A/N: Because I did say that I can't write case-fics, and because there's no way Derek Morgan and Patrick Jane can get on well.

Part Two of The Mentalist /Criminal Minds cross-over, Character Studies. Derek already doesn't like Jane much, but when he actually hears the way Jane talks to a victim's wife, he has one or two choice words for him.

II. Confrontation

The Californian sun shines high and bright over the front lawn of a nice suburban house. The pleasant shadow of a tall aspen tree seems to be swaying on the green grass, when in reality, it the grass that dances lazily to the playful summer breeze. Birds sing jovially over the small, cozy neighborhood; dogs bark, and there's even a red-and-blue kite gliding high in the sky. If it weren't for the yellow police tape surrounding the house's entrance, or the small army of law enforcement officials walking in an out of the building, or the police cars and the ambulance pulled up haphazardly in the driveway… it could be called a perfect day.

Outside, a little aside the stone-paved path to the front door, stands a plump, middle-aged woman, arms crossed over her chest, staring disbelievingly at the man across her. She seems affronted, at a loss for words. In the bright daylight, her face is pale, her eyes red-dimmed, and eyes glossy.

The man standing across her, strangely, is relaxed; hands in his pockets, his body slightly curved backwards like he's really enjoying what he's doing, and he's wearing an alluring smile which looks almost uncommonly natural on his face.

"Ah, so you didn't know that the late Mr. Holloway had been driving money from your joint account to pay his accomplice to keep quiet. Or that he's been going behind your back for years – with his impressive ability to keep secrets, I'd say at least a decade. But what really confuses me is why you've never confronted your daughter about her erratic behavior around her father. Have you ever asked her about the issue, at least?"

Mrs. Holloway simply keeps staring.

/

"Jane. Hey, Jane!"

Patrick Jane has barely even turned his head when Agent Derek Morgan walks up to him and seizes his arm in a steely grip. With a quick "Excuse us, ma'am," to the offended widower who's still gaping at Jane with a scandalized face, Morgan pulls Jane away and all but drags him until they take a turn around the rundown structure adjacent to the house and are safely out of sight.

"What the hell was that?"

Jane blinks, frowning slightly as he rubs his arm where the profiler's offensive clench has surely bruised.

"Hey, you're being a bit rough, my friend –"

"What the hell were you doing?" Morgan demands, each word leaden with anger. Jane blinks, gesturing towards the direction from which they've just come.

"What; you mean Mrs. Holloway?" He shrugs, lips curling upwards so smoothly that it seems out of his own accord. "I was probing," he explains , "You know how victims' families can be."

"No, no," Morgan counters, shaking his head as he places his hands on his hip. "What you did back there is wrong, man; it's invasive. The woman just lost her husband of twenty years; she deserves some respect."

Creepily, Jane's smile transforms into a knowing smirk. "You know, what we do is quite similar, Agent Morgan," he suggests with a friendly manner. "So I'm pretty sure you'll get what I mean. You show them respect, and they respectfully close the door on you. So you need to find a way in, and that necessitates being invasive." He grins, like he's just let Morgan in on a secret, and gives his shoulder a friendly poke with his fist, probably unaware how comical his gesture looks. "Watch and learn," he jokes.

It's a wrong move.

He turns on his heel to go back, but he stops cold when Morgan slams his palm on the rusty, zinc wall of the shanty, his arm blocking Jane's way like an iron bar.

"Don't," Morgan hisses, face mere inches away from Jane's, "you dare teach me my job."

Jane swallows.

He's practically trapped between the towering form of the agent and the warm wall pressed against his back. He finds it utterly disconcerting to be stared down by a big, muscular FBI agent who can snap him into two.

"Listen to me, you arrogant bastard," Morgan growls, his smooth face contorted with anger. "I don't care how the CBI people stand or tolerate you. Odds are, they need you. But make no mistake." His eyes narrow. "You're only here out of my man's courtesy." He snorts humorlessly. "Don't go and flatter yourself by thinking we need you, 'cause we don't."

He pauses as he glares at Jane's unmoving face, his arm relaxing slightly. "Because any one of my team can take you on, man. Any day, any time."

Slowly, cautiously, he brings his arm down, releasing Jane from his uncomfortable position, but Morgan's eyes never leave Jane's, and Jane doesn't move at all.

"I'm warning you," Morgan says, deadly serious. "If you want to stick around; stick around. But if you pull something like that again, I'll kick your ass out of here faster than you can say 'Lisbon'. Am I clear?"

Jane simply stares.

"Am. I. Clear?" Morgan repeats, words forcing themselves out through his clenched teeth. Jane gives him a sharp nod, smoothing the front of his suit in a swift move.

"Perfectly," he says, his lips once again trying to curl up, but this time, they fail horribly.

Morgan turns around, and halts, coming face to face with Agent Lisbon.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

Agent Lisbon's eyes move from Morgan to Jane, and to Morgan again. Slowly, Morgan throws the CBI consultant a quick glance over his shoulder, and inclines his head at Lisbon.

"None," he replies curtly, steps aside, and putting on his sunglasses, walks away.

Lisbon watches after him with a frown before turning to Jane again, who's still standing with his back pressed against the shanty wall.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concerned, but not at all surprised. Slowly breathing out, Jane nods.

"Yeah."

"Should I even ask what that was about?"

Jane raises his eyebrows meaningfully as they begin walking back through the house, and Lisbon rolls her eyes, lips twitching.

"I think we can start a contest, Lisbon," Jane suggests a second later. "Whoever's said 'I told you so' more at the end of the month wins dinner for two."

With a laugh, Lisbon pushes him on the shoulder.

"You're on."

And Jane smiles, and it's his easy, bright smile again.