Hello there, faithful fanfic friends.
After lurking about on this fandom for some time, mooching off the talents of other writers to get my fix, I have finally decided that I no longer want to be an Uncle Larry.
Y'know, Uncle Larry, who came to visit for Christmas and ended up staying until Easter? Uncle Larry who left crumbs and Doritos packets all over the place, ate all the dip, and kept pinching the remote to watch the cricket.
Must have been somebody else I was talking to.
Anyway, here is my contribution to the community at large, whether it raises or lowers the quality of work on offer, I'll leave you to decide.
Disclaimer: There is a hole, deep down in my soul, crying out to be filled. The rights to The Mentalist would do the job quite nicely.
EDIT: To those who reviewed and pointed out Lisbon's eyes are green, not brown (Thranduil's daughter, Jisbon4ever, DrEvilSketch), I just wanted to say a big Thank You! Honestly, I don't know why I thought they were brown, and I've even watched episodes now and paid specific attention to the colour of her eyes. Sometimes, they're green, sometimes they are lighter yellow-green and sometimes even a dark browny-green (or as my brother suggested 'sewage coloured', delightful thought) Anyway, I have made the necessary adjustments and reposted for your consideration.
Also, so you don't think I'm a tease, I added a second chapter.
Chapter One: A Rude Awakening
Lisbon jerked awake.
Lifting her head from her pillow, she listened, the loud noise that had disturbed her continued, the rattling of a window pane.
"It's just the wind" murmured a sleepy, male voice from behind her, "Go back to sleep"
Immediately, she calmed, sinking back down into the warm downy embrace of her comforter. Now she was clearly able to hear the wind howling past the building.
A male voice.
She jerked back upright so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. Fighting back the surge of light-headedness, she blinked madly into the darkness as she turned to look at the other side of the bed.
The other occupied side.
"Something wrong?" her companion murmured, and to her absolute horror, she immediately recognised the voice.
He seemed totally unperturbed by her shock, he didn't even open his eyes,for Gods' sake. She stuttered, her mind so utterly incapable of processing the fact that Jane was in her bed.
Her mind latched onto that very fact and kicked her mouth into gear.
"What the hell are you doing in my bed!" she cried.
He sighed wearily, as though he had hoped to avoid the question.
"I believe you'll find, Lisbon" he said in that same sleepy voice, his tone condescending "That this is my bed"
She flicked her eyes across the moonlit room and realised he was right, this wasn't her bedroom. The door was in the wrong place, it had an extra window where there should be no window and it completely lacked any other furniture besides the bed.
Which she was currently in.
There was no logical reason for it. She didn't remember coming to his apartment. There was no way she would ever willingly get into bed with him either. Yet, here she was, and he seemed to think there was nothing amiss.
"Why," she said quietly, unable to believe the very words she was about to say, "Am I in your bed"
He sighed again, more heavily this time. He was starting to get annoyed by her questioning. He reached up and patted her shoulder patronisingly, his hand surprisingly warm through her shirt. It made her inordinately happy to discover she was wearing a shirt.
"I'll tell you in the morning, just go back to sleep."
Without another word, he rolled away from her, taking the blankets with him. She stared at his shadowy form in shock.
Clearly, he thought the conversation was over.
Clearly, he was wrong.
"No" she declared, her voice high-pitched. Then louder, stronger "No"
When he didn't acknowledge her, she leaned across the bed towards him and poked him viciously.
"No, Jane. You're going to tell me exactly why I'm here, right now."
She was not hysterical.
She poked him again, and again. And she continued poking until he gave up on ignoring her.
Switching on the lamp, he sat up, and turned to face her.
The sudden brightness blinded her, and spots danced in front of her eyes. As her vision adjusted, she saw she wasn't the only one affected.
Jane had his eyes scrunched closed, and was scrubbing a hand across his face tiredly. His curly blond locks were mussed up in a way that might have been adorable, where she not so utterly pissed off right now. There was also a faint shadow of stubble across his chin, and his lips were twisted into a disgruntled grimace.
It was then her eyes flicked down to his chest.
His bare chest.
Oh, dear God.
She was off the bed before she'd realised she'd even moved. Swaying slightly, she put a hand against the wall to brace herself.
This could not be happening.
She had always thought Jane was a perfect candidate for living in the early 1800's. He always, always wore a suit. Even on the hottest days he would only go as far as unbuttoning his vest, and the most skin she had ever seen was when he rolled his sleeves up. She was simply unprepared to deal with his naked chest.
She didn't want to look at him. Didn't think she could keep what little sanity she had left if she had to look at him again. But she refused to look so weak, so pathetic, least of all in front of him.
She finally summoned the courage to face him, and turned, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. She looked down at them, confused as to why they weren't working properly. They looked alright, as did her legs.
"Where the hell are my pants?" she shouted in horrified realisation. She was standing there in nothing but a button-down work blouse and her underwear.
Her little black underwear.
She looked at Jane to provide the explanation. He obviously didn't appreciate her distress, as he was still cringing from her outburst, his fingers tentatively touching his forehead. He sighed again, something that was rapidly becoming irritating.
"Just calm down" he told her, in that frustratingly reasonable tone. "There is no reason to get hysterical"
She was not.
"I am not" she replied petulantly. He shot her a sardonic look and somehow, looking into his warm blue eyes for the first time since she woke up in this nightmare made the situation starkly real.
"And even if I was," she added defensively "I have a very good reason to be"
"Oh, really?" he responded with a smirk, "and why is that?"
"Because I just woke up in your bed, half naked, in the middle of the night!"
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, in a look that Lisbon knew very well and certainly didn't appreciate in her current situation
"As opposed to what?" he asked reasonably "Waking up in Rigsby's bed, half naked, in the middle of the night?"
Lisbon blanched, her vivid imagination happily supplying her with the disturbing mental images. She looked up at the sound of his warm chuckle. He was leaning forward now, elbows resting on his blanket covered knees. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, hiding the previously mentioned naked area. She gasped for breath as she tried to regain some control, annoyed that he was taking such enjoyment out of the situation.
"No" she ground out "I think I would have good reason to be hysterical should I wake up in any man's bed, half naked, in the middle of the night."
Jane's light-hearted smile slipped into something deeper at her words.
"It's a pity" he said quietly "It would do wonders for your stress levels"
She gaped at him in open-mouthed shock. That was not a comment she wanted to hear from Jane. That was not a comment she wanted to hear from anyone. She did not want to hear that he thought she needed to 'get laid'. The implication that he wanted her to was appalling enough. That he said this while they were both significantly less than fully clothed, and had previously been sharing the same bedspace, nearly gave her an aneurysm.
"Does it look like it's doing wonders for my stress levels?" she shrieked angrily.
"Okay, okay" he cringed, holding up a hand placatingly. "I get it, this is a confusing situation. You're feeling helpless and upset"
"I want answers" she demanded. She was not upset, she was angry.
"Fine, just come back to bed and I'll tell you what you want to know" he said calmly, gesturing towards the side of the bed she had previously occupied.
If there was one thing Lisbon knew, it was that a half-naked, sleep-mussed Jane beckoning her back to bed was not something she had ever expected to see. The fact that it caused an unexpected surge of warm, fuzzy feelings was thoroughly terrifying.
"No, I think I'll stay right here, thank you."
He looked at her carefully for a moment, before deciding she wasn't going to budge.
"Fine, what do you want to know?"
Oh…gee, I don't know, how about-
"How the hell did I get here?" she demanded sharply. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it.
"You called me"
"I called you?"
She waited for him to elaborate, but apparently he felt no need to explain further. She shouldn't be surprised, Jane always played his cards close to his chest.
"Why did I call you?"
"To ask me to come get you"
Again, that was all he said. He seemed determined to make her extract the information by force. She searched for something to throw at him in her frustration, but the sparseness of the room worked against her.
"Why won't you just tell me?" she growled. He sighed in irritation, and leaned back against the headboard, revealing that broad expanse of skin again, and her eyes darted away. He huffed in irritation.
"Fine, then. We'd just closed the Lacey case, do you remember that?"
She nodded, she did. They'd caught the killer trying to break into the crime scene, where Jane had told everybody damning evidence had been found. The killer, desperate not to be discovered, had gone back in search of it.
"Well apparently, after you went home, you decided to go out for a drink…"
Yes, she remembered that too. She'd come home to a voicemail from her brother, asking for money. She'd decided she didn't want to deal with it and had headed out to a bar. Not that Jane knew that part, of course.
"After a few drinks, you started feeling dizzy, and you realised that your drink must have been spiked, so you called me to come get you"
She didn't remember that. She didn't remember that at all. It was more than a little frightening.
"Now," Jane told her firmly, he'd clearly had enough of their late night conversation, "Get back into bed and try to get some sleep. We have work in the morning"
It sounded like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. Except for the part where a half-naked Jane was telling her to climb into bed with him.
"No, I don't think so" she said firmly.
He rolled his eyes in frustration, a reversal of roles that was almost amusing. Almost.
"You didn't seem to think it was such a bad idea a few hours ago" he reminded her with a mischievous smile.
"Clearly, my judgement was impaired" she responded dryly.
"Yet, you were still sound enough to talk me out of taking you to the hospital" he countered.
That did sound like something she would do, but that didn't make his offer any less disturbing.
"I think I'll just…sleep on the couch" she decided.
He smiled at her patronisingly.
"That sounds like an excellent idea-"
She began to relax.
"-except I don't have one"
She snorted, very unflattering, sure, but completely warranted on this occasion. 'I don't have a couch'. Honestly, how gullible did he think she was? This is Jane for crying out loud. Jane and couches go together like bread and butter. Sonny and Cher. Stuff and….other…stuff.
Obviously, her brain thought it was an unreasonable hour to function.
"Don't believe me? See for yourself" He said, waving her towards the closed door.
She moved towards it, using the wall to keep herself balanced. At least now she knew why she was so uncoordinated. She'd been drugged.
The darkened room beyond the door was a combined kitchen/living room. True to his word, there was no couch. In fact, there was a complete absence of any furniture. The walls and kitchen counters were bare. The only indication that anyone lived there at all was the stainless steel kettle and refrigerator. Her consultant seemed to take minimalism to the extreme.
She turned back to give him a questioning look, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. He was watching her patiently, his hands behind his head, with his elbows sticking out like wings, utterly confident and relaxed. The shaded lamp suffusing him in a dim, golden glow. She had a feeling that the image would stick with her for a long time to come.
The smug smirk on his face indicated that he'd thought he'd won.
"I'll just drive home, then" she declared. The smug smirk didn't budge.
"Can't. Your car's still at the bar"
"Then I'll take yours" she countered brusquely
"Can't. I've hidden the keys" he responded, all-out grinning now.
She didn't know what irked her more. That he wasn't letting her leave, or that he had anticipated the argument. She glanced out at the empty apartment and grunted in annoyance.
"I can't imagine they'll be hard to find, you haven't exactly got a lot of places to hide them"
"You're welcome to look" he replied. The way he was grinning told her he'd expected her defiance, and was ready to be entertained by her frantically searching. In her current mood, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"I'll take a cab, then" she told him with a glare. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, his eyes glittering with amusement.
"Without any pants on?"
She felt her cheeks warm as she blushed, she'd completely forgotten about that. She gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling the edge down to cover as much as possible, which still wasn't very much at all. Her attempts amused him, which consequently made her angrier.
"Where are my pants?" she demanded irritably.
"In the laundry"
"Because you threw up on them"
"Oh," she said dumbly.
What else had happened that she didn't remember? Could she have said, or done, something humiliating while she was drugged out? Dear god, had he been the one to remove her pants?
She heard Jane sigh in frustration and flip back the covers, climbing out of bed. She stared at him, eyes wide. She knew the top half was naked, but what about the bottom half?
She told herself to look away, that the boxers or briefs question was one that didn't need to be answered.
'Commando' was a word that she didn't even want to consider.
She was immensely relieved when she saw that he was wearing light blue pyjama bottoms, which suitably covered everything from his hips to his ankles. The knot in the drawstring didn't look particularly sturdy though.
She distantly realised that Jane was walking towards her, and he was bringing his bare chest with him. She shrank back against the doorframe, as he came to a stop not two feet from her, and prayed to God, Allah and the aliens that she would wake from this nightmare very, very soon.
She tried to summon her anger from before, but it had deserted her, leaving her nervous and uncomfortable. She desperately tried to think of something that would defuse the situation, or better yet, turn him around and send him straight back to the bed. Hopefully he'd find a shirt on the way. She looked up into his eyes when she realised she had been staring at his chest for an embarrassingly long time. He was watching her, his bright blue eyes half amusement, half puzzlement.
She said the first thing that popped into her head.
Apparently, her internal filter needed replacing.
He stared at her, eyes wide, as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline, his expression one of absolute shock. He obviously hadn't expected her to say that. Though to be honest, neither had she.
He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again abruptly. His brows knit in confusion and he simply watched her with those startling blue eyes.
For the first time since she had met him, Teresa Lisbon had rendered Patrick Jane speechless.
It was a pity she was too mortified to appreciate it.
She dropped her gaze, then realised she was looking at his chest again. Damn her petite stature!
Horrified and blushing furiously, she closed her eyes, desperately trying to backtrack.
"I m-mean…not that you're not….I mean it's not like….I know you don't go to the gym or anything but-" she slapped her hands over her mouth to stop the incessant rambling, and tucked her chin as far into her chest as possible, hiding her beet red face.
Carefully, she raised a hand, finger extended to make a point.
"That was the drugs talking" she declared, though the fact it was muffled by her hand diminished its force.
"Of course it was" he agreed reasonably. There wasn't a single hint of sarcasm in his tone.
She tilted her head upwards slightly and peeked at him through her fingers with one eye.
The bastard was perfectly composed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
She wanted to smack him.
"Can't I just go home?" she pleaded pathetically.
"Sorry, Lisbon" he gently put a hand on her shoulder "But if I thought you were fit to be on your own, I would have taken you home when you called me."
He gently nudged her in the direction of the bed, and she took a few stumbling steps, before stopping suddenly.
"Wait a minute, I called you" she said slowly.
He sighed, frustrated that she was bringing that up again.
"Yes, Lisbon, you called me" he reiterated.
"I called you" she repeated. "Not Cho, not Rigsby, who would have been infinitely better to have in a fight. But you"
She turned to look up at him in, sea green eyes wide with confusion. Her mouth was curved into a frown.
"Why did I call you?"
"I'm offended, Lisbon. I like to think I could hold my own in a fight."
His comment didn't provoke the irritation and sarcastic remarks he'd intended. Instead, she was still looking up at him expectantly, brows furrowed adorably in puzzlement, as if he held all the answers. Which he did. He ran a hand across his stubbly jaw, it was late, and he was tired.
So he decided to just tell her.
"You value Cho and Rigsby's respect too much, and didn't want to lose that by having them see you in such a vulnerable position. Not that they would think any less of you if they did, but that's what you believe would happen. So you called me instead, because you think I don't respect you at all."
He watched as she struggled to process his explanation. In his experience, people often didn't realise the motivation behind their own behaviour, especially when it came to the little things. Lisbon was no exception.
"Oh, okay" she said numbly, nodding her head.
"Okay, then. Now…" he gripped her upper arms gently and twisted her around to face him, she came without resistance. He rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles across her skin, and he dropped down to her level, to look her directly in the eye, and fixed her with his gaze.
She stared back at him confused. It felt like he was looking straight into her soul.
She shivered involuntarily.
"Teresa, I want you to listen to me, okay?" his voice flowed over her like warm honey. She found she couldn't look away. Were his eyes always that vivid shade of blue?
"I want you to know that you're safe here. No one can hurt you. You are in complete control"
She blinked at him as the gentle timbre of his voice echoed in her ears. Yes, she knew that.
"You're feeling very tired. You've been working so hard lately and it's starting to have an effect. Now it's late, and you want to sleep, you can feel it pulling you, dragging you down into a warm, safe place. Your limbs are heavy, like a great weight has settled on you"
He was right, she was tired, so very tired. She could barely stand.
"You can hardly keep your eyes open, you're so tired. Do you want to go to sleep?"
Her eyelids were heavy, and she blinked twice, before letting them slide shut, blocking out his intense gaze. She did want to sleep.
"Yes" she whispered through parted lips, it was more breath than word, she didn't have the energy to form words. She was too tired.
"Good, Teresa. That's good." His warm voice surrounded her like a soft blanket, comforting her. She had made him happy, it was good to make him happy.
She felt him guide her gently across the room, her feet were leaden weights and she couldn't open her eyes, she was so tired. But she was in control, she was safe. He gently pushed down on her shoulders and she sat, feeling the mattress give underneath her.
"Okay now, Teresa. Lie down. That's it," He murmured, his voice husky in her ear. She liked the husky voice, it made her feel all warm inside.
A hand gently pressed her down onto the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. And she heard the whisper and silken touch of sheets as they were pulled up around her shoulders.
A warm hand cupped her cheek, and she felt the soft press of lips against her forehead. It felt good.
"Goodnight Teresa. Go to sleep." His voice rumbled against her ear.
"Goodnight" she whispered, as the drugging warmth of sleep took hold.
When the mattress shifted under the weight of somebody else getting in, something prickled in the back of her mind. Which was odd, because it was just Jane. Yet her mind wouldn't let it rest, it kept niggling at her. Pulling her from the warm, safe place she was floating in. She wanted to sleep. Jane had told her to sleep.
Jane had told her to sleep, and here she was lying in his bed. There was a reason that seemed wrong. She remembered that she hadn't wanted to get back in the bed with him. Why hadn't she wanted to do that exactly? And if she hadn't wanted to, why was it she had?
She thought about moving, but her limbs were too heavy, she was too tired.
Hang on, Jane had told her she was tired, and she was. He had also said her limbs were heavy, and they were.
That was odd…wasn't it?
It was almost as if….
That rat bastard.
She tried to force her eyes open, to no avail. Jane had said she was too tired, that she could barely keep them open, and he was right. The bastard. She clenched a fist, her fingers moving sluggishly. She mustered up every last drop of righteous fury and indignation in her body.
She would not be manipulated.
With every last ounce of strength in her sleep-laden body she flung her arm out, bringing it down with as much force as possible on the body of the man sleeping beside her.
The dull thump as she connected was gloriously satisfying.
The shocked yelp her attack elicited was even better.
"What the hell was that for?" came the shocked cry from the other side of the bed.
"You hypnotised me" she snapped irritably, though it came out as more of a grumble. She was still unable to raise her eyelids, but she glared all the same.
"Oh, go back to sleep" he muttered guiltily.
She thumped him again for good measure.