AN: Thanks again for reading this story, for your enthusiasm, and for making this fandom so fun to write for even after the show has finished airing.
I know last chapter was really case/angst heavy, so here's something lighter and fluffier. I'm particularly fond of the convo Jane and Lisbon have at the end, and I hope you enjoy it as well!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.
Chapter 6: Just You and Me
Lisbon rushed out the door after Jane, not sparing another glance for Scarlet. She caught a glimpse of Jane's blond curls before he turned a corner down the hall, and she made to move after him when the door to observation opened and Van Pelt stepped out.
"We got this, Lisbon," she said, her face drained of color and leaving no doubt in Lisbon's mind that the others had figured out the reason for Jane's abrupt disappearance. "Take all the time you need."
Lisbon nodded at Van Pelt and tried to thank her, but no words came out. Instead, she hugged the redhead quickly but firmly then headed off in the direction Jane had gone.
She stopped to pick up both their jackets before following Jane out to the car, which he'd already started. He was shivering in the passenger side when she climbed into the driver's side, and she handed him his coat, which he put on slowly, as if he were numb or in a trance.
Lisbon cranked the heater all the way up and pulled out of the FBI parking lot.
After driving for fifteen minutes, Lisbon decided to break the silence.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
He didn't look over at her, but his left hand moved to the center console between them, lying palm-up. "Yes," he said. "Don't let me be alone."
She put her hand in his, immediately noticing his erratic pulse. Lisbon took a couple of deep breaths, and she was relieved when his heart rate went back to normal.
They drove for another quarter of an hour, eventually leaving the interstate for a series of backroads through flat, agricultural land now covered, of course, by a thick layer of sparkling snow. Finally, they approached a complex of sports fields. Jane took in the snow-covered fields and empty soccer goalposts and bleachers with curiosity.
Lisbon pulled the key out of the ignition. "My school didn't have a girls' soccer team," said Lisbon, "so I played on a boys' club team. The state championship was held here when I was twelve."
"You won?"
Lisbon smiled. "No," she said. "We lost in the final game—in overtime. It was heartbreaking, but I think, in the long run, losing made us better people than winning ever could have."
Jane withdrew his hand from hers and stepped out of the car. Lisbon grabbed a blanket from the backseat—always an essential item to travel with in a Midwest winter—and followed him.
"What field?" he asked.
Lisbon nodded to their left, and they began to make their way through the snow to the field she'd indicated.
Lisbon sat down at the bottom of the bleachers, wrapping the blanket around herself and opening one side to Jane. He sat beside her, and she threw the blanket over his shoulders as well.
"What position did you play?" asked Jane, looking out across the barren field.
"Well," said Lisbon, "when I was little I played keeper. But eventually, I was deemed too short to be able to defend the net well, so they switched me to defense."
Jane chuckled. "I should've known."
Lisbon leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jane."
He kissed the top of her head. "Nothing for you to be sorry for."
"Is it wrong that I just want to scream and cry and throw a tantrum at how awful the world can be sometimes?"
"That makes two of us." He was silent for a while before speaking again. "You realize that if we're right and our main suspect is guilty, my brother killed your father? How freaking messed up is that?"
Lisbon slid her arm through his. "Well, to be fair, he was adopted," she said, deadpan.
Jane looked over at her, and she could tell he was trying to fight a smile. Eventually he gave in, and her heart unclenched at the sight of his grin.
Lisbon reached a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. Her tone became serious again. "But, hey, if you're going to be thinking like that, then it's only fair to acknowledge that my father killed your stepfather via neglect. So both of our families are pretty messed up."
"Good thing we turned out okay, then," said Jane, all sarcasm. "A pseudo-psychic conman and a cop with trust issues."
"Neither of us are those things anymore," Lisbon pointed out gently.
A strong wind blew across the field, and Jane pulled the blanket around them tighter. "I'd always imagined she was dead," he eventually said. "It was the easiest and least painful explanation for my mother's absence, though at various low points in my life I imagined different scenarios with her still alive—addicted to heroin, or on death row for some crime or another. Reality, in this case, is far worse than anything I'd imagined."
Lisbon kissed his shoulder. "Cho told me once that we are defined by our choices rather than our abilities," she said. "I don't remember the exact quote, but it was from some book he was reading at a particularly rough time during the Red John case. Anyway, I've been thinking about his words a lot recently—they just seem rather fitting right now. And sometimes I just need a reminder that it doesn't matter what situations we're born into—what matters is what we make of the situation. What matters are the choices we make. I didn't choose to be my father's daughter, but I chose you, and that bond is so much stronger than sharing some random molecules of DNA."
Jane properly looked at her for the first time since storming out of the interrogation room. The wrinkles on his face were more prominent, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than they'd been this morning, but there was a determination in his eyes that had been missing since they'd made that enormous discovery at the field office.
He leaned towards her, grabbing her hips under the blanket and pulling her closer. His lips met hers, softly at first and then with more force.
"You chose me," he murmured against her lips. "God, I like the sound of that."
"Get used to it," she whispered back. "It appears to be a common occurrence in my life—choosing you, I mean."
He rested his forehead against hers. "I could definitely get used to that." His fingers touched her face. "You're freezing," he noted, concerned. "Come on." He stood up, pulling out from under the blanket and wrapping it more securely around Lisbon, and she threaded her arm through his again.
"You know, Jane," said Lisbon as they trudged their way back through the snow, "the city may not look it now, but Chicago is a prime location for weddings."
Jane's hand twitched in hers, but he did not otherwise react to her statement. "Is it really? I had no idea," he said, his tone teasing.
"Oh, for sure," said Lisbon, playing along.
Jane nodded. "So what time of year best shows off what Chicago has to offer as far as wedding venues?" His tone was far too innocent, Lisbon thought, and she ducked her head and smiled.
"Definitely late spring or early summer—June or even late May. Although with May you have to be careful—we once got a foot of snow on May 7th."
"So outdoor weddings are the general preference?" asked Jane.
It was clearly apparent that Jane didn't care much for most people's preferences—rather, he was only interested in one particular person's preference—but Lisbon continued to play along.
"Well, some Chicago natives prefer outdoor weddings. As to people who live elsewhere, well, I'd like to know the answer to that myself."
"Everyone prefers a good outdoor wedding, Lisbon," said Jane, and she could hear him smiling around his words. "Are these things generally enormous shindigs? Like 'invite your high school English teacher' kind of celebrations?"
Lisbon laughed. "Not so much. It's more akin to 'invite only your closest friends and family.' But brides here are really willing to do anything to make their husbands-to-be happy, so if the groom wants a big wedding, she'd say yes."
"I'm sure most grooms would prefer the former," said Jane, stopping in his tracks. Lisbon looked up at him. "What brought this on, Teresa? Don't tell me it had anything to do with the morning we just had."
Lisbon shrugged her shoulders. "Well, yes and no," she admitted. "I actually started thinking about weddings the moment we stepped off the plane at O'Hare because we passed a couple very obviously just returning from their honeymoon. But just now I got to thinking…"
"About?" prompted Jane.
"I think that we're ready," she said honestly, shrugging again and smiling hopelessly. "We've known each other a decade now; we've faced more together in that time than most couples would face in multiple lifetimes. And then, if that weren't enough, we faced more today when we learned how our families had already been connected before we'd even met." Lisbon's expression became earnest. "And we handled it. Just now," she said, gesturing back to the bleachers where they'd been sitting. "Look at how we handled that news. That discovery would have destroyed most people—but it just made us more solid. We're ready, I think, to start talking about officially joining our lives together because, at least in my opinion, we're already unofficially accomplished that same thing a thousand times over."
"You really want a Chicago wedding?" Jane asked, a grin beginning to form on his face.
"Only if it's what you want," said Lisbon, grabbing his hand.
He pulled her towards him, crushing her body against his, and peppered kisses upon her face. "Of course it is," he said between kisses. "Of course it's what I want."
His hands were still sliding up and down her back, pulling her body into his and causing her back to arch. She leaned her head back a fraction of an inch and held his face between her mitten-covered hands.
"I'm glad," she whispered. "We already know we choose each other. Now the rest of the world can know as well."
AN: Yes, I had to throw a Harry Potter quote in there. JK Rowling is pure perfection, and her words are always applicable :)