Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2010-07-04 09:10 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2010-07-04 09:10 am
Fanfiction: Point Five (The Mentalist, Jane/everyone)
First fic in a new fandom! Always a slightly scary experience. I hope it works.
No spoilers, and it's Patrick Jane/everyone, because I 'ship it a ridiculous amount. There should be so much fanfiction.
Title: Point Five
Fandom: The Mentalist
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jane/the entire CBI, basically. Jane/Van Pelt, Jane/Lisbon, Jane/Rigsby, Jane/Cho. As Van Pelt is the focal character, there's more emphasis on Jane/Van Pelt.
Wordcount: 2,500
Summary: Jane is being kind of weird.
(EDIT:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cobecat has written Point Three, a wonderful Jane/Cho-centric companion piece to this.)
It starts small. Jane is a tactile person – has to be, it seems, for some of his techniques to work – and so Van Pelt isn’t surprised when he leans briefly against her to look at something she’s holding or seems to have no trouble squeezing past her to get to the fridge. When she first joined the team, some part of her was afraid that he was manipulating her or somehow seeing her thoughts every time he brushed against her wrist, but before long she came to trust him and barely to register his casual touches.
But now, gradually, things she can’t ignore have begun to creep in. He rests his hand on her upper back as he announces to the team, “Van Pelt has found our motive,” and halfway through her explanation he starts stroking the back of her neck with his thumb and she stutters off in mid-sentence, confused. He runs his fingers through her hair, absently, when they’re waiting in the car for Lisbon’s return.
Van Pelt is becoming more and more convinced that this isn’t a totally normal consultant-client relationship.
-
They’re taking a break for lunch when things get really strange. The others have already left, and Van Pelt has finished up and is walking towards the door when Jane waves her over from the couch.
“Hey, Van Pelt,” he says, lounging back against the cushions. “You’re not staying?”
“I was going to have lunch.”
“You can eat lunch any time,” Jane says. He pats the space next to him. “Sit down.”
Van Pelt stares at him. “I can’t sit down,” she says, eventually. It seems ridiculous, but the possibility of sitting on Jane’s couch is something that has never occurred to her. “It’s your couch.”
Jane grins. “I’m sure you invite people into your home sometimes. C’mon, sit down.”
Van Pelt sits, cautiously. She really does feel as if she’s just walked into Jane’s home. In a way, this might be even more personal; Jane spends so much time here that she’s wondered whether he even has a home elsewhere.
Actually, she doesn’t know why he’s here right now at all. It’s not as if he can do much for this case.
“How’d the house visit go?” Jane asks.
“He’s still not saying anything.”
“Mmm,” Jane says. “Big surprise. Should’ve brought me along; you know I could have him talking in ten minutes.”
“I guess we’ll never be able to prove that,” Van Pelt says, “given that the suspect has a restraining order against you.”
“That was a total overreaction,” Jane says, kicking his feet up over the arm of the couch, and before Van Pelt knows what’s going on he’s resting his head in her lap. For a moment she forgets how to speak, but he’s looking calmly up at her, as if there’s nothing strange about this situation at all.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a legal defence,” she manages, eventually.
Jane snorts, closing his eyes. “We’ll see.”
Van Pelt doesn’t know what to do. Jane’s head is a warm weight in her lap, and it isn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it’s definitely beyond the bounds of normal co-worker interaction. She hopes Rigsby doesn’t walk in while they’re like this. Or Lisbon. Or anyone.
“Jane,” she says, quietly.
“Hmm?”
“You’re kind of lying on me.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He opens his eyes. “Does that bother you?”
Does it bother her? “I don’t know. It’s a little weird.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, closing his eyes again. “That’s nice; keep doing that.”
It’s not until he says it that she realises she’s been toying with his hair. She stops automatically, then remembers that he just asked her not to, then, after a moment’s uncertainty, decides against resuming.
They stay there in silence for a few minutes. Van Pelt is very tense.
“What do you want?” she asks, eventually.
Jane shrugs, not opening his eyes. He runs his hand idly up and down her leg. “This.”
They’re going to be thrown out of the CBI, Van Pelt thinks. She tries to keep her breathing steady. “Sex?”
Now he opens his eyes and gives her a strange look. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t sex,” he says. “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve been told I’m perceptive.”
Van Pelt raises her eyebrows. “What, just this? Just... lying here?”
Jane smiles and closes his eyes again. “Yeah. Why not?”
Van Pelt hesitates for a moment.
“I guess this is okay,” she says.
-
Van Pelt isn’t sure what to do about Jane’s behaviour, but she can’t stop dwelling on it, so she’s going to have to do something. The morning after Jane spends the entire lunch break sleeping on her, she comes in early and knocks on Lisbon’s open door.
“Hi, Van Pelt,” Lisbon says, looking up. There’s a pause, in which Van Pelt can practically feel Lisbon considering whether to shake her hand and then deciding that there’s no need to be so formal with members of her own team. “Come in,” she says, and then, when Van Pelt does, “What can I do for you?”
Van Pelt isn’t sure what Lisbon can do for her, really, but maybe all she needs is someone to talk to about this. She can’t make sense of it on her own. “Uh, Jane is being kind of... weird.”
“Jane’s always being weird,” Lisbon says. “You’ve only just noticed?”
Van Pelt is starting to feel that maybe talking to Lisbon was a bad idea. There’s something strange about her relationship with Jane; Van Pelt’s felt maybe something was going on between them ever since she joined the team. Talking to Rigsby about this would probably be worse, though, and she’s not sure Cho would really be interested.
“Oh,” Lisbon says, with a sudden, quickly-suppressed smile. “He’s probably in love with you.”
“What?” Van Pelt asks, startled. “No. I mean – I don’t know. I mean – ”
“Calm down,” Lisbon says, taking a seat and gesturing for Van Pelt to do the same. Van Pelt stays on her feet, just in case she needs to escape out the window. “I was wondering when we’d be having this conversation.”
“You’re okay with this?” Van Pelt asks, before what Lisbon has just said hits her. “You saw this coming?”
“Patrick Jane is in love with every member of this team,” Lisbon says. “I’d be worried we had the wrong person for the job if he didn’t fall in love with you.”
Van Pelt’s legs have started to shake, and she sits down abruptly. Throwing herself out the window will have to wait. “Everyone? Even Rigsby?”
“I’m not sure Rigsby’s figured it out yet,” Lisbon says, “but yes.”
“He told you this?”
“Jane’s not the only one who can notice things,” Lisbon says, smiling, before the smile drops and is replaced with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
Van Pelt can’t look her in the eye. “I don’t know.”
“I know it’s complicated,” Lisbon says, sympathetically. “But I can promise you you won’t be fired for this, at least. We can’t exactly let the whole team go, and in any case it’s not a sexual relationship.”
“How do you know it’s not sexual?” Van Pelt asks, feeling herself flush. “It’s bad enough having one co-worker who can read my mind.”
Lisbon shrugs. “I know Jane.”
-
Now that Van Pelt is paying attention, she can see that Jane really does treat every member of the team the same way: touches that might be casual if they didn’t linger so long, compliments that are a tiny bit too personal to be interpreted as friendly. He falls asleep against Rigsby’s shoulder; he adjusts Cho’s tie. When he doubles over in laughter and braces a hand on Van Pelt’s thigh to support himself, she tries at first to stay composed and think it means nothing, he does it to everyone, and then she remembers that, if Lisbon is right, it does mean something; it just happens to mean the same thing for all of them.
But it’s not sexual. Jane touches her more than some of her actual boyfriends have, but it’s never sexual, and in a way that makes things easier – it certainly makes them less career-threatening – and in a way it’s just confusing. She’s not used to it, simply being touched without intent, and some part of her is tense and anticipatory when Jane brushes a hand down her arm or leans over to murmur an observation in her ear, waiting for something that never comes.
After a few weeks, she starts to wonder whether perhaps she should instigate something, or at least establish exactly what Jane is looking for, and she’s not sure of which she intends to do when she takes a break from researching Ellen Roberts’ academic background and finds herself walking over to Jane.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks. “After work?”
“No problem,” he says, waving lazily to indicate the couch. “You know where I’ll be.”
-
Van Pelt stays behind after hours, doing all the work she can think of, until it’s just her and Jane and Lisbon and the lights are low in headquarters. At last, Lisbon stretches and walks out of her office, and then she pauses.
“Not going home?”
“Thought I’d try to dig up some more info on the Roberts case,” Van Pelt says, organising all her computer icons into a folder system more intricate than could ever conceivably be necessary.
Lisbon glances to her right, and Van Pelt follows her gaze to Jane’s form, lying peacefully on the couch. They both look back at the same time.
“Be careful,” Lisbon says, quietly. “And good night.”
-
When Lisbon has left, Van Pelt spends a little longer organising her shortcuts, as if she can somehow trick herself into believing she actually stayed behind to do some work, but after a few minutes she gives up the pretence and walks over to the couch. Jane’s eyes are closed; his hands are folded across his stomach. He looks supremely relaxed.
“Are you asleep?” she asks, softly.
Jane’s eyes flicker open. “I’m never asleep.”
There are times when Van Pelt wouldn’t actually be surprised if it were true. “May I sit down?”
Jane gives a theatrical groan, but he swings his legs off the couch and shuffles up to make room for her anyway. She sits.
“So,” she says, and then she hesitates.
He just sits there, watching her, a little warily, like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do. She feels like she’s waiting to see what she’ll do.
“So,” he says, eventually, and she leans in and kisses him.
He starts to kiss back for a moment, she thinks, but perhaps she’s only imagining it, because half a second later he’s drawn away and the atmosphere has changed. Van Pelt knows she’s made a mistake.
“Don’t,” he says. “I can’t. I – ” He looks pained. “Sorry,” he says. “But I can’t.”
Movement catches Van Pelt’s eye, and she glances down at Jane’s hands. He’s rubbing his thumb compulsively over his wedding band. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “Don’t – ”
But he’s already off the couch, pulling on his coat. “I should go home,” he says.
It occurs to Van Pelt only after he’s left that she’s never heard him say that before.
-
He doesn’t touch her at all for the next few days. He’s as friendly as ever, but the tactility is gone, and she’s a little surprised by how much she misses it. Somehow, all the little touches – Jane’s fingers stroking through her hair, Jane’s hand on her back – have become an expected part of her work-life, taken for granted, and she feels their absence constantly; it’s as if she’s come into the office and found that from now on she’s expected to do her work without a chair.
The worst part is that he’s still touching the others. She’s hyperaware, now, of all the times he slings an arm across Cho’s shoulders or leans against Rigsby’s side; all the times his fingers brush Lisbon’s as he passes her documents or mugs of tea. She wasn’t sure whether Lisbon was right earlier, whether Jane could really be in love with all of them, but now, as a locked-out observer, she sees every not-quite-casual touch and knows that it’s true.
It’s not an easy thing to deal with, but it’s much, much worse to know that she’s screwed it up. It’s as if there’s a forcefield between her and Jane, now, whenever they interact. It’s obvious that he’s being careful not to touch her, even accidentally. Something has been lost.
She doesn’t know how to find it again.
-
Four days after she tried to kiss him, Van Pelt waits until the rest of the office is empty and then sits on the arm of Jane’s couch. His eyes are closed, but she can tell from the way he tenses that he’s awake.
“I’m sorry,” she says, after a moment.
There is a silence of at least a minute, and she’s about to get up and walk away again when he says, “For what?”
Van Pelt is taken aback. He must know what she means; is he going to force her to say it? “Um – ”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t need to apologise.”
“I just...” she attempts. “Your wife. I should have thought...”
“This isn’t about my wife.”
This conversation makes no sense. “It’s not?”
“I love my wife,” Jane says. “Very much. But this is about Red John.”
Van Pelt stares at him.
“He hasn’t forgotten me,” Jane says. He opens his eyes and looks into hers. “Please don’t make me fall in love with you.”
On some level, she thinks, he must know it’s too late, but all that she says is, “I won’t.”
-
Five days after she tried to kiss him, Jane comes up behind her chair and puts a hand on her shoulder and leans over her to look at her screen. “Any news on Justin Brookes?” he asks.
“Nothing yet,” she says. She covers his hand with her own, cautiously, and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away.
-
A week later, Van Pelt comes back from having lunch to find Jane lying on the couch, doing the crossword, his feet on Cho’s lap and his head in Lisbon’s. Cho’s expression is unreadable; Lisbon gives her a knowing smile and a roll of the eyes. Jane waves at her and protests when she ruffles his hair.
“Where’s Rigsby?” she asks, leaning against the side of the couch nearest Lisbon.
As if in answer to her question, Rigsby walks in, sees the tableau, pauses, looks incredibly embarrassed, mumbles something inaudible and walks straight out again.
“He’ll come around,” Lisbon says quietly to Van Pelt, amusement in her voice, and Van Pelt can’t hide her grin.
No spoilers, and it's Patrick Jane/everyone, because I 'ship it a ridiculous amount. There should be so much fanfiction.
Title: Point Five
Fandom: The Mentalist
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jane/the entire CBI, basically. Jane/Van Pelt, Jane/Lisbon, Jane/Rigsby, Jane/Cho. As Van Pelt is the focal character, there's more emphasis on Jane/Van Pelt.
Wordcount: 2,500
Summary: Jane is being kind of weird.
(EDIT:
cobecat has written Point Three, a wonderful Jane/Cho-centric companion piece to this.)It starts small. Jane is a tactile person – has to be, it seems, for some of his techniques to work – and so Van Pelt isn’t surprised when he leans briefly against her to look at something she’s holding or seems to have no trouble squeezing past her to get to the fridge. When she first joined the team, some part of her was afraid that he was manipulating her or somehow seeing her thoughts every time he brushed against her wrist, but before long she came to trust him and barely to register his casual touches.
But now, gradually, things she can’t ignore have begun to creep in. He rests his hand on her upper back as he announces to the team, “Van Pelt has found our motive,” and halfway through her explanation he starts stroking the back of her neck with his thumb and she stutters off in mid-sentence, confused. He runs his fingers through her hair, absently, when they’re waiting in the car for Lisbon’s return.
Van Pelt is becoming more and more convinced that this isn’t a totally normal consultant-client relationship.
They’re taking a break for lunch when things get really strange. The others have already left, and Van Pelt has finished up and is walking towards the door when Jane waves her over from the couch.
“Hey, Van Pelt,” he says, lounging back against the cushions. “You’re not staying?”
“I was going to have lunch.”
“You can eat lunch any time,” Jane says. He pats the space next to him. “Sit down.”
Van Pelt stares at him. “I can’t sit down,” she says, eventually. It seems ridiculous, but the possibility of sitting on Jane’s couch is something that has never occurred to her. “It’s your couch.”
Jane grins. “I’m sure you invite people into your home sometimes. C’mon, sit down.”
Van Pelt sits, cautiously. She really does feel as if she’s just walked into Jane’s home. In a way, this might be even more personal; Jane spends so much time here that she’s wondered whether he even has a home elsewhere.
Actually, she doesn’t know why he’s here right now at all. It’s not as if he can do much for this case.
“How’d the house visit go?” Jane asks.
“He’s still not saying anything.”
“Mmm,” Jane says. “Big surprise. Should’ve brought me along; you know I could have him talking in ten minutes.”
“I guess we’ll never be able to prove that,” Van Pelt says, “given that the suspect has a restraining order against you.”
“That was a total overreaction,” Jane says, kicking his feet up over the arm of the couch, and before Van Pelt knows what’s going on he’s resting his head in her lap. For a moment she forgets how to speak, but he’s looking calmly up at her, as if there’s nothing strange about this situation at all.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a legal defence,” she manages, eventually.
Jane snorts, closing his eyes. “We’ll see.”
Van Pelt doesn’t know what to do. Jane’s head is a warm weight in her lap, and it isn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it’s definitely beyond the bounds of normal co-worker interaction. She hopes Rigsby doesn’t walk in while they’re like this. Or Lisbon. Or anyone.
“Jane,” she says, quietly.
“Hmm?”
“You’re kind of lying on me.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He opens his eyes. “Does that bother you?”
Does it bother her? “I don’t know. It’s a little weird.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, closing his eyes again. “That’s nice; keep doing that.”
It’s not until he says it that she realises she’s been toying with his hair. She stops automatically, then remembers that he just asked her not to, then, after a moment’s uncertainty, decides against resuming.
They stay there in silence for a few minutes. Van Pelt is very tense.
“What do you want?” she asks, eventually.
Jane shrugs, not opening his eyes. He runs his hand idly up and down her leg. “This.”
They’re going to be thrown out of the CBI, Van Pelt thinks. She tries to keep her breathing steady. “Sex?”
Now he opens his eyes and gives her a strange look. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t sex,” he says. “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve been told I’m perceptive.”
Van Pelt raises her eyebrows. “What, just this? Just... lying here?”
Jane smiles and closes his eyes again. “Yeah. Why not?”
Van Pelt hesitates for a moment.
“I guess this is okay,” she says.
Van Pelt isn’t sure what to do about Jane’s behaviour, but she can’t stop dwelling on it, so she’s going to have to do something. The morning after Jane spends the entire lunch break sleeping on her, she comes in early and knocks on Lisbon’s open door.
“Hi, Van Pelt,” Lisbon says, looking up. There’s a pause, in which Van Pelt can practically feel Lisbon considering whether to shake her hand and then deciding that there’s no need to be so formal with members of her own team. “Come in,” she says, and then, when Van Pelt does, “What can I do for you?”
Van Pelt isn’t sure what Lisbon can do for her, really, but maybe all she needs is someone to talk to about this. She can’t make sense of it on her own. “Uh, Jane is being kind of... weird.”
“Jane’s always being weird,” Lisbon says. “You’ve only just noticed?”
Van Pelt is starting to feel that maybe talking to Lisbon was a bad idea. There’s something strange about her relationship with Jane; Van Pelt’s felt maybe something was going on between them ever since she joined the team. Talking to Rigsby about this would probably be worse, though, and she’s not sure Cho would really be interested.
“Oh,” Lisbon says, with a sudden, quickly-suppressed smile. “He’s probably in love with you.”
“What?” Van Pelt asks, startled. “No. I mean – I don’t know. I mean – ”
“Calm down,” Lisbon says, taking a seat and gesturing for Van Pelt to do the same. Van Pelt stays on her feet, just in case she needs to escape out the window. “I was wondering when we’d be having this conversation.”
“You’re okay with this?” Van Pelt asks, before what Lisbon has just said hits her. “You saw this coming?”
“Patrick Jane is in love with every member of this team,” Lisbon says. “I’d be worried we had the wrong person for the job if he didn’t fall in love with you.”
Van Pelt’s legs have started to shake, and she sits down abruptly. Throwing herself out the window will have to wait. “Everyone? Even Rigsby?”
“I’m not sure Rigsby’s figured it out yet,” Lisbon says, “but yes.”
“He told you this?”
“Jane’s not the only one who can notice things,” Lisbon says, smiling, before the smile drops and is replaced with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
Van Pelt can’t look her in the eye. “I don’t know.”
“I know it’s complicated,” Lisbon says, sympathetically. “But I can promise you you won’t be fired for this, at least. We can’t exactly let the whole team go, and in any case it’s not a sexual relationship.”
“How do you know it’s not sexual?” Van Pelt asks, feeling herself flush. “It’s bad enough having one co-worker who can read my mind.”
Lisbon shrugs. “I know Jane.”
Now that Van Pelt is paying attention, she can see that Jane really does treat every member of the team the same way: touches that might be casual if they didn’t linger so long, compliments that are a tiny bit too personal to be interpreted as friendly. He falls asleep against Rigsby’s shoulder; he adjusts Cho’s tie. When he doubles over in laughter and braces a hand on Van Pelt’s thigh to support himself, she tries at first to stay composed and think it means nothing, he does it to everyone, and then she remembers that, if Lisbon is right, it does mean something; it just happens to mean the same thing for all of them.
But it’s not sexual. Jane touches her more than some of her actual boyfriends have, but it’s never sexual, and in a way that makes things easier – it certainly makes them less career-threatening – and in a way it’s just confusing. She’s not used to it, simply being touched without intent, and some part of her is tense and anticipatory when Jane brushes a hand down her arm or leans over to murmur an observation in her ear, waiting for something that never comes.
After a few weeks, she starts to wonder whether perhaps she should instigate something, or at least establish exactly what Jane is looking for, and she’s not sure of which she intends to do when she takes a break from researching Ellen Roberts’ academic background and finds herself walking over to Jane.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks. “After work?”
“No problem,” he says, waving lazily to indicate the couch. “You know where I’ll be.”
Van Pelt stays behind after hours, doing all the work she can think of, until it’s just her and Jane and Lisbon and the lights are low in headquarters. At last, Lisbon stretches and walks out of her office, and then she pauses.
“Not going home?”
“Thought I’d try to dig up some more info on the Roberts case,” Van Pelt says, organising all her computer icons into a folder system more intricate than could ever conceivably be necessary.
Lisbon glances to her right, and Van Pelt follows her gaze to Jane’s form, lying peacefully on the couch. They both look back at the same time.
“Be careful,” Lisbon says, quietly. “And good night.”
When Lisbon has left, Van Pelt spends a little longer organising her shortcuts, as if she can somehow trick herself into believing she actually stayed behind to do some work, but after a few minutes she gives up the pretence and walks over to the couch. Jane’s eyes are closed; his hands are folded across his stomach. He looks supremely relaxed.
“Are you asleep?” she asks, softly.
Jane’s eyes flicker open. “I’m never asleep.”
There are times when Van Pelt wouldn’t actually be surprised if it were true. “May I sit down?”
Jane gives a theatrical groan, but he swings his legs off the couch and shuffles up to make room for her anyway. She sits.
“So,” she says, and then she hesitates.
He just sits there, watching her, a little warily, like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do. She feels like she’s waiting to see what she’ll do.
“So,” he says, eventually, and she leans in and kisses him.
He starts to kiss back for a moment, she thinks, but perhaps she’s only imagining it, because half a second later he’s drawn away and the atmosphere has changed. Van Pelt knows she’s made a mistake.
“Don’t,” he says. “I can’t. I – ” He looks pained. “Sorry,” he says. “But I can’t.”
Movement catches Van Pelt’s eye, and she glances down at Jane’s hands. He’s rubbing his thumb compulsively over his wedding band. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “Don’t – ”
But he’s already off the couch, pulling on his coat. “I should go home,” he says.
It occurs to Van Pelt only after he’s left that she’s never heard him say that before.
He doesn’t touch her at all for the next few days. He’s as friendly as ever, but the tactility is gone, and she’s a little surprised by how much she misses it. Somehow, all the little touches – Jane’s fingers stroking through her hair, Jane’s hand on her back – have become an expected part of her work-life, taken for granted, and she feels their absence constantly; it’s as if she’s come into the office and found that from now on she’s expected to do her work without a chair.
The worst part is that he’s still touching the others. She’s hyperaware, now, of all the times he slings an arm across Cho’s shoulders or leans against Rigsby’s side; all the times his fingers brush Lisbon’s as he passes her documents or mugs of tea. She wasn’t sure whether Lisbon was right earlier, whether Jane could really be in love with all of them, but now, as a locked-out observer, she sees every not-quite-casual touch and knows that it’s true.
It’s not an easy thing to deal with, but it’s much, much worse to know that she’s screwed it up. It’s as if there’s a forcefield between her and Jane, now, whenever they interact. It’s obvious that he’s being careful not to touch her, even accidentally. Something has been lost.
She doesn’t know how to find it again.
Four days after she tried to kiss him, Van Pelt waits until the rest of the office is empty and then sits on the arm of Jane’s couch. His eyes are closed, but she can tell from the way he tenses that he’s awake.
“I’m sorry,” she says, after a moment.
There is a silence of at least a minute, and she’s about to get up and walk away again when he says, “For what?”
Van Pelt is taken aback. He must know what she means; is he going to force her to say it? “Um – ”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t need to apologise.”
“I just...” she attempts. “Your wife. I should have thought...”
“This isn’t about my wife.”
This conversation makes no sense. “It’s not?”
“I love my wife,” Jane says. “Very much. But this is about Red John.”
Van Pelt stares at him.
“He hasn’t forgotten me,” Jane says. He opens his eyes and looks into hers. “Please don’t make me fall in love with you.”
On some level, she thinks, he must know it’s too late, but all that she says is, “I won’t.”
Five days after she tried to kiss him, Jane comes up behind her chair and puts a hand on her shoulder and leans over her to look at her screen. “Any news on Justin Brookes?” he asks.
“Nothing yet,” she says. She covers his hand with her own, cautiously, and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away.
A week later, Van Pelt comes back from having lunch to find Jane lying on the couch, doing the crossword, his feet on Cho’s lap and his head in Lisbon’s. Cho’s expression is unreadable; Lisbon gives her a knowing smile and a roll of the eyes. Jane waves at her and protests when she ruffles his hair.
“Where’s Rigsby?” she asks, leaning against the side of the couch nearest Lisbon.
As if in answer to her question, Rigsby walks in, sees the tableau, pauses, looks incredibly embarrassed, mumbles something inaudible and walks straight out again.
“He’ll come around,” Lisbon says quietly to Van Pelt, amusement in her voice, and Van Pelt can’t hide her grin.
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This was really sweet. It felt kinda weird at first cos you wrote Van Pelt's confusion so well, as a reader you just felt the same. But you wrote a nice and special kind of team interaction.
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unfortunately, I have a distinct lack of Mentalist icons to express my adoration for this fic, which needs to be correctedI love this fic, especially how blaze Lisbon is about the whole 'oh yeah, he loves everybody here - it's part of the job' attitude and the ending. Poor Rigsby - so flustered and embarrassed.
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Poor flustered Rigsby is quite a big obstacle to my writing massive amounts of Jane/everyone, because somehow I have trouble envisioning his ever quite understanding or being comfortable with the concept. Man, Rigsby, it's just a bit of asexual polyamory.
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Point 5: Jane/everyone
(Anonymous) 2010-07-04 10:16 pm (UTC)(link)http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5548243/1/An_Exchange
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5688465/1/Reciprocity
by http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1249727/Oroburos69 and ://oroburos69.livejournal.com/
with a similar theme, but not so much with touches.
Re: Point 5: Jane/everyone
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I've thought long and hard about this, and your fic was the final nail in the coffin: yes I gen-ship the whole team with Jane, and I especially ship-but-not-quite-That-Way Jane with Van Pelt. The tactile, the head in lap! klajdflkasjd;fsdjfsdjf it made me do this big happy grin and flail a lot. :D
"He's probably in love with you." <--- Lisbon, I love you. So matter of fact about it, like 'oh yeah we forgot to tell you this when we hired you' and stuff. :)
The kiss thing. On the couch. JANE'S MANPAIN. The poor guy! :( baw
This broke my heart a little, just because you get used to getting as much as you'll ever get out of Jane (that tactile kind of love with no intent is all he CAN give), so when it's gone you feel totally empty. Bereft. AGFH. /clutches chest
But the ending is so delightful and lovely...brb instantly bookmarking and reccing to my entire flist <3333333333 /kisses you muchly
Man, Rigsby, it's just a bit of asexual polyamory
OH GOD THIS FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER.
last edit: I promise >>
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(Anonymous) 2010-07-05 02:46 pm (UTC)(link)I like the idea that Van Pelt's confused because she's used to the people who do casual->intimate touching wanting to progress onto sex that the fact Jane's already getting everything he wants from the simple touching baffles her.
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So much love for this line, you have no idea. Of course she can't sit down! It's Jane's couch!
Don't worry about the double-posting, I don't mind seeing it again (Mostly because I, um, forgot to comment last time. Sorry?)
I love this a lot. I think Jane is too broken right now to really have a relationship with anyone, but this is perfect.
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I think you're right about Jane's brokenness. My interpretation is that he can't ever really have a relationship with anyone because some part of him is convinced that, if he admits to himself that he really cares about someone, he'll lose them. Which makes pairingfic involving him incredibly interesting to write, really; certain things will fall outside the boundaries within which Jane can delude himself into believing that he's not in love, so you have to work within those lines.
Ahahaha, sorry, I'm rambling. Thank you for your kind comment!
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Your icon keywords delight me.
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But now, gradually, things she can’t ignore have begun to creep in. He rests his hand on her upper back as he announces to the team, “Van Pelt has found our motive,” and halfway through her explanation he starts stroking the back of her neck with his thumb and she stutters off in mid-sentence, confused. He runs his fingers through her hair, absently, when they’re waiting in the car for Lisbon’s return.
Van Pelt is becoming more and more convinced that this isn’t a totally normal consultant-client relationship.
I love that part so much.
I could quote every part I love as well, but that might be the entire fic!
Now I want to go watch the Mentalist for hints of Jane/everyone.
I hope you write more, expand on this point five thing with the rest of the team's povs about Jane.
It just makes so much sense.
Thanks for writing it. I can't believe it's the first you wrote for this fandom!
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Thank you so much!
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Also I think I 'ship Jane/everyone now, because your theorising of it is THE LOVELIEST. And Jane/Lisbon is ridiculously obvious but Jane/Van Pelt is something I notice now too - queen of my heart! oh - and eee.
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Also, how do you think Jane/Christine will affect the OT
4DAMMIT FIVE? I was shipping it a bit at the start of the episode in a bantery/hatesexy kind of way, but then I was all 'OMG NO' when it was canon and then at the end he was so adorable like a little puppy following her and wanting to be looooved, so I'm not sure.I'm also not sure because apparently I ship Jane/his wife like crazy and refuse to want him to have any kind of sexual relationship because of his love for her? Which is obv not good for him. But on the other hand I shipped Jane/Sophie a bit because of how sweet the kiss was? I DON'T KNOOOW tell me your thoughts.
Edited to change a four to a five.
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The end was fun!
So great fic anyway :)
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(Edited because I accidentally used an icon that was neither enthusiastic nor Mentalist-related, which created a slightly weird effect.)
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(Anonymous) 2010-11-16 07:34 am (UTC)(link)no subject
Anyhoo, I love this, I love Jane's fear and helplessness in love. You've written Van Pelt as that wonderful mixture of fearless and cautious that makes her such a lovely character to watch grow. Also love your Lisbon, knowing without being infallible, accepting of the way things are, absolutely steadfast.
Glorious stuff :D
(obligatory 'oh hey detectives' icon in use...)
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