Title: All On Your Own
Author: Mlee Write
Spoilers: 5 x7, If It Bleeds, It Leads
Disclaimers: I'm not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and not earning a profit from this.
Author's Note: I was incredibly annoyed with how patronizing and offensive Jane was in this episode. I appreciate the fact that the character is supposed to be vain and self-aggrandizing, but as Lisbon's friend I'd like to think he wouldn't suggest she's completely incompetent at her job. This is me taking out my anger on Jane. Oh, and smut. It's also a lot of smut.
Teresa Lisbon looked at the pictures on the murder board and felt the prickle of anticipation that came with the beginning of each new case. It was like cracking the spine on a new mystery novel; all the possibilities were out there and she felt compelled to find out 'who done it.'
The fact that Cassie Flood was as young as she was, and just about to start a promising career, only made the drive to find her killer more intense.
She turned to Van Pelt. "Re-interview all the witnesses from the accident report. See if anyone remembers anything suspicious."
"Sure boss," Grace replied, turning back to her computer.
Teresa headed for the attic, making a mental note to talk to the junior officer about how much time she spent in front of that computer lately. A little field work would do Grace good, especially since the CBI physical evaluations were coming up soon. She felt a twinge of embarrassed guilt, but she couldn't be the only one who noticed Van Pelt had put on weight lately. All the open jackets and loose blouses were only drawing attention to the fact.
Jane's hidey-hole in the attic was dingy and depressing as ever. If anything a little more so since he'd added the blue blanket to his cot. The tiny bit of color seemed to emphasize how spare and depressing the rest of the room was.
Her errant consultant was hunched over a file. She knew it contained information about Lorelei Martins and the prison she was currently housed in. Teresa wasn't a fool; she knew that Jane planned to break Red John's girl out. She could see him heading down a path that would only end in pain. His obsession was getting worse with every passing day, and she worried he'd lose his sense of humanity in the hunt for the killer.
He needed distraction.
"Lisbon. So it's murder is it?" he asked, futility trying to hide the file from her.
"It is," she answered, walking over to his ad-hoc desk. "Let's go the news station. The victim worked there." Let's get you out of this dump, she thought sadly.
She saw the consternation on his face, knew the put-off was coming. "Uhm, I'm kind of busy, maybe later," he said glibly.
She knew that tone of voice. It was his suave 'I'm going to pretend I don't know I'm being offensive' voice. He only broke it out when he felt guilty about something.
She shifted her weight. "That's not how it works. We have to do our jobs."
"Well, I think you can do it," he replied quickly, fiddling with his pen and looking her over. The look was almost sexual, intended, she suspected, to make her ill at ease. "You're very capable."
He must really be desperate if he's resorting to that act, she thought cynically. "I'm notkidding," she said. "C'mon, let's go."
He sighed, looked at the folder for a moment. He stood. "Okay, I'll go to the news station with you, get you started, and then you're on your own all right?"
She felt her neck flush as her temper ramped up. It was the same way she talked to her brothers when they whined about doing their homework. I'll help you with one math problem, get you started, then you do the rest on your own, okay?
He could be such a patronizing, insufferable ass, she thought angrily. She was a good cop and she knew it, and he liked to pretend the entire agency was lost without him.
As if to underscore his point, he slid the folder beneath the pillow of his ratty makeshift bed. That had to be the stupidest place to hide something, she thought, since that would be first place anyone would look.
Yeah, you're a real genius, she almost said. Instead she replied, "I'm not in the sixth grade, that doesn't work on me."
He ignored the irritation in her tone. "I can't promise I'll always be around to help you, Teresa," he said.
Using her first name, must be serious. She smirked.
"There will come a time when you may have to do all of this on your own," he added, rubbing salt in the wound. "I want you to be prepared."
"I am prepared to punch you in the face, all on my own," she replied tartly.
As they walked to the elevator she wondered if he was preparing her for the possibility that he might disappear after he broke Lorelei out of prison, or for the possibility that he'd go to prison himself.
Selfish, arrogant ass, she thought again.
She couldn't stand it when he behaved this way, intentionally callous and offensive. She wasn't a mark he could play for information or a suspect he was manipulating into confessing.
She balled her fists up as the elevator doors shut, sealing them in together. No, she was his closest friend, the only person he really had. She was the woman he was a little bit in love with.
Without thinking twice she hit the emergency stop button. The elevator car jerked to a stop.
"Uh, Lisbon?" Jane turned to her, confused.
She grabbed his lapels in each hand, backed him up against the wall and kissed him hard. He resisted for a moment, obviously shocked. She sensed his hands wavering on either side of her, trying to figure out what to do.
Push me away, she thought. I dare you.
His hands fell heavily on her hips as he pulled her closer to him. With a sigh he opened his mouth, deepened the kiss.
Heat flooded into her belly as his tongue flickered against hers. Only Patrick Jane could make kissing more wicked than sex itself. Each thrust and parry, each gentle scrape of teeth on lips made her body feel liquid and heavy.
She let go of his lapels and began unbuttoning his shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to kiss the tanned skin she had exposed.
"Teresa," he said raggedly. "What are you doing?"
Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little bit nervous? She bit back a grin and didn't answer. Instead she let her hand fall to the crotch of his pants, her fingers finding his zipper.
He was hard against the fabric, so aroused that she guessed it was painful. Slowly, tantalizingly, she lowered the zipper.
"Teresa." His voice was hard now, warning her. His hand wrapped around her wrist.
"Shh," she whispered, kissing him again, this time gently. He relaxed his grip and she slipped her hand into his pants, found his erection.
He made a sound somewhere between a gasp and moan as she took him in her hand, stroked him. He was hot and silky, a heavy weight in her palm.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, frantically now. He was demanding and unyielding and she had to stifle a moan of her own. She quickened her pace, her pressure. He traced the contours of her neck before dropping his hands to her breasts, memorizing their shape, squeezing them gently.
She felt the urgency rising inside of her like an inferno, the need to have him in her body.
His breathing was getting ragged. His fingers were trembling against her.
He was so close; she could tell.
She stroked him a few more times for good measure, then stopped, removed her hand. She turned back to the door, straightened her jacket and her hair, and pressed the start button on the panel in front of them.
He stared at her, dazed, as the car began to move.
Realizing what was happening he hurriedly zipped up his trousers and adjusted himself, just before the elevator doors opened at the parking garage.
"What was that?" he demanded.
"I was just getting you started," she said dryly. "You can do the rest all on your own."
A/N: Please please please review. Also I couldn't resist joking about the actress who plays Van Pelt being so obviously pregnant.