Summary: After becoming a well loved Agent on Teresa Lisbon's CBI team, you face a new (exciting) challenge when Patrick Jane, shows up sporadically at the office...
Warnings: None.
A/N: Sooooo we got past the 100th Episode special for the Mentalist and seeing Jane before he was in deep with the CBI, like, on his VERY first case was so weird! He seemed so sad and lost! But dude, the hair!!! *drools* yeah I was vibing with Jane's hair. It was messy and he wasn't dressed all nice like usual...so weird but kinda hot. Anyways, here's the One-Shot that episode inspired. Comment if you want a part two, I'm planning on one but sometimes other ideas side track me. Also...the gif above is so hot...how can this man make eating a BROWNIE HOT?!
~~~~
Three months into working with the CBI, you were steadily earning trust and respect of those in your unit and those not. Virgil Minelli, the Director, personally bought you coffee to thank you for your efficiency and considerate spirit, as well as the way you cooperated given any situation, high stress or calm. Even your boss - Teresa Lisbon - who you got along with immediately, invited you into her office to express her gratitude. Again, it'd only been three months, but you were Lisbon's first female teammate and by the looks of it, one of her only real friends. You were there to help whenever a case became too much and she was stressed. She gave you stability, you gave her hope. Together, you eased each other's burdens and ended up confiding in each other.
That was just in three months.
Three more and you were getting even more compliments, rewards, and now, a closer relationship with Agents Rigsby and Cho.
Rigsby felt like a brother. A tall brother. He towered over you and loved to tease you about it. He could be a dork, but you liked that about him. He was a gentle giant, through and through.
Cho? Sometimes he remind-ed you of a boy you once knew in school. He had a dry, deadpan sense of humor that never failed to get you laughing. For all the 'serious guy' stuff he pulled, he couldn't help but crack a smile when you were laughing and it remains one of your greatest gifts.
Well, nine months into working with the CBI brings something very unexpected.
Not triple the compliments, nor any more congratulations or thanks.
No...
You get a consultant.
Well, that's getting ahead of yourself. The guy started out a wreck, waltzing into the CBI looking like Hell and carrying a 'homeless vibe' as Lisbon pointed out very clearly. You saw him come in. He was tall, but not nearly as disproportionate as Rigsby. This guy...he was wearing semi tight fitting jeans, a loose, pinstripe dress shirt that had seen better days, and the most ruffled head of curls you've ever laid eyes on. All in all, he looked terrible.
...but at the same time....kinda hot.
What the HELL am I thinking? You reprimanded yourself. This guy had only just set foot in the CBI offices and already you were checking him out?
As he wandered into Lisbon's unit's section of the offices, you rose from your seat and hurried over to him.
"Hi," You flashed him your warmest smile.
"Uh...hello."
Oh how your heart ached looking into those grey blue eyes. They were smudged with sorrow. The grey, thick and blotchy like the clouds left after a raging storm, melded with the blue. It was a soft blue, gentle, intelligent and captivating. It reminded you of old tears. Speaking of tears, the man's face looked like one who'd seen many tears. He'd spent a long time crying. But, by the way his face sagged and his everything hung loose and careless, you knew he was done with crying. This man, whoever he was, was ready to do something with himself. Why come to the CBI then? You weren't sure, but you sure as Hell were going to get to the bottom of it.
That was one thing your superiors and coworkers loved about you:
You had endless curiosity.
Balanced with a healthy dose of common sense.
"I'm Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," You offered your hand out to the man and he inspected it quietly before taking it in his own. Gosh his hands are warm. "What brings you to the CBI?"
"Well I..." The man paused, flipping your arm over while his fingers crawled up your hand to your wrist where he placed two fingers. "You're pulse. It's racing."
"Is it?" You asked in a semi-squeaky voice.
"...yes..." The man raised a brow as you yanked your hand back and glanced down at it embarrassedly. "I'm here for the Red John files."
"Red John?" You repeated doubtfully. "I'm sorry sir, it's an ongoing investigation. We can't talk about it. Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't find the reading entertaining. It's a morbid tale."
"I know."
"Well..." You shifted on your feet, uncertain of what to say next. What on Earth was this guy thinking? Just coming into the CBI facility, hoping to read through files of an ongoing investigation like this was some library! As you studied his face, trying to get a good reading on him, you suddenly realized he hadn't told you his name yet. You cleared your throat casually. "So, I didn't get your name...?"
"Patrick. Patrick Jane."
Your eyes went wide. Patrick Jane? The Patrick Jane?
"Oh gosh, I'm...I'm so sorry. I should've known. See I haven't read the case files in depth..." You took a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Jane."
"Thank you...Agent (Y/L/N)-"
"Please, call me (Y/N), Mr. Jane." You aren't sure why, but you follow the voice inside you that urges you to get on a first name basis. Maybe its the part of you that can't help but acknowledge how handsome Patrick Jane is, or maybe its the other part that simply wants to cry, thinking of what he must have gone through this past year following the murder of his family. Whatever the cause, you've already insisted on him calling you by your first name. What he does with that information is up to him. Still, you can't help but hope...
"Patrick, I uh...don't feel I live up to a 'Mr.' right now." Patrick jokes.
"I wouldn't say that! You look good!"
A shy smile tugs at Patrick's lips, he squints, eyeing you weirdly and your internally plant your face into your palm.
"I meant you - well, you don't look as bad as you may think," You stutter and give up, sighing in exasperation. "That um, that's...ok I walked into that one."
"Hey," Patrick raises his hands and smiles though his eyes retain that emotional exhaustion. "I won't turn down being called attractive."
Your face goes red and you open your mouth to protest when Patrick holds up a silencing hand, smirking now.
"I saw the way your pupil's dilated. You smiled. You offered your first name..." Patrick pauses for a moment before summing his diagnosis up. "You like me."
"I wouldn't say that..."
"(Y/L/N)!" Lisbon's voice carries through the office. You tear your gaze away from Patrick's and catch sight of her hurrying towards the two of you, a questioning look on her face. She stops and stares at you and the 'stranger' in turn. "What's going on here?"
"Boss," You start, gesturing to Patrick. "This is Patrick Jane-"
"Yes, I'm aware - Mr. Jane, can we help you?"
Patrick shoots you a subtle glance, pouting his lips and scrunching up his nose, mouthing, is she always grumpy? You press a hand to your mouth and feign a cough to cover up your giggle. Skillfully hiding his mischief, Patrick focuses back on Lisbon. "Uh, yes ma'am I was looking for the Red John files...I heard the Sacramento Police Department gave them to you?"
"They did," Lisbon nodded. "But I don't see why this concerns you."
"Lisbon...he killed his family," You murmur.
Saying it hurts. It's none of your business and it certainly shouldn't mean anything to you, and yet it does. Somehow you feel a knife press into your chest at the thought of this beautiful man coming home, thinking he's a hero for confronting Red John on television, only to find his family...his wife...his daughter dead. Cut up. Like meat. Like nothing. Weren't their toenails painted? With a sigh, you recall the snippets of the file that you read. Yes, they had been. Red John was sick enough to sit by their bloodied bodies, dip a brush into their life, poured out on the floor and do something as intimate as painting their nails. If that didn't break a man you didn't know what would.
The silence began to stifle you, so you peeked at Patrick from the corner of your eye and saw him watching you with genuine interest.
Not interest interest...
Curiosity. Intrigue.
Lisbon blew out a long breath. "Alright, but getting the files up here is gonna take a while. I've got a current investigation and Agent (Y/L/N) needs to follow up. I can't have someone sit here alone without a tag so you'll have to leave. We'll give you a call when the files are ready. (Y/L/N)?"
"Yes boss?"
"Get out to 515 Ranch Drive. We've got a homicide. Rigsby and Cho are out looking for a boyfriend and family. We identified the body but I want someone to look at the scene closely before forensics clean up." Lisbon frowned at Patrick and shuffled forward, leaning her lips to your ear as she whispered, "And walk this guy out will you, while you're at it."
"Sure." You grimace and nod.
Lisbon returns the expression and spins around, heading into her own, sectioned off office space, leaving you with Patrick again. He's staring down at you with the innocent pleading eyes of a puppy. His unkempt hair and unbuttoned collar are begging for your mercy. You bite your lip to keep from letting slip a smile, you know it'll do nothing more than encourage Patrick. When you meet his gaze again, he raises a brow, asking, please? A small voice inside you chants, do it, do it, do it, do it! while Cho's sighs in exasperation. Wait. Since when did Cho have a place in your internal committee?
And what on earth was an internal committee?
"Alright, you can tag along. Just do what I say, got that?"
"Yes Ma'am," Patrick salutes.
*Time Gap brought to you by Rigsby singing his son sleep, what a good dad...*
At the scene of the crime, you were met by Sac PD. All it took was the flash of your badge to let you and Patrick through into the quaint, countryside home where death waited. You'd been on hundreds of cases, most of which were homicides, and yet, everytime the call came in that a body had been found, you could never shake the bullet that lodged in your heart. Why did so many people have to die? And with the rate of death there was in just California...how was it that the rest of the world could go on? Seeing the first few bodies packed a punch that you didn't feel now, but the sorrow of seeing such loss daily definitely changed you and would continue to.
Although you'd agreed to let Patrick come along with you, a nervous whisper in the back of your head warned against it.
Where had he been all of these months?
Grieving...who wouldn't be, you retorted.
Upon entering the house, there were blood droplets dotting the polished wood floor. You followed the spritz of red into the kitchen where a young woman's body lay, twisted at an odd angle. Her mouth was parted, revealing blood coating her tongue and chapped lips. A bit of dried blood caked her nostrils and the insides of her ears. Other than that, she looked virtually unharmed. Her body was contorted awkwardly, but that could've been from the fall. Something had messed up her body from the inside, causing internal bleeding. Still scanning the girl's face, you lowered into a crouch by her head, checking for any foaming at the mouth. Nothing. Just blood. Red, red, red. Red in her ears and nose.
The closer you inspected...the more your attention caught onto her features. The button nose, small and complimentary of her large eyes, a fluorescent green, greying as her body descended into decomposition. Even her cheeks, retaining a look like baby fat adding to her youthful glow, all of it highlighted the young lady's beauty. Her reddish hair, falling in bangs at her brows, was tangled and twisted beneath her head. Your mouth dried up and filled with a sour sick flavor. This poor poor girl.What did she do to deserve this?
Who did this to her?
"What...what happened to her?"
The small timid voice comes from behind you. You turn around and meet Patrick's imploring gaze. His blue eyes flicker to the girl's body and back to your face. The teasing smile he'd cracked back in the office was gone. His cheeks were a tad pale, adding to the haggard look he had going. As you stared up at him from your place near the body, you suddenly realized that this was the first body Patrick Jane had seen since his own wife and daughter's. He wasn't a CBI agent like you nor anyone involved in homicide and crime. He was a psychic. He's not accustomed to death. Especially to hover over it like you. The longer you look into his eyes, the easier it is to catch how haunted they are; clouded over, misty, far off. His posture is sagging under the weight of his trauma.
His loss.
"I'm not sure, something to do with internal bleeding." You reply quietly. "If you're uncomfortable I can-"
"No, no," Patrick cuts you off with a wave off his hand. Then, clearing his throat he adds, "I'm just...this is..."
"I know. It's always this way. But someone has to get justice. Avenge this girl and the hundreds of others. It all starts here though."
"So..."
"Well, from what we can see, she's in casual clothes. But they're nice. A loose, floral shirt, clean, well kept jeans. Her shoes are off though which would suggest she was prepared to stay at home, relax. So why is her outfit so nice? She could be in a sweatshirt and shorts-"
"Perhaps she liked to dress this way."
"Maybe, it could be her style, or she was expecting someone, or someone was over. Someone she'd dress nice for."
"A lover?"
"Exactly," You nodd. "A boyfriend. So the question is, what were they doing together and how did she end up bleeding to death?"
"Should we find her boyfriend?"
"Yes, yes we should. Her name is Annabeth Rylie, she's an only child and her father died a few months back. That's what Lisbon texted me. I think Cho and Rigsby are out finding the boyfriend so we should track down her Mom. Maybe we can check her for a phone, find the right number, give the Mother a call and ask if we can meet her somewhere to ask some questions. But first..." You press your palms to your thighs and push back up to your feet. "Where is her phone?"
All of sudden, in perfect timing, an electronic device goes off, ringing like crazy from somewhere nearby. Both you and Patrick jump. Your hand strays to your gun and Patrick's curl up into fists. He looks around the room and his eyes settle on something on the counter, half hidden by a napkin. You frown, confused by the expression of surprise on his face. It looks ten times better than the pale frightened one. The way he smiles just a bit and his brows are flying above his widened eyes makes his hair, wild and bright in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, appealing in the most unprofessional ways. You bite your lip and force away all those thoughts. You are on a case. This is not the time for gawking. Besides, what is it he's looking at?
Following his gaze, you see a small black thing covered by a napkin.
You creep forward, wary of the girl's body as you press against the counter and reach out from the napkin. Your stomach groans when you see the damp corner of the fabric. It's blood. The girl's blood says a hundred bucks. It's soaked all the way through the napkin onto the counter, leaving a gross, dark stain on the marble surface. You grimace and slide on a pair of plastic gloves before pinching the corner of the napkin and removing it only to find the phone, buzzing obnoxiously underneath. You throw a look over your shoulder and nearly jump out of your skin when you notice Patrick hovering right behind you. He doesn't seem to realize he's scared you and leans a bit closer.
In white letters against the brightened screen is the name: Cara.
"Keep quiet," You whisper out of the corner of your mouth, then, you take a quick breath and answer the phone. "Hello?"
On the other end, soft breathing can be heard. It's faint. The caller - Cara - or whoever that is, remains silent for a moment. "Who is this?"
"I'm Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) with the California Bureau of Investigation. What relation do you have to this number?"
"Uh, I'm sorry, I uh...I'm Cara O'Connell...Annabeth's friend...is she in any trouble? Why do you have her phone? Ann's a good person she wouldn't get into anything bad so if you think she's involved with something-"
"Ma'am," You cut off the girl's rambling. "Annabeth Rylie is dead."
A loud crash and the girl's breathing cuts off.
"Are you alright? Ma'am?"
You glance at Patrick from over your shoulder and he simply raises his shoulders in a shrug. Before you can repeat the question, the girl's sharp gasps filter through the phone speakers.
"Oh my gosh...she's...No. No Officer - Agent - whatever you are, lady you have to be wrong. It can't be Annabeth it-" Cara breaks off, her wavery voice fading into a sob of raw, devastating pain.
"Ma'am, I need you to remain calm. If you're her friend, can you give us your address so we can pick you up and take you to our office? If we ask some questions, maybe we can find Annabeth's killer. I'm very sorry for your loss...but if you truly are her friend...helping avenge her is the right thing to do..."
"Let me see her body," Cara whispers.
"Ms. O'Connell...your address please. We can arrange a way for you to identify your friend once we've met face to face."
After her breathing calms down, Cara gives her address. You thank her, repeat your condolences, and then hang up. You carefully set the phone down on the counter again and turn to face Patrick. The two of you are awfully close together now that he isn't leering over your shoulder. He's taller than you by a few inches, but that's enough for him to have to bend his head to meet your gaze at this proximity. The warmth of his breath tickles your face. For whatever reason, he smells like a doctor's office. Clean, soaked in disinfectant. And underneath it all...there's something more raw. Not an open wound raw but natural, earthy. You realize that you've been staring at his lips this whole time, thinking about how Patrick Jane smells.
"Uh-" You clear your throat and back away. "I think we should pick her up. There's nothing much left for us to see here. Forensics!"
After you flag the CBI forensic team down, you show them the napkin and the phone and leave them to do their work. Patrick lingers at your side, running his eyes all over the room one last time.
"Alright, let's go pick up our first connection."
The car ride to Cara's house is surprisingly short. Although, she did claim to be close friends with the victim, so perhaps that's part of how they met? Living in the area, hit it off, and now, it's over. Because someone killed Annabeth and Cara is clearly distraught. Patrick sits forward in his seat as you pull up to the house numbered 66, just as Cara had described. You shift the car into park and unbuckle yourself. Patrick however, stays clipped into his seat, craning his neck at the quaint, cookie-cutter two story home. It's small, but appears to reach far back, like a bungalow. It's got a sharp, triangular roof with one window in the center of the top floor and two at the bottom, on either side of the door. You pull your keys out of the car and stuff them in your pocket, your eyes never leaving Patrick's face as you do so.
"Earth to Patrick?"
"Sorry," Patrick mumbles quickly.
"Don't be. What's so interesting about the house? You were staring at it like it was a work at the Art Museum."
Patrick smiles shyly. "Oh nothing just...it's well, 66."
You scrunch your face up in confusion. "Pardon?"
"66?" Patrick raises a brow. "One more six and it would've been the Devil's number. It's a sign, possibly. Or dramatic irony."
"66..." Your eyes flicker to the golden numbers nailed to the post of Cara's mailbox. "Hm, nice catch. We'll keep that in mind."
"Really?"
"Yeah," You shove your car door open and Patrick hurries to unbuckle and climb out too.
"Well it's...it's a superstitious observation...not something police would pay any regards to..."
"I know, but I also know that there's no coincidences in this world. God has a plan for everything and it's my job as an investigator to pay attention to all the little signs he's left. So thanks, for noticing. I was too busy thinking how ugly this house is. I mean..." You jump onto the sidewalk and throw your hands up, gaping at the street, lined with identical homes, differing only in paint and how many gnomes have been stuffed in the garden. "Come on architects! Nobody wants to live in the same house as everyone in the entire neighborhood!"
Patrick chuckles and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah...they sure know how to mass produce."
"And massively over-trimmed lawns. Let the grass grow people," You grumble.
Finally at the door, you roughly jab at the doorbell and Patrick's hangs his head to hide his amused smirk. You sigh and roll your shoulders back, but catch Patrick's subtle laugh. Frowning you turn to him and rest your shoulder against the doorframe.
"What?"
"Oh me?" Patrick raises his head, struggling to appear serious. His eyes are crinkled and his lips twitch into a smile. "Nothing, nothing-"
"You're laughing at me!" You exclaim - unable to contain your own laughter.
"I wasn't!" Patrick blushes and scuffs his shoe against the porch. "But...if I was...would you arrest me?"
"Not before I interrogated you to find out why."
"Well in that case, I was laughing because it's fascinating. Your passion about how wild and free life is. It's...refreshing to wake up to that."
Your heart swells, injected by some strange, warm, tickling substance. There is honesty in Patrick's words. He's convinced that you are what he's observed you to be, and to hear him express it so genuinely? The way his eyes light up as he describes you as 'refreshing,' it lights a match beneath your heart. You part your lips, searching for the right thing to say, but puddles can't speak. They don't have words. You gaze deep into Patrick's eyes, half smiling, half frowning at your own disability to thank him, but your moment is interrupted by the door being flung open. Out of instinct, your hand falls on your gun, gripping the handle desperately as you whirl around to face the exposed hall and the young woman standing warily just beyond the doorstep. She's in her early twenties, curvy, on the shorter side heightwise, but not enough to be dwarfed by the average. In loose rings, her dark brown hair falls about her face, ending at her shoulders.
Her makeup is very patchy, hastily thrown on.
A bit of her mascara has leaked below her eye and her clothes are extremely casual.
Stretchy pants and an oversized t-shirt.
"Ms. O'Connell?" You inquire.
"Yes?"
"I'm Agent (Y/L/N) from the CBI, we talked on the phone."
A beam of light ripples across Cara's dark eyes. "Oh, yeah, yeah I remember um...who's that?"
She nods at Patrick, who raises a hand in a shy wave.
"This is Patrick Jane...he's a uh..." Your eyes dart to him, realizing he's just as much a mess as Cara, if not more. "He's a consultant on this case."
"O...kay."
"We'd like to talk with you about Annabeth, if that's alright. I know this is hard but if you are Annabeth's friend, you're information could bring us to her killer. Anything can prove helpful."
Cara tucks a fallen curl of hair behind her ear and you take notice of three piercings. One is a ring in her earlobe, the other two are small spikes. The piercings draw your attention down to her shirt. A black Led Zeppelin tee, designed with a large brightly colored yet slightly faded circle in the center. In the circle, surrounded by red, yellow, blues and greens, a woman adorned with white feathery wings stands. Below the circle yellow letters in the same font as the band's name it reads, U.S. Tour 1975. You store that snippet of information in the back of your head. Cara, rock girl, seems broken on the outside, hard rocker when she's not mourning her friend...address is one step away from the devil's number.
Someone clears their throat awkwardly. "So? You coming?"
Patrick! You hiss internally as you shoot your 'consultant' a sharp look.
"Yeah, yeah I'd like to uh, help."
Cara slides on some shoes and steps out of the door. You and Patrick back up to give her some space.
"Thanks, Ms. O'Connell," You say with a comforting smile. "We'd like to take you back to the CBI offices, that way you can see Annabeth...like you asked. Would you prefer to drive with us or in your own car?"
"I - I'll drive behind you," Cara replies.
"Alright," You nod.
Cara slips back inside her house to grab her car keys and then locks the door behind her. You and Patrick wait for her to follow you off the porch and towards the road where a black SUV sits right behind your own CBI vehicle. You give Cara one last smile before climbing into the driver's seat. Patrick hops in beside you and straps himself in while you start the car. Then, you shift into drive and take off, keeping a steady pace so as to not lose your first lead on the Annabeth Rylie case. As you drive, you catch Patrick eyeing you. His hair, already tussled, gets picked up by the wind gusting through the open windows. You bite your lip and chuckle.
Is it possible for this man to be even more of a mess?
Is it possible for him to look so darn attractive while being a mess?
No.
And yet here we are.
"What?" Patrick asks.
"Hm?" You train your eyes on the road, pretending to not have been staring creepily at him for waaay too long.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing just...if you're gonna help on this case...you need to clean up a bit."
"Oh, ok," Patrick taps his hand on the center console for a bit. His little beat slows and he sits up suddenly. "You called me your 'consultant.'"
"I had to say something," You explain.
"So am I?"
"What?"
Patrick grins. "A CBI 'consultant'?"
You roll your eyes. "Maybe. We have to ask Lisbon."
"You didn't ask Lisbon before letting me come along."
"Well...we all do things we regret," You mutter, haunted by an uncontrollable blush.
To cut the conversation short, you flick on the radio. It settles on a Led Zeppelin song. You go rigid. No way. Jaw hanging open in disbelief, you sneak a glance at Patrick and find he's been waiting for you to turn his way. His face is contorted in a similar expression to yours. It's like looking in a mirror. You quickly focus back on the road, tightening your hold on the steering wheel. There's no coincidences...
So what does it all mean?
You shove the song aside.
Between this case and being Patrick's welcome buddy and other things...you've got too much on your mind.