A/N: Who else enjoyed tonight's episode of the Mentalist? Another new one tomorrow night! I just wanted to get that out, this piece really has nothing to do with the new episode. This takes place somewhere between season two and three of the Mentalist and any time after the fifth season of Supernatural. Enjoy!
Midnight Hour
Grace Van Pelt had been staring at a seemingly innocent glass of wine that sat on her coffee table, her plucked brows furrowed in deep contemplation, when the knock sounded throughout her otherwise silent apartment.
Her hazel eyes glittered in confusion as she first consulted the clock on the wall then the door which the knock came from. Without a sound, she was on her feet and cautiously making her way towards the entrance, taking only a moment to pull out her off duty glock from its hidden place. The cool steel in her grasp secured both her authority and safety as she peered through the peep hole.
A stranger stood on her stoop; tall, clean cut, but sporting the clothes of a lowlife she would pick up at a local bar for questioning.
"Grace, you there? It's Dean."
That got her heart racing even as her mind hit a wall as to the man's identity. It would be better to ignore the stranger, pretend she wasn't home.
"Come on, I know you're there, open up." His hand lifted to the door between them to rap more insistently.
Best way to get rid of a drunk-scare him and have the upper hand while doing it.
Without preamble, she threw open the door, glock in hand and aimed at the man's chest. Immediately his hands went up; the expected 'whoa, whoa, whoa' leaving him in a flurry.
"I don't know any Dean." Her eyes narrowed. "Beat it."
Instead of backing away to stumble down the sidewalk and out of her life, the man (yes he was good looking but that wasn't the point) turned thoughtful. Either he was drunk and stupid or sober and had a hard time thinking. Seriously, not only could she see the hamster wheel spinning behind his eyes, but also the steam leaving his ears. For his sake, she hoped he was drunk and stupid.
"What year is it?"
"What?"
"The year, Grace. What's the year?" He stepped towards her, seemingly forgetting she had him at gun point.
Grace stepped forward as well, holding her glock firmly between them. Dean backed away obligingly but his eyes sought hers for an answer.
"The year's 2010, are you that drunk?"
His eyes widened at the year, then he made a face at her comment.
"I'm not drunk, sweet heart. We just haven't met yet." At her continued stare, Dean attempted a smile, falling back on his charms to get him out of sticky situations. "Well, obviously you know that, seeing as how you have no idea who I am and have never seen me before, right?"
His voice turned hopeful at the end. Yet, he continued to only receive silence as a response.
"Right." He dropped his hands and pointed at the sidewalk. "I'm just gonna go…leave you to your…thing…okay." He turned sharply, his arms close to his sides and his head ducked into his chest like a scolded child.
"Damn Doctor. Claims to be brilliant, can't even get a simple year right!" He mumbled to himself.
"Wait, what did you say?" Grace called after him, her gun lowering to her side. Dean froze in his step and turned back to her, visibly looking for an excuse to deliver. "You said doctor, didn't you?"
He opened his mouth then closed it; lifted his hands, shrugged, then dropped them.
But Grace's thoughts had already sped forward. Lisbon and Jane had had a few spats at work over a mysterious 'doctor' over the last couple of weeks, but quickly dropped it whenever she, Cho, or Rigsby were around. Normally their arguments went by without so much as a second glance from the team, but something about the topic in particular caused a tension not unlike those whenever they discussed Red John. This couldn't be a coincidence could it? A name was never attached to the doctor in their quarrels, but still it was worth a shot.
Seeing that she still held his attention, Grace leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head just slightly to the side.
"Doctor who, exactly?"