One of the things I love about The Mentalist is that Jane never becomes a hero. When someone draws a gun he is visibly scared. He gets behind cops in dangerous situations the first chance he gets. He doesn't decide to put on a cape and run into a gunfight or wrestle with knives. There are times he has to step up and do it but it's not something he normally does. And it's not weakness, knowing Jane as we do, it's all down to logic. He's an untrained civilian and he knows that it's better to let the pros do what they're trained to do. Zero toxic masculity on that front
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summary: You and Jane are staying at work late at night but over tea the topic shifts and ends with him dragging you home.
tags: fluff, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader (except for one pet name at the end), reader has hair, reader has a secret crush on Jane, tea lovers, banter, late night drive home
word count: 2.3k
notes: This is my first mentalist fanfic AND the first I'm posting on tumblr. I haven't been actively writing for a few years but decided to just go for it again. Also excuse any mistakes, English isn't my first language.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Hot steam filled up the kitchenette as the kettle finished heating up the water. Reaching for the cupboard, you pulled out two boxes of tea mixes. One of them contained ancient looking bags making it go straight back into the cupboard.
An herbal blend now sat in the two cups in front of you, and as you poured the scalding water over it, it was immediately colored a deep hazel. The sweet scent of cloves crept up your nostrils as you prepared the two drinks; one with a bit of honey, the other with milk and sugar.
Both in hand, you made your way back over to the workplace, going further than where your desk stood.
Wordlessly, you set down the pastel beverage in front of Patrick Jane, who's come to be your partner in late night tea shenanigans.
He instantly shot up from his couch, flashing you a golden smile before taking the cup into his hands. "Mhm, thank you."
You just quirked an eyebrow and smirked at his enthusiasm. It seemed misplaced to you at this hour of day – or rather, night.
Jane leaned back once again and took a few slow sips of his tea. He seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments, before turning his gaze back to you. A little grin formed on his lips, already teasing on what was about to come.
"I wonder..." he started and then trailed off.
A deep sigh escaped your lips but there was no way you could just ignore him.
"Yes?" you pushed.
"Hm, never mind."
"Jane."
"Yes?"
"What's on your mind?" you asked, sounding annoyed and genuinely curious at the same time. Once again he took some time before replying, but at least this time he did.
"Oh, I was just thinking about you."
"Don't you always?" you joked, mood immediately lighting up as you indulged into this game of his.
He chuckled and nodded, which, to be completely honest, surprised you a little, and hearing him confirm that with actual words didn't help the situation.
"Not wrong. Though this time it was a more serious matter."
He didn't sound serious at all.
"Uh huh?"
"It's just that I've never seen you drink either coffee or caffeinated tea, let alone soda. The logical conclusion would be that you're very fond of a healthy sleeping schedule but then I find you here about every day at these times. Not to forget, I always leave before you do and sometimes that's already bordering on midnight."
"I always take naps when you don't look."
Another sound of amusement, yet it was clear he knew you weren't being truthful.
"I would've noticed", he quipped and raised an eyebrow, waiting for a genuine answer.
"Well, to be honest I just love staring at your back when you get into the elevator. After this phenomenal event every evening, I get out myself. It's like five minutes later but at least I can arrive home with a feeling of gratitude."
Jane tilted his head, clearly enjoying your made up story. He didn't know that parts of it weren't a lie ─ you did love to look at his back. "As charmed as I am, I fear I won't let go of this until you've given me a real explanation."
At this, you eyed him thoroughly, trying to figure out whether he meant it or not. It didn't take long to know he wasn't kidding. He was Jane, after all.
"Fine," you growled. "I might not get as much sleep as I want to but it's fine. I like this job and if it needs more time, then I'm willing to invest in it. It's not like I'm always tired or anything," you added, the last part not sounding convincing at all.
"How many?"
"What?"
"Hours. How many hours of sleep?"
"I don't know. I went home at 11pm yesterday and had to be here at 9am. So I guess like four?"
"Four?"
"Yes, four, Jane. Problem?" You questioned him back, getting more annoyed every second this conversation lasted.
"Isn't your home only a twenty minute drive away?"
"It is and do I even wanna know how you know that?"
He completely ignored your question and went on with his own: "What happened to the other three hours?"
"Nothing, I just─I just finished some work at home," you admitted.
Instead of another question, you were met with silence.
A lot of it.
Until Jane got up from his couch, grabbed both of your cups and disappeared behind the door. The sudden and unexpected action left you speechless, and didn't give you enough time to protest. Your tea hasn't even been blown on yet.
After half a minute, Jane came back, this time making a beeline towards your computer. When his hand moved to the power button, your senses finally came back.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" you exclaimed, voice confused and louder than before.
Instead of replying, Jane just turned the machine off. "Hope that document was saved", he commented and finally turned to you, only to be met with a flabbergasted expression.
"What are you doing?" you repeated, sounding even more confused than before. "And why did you throw out a perfectly fine cup of tea?"
"Firstly, I didn't throw it out, I merely put it on the counter, and secondly it would've only given you a reason to go against my plan."
"Right, cause currently I just follow whatever you're doing."
"I wish you were", he countered and smirked at you.
"Real fun, Jane, but go back and bring me my tea." No movement was made, so you tried again. "Hello? Jane, seriously. I thought you were the biggest tea lover you can find in California."
"While it is unlikely, I do see where you're coming from, but if you had it in reach, you would've waited at least fifteen more minutes for it to cool and then drink it for another ten. I want you to leave this building this moment, so tea is out of the window."
"I have work to do."
"So you've said. I promise it won't grow legs and run away," he said, much more gentle now. "You can look at it tomorrow, just get out of here now."
You looked into his blue eyes, trying to find any sign of joke but only finding sincerity. You glanced back to your desk, then the clock at the wall and finally back to him. "Okay," finally came accompanied with a nod.
Jane's smile came fast and bright as he took your arm to lead you to the elevator. You grabbed your bag and let yourself be nearly towed away towards the exit.
"I can walk on my own you know", you stated even though you didn't actually mind his hands on you. In fact you'd appreciate them somewhere else too, but that was a topic for another day.
"I'm sure you can," he only replied, dragging you further on.
The elevator chimed on the moment the button was pressed and the doors opened. Both of you stepped inside, his fingers quickly finding the first floor.
A comfortable silence settled and for a few moments, you allowed yourself to relax. You took a deep breath in, exhaled and felt your eyelids closing for just a fraction of a second. Jane must've noticed, because when you met his eyes again, they radiated understanding and were quiet.
The doors opened once again and you both left the elevator and within half a minute more, the CBI building as well. The chilled autumn air hit you right in the face and while it was cold, it was welcoming too.
You followed Jane blindly for a few more steps before realising you parked your car in the opposite direction.
"Jane-"
"Don't worry about that. I'll drive you home," he cut you off nonchalantly.
"No," was your immediate and very much expected reply. Your voice softened a little after this. "You really don't have to."
"I know. I want to."
"I appreciate that but I'd rather just drive to my home myself."
"And I'd rather not have you cause a car crash because of overworking and sleepless nights", he retorted, not bothering to slow down.
"I got enough sleep to work perfectly fine," you argued and were instantly met with a look from him that told you to be for real.
Coming to a halt in front of his car, he finally turned around to face you again, putting both hands on your shoulders.
"I know you're capable. You're excellent at your work but you, just like all people, need to take care of yourself in order to work. And if I had left you alone in the office, you wouldn't get home for another two hours."
Your mouth opened but Jane beat you to it.
"You need to rest."
"I-"
"Nuh uh."
A puzzled look decorated your face as his pointer finger settled on your lips to quiet you. It took a few thoughts and feelings for you to agree with him but finally you looked down at the ground and nodded. You knew he was right.
Jane let his finger drift down and tilted your chin up, making you look at him. He didn't say anything, just gave you a small but happy smile.
The warmth of his hand on your skin and from his expression made you feel lighter in the cool night air, which hit you harder in that second, making a strand of your hair fall back in your face. Before having the chance to brush it back yourself, Jane did it for you in a quick motion, then opened the door to the passenger seat, gesturing for you to step inside.
You did.
After collecting yourself.
Jane stepped around the car, taking his place in the driver's seat and starting the engine.
For a few minutes, nothing but silence and the hum of the machine filled the air. It wasn't heavy or uncomfortable but it didn't feel casual either.
You turned your head towards him, suddenly remembering that he might not know the address.
"Do you want me to put it down in the GPS?" you asked with a quiet voice.
"I still have it in mind. Relax a little and let me drive you there, okay?"
"Okay."
You sighed and rotated your body to your right, facing the window and taking a closer look at life outside. You could only spot a few people every now and then, as well as lit up rooms or buildings. The darkness of the night made your eyelids grow heavier every second.
As your vision began to blur, you finally noticed just how tired you were but it was too late now. The steadiness of the drive, the presence next to you and the dark surroundings did a good job at bringing you closer to sleep, even if involuntarily.
Too tired to fight back, you let yourself be pulled into the land of dreams.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"Mhm..."
Jane chuckled and gently brushed his fingers against your face.
"Time to go home."
"No..." you protested in your groggy state. "'Tis comfortable," you added, still half asleep.
"I can promise you, your bed is even better."
Even with closed eyes and sleep knocking at your door once again, you could clearly hear the smile he wore. This beautiful smile couldn't be missed and it eventually made you crack an eye open.
"'Course my bed is bedder than a car seat," you replied, totally unaware of the ridiculous thing you just said.
"Alright, come on, I'll help you up," Jane chuckled and carefully steadied your lower back.
You didn't make any move on your own but that didn't seem to be needed. Jane already pulled you out himself.
Having to stand again was a hard adjustment after the nap you just took. Your legs felt wobbly and not at all supportive. The imbalance made you lose your footing for a second but luckily Jane quickly put an arm around your waist to keep you from falling.
"Woah, slow down there."
You just grumbled in reply and took a step forward while he kept his reassuring grip on you.
While it was a struggle, both of you made it to your door step in only a short time and you clumsily pulled the key out of your bag. Once you found it, you moved to open the door but you couldn't quite put it in. Jane's free hand immediately shot up to fold around yours and guide it.
You felt heat creep up to your cheeks but blamed it on your sleepiness.
Jane put on the light and led you inside.
"Bedroom?"
His voice was close to your ear and under any other circumstances you would've melted at this simple question. For now though, all you were capable of was pointing towards the left end of the hall.
You made your way over there and entered the room.
Once your bed was in sight, Jane brought you close enough and slowly put you down.
The last bit of strength you had was used to kick your shoes off and nuzzle your face into your pillow.
Before drifting off again, you managed to mutter a muffled 'thank you'.
Jane didn't reply at first. He just stood there, watching your relaxed body and steady breathing. He was glad you could rest now and hoped to see you come in an hour later than usual tomorrow.
He turned to leave but his feet didn't move over the threshold yet. Looking back at your soft features, he smiled to himself. "You're welcome, princess."
With one last glance, Jane finally turned to leave your bedroom and home, secretly hoping to have a chance to come here again soon, if you let him.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
notes: Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave feedback if you want to, I'd really appreciate it. I'd be open for requests as well, though I doubt a lot of people will even see this. Also, my bsf kindly proofread this, mwuah 😽
Sumary: It was supposed to be a boring desk job, but between Jane’s cryptic tests and his paper-folding habits, she’s starting to realize that "babysitting" is just a fancy word for joining the circus.
Word Count: 1.9 k
Warnings: None, just fluff, fluff, and more fluff... and really, really bad jokes. Based on that one scene of the Elvis stain. Third person narrator but she doesn't have a name (it could be you, my love). A/N and taglist at the end!
<<<The 'Patrick Jane' Materlist
“Wow. There’s a stain on the ceiling that looks like Elvis, but today it looks more like a... basset hound.”
Patrick Jane had a small, persistent habit of thinking out loud—mostly when he assumed he was alone, or when no one was actually listening. Sometimes, he simply pointed things out because a detail struck him, regardless of whether it was appropriate or even relevant. It was all part of his 'charm.'
He was currently sprawled across the camel-colored leather sofa in the bullpen, a piece of furniture he’d claimed as his sovereign territory since his first day at the CBI. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone—except for the new agent tucked away at a desk she was forced to share with Van Pelt until a proper space opened up.
By default, she had been tasked with 'Jane-duty.' Her job was to ensure he didn’t pull any stunts while the rest of the team was in the field, spring a trap for a prime suspect in their current case.
She let out a long, jagged sigh. It was the third time this week she’d been benched to watch him. And while she didn't exactly hate the man, she wanted to be out there, in the heat of the action, not buried under a mountain of paperwork with a man who, despite her silent prayers, seemingly didn't know how to shut up.
"And?" she asked, not even bothering to look up. Her voice was flat, draped in boredom.
Jane turned to her, looking genuinely offended as he propped himself up on one elbow. "And? What do you mean, 'and'? You can't treat such a delicate matter with a simple 'and'."
She exhaled. Here we go again.
"It’s just a stain, Jane. I don't see the problem."
"The problem is that it isn't just a stain; we’re talking about the King of Rock and Roll here," he said, falling back onto the sofa. He studied the no-longer-Elvis shape with intense concentration before adding, "Besides, it’s not just that he’s gone—it’s about what his departure signifies."
She frowned, finally turning to face him. "I don’t follow."
Patrick offered a satisfied smile, his eyes sparkling now that he’d successfully baited her into the conversation. He watched her from the comfort of his perch on the sofa.
"Well, you see... it’s not just about the change in appearance. It’s a personality test. If you see Elvis, it means you have a messiah complex and a secret addiction to sequins. If you see a basset hound... well, then you’re emotionally constipated."
She tried to make sense of the consultant’s words, finding herself significantly more confused than she had been five seconds ago.
"Let me see if I’ve got this straight," she began. "You’re telling me that because you see a dog today instead of Elvis... it means you’re practically dead inside?"
Patrick’s smile widened, clearly entertained by the agent’s confusion.
"Ah! The rookie is a quick study. But no—it means you are practically dead inside."
She faltered, completely lost. She opened her mouth as if to ask something, then snapped it shut in resignation, realizing her best bet was to avoid falling into the mental traps of the man on the sofa.
Suddenly, Jane sat up, breaking the silence. "Come now, you’re a state agent! You should be paying more attention. You know as well as I do that the devil is in the details."
She let out a scoff. "I’m a state agent, exactly—not a psychic." She glanced up at the ceiling where the supposed Elvis-stain lived—a ketchup smudge that, to this day, remained a bureaucratic mystery—, then back at the sofa where Jane sat. An idea flickered in her mind. "Besides, hasn't it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, someone might have moved your couch?"
"Moved my couch?!" Patrick exclaimed, looking at her with a horrified expression, as if she’d just grown a third head. "I’ll have you know this couch has been in the exact same spot for two years. In fact, I named her: Betsy."
She fought back a smile. "Well, I think Betsy is cheating on you. Why don’t you move her about three inches to the left? I bet you’ll have your Elvis back before you can even say... 'Presley.'"
She met his gaze with a defiant, confident smirk. Jane arched his brows, suppressing a smile that threatened to break through, secretly impressed by the girl's quick wit.
He wasn't going to say it out loud, of course.
"So, you think you're quite clever, don't you, rookie?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I hate to disappoint you, but Betsy has been faithful to me all this time. And you doubt her because of... what? Three inches?"
She rolled her eyes. "Just listen to me. I know what I’m talking about."
It was his turn to falter. She looked so certain that he found himself doubting his own argument—and Jane never doubted himself. "And you’re sure this will bring him back?" he asked, purely skeptical.
She propped an elbow on her desk, resting her chin in her hand. "Humor me, will you? Just move Betsy."
Resigned, Patrick stood up and shifted the sofa exactly three inches in the direction she’d pointed out.
"There. Now what?"
She let out a mock scoff. "Now what? Lie down, genius. Elvis has entered the building."
He settled back onto the leather, squinting at his favorite spot on the ceiling once more. "Oh! Well, look at that. The King has returned." The smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a frown as he lifted his head just enough to catch her eye. "Wait. How did you know the sofa needed moving?"
She was already buried back in her paperwork when she answered, "It’s all about perspective. Besides, you said it yourself: the devil is in the details."
Patrick fell silent for a moment, thoughtful. It was rare to meet someone so observant. Not on his level, of course—no one was, in his mind—but someone who noticed things others missed. Like the fact that Betsy needed to move three inches.
He studied the young agent’s face: the way she moved with a slow, heavy exhaustion, the spark in her eyes, and how the midday sun streaming into the bullpen forced her to squint.
"Huh..." he drifted off, turning fully toward her, his gaze never wavering. "But you see, the problem with Elvis is that I’m no longer sure I even like him."
The agent let her head drop onto the desk with a little thud at Jane's indecisiveness, her forehead hitting the cold wood with a guttural groan of irritation.
God, this man's more stubborn than a mule.
"Would you be so kind to remind me again why I’m stuck here with you instead of out there with the team?"
"Because you’re the rookie, and Lisbon operates under the tragic delusion that I require a babysitter." Patrick shrugged nonchalantly. "Personally, I prefer to think of you as my protégée." He sat up abruptly, rising to his feet and drifting toward her desk. He plucked a stray piece of paper from the floor and began to fold it. "Besides, someone has to fetch my tea and marvel at my… eccentricities, after all"
She sighed again, the sound muffled by the wood of the desk. "Great. I went from state agent to babysitter and waitress. Fantastic..." she muttered sarcastically. She was exhausted, and truth be told, she felt pushed aside. She got along with the others, sure, but she was still the 'new girl,' the 'rookie,' the 'beginner.'
She knew integration wouldn't be easy, but it had been two months and she felt like she’d contributed nothing to the cases beyond case rehearsals and analyzing dusty files from the dark ages that even her boss's boss would never bother to read. She knew she could do more—that she’d be more useful out in the field than rotting behind a desk. She was beyond frustrated.
Then, she felt a light tap on her hair.
She lifted her head, finding herself face-to-face with a small, delicately folded origami swan. She took it between her fingers with a tentative touch, as if it were made of glass, tracing the tiny beak with her index finger. A small smile, nearly imperceptible, flickered across her face, cracking the facade of irritation she’d been wearing.
Patrick noticed. Because he never missed a thing. Not a single detail.
He caught that tiny slip of a smile on her weary face. He saw the way her gaze softened at the sight of the little bird. He noted how, somehow, that one small gesture had caused her shoulders to finally drop.
He had to summon every ounce of self-control to keep from pointing out the shift in her posture. He simply smiled, watching as she placed the swan on her desk next to a pipe-cleaner flower—another of his creations from his idle moments between cases.
He’d realized she kept everything he gave her. It started with the first thing: an anonymous beaded bracelet, a chaotic mess of colors and shapes that she’d hung from her backpack zipper like a lucky charm, wearing a smile very much like the one on her face right now.
Since that day, making her smile like that had become his personal mission.
Which brings us back to the paper swan.
"Looks like I managed to make the grump smile," he said with a smirk, looking a bit smug and deeply satisfied with himself for having accomplished his mission for the day.
"I’m not a grump," she protested. "I just detest being the new hire." She let out a long breath before adding under her breath, "I’d be much more useful out there than in here."
A lightbulb seemed to go off in Patrick’s head as he practically jumped to his feet.
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" he exclaimed, his tone far too upbeat and his smile far too wide—and attractive—for her liking. He began striding toward the office exit.
"Wait, what? No!" She stood up so fast she sent her chair toppling over, racing to stand in front of him with her arms stretched and block the door. "No, no, no. We are not going anywhere. The boss told me—"
"Yes, yes, I know, but I don't care. You said it yourself: you’re more useful out there. So, let's go." He sidestepped her, heading straight for the elevator. When he realized she wasn't following, he called back, "Are you coming or what?"
She watched him go, half-incredulous and half-terrified of what the consultant was about to do. Because with him, you never truly knew.
At that moment, she felt she only had two choices:
Option one, call Lisbon to warn her that the devil was off his leash and wash her hands of the whole mess.
Or option two, follow the very charming but very impulsive mentalist to try to minimize the blast radius of the walking nuclear bomb that he is.
I don’t think I need to tell you which one she picked.
"Dammit, Jane..." she muttered to the empty air before anxiously rushing after him. This man is going to get me fired one of these days.
Jane couldn't help the private smile that touched his lips when he heard her hurried footsteps behind him. He knew she was worried; he knew she thought her job was on the line. But he also knew he’d be the one taking the fall later, happily claiming all the blame. He didn't mind. It was worth it.
Anything to keep her happy.
But that’s something the great Patrick Jane would never, ever, admit.
A/N: Damn, I'm on fire, haha. I've noticed there are not a lot of fics for Patrick Jane, so I decided to write one. This is my first time writing any type of comedy (if you can call it that way), so bear with me... please? As always, this was originally written in spanish so I just translated it. Let me know what you think and also if you want to be on the taglist. I hope you enjoyed it.
No sofas were harmed (or cheated on) in the making of this fic.
Peace out, bitches! 8)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
