Red Guy At Night: Lisbon has a less-than-professional dream about Jane. Does it mean anything? And will he be able to tell? Jisbon.
Note: Just a bit of fun that I've had in my head for quite a while. Please review!
Disclaimer: Still don't own The Mentalist.
She knows it is her apartment she has walked into, but checks the number on the door anyway, because this couldn't possibly be where she lives. The layout is the same, but someone has snuck in and changed the décor, filling the room with hydrangeas and photographs, completely personalising her once-sterile home. She walks over to the cabinet where the pictures sit, her footsteps making no noise.
She looks at the picture and sees what should seem strange: it is a photo of her and Jane, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, smiling as if they have not a care in the world. She wrinkles her brow and turns around to find him standing there, silently smiling back at her, and she gasps in shock. Then, all of a sudden his lips are on hers, kissing her passionately, and the electricity between them is tangible.
Pure ecstasy fills her, surging through her veins as they kiss their way blindly to her bedroom, their entwined bodies ricocheting off the walls as they hold desperately, urgently onto one another. He lays her on the bed with such gentle tenderness it makes her heart break, and she is as lost in his cherubic blonde curls as he is in her inky tresses. His hot sweet breath fills her mind, and she murmurs "I love you," into his mouth, knowing it is true. She has never loved anyone as much as she loves him at this moment. They are locked in passionate, ensnaring embrace, and light tickles her closed eyelids.
She flits open her emerald eyes to watch her bedroom ceiling opening up before her, the bright blue sky singing with sunlight above her, and the music is so beautiful she wants to be a part of it, and she floats closer towards it. Tendrils of hope try desperately to stay within his grasp, but the music and light are too strong and they wrench her away from him, and she is falling, falling, falling…
Teresa Lisbon jolted awake to the violent chirping of her phone as it vibrated its way to the edge of her bedside table. Groggily, she sat up, her body still dull from the weight of sleep, and clumsily grabbed the phone. "Lisbon," she mumbled, her voice hoarse from slumber.
A familiar voice greeted her, "Hey sleeping beauty," Jane teased and immediately it all came flooding back to her; the dream, the kiss, everything else. Her face grew beetroot red, and her jaw dropped, her mind awash with confusion, embarrassment and blind panic. Trudging through her mess of emotions, she numbly found some words, her brain completely on autopilot.
"I wasn't asleep." She lied, waiting expectantly for the point of the phone call, whilst her heart and brain battled for control. "Aah," Jane said knowingly, the stifled chuckle audible in his voice.
" 'Aah', what?" Lisbon demanded irritably, too disorientated to play his stupid games.
"Well," started Jane matter-of-factly, "You're voice is very hoarse which means you were either asleep, or you just had sex."
"Oh haha," she replied, concentrating very hard on sounding sarcastic to avoid continuing this uncomfortably close line of questioning. She cut him off before he could go any further. "May I ask what the point of this early-morning phone call is?"
"We have a case," he replied, before ringing off an address and description of the victim.
"Great," she answered numbly. "I'll be there soon."
Hanging up the phone, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself, before saying aloud, "What the hell is going on with me?" When the empty room didn't provide an answer, she simply shook her head and pushed herself out of her bed, putting on her work face and stuffing her subconscious in a box at the back of her mind.