AN: A little OOC, perhaps (okay a lot), but sometimes that's what's needed.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist.

Patrick Jane walked up the front path to Lisbon's new house, casually swinging a small grocery bag in one hand and whistling softly. He noted with satisfaction just the one car in the short driveway - so things with that Pike character aren't that serious yet, good - and the minimal glow of light through the curtains, telling him that she only had the one small table-lamp on in the living room. Yes, just as he had thought: he would find her curled up fast asleep on the couch, a stack of unnecessary paperwork in her lap. He smiled to himself at the anticipated pleasure of waking her up to present her with the tub of her favorite double-espresso chocolate ice-cream.

He reached into the pocket of his trousers, drawing forth the spare key presented to him upon her purchase of the quaint, two-storey house. Yes, this certainly qualified as an emergency. He couldn't have his Lisbon waking up grumpy in the morning because she hadn't been able to stay awake long enough to dot all those crucial i's, cross every critical t, and arrange her files in those neat, alphabetical piles she seemed to love so much, let alone have her cranky because of that crick in her neck she always developed when she slept all night on the couch. Wielding the entrusted key with confidence, he thrust it into the lock, gave it a turn, and let himself into the cool, quiet hall.

But hold on a minute. It wasn't actually all that quiet after all. What was that odd noise coming from the Lisbon's lounge? A sort of low moan, and… was that a growl he'd just heard? Glancing around for a suitable weapon, he plucked an umbrella from the hook by the door and proceeded to tread softly down the hall. A louder moan reached his ears, surely indicative of someone in great pain or distress. He steeled himself against the wall, gripped the umbrella tightly in both hands, and leapt around the corner, hitting the light switch with what he hoped was a startling cry.

And startling it was, indeed. The two occupants of the couch both rocketed into the air. One flew right off the couch to land on the floor in an ungainly heap, while the second reached down in one smooth motion and presently had a gun pointed in Jane's face.

Blink. Teresa Lisbon, clad only in faded jeans and a green bra, lying on her couch, pointing a gun at him. Swallow.

"Jeez, Jane! Haven't we already talked about you knocking? Or better yet, have you thought about using the doorbell? How the hell did you get in here, anyway, and just what are you doing with my umbrella?"

He lowered his weapon. This was no merely angry little princess, whose tiara had been stolen. This was a downright furious little princess, whose tiara had not only been taken and crushed into a thousand tiny pieces, but whose pony had been given a vicious kick to the leg.

But what kind of green would you call that lace? Forest? Emerald? Shamrock? Wait, dark spring? Whatever it was, it offset the pale smoothness of her skin perfectly. And were those freckles?

A loud clicking noise attempted to break through his very pleasant thoughts.

"Jane! Eyes up here please."

Whatever it is, it brings out the color of her eyes perfectly, too. Was that deliberate on her part, I wonder, or just lucky chance?

"Jane! Quit the goldfish act. I said, what the hell?"

"Ah, yes, Lisbon. Right, well."

Usually I'm quite good at giving explanations, aren't I? Oh help, she's standing up from the sofa. At least the gun's gone. But that green-embossed vision is now coming this way. What's that she bending down to pick up now..?

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!"

Who knew a rolled-up magazine to the chest could hurt so much?

"What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Each word was punctuated by a sharp whack to his upper body.

"Um, Teresa, perhaps you might like to…"

"Marcus, hush, this doesn't concern you!"

"Okay, right, I just thought you might like to…"

Lisbon really does have a marvellous glare. I've never fully appreciated it leveled at someone else before, only at me…yes, there it is again. I'm going to call that color lace a dark spring green.

"Jane? I'm waiting…"

Jane made a valiant attempt to recover his composure. "Well, you see, Lisbon, I thought you might like some ice-cream," he began.

"Ice-cream? Okaay. And what made you think you could just waltz on in here and… How did you get in here anyway? Did you pick my lock again?"

"No!" An injured air. "Definitely not. Not after what happened the last time." Keep your eyes on her face, that's it.

"Last time?"

"Marcus, I told you to hush."

"I used the key you gave me." Confident smile, a little proud at having the right answer.

"The key I gave you for emergencies?"

"Ye-es." A little less confident now, perhaps.

"And just what is it about this scenario," she gestured at herself, him, Marcus, the room in general, "that constitutes an emergency, Jane?"

It really was remarkable how calm she was being. Is that a tick she's developing in her left eyebrow? I've never seen it quite so pronounced before?

"Well, I only saw your car in the driveway…"

"Marcus rode his bike over. He parked it down the side, where it's more secure."

So Marcus Pike rode a bike. A smirk crossed Jane's face at the thought of the agent on a pushbike. Then it was gone. Marcus, in leather, on a big, black motorcycle. Lisbon, no, wait, Teresa, also in leather, perched snugly behind him, slender arms wrapped around his waist. Uh oh. I didn't see this one coming. And Lisbon does have that thing for bad boys…

Never mind, brush it off, soldier on.

"What were you smiling at?"

"What? Oh, nothing." Eyes on the face. It's such a nice face, it shouldn't be this difficult, but... "Anyway, I saw the size of that stack of files you took home with you. I just thought you might appreciate some help." He held up the ice-cream, eyes beseeching.

"And the umbrella?"

"Well, I thought I heard an odd noise in here…"

"You know what, don't worry about it." Lisbon took the ice-cream from him and put it down on the table beside her. "Thanks. But next time, maybe send a text first. And try using that doorbell."

All of a sudden, an odd expression crossed her face.

Aha! She's just remembered that she's not wearing a top. She's just been carrying on a conversation with me in her bra. Now what color had I decided to call that again…?

"Dammit, Jane!" Lisbon snatched up her discarded shirt from where it lay draped across the back of the couch. "Marcus, you could have said something instead of just standing there like an idiot!"

"Well, I did tr.."

"Never mind! Just… never mind." She took a loud breath in, fingers working all the while to secure her shirt buttons. "This just did not happen. It's as simple as that."

Now fully clothed, she took the umbrella from Jane's fingers ,and, with a guiding hand under his elbow, propelled him swiftly from the room and down the passage to the front door.

"I also want that key back."

His lower lip jutted out, but he nobly pulled the key from his pocket and obediently put it in her outstretched hand.

"I'm giving it to Cho. You, Jane, are on probation. You can have it back when I deem your behaviour appropriate."

I'll give you behavior that's appropriate. Wait. Hang on a minute, now what did I mean by that?

Finding himself now alone on the doorstep, the front door firmly closed in his face, Jane turned to head back to his car. Losing the key had been a bit of a sore loss, but perhaps it had all been worth it. He grinned. Plus, he could still pick a lock if there happened to be a real emergency.

He pulled away from the kerb and began to drive off down the street, before thinking better of it and turning the car around to park on the far side of the road, a little down from Lisbon's house and where he hoped he'd be out of the street lamp's glare. He waited. One, two, three… Sure enough, her front door opened again and Marcus Pike appeared on the stoop, Lisbon beside him. He leant in for a kiss and Jane held his breath. One, two... Their heads parted. Yes, this evening had definitely been worth it. He waited until Pike's motorbike had roared away down the street.

It's not really that impressive a bike at all. I wouldn't call it big, not when it comes right down to it.

As Lisbon turned to re-enter her house, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. Looking right at Jane, her eyes narrowed dangerously. He sank down a little in his seat.

Wait, was that a wink?

The door closed behind her, and Jane was left sitting alone in the dark.

Yes, that had definitely been worth it.