.
Just great. All she wanted was to write a letter that Jane would appreciate as much as the ones she'd received from him. Now she was realizing that, just like the man himself, they were deceptively straightforward and impossible to imitate.
Finally, she began: I have no idea why I'm writing you. You phone every day. But I'm bored and have nothing better to do.
She reread it approvingly. It was pleasingly free of sentiment. She had no intention of turning this into a love letter. She relaxed into her chair and began to write faster. She described the breakfasts served at the motel. She smiled as she wrote down the things they were learning about analysing crime scenes and how they would never apply to him. Without quite realizing, longing for home crept into her writing. Before she knew what she was doing, she was telling him what she missed about him and how she couldn't wait to be home. Then she was signing it Love, Teresa and walking out to the mailbox.
He never mentioned it when she came home, and she was rather relieved. After all, she'd never talked about the letters he'd sent her. And before very long the whole thing passed straight out of her head.
But when, many years later, she took down the box where she'd carefully kept his letters, she found her letter sitting on top, deep creases testifying to its having been read and reread.
Don't have to buy her diamonds and pearls
Champagne, sables and stuffs
She doesn't care much for diamonds and pearls
She'll laugh and say, "Honey, they just cost money"
"Jane, are these sapphire earrings?"
"They're beautiful, aren't they."
"What on earth possessed you to buy these? Was it what that woman said?"
"I resent the implication that a murder suspect's comments on cheap husbands could possibly influence my actions. I saw them in the store and had a burning desire to see them complement your eyes, as they do - wonderfully."
"I can't keep these, Jane."
"Ah-ah-ah - you're my wife now, so you aren't allowed to return my gifts. If you do, you'll absolutely crush me."
"Jane, I don't want expensive jewelry. I just -"
"Go ahead, finish your thought."
"Not with you grinning at me like that."
"You were going to say you just want me, am I right? How romantic of you!"
"Shut up."
So give her your hand when she's lost the way
And give her your shoulder to cry on
Lisbon sat in the hospital bed, cursing up a blue streak in her mind. 'Keeping her for observation' they'd said. She couldn't see why. So she'd gotten shot. Who cared? It was a graze along her side, nothing else. Her ribs weren't even broken, just cracked.
Jane walked in, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Brought you something!" he announced cheerfully. He set it down beside her, ignoring her grumbly temper. "Let's see what we've got," he said, sitting down on the bed and turning his attention to the ancient TV hanging from the ceiling.
"My leg!" she snapped, moving it abruptly so he wouldn't sit on it. "I'm in the hospital, remember? You're supposed to treat me gently."
"Leg, schmeg. You got shot in your side, as I recall," he retorted, glancing at her.
"And it was your fault! You should be nice to me right now."
Jane shrugged. He pushed the ON button on the remote a couple times before the TV flickered to life. It did not exhibit proper TV behavior. The image was split, with the bottom half of the screen at the top, and vice versa. He stood up and thwacked the small black contraption. It swung crazily from side to side and the bolts that kept it suspended in the air creaked alarmingly. It buzzed a couple times before the picture straightened out enough for them to be able to recognize the show. It was the eight o'clock news.
"-an FBI agent was shot at the scene. She was taken to the hospital with non life-threatening injuries. We do not currently have an update on her condition-"
"Would you shut that off?" asked Lisbon irritably. She hated hearing about herself on the news, especially when something had gone wrong. "I don't even want the TV on."
"Oh, I know. But I do. It's boring just sitting in the hospital beside you."
"What?"
Jane ignored her again, having found an animal documentary.
"-the elephant is the only mammal that cannot jump. The African elephant-"
"I've been shot! I'm the one who should decide whether or not we watch TV!"
Jane shrugged. "I've got the remote."
She lay there, seething. "And I hate animal documentaries. At least put on the game or something!"
He shook his head. "Nope."
She lunged for him. He danced off the bed gracefully. She felt the muscles in her side stretch uncomfortably, and she fell back among the pillows, gasping in sudden pain. Against her will, a tear rolled down her cheek. Jane instantly was by her side, his arm encircling her. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, slowly forgetting the pain.
"Careful," he admonished her. "If you keep that up they'll make you stay for another day."
"This- this qualifies as abuse!" she complained, surreptitiously sliding her hand towards the remote.
Grinning at her attempt, he stood up. "Oh, come on. You need something to occupy your brain. Why not learn about elephants?" He sat down in a chair (out of her reach) and turned his rapt attention to the black-and-white picture.
"Will you guys cut it out?" came an annoyed voice from the other side of the curtain. "I'm getting a headache!"
"See? You're disturbing the patients!" she hissed, embarassed.
He pondered this. "Actually, you're the one who's been yelling. I've been the adult here, talking in a reasonable tone."
She groaned sharply, sinking back into bed, closing her eyes. In the sudden silence she heard that accursed TV again.
"-a thousand-mile trek across the desert to find water-"
She willed herself to ignore it. And, oddly enough, the sparring with Jane had tuckered her out. She could actually feel herself drifting off. Just before she completely surrendered to the darkness, she heard the TV click off, then felt Jane resting his hand on hers. His lips brushed her temple softly.
"Sleep well, Teresa. I'll see you in the morning."
Whether the day is sunny or gray
Give her your heart to rely on
"No, no, come on!" Jane pulled at Lisbon's hand. He had just flopped down in the grass, his back against a tree, and Lisbon was refusing to join him.
"Jane, we're in the middle of a public park. I'm not going to sit in the grass. There's perfectly good benches around."
"But the sunset will be so beautiful from here," he coaxed. "You agreed we'd come take a walk to relax - well, I want to relax here."
Sighing in defeat, she gave in, dropping down and settling herself between his legs, her back against his chest. His arms curled around her, warm and gentle. It was awkward to be sitting up straight, so she adjusted her seat and leaned her head back. She ran her hands idly on his thighs, then rested them over his interlaced fingers.
Jane smiled. Her head was resting on his shoulder. If he so wished, his chin would rest perfectly atop her head. He tilted his head back instead, ignoring the roughness of the bark. The tension slowly dripped from her frame, settling her more comfortably into his embrace. He noted the exact moment she fell asleep, and was glad of it. She'd been up for two days trying to solve a kidnapping and she was running on fumes. Coffee fumes, that is.
He could still hardly believe that she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms. It was a display of weakness he knew very few people had ever been entrusted with. Giving in to temptation, he set his chin gently on top of her head, breathing in her scent and ignoring the cheesiness of the gesture. Her smell was comforting, gradually chasing away the pain he'd felt during this last case. Young girls being kidnapped was never going to be an easy day at work for him.
He gazed out at the sunset hues of purple and red. In his more poetic moments he always thought of Mother Nature as his first true love. She was beautiful, immune to his manipulations, not tolerating fools but still incredibly gentle on occasion. Much like the woman in his arms, he mused. He captured one of her hands in his own and softly stroked it with his fingers.
A teenaged couple walked by, patently trying not to look the man and woman under the tree. Safely out of earshot, the girl turned to the boy, pouting, the stamp of immaturity written all over her features.
"Did you see that? She was totally asleep! It's so sad when people get old. Promise me we'll never get boring like that, huh baby?"
Send her the warmth of a secret smile
To show her you haven't forgot
The calm, peaceful fall afternoon was suddenly shattered by earsplitting shrieks. Lisbon sat bolt upright on her lawn chair. Her five-year-old son came running up to her, sobbing violently.
"My arm!" he bawled, barely coherent.
She peered closely at the offending limb. His elbow was scraped and oozing a couple drops of blood. Uttering soothing sounds, she picked him up and gathered him into her lap. Jane appeared, looking ever-so-slighly sheepish.
"We were playing tag and he tripped."
Lisbon smiled at him to show that she wasn't worried. She patted her son on the head. "Hey baby, let Mommy see again."
Still crying, her son pushed his arm into her face. She pulled a Kleenex out of her pocket (she'd taken to carrying some everywhere she went, to Jane's great amusement) and wiped off the blood, then kissed it. "There! All better now?"
Her son sniffed. "Uh-huh," he gulped. She kissed his forehead.
His daddy scooped him up. "Sure you're all right now! Mommy's very good at fixing you when you're hurt and feeling sad, am I right?" He looked over at his wife, his gentle smile speaking volumes.
She blushed and smiled back, soft crinkles around her eyes.
'Cause always and ever, for now and forever
Little things mean a lot
A door slammed upstairs. Jane sighed. Why did Lisbon have to get physical when she was angry? He heard the distant whoosh of pipes as the shower started up. Uh-oh. She only retreated to the bathroom when she was very upset, knowing it was the only door in the house whose lock he didn't dare pick.
Really, he didn't see what the problem was. All right, so he'd outted the Governor of Texas as gay. And yes, maybe his political career was pretty much shot. But this was the twenty-first century! People shouldn't be so narrow-minded anymore. Too bad Lisbon hadn't appreciated this point when he'd tried explaining it to her.
Fortunately she'd forgotten to bring a towel into the bathroom with her. That'd make it easier to apologize. He calculated that she'd be in the shower another twenty minutes. Perfect. He went to the closet and pulled out a fluffy white towel, then headed to the basement.
In the upstairs bathroom, Lisbon shut off the water precisely eighteen minutes later. She stepped out of the tub, shivering slightly but not caring. She was still unspeakably mad at Jane. Unfortunately, that was the moment she realized she was towelless. Now she had two options: run out naked for one herself (and risk Jane's amused commentary) or call for Jane to bring her one. Both were frought with humiliation. She was debating the merits of drying off with a hand towel that didn't even cover her butt when Jane knocked at the door.
"What?" she snarled out of embarassment and residual anger.
"I've got a towel here for you." Jane waited patiently. Sure enough, Lisbon threw open the door. He settled a look of appropriate sheepishness upon his features.
"I'm still mad at you," she clarified. As if her death glare required any elucidation.
He held out the towel, wordlessly. She snatched it out of his hand. He grinned at the look of shock on her face. He'd run it through the dryer for the last twenty minutes and it was wonderfully warm. She wrapped her body in it instantly, trying and failing to muster up her glare again. Jane smiled at her widely, all penitence gone from his face. He shut the door quietly and set off down the stairs, whistling cheerfully.
Another Lisbon rage successfully neutralized.
A/N: Okay, just to let everyone know that I have officially started a Mentalist community that all Mentalist fans should check out. It is a compilation of the very best fanfiction of the entire collection. I really hope you check it out because it took me two hours to figure out how to work the dang thing. (I'm technologically handicapped.)
And also, if anyone has songs to suggest for another chapter on this story, I'd be happy to hear them. I want to get at least one more chapter up before the new season...