Fandom: The Mentalist
Characters: Patrick Jane + Angela
Title: Our Secret Song
Summary: The first meeting between Patrick Jane and his wife, Angela.
Notes: Originally, Patrick met Angela while he was a carney; I didn't have that in mind while writing this, so it won't work if you think of the original story line. Patrick's personality will (hopefully) still be the same.
**I actually don't know the maiden name of Angela and couldn't find it anywhere, so I'll be making it up. If anyone knows the answer, I'd be happy to have it :)
Date of Publish: Saturday June 9th 2012
Song I used: Black Acres by Elysian Fields
Chapter 1: First Meeting: Dizzy Leaves, Music, and Rain. (part1)
Angela Husbands stepped out of her house, on her way to work. It was a stormy day, making everything gray, dark, and mysterious. Rain poured down in sheets, drenching her because she had been in such a rush that she forgot her umbrella.
Blond, silky, straight hair, now a dark, curly mess, being whipped every which way by the wind. She was angry, she'd worked on it for an hour trying to get her wiled mane tamed into those sleek locks she'd wanted so badly growing up as a child. It was the reason why she was running late now.
Her black high heels clicked across the pavement in a fast pace, hands raised high over her head, holding a black plastic binder in an attempt to shield herself from the rain, all the while praying that the music sheets wouldn't be ruined. Stupid, stupid, idiot! Wasting time on something as trivial as her hair.
Angela ran a tad bit faster when she saw the bus shelter just down the street, so close, yet so far!
Finally sitting down on the bench inside the bus shelter, she opened the black binder in her hands, inspecting the pages. She was playing the cello in a concert at Washington Square in a month and still had a lot of work to do, she couldn't afford any screw ups.
The streetcar pulled up and allowed her on at the front. She took a seat next to the window and ran through the music in her head, imagining her fingers running over the strings and the ringing of the strings as she ran the bow across them. The notes calling out to each other and answering back in that secret way of theirs. She sighed contentedly. Music was everything to her.