DISCLAIMER: The Mentalist does not belong to me. It is the creation of Bruno Heller. I'm writing this fiction to express my love for the series and maybe vent a little.
Lisbon entered the bull pen, coming back from the crime scene.
"Van Pelt, I'm gonna be taking my break now. Jane, Cho, and Rigsby are still doing interviews. But when they come in, unless they have a hot lead, tell them I'm not to be disturbed."
Going into her office, Lisbon pulled most of the blinds shut. She left one open, hoping if Jane could see she was taking a nap his curiosity would be sated and he wouldn't disturb her.
Then taking off her shoes, she lay down on her couch. She was tired, and for once it wasn't from chasing perps. It took her a while-sleeping on couches was an acquired taste, she decided – but she eventually found a comfortable position. Instead of sleeping, however, she thought about the previous night.
She still couldn't believe that she slept with Walter Mashburn. Just as surprising was his wanting to see her again afterwards. She had left him with the impression that it was only a one night stand- Jane was right about her always needing to be in control. But to be honest, she didn't think she'd mind seeing him again. After all, Walter turned out to be very different from the spoiled rich playboy she had pegged him to be. And if it wasn't for Jane, she would have never known.
Lisbon had been very angry when Jane told her that he never suspected Mashburn, that he was just using him as a ruse to set up Bajoran. But the majority of her anger was with herself. On the other hand seeing Walter so upset had been, knowing she had hurt him with her suspicions was probably what finally got her to reagard him as a human being.
That, and Marie's statement that he had never recovered from his first great love.
And yet, he kept trying.
"How do you do it?" She had asked him.
"Do what?" They were sitting at his hotel's bar. Bajoran had been caught and Walter had called her, inviting her for a drink. Wanting to apologize, she agreed to meet him.
"Just, leave yourself open like that," she clarified, " I mean, you've been married three times. Hasn't that taught you anything?"
"It taught me to think twice before getting married," he had chuckled, and she had been disappointed. But then he became serious and she was relieved that he understood the significance of her question.
"I would never give up on looking for happiness, Teresa. I mean, what's the alternative? Maybe I'm just an incurable romantic, but what use is it being powerful, being alive, if there's no one to come home to," he said, taking a drink.
At her silence, he actually blushed, no doubt embarrassed at how banal he thought he must have sounded.
"But I'm probably just tenacious," he mused off handedly, glancing at her before staring into his scotch."
"Or brave," Lisbon had said sincerely. And he looked at her with a smile.
"What I nice thing to say, Teresa," he said, pleased, "and here I thought you'd just chalk it up as more thrill seeking."
"Nah, there's nothing thrilling about getting your heart broken."
"No there isn't," he said, looking into her eyes meaningfully. At his somber gaze, Lisbon remembered why she had agreed to meet him.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"So am I," he said wistfully, gazing into his glass again. And Lisbon was suddenly filled with a surge of warmth towards him.
Yes, he was arrogant and rich and entitled and egotistical. But he was also generous, forgiving, kind, and humble.
Most importantly, he believed in second chances, in moving on.
His surprise when she kissed him only endeared him to her more.
Author's Note: How about that last episode? It really is strange how much I loved it, yet didn't. I think the last scene is what ruined it for me. Yet it didn't? I'm confused, and this fic is my attempt at making sense of it all. I plan on writing two more chapters from Jane and Mashburn's point of view. Reivews are like smiles, you can never give enough of them.