Fic: Fade to Black Pt 2 - Gray Area [The Mentalist]
Title: Fade to Black Pt 2 - Gray Area
Summary: Jane acknowledges a moment of weakness. Post episode 1x13.
Rating: T
Characters: Jane, Van Pelt
He never slept on the office couch. He lay on it often enough, going through the motions of closing his eyes, breathing deeply. But sleep did not come. Sleep rarely came for Patrick Jane.
He listened to the noises of the office. His co-workers. Phone conversations. Typing. Arguments over who ate the last bagel. He listened to all of it - learning, cataloging, remembering.
The sound started to dissipate as evening fell. He hadn't heard Cho and Rigsby for a while, or Lisbon. Nor had he heard Van Pelt, though he knew she was still at her desk. He hadn't heard her chair roll on the floor or the click of her heels. He'd remember if he heard her heels.
She never wore high heels to work, or skirts for that matter. But today she did.
Van Pelt had legs. Nice legs, actually. Jane appreciated the female form like any heterosexual male. He wasn't blind. And he knew Van Pelt didn't wear the skirt for Rigsby. Funny, lovable Rigsby. It would be better for her if she had.
It had been a moment of weakness. A brief interlude in his carefully controlled, even-tempered existence. He would give up that control, that evenness, when it came time to face Red John. Until then it was needed. If only he'd remembered that the night he came back from Tijuana.
He'd pushed things too far at the gallery. It was a means to an end, staged for the artist's benefit. Jane knew how to get what he wanted out of a suspect. But he knew what the ruse would mean to Van Pelt, how it would embarrass her. It had nothing to do with the misogynistic comments and everything to do with the suggestion of a connection between them. Even if it was all a lie.
Jane knew this but he did it anyway. Another moment of weakness. No, not weakness, he decided. Cruelty. She didn't deserve to be treated that way, not after what had happened at the hotel a few short weeks ago.
He opened his eyes only slightly, his pale lashes barely moving as he looked across at her desk. She was reading a file, head bent intently over the paper. One hand massaged her neck and her eyes blinked more rapidly than usual. She was waiting, staying back when she could have left an hour ago.
"Don't you have a home to go to?" he asked, his voice thicker than usual due to the angle of his throat against the sofa arm.
She looked up. She didn't smile or blush. Still annoyed at him then. That made it easier.
"Lisbon has Rigsby and Cho doing extra paperwork over your little trip to LA," she said emotionlessly. "You'd be doing it too, if you weren't just a consultant."
She glanced down, embarrassed. A chink in her armor. "I didn't mean just a consultant. I meant you're not an agent."
She frowned, keeping her eyes averted. "You know what I meant."
Jane's eyes were fully open now. He watched her patiently, waiting until she glanced in his direction to see if he was still staring at her.
"What?"
"I don't mean to make you nervous," he said.
"You don't," she retorted quickly. Too quickly - did she not know who she was talking to?
"You wore a skirt," he pointed out.
"So? I wear skirts."
"No you don't."
Van Pelt's eyes narrowed. "You think I wore it for you? That's a little arrogant even for you, Jane."
He smiled faintly and his shoulders twitched in a shrug. "Arrogant, yes. Incorrect, no."
Her gaze was impassive. "You think you're right about everything and everyone. But you're not."
Jane paused, then got up in a lithe movement for someone who'd been prone and unmoving for several hours. He walked towards her. His expression did not waver as she sat up straighter in her chair, a hint of color rising on her neck. He crouched down before her, his eyes locked with hers.
"Don't waste your time on me, Grace. Or your heart. Stop it, now."
She looked away, speechless. She probably had plenty to say, actually, but Jane could see she was deciding how to do it. How to deny it, how to blast him with a few cutting words to send him on his way. She waited until he wondered if she would just ignore him, then turned back to face him.
"Why do you believe you deserve no forgiveness?" she asked.
Jane, for once, didn't have a reply. Not when she was staring at him so intently, her own hurt forgotten. He clenched his jaw, refusing to betray his steady countenance, to give her any idea that she'd penetrated his façade.
He stood up and her eyes followed his, never faltering.
"It's late. Time I was leaving," he said. Not trusting himself to say anything else he smiled until his eyes crinkled, though there was little warmth in it. He was going home to an empty house full of memories and promises unfulfilled.
She didn't reply as he walked slowly out of the office, didn't follow him, didn't catch his hand as he was leaving and press close to his side. She didn't follow him to his car and slip silently into the passenger seat and wait for him to start the engine, to make him be the one to choose where they ended up.
Van Pelt went back to reading her file.
Jane hated the fact that part of him - a small part but one that was definitely there - was disappointed that she did.
It was a weakness.
Part 1
Summary: Jane acknowledges a moment of weakness. Post episode 1x13.
Rating: T
Characters: Jane, Van Pelt
He never slept on the office couch. He lay on it often enough, going through the motions of closing his eyes, breathing deeply. But sleep did not come. Sleep rarely came for Patrick Jane.
He listened to the noises of the office. His co-workers. Phone conversations. Typing. Arguments over who ate the last bagel. He listened to all of it - learning, cataloging, remembering.
The sound started to dissipate as evening fell. He hadn't heard Cho and Rigsby for a while, or Lisbon. Nor had he heard Van Pelt, though he knew she was still at her desk. He hadn't heard her chair roll on the floor or the click of her heels. He'd remember if he heard her heels.
She never wore high heels to work, or skirts for that matter. But today she did.
Van Pelt had legs. Nice legs, actually. Jane appreciated the female form like any heterosexual male. He wasn't blind. And he knew Van Pelt didn't wear the skirt for Rigsby. Funny, lovable Rigsby. It would be better for her if she had.
It had been a moment of weakness. A brief interlude in his carefully controlled, even-tempered existence. He would give up that control, that evenness, when it came time to face Red John. Until then it was needed. If only he'd remembered that the night he came back from Tijuana.
He'd pushed things too far at the gallery. It was a means to an end, staged for the artist's benefit. Jane knew how to get what he wanted out of a suspect. But he knew what the ruse would mean to Van Pelt, how it would embarrass her. It had nothing to do with the misogynistic comments and everything to do with the suggestion of a connection between them. Even if it was all a lie.
Jane knew this but he did it anyway. Another moment of weakness. No, not weakness, he decided. Cruelty. She didn't deserve to be treated that way, not after what had happened at the hotel a few short weeks ago.
He opened his eyes only slightly, his pale lashes barely moving as he looked across at her desk. She was reading a file, head bent intently over the paper. One hand massaged her neck and her eyes blinked more rapidly than usual. She was waiting, staying back when she could have left an hour ago.
"Don't you have a home to go to?" he asked, his voice thicker than usual due to the angle of his throat against the sofa arm.
She looked up. She didn't smile or blush. Still annoyed at him then. That made it easier.
"Lisbon has Rigsby and Cho doing extra paperwork over your little trip to LA," she said emotionlessly. "You'd be doing it too, if you weren't just a consultant."
She glanced down, embarrassed. A chink in her armor. "I didn't mean just a consultant. I meant you're not an agent."
She frowned, keeping her eyes averted. "You know what I meant."
Jane's eyes were fully open now. He watched her patiently, waiting until she glanced in his direction to see if he was still staring at her.
"What?"
"I don't mean to make you nervous," he said.
"You don't," she retorted quickly. Too quickly - did she not know who she was talking to?
"You wore a skirt," he pointed out.
"So? I wear skirts."
"No you don't."
Van Pelt's eyes narrowed. "You think I wore it for you? That's a little arrogant even for you, Jane."
He smiled faintly and his shoulders twitched in a shrug. "Arrogant, yes. Incorrect, no."
Her gaze was impassive. "You think you're right about everything and everyone. But you're not."
Jane paused, then got up in a lithe movement for someone who'd been prone and unmoving for several hours. He walked towards her. His expression did not waver as she sat up straighter in her chair, a hint of color rising on her neck. He crouched down before her, his eyes locked with hers.
"Don't waste your time on me, Grace. Or your heart. Stop it, now."
She looked away, speechless. She probably had plenty to say, actually, but Jane could see she was deciding how to do it. How to deny it, how to blast him with a few cutting words to send him on his way. She waited until he wondered if she would just ignore him, then turned back to face him.
"Why do you believe you deserve no forgiveness?" she asked.
Jane, for once, didn't have a reply. Not when she was staring at him so intently, her own hurt forgotten. He clenched his jaw, refusing to betray his steady countenance, to give her any idea that she'd penetrated his façade.
He stood up and her eyes followed his, never faltering.
"It's late. Time I was leaving," he said. Not trusting himself to say anything else he smiled until his eyes crinkled, though there was little warmth in it. He was going home to an empty house full of memories and promises unfulfilled.
She didn't reply as he walked slowly out of the office, didn't follow him, didn't catch his hand as he was leaving and press close to his side. She didn't follow him to his car and slip silently into the passenger seat and wait for him to start the engine, to make him be the one to choose where they ended up.
Van Pelt went back to reading her file.
Jane hated the fact that part of him - a small part but one that was definitely there - was disappointed that she did.
It was a weakness.
Part 1