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May 9, 2013 11:21 pm  #1

Another Mentalist Story

Hi Guys!  This has been going around in my head for a bit, so I thought I would put it to paper.  Hope you like it!

“Thank you for letting me know,”  Lisbon said and hung up the phone.  Sighing, she rested her forehead against her hand and closed her eyes.  If she was honest with herself, none of this was surprising.  Since the moment the initial call had come in, she had known it would be a tough case.  Children always were, but especially for him.  But when she walked into the room and saw the mutilated body of the little girl, and then the crimson smiley face, her stomach had dropped.  She’d tried to stop him, to at least prepare him for what he would see, but he had already stepped into the child’s bedroom.  From her vantage point, she had watched his mask crumble.  To an outsider, they would have noticed very little difference, but to Teresa, he was the picture of despair.  She had been the first to circle the body, a task he usually relished beating her to.  Instead, he stood frozen in the corner of the room, hands in his pockets, his expression impassable.  Cho had been the first to offer a scenario to explain how the killer had entered the house.  There was one point that she thought he had deliberately suggested something false, glancing over to Jane almost hoping for a correction.  All of this left her uneasy, but what had unnerved her the most was that he hadn’t even looked at the smiley face on the wall.  His eyes remained completely fixed on the body of the little girl sprawled underneath it.  A few minutes into her direction of the CSI’s, he abruptly stood up and walked out.  She and Van Pelt had exchanged glances of concern, but Teresa had decided it best to finish up as quickly as they could in order to leave as quickly as they could. 
   Pealing the gloves from her hands, she had stepped out onto the porch into the sunshine.  Jane was making small talk with some of the officers on the scene, his charismatic smile had returned to his face.  But when he caught her eye and she motioned for him to head back to the station with her, he tried to send one her way as well.  It never made it to his eyes.
  He had been quieter than normal on the drive back, but had seemed to have recovered some, even discussing with her some theories about the case.  When they arrived back at the bull pen, he had settled himself on his couch, occasionally taking part in the conversations around him.  As the case had heated up, Teresa hated to admit it, but she had been too busy to check up on him.  That wasn’t to say she didn’t notice when he abruptly rose from his couch and disappeared.  Thinking he was just getting a cup of tea, she hadn’t thought much of it, until three stacks of paperwork, 2 hours, and one phone call later.
The mechanical unlocking of the door after she swiped her id felt obtrusive to the cold, dark solitude of the morgue.  She could see his figure, his back to her in the center of the exam room.  She caught her breath as a shiver snaked down her spine, telling herself it was just from the cold, not from  the sorrow that emanated from him.  He was aware of her presence that much she knew, but he made no attempt to acknowledge her.  As she approached, she kept her weight on her toes, still trying to minimize the intrusion of her heels.

The silence was palpable as she took her place next to him.  She felt her pulse quicken as he said her name with a sideways glance and an attempt at a half smile.  It was even more heartbreaking.  Suddenly at a loss of what to do, she settled on clasping her hands in front of her and following his gaze to the body.

Even in death, she was lovely.  Piercing blue eyes still seemed to hold the innocence of youth despite the horrors she had seen.    Her long chocolate hair cascaded about her head in a halo of soft curls.  The white sheet covered the many stab wounds that had caused her death, leaving her to look like she could be peacefully sleeping.   Without thinking, she breathed,

“She’s beautiful.”  Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, surprising her when he reached to gently brush a stray curl from the girl’s cheek.  The touch wasn’t what surprised her; it was the love that burned in his eyes as he looked at her.  Almost to himself, he murmured,

“Poor angel, and to think her only crime was to be the spitting image of my daughter.”  Fairly certain her heart skipped a beat, Lisbon kept her eyes down.

After a few moments in silence, she stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.  Her heart broke as the light caught the tears rolling down his cheek. Even in tears, he was stoic.  He made no move to hide or to wipe the tears away, letting them course onto his lips, fall from his chin darkening the blue of his dress shirt.  But his eyes never left the girl’s.  The only sound was the slight hitching of his breath and the soothing hum of the room.  Lisbon was stunned, completely at a loss for what to do.  Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she reached for his hand and entangled her fingers in his, willing herself to communicate some form of comfort through the gesture.  At her touch, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, a soft half sigh, half sob escaping his lips.  Lisbon felt like her heart was in a vice being slowly squeezed, his raw pain and sorrow too much for her to bear. 
On impulse, she turned and reached across him, laying her hand softy on his other arm.  Gently, she applied just enough pressure to turn him toward her.  He offered no resistance, his head still bowed.  It was all she could do not to cry herself as she felt a tear fall onto her wrist.   Now facing her, she could see just how broken he was, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his grief, his jaw clenching and unclenching, trying to gain control of himself, refusing to meet her gaze.  Slowly, she drew him to her, placing her free hand on his back, letting go of his hand with her other so she could slide it around his waist.  At first, he seemed to tense, unsure of how to react.  However, a few moments later, he quietly surrendered, laying his head on her shoulder.  With a shuddering breath, he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned into her, allowing her to take some of the burden he had been carrying.  She pressed her cheek to the cool soft material of his dress shirt, released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and let him cry.  She made soothing circles on his back, trying to relax the muscles contracted in muted sobs.   Closing her eyes, she tried to make every contact point between them a source of comfort.  She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, her shaking with him as the sorrow overtook him, his tears  dampening her shoulder and running down her fingers and wrists as she tried to wipe them away.  Eventually, there was nothing more to do but to be there and steady her breathing so he would have something to mirror.  After he had calmed a bit, they stood breathing in unison, with only the occasional hitch. 

Gradually, he released her, and she found herself cold and missing his touch.  Suddenly embarrassed, she studied the floor.  His two warm hands cupped her face, gently bringing her eyes up to meet his.  Though red rimmed and a stray tear still clinging to his lashes, the sparkle that was Patrick Jane had at least partially returned to his eyes.  She caught her breath, lost in their depths as she watched sadness be replaced with compassion and gratitude.  Before she knew what was happening, he had closed his eyes again and was leaning toward her.  She was terrified he would be able to feel her pulse pounding under his fingertips.  It was almost just a whisper, a barely there touch of his lips to hers, but in it conveyed so much emotion; she was lightheaded for just a moment.  When he pulled away, he smiled warmly, wiping the single tear running down her cheek away with a gentle caress of his thumb. 

“Thank you,” he breathed.  And there was nothing left to be said.   

" do not cry. They will do anything BUT cry. They stop themselves crying. And eventually they do cry if it is bad enough. So that's how you know with a man how bad it is for him. Because he would've stopped himself...Men always cry like that. They don't cry and in the end they do and if they do then it's overwhelming." ~Michael Caine

May 10, 2013 1:37 am  #2

Re: Another Mentalist Story

Whoa, that totally blew me away!!!  pant... pant...

You are a very talented writer!!!!  I am going to have to read that again.  You captured the subtleties so well.  Wow. 

Patrick Jane, OMG... to see this scene for REAL... *shiver*...


May 10, 2013 3:21 am  #3

Re: Another Mentalist Story


" do not cry. They will do anything BUT cry. They stop themselves crying. And eventually they do cry if it is bad enough. So that's how you know with a man how bad it is for him. Because he would've stopped himself...Men always cry like that. They don't cry and in the end they do and if they do then it's overwhelming." ~Michael Caine
     Thread Starter

May 10, 2013 4:28 am  #4

Re: Another Mentalist Story

I bow to the master.  You write extremely well!

"We have our stalking memories, and they will demand their rightful tears."

May 10, 2013 5:52 pm  #5

Re: Another Mentalist Story

I haven't watched the Mentalist, but I've been hooked to Patrick Jane ever since I read the fanfic in this forum and now am looking for more Simon Baker. Both of you are great writers, caircair & yellowrose! Thank you for the fic!


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