A/N: The song is "Look at us" by Vince Gill. I do not own the lyrics or the Mentalist.

I'm not really up on fanfiction lingo - actually I'm pretty lost when it comes to most modern slang - but I'm fairly sure this is called a collection of drabbles. They're chronological (except for the second-last one), beginning right after season 6 ends.

Look at us
After all these years together

Cho stood at the window on the TSA detention cell. Jane and Lisbon were sitting across from each other. Not doing anything but smiling at each other. That was a little strange, certainly. In love, though? He still couldn't wrap his head around it.

After all, they'd been 'together' for years. Gone through enough life-threatening situations to cover three lifetimes. Each. They'd never shown each other anything more than respect. And even that only about half the time. He was pretty sure the closest they'd ever gotten to each other physically was when Jane would put his hand on her back to lead her to the car or the scene of the crime.

The guard looked up at him. "You here for this guy?"

"Yeah."

"Troublemaker." (Tell me about it, thought Cho.) "His girlfriend's just as bad, too. She shows up, starts smooching him. At least they're behaving now."

Cho turned and looked at them again through the window. They still hadn't noticed him. He couldn't help but notice the undisguised adoration in their gazes. How had they hidden that for all those years?

He was sure his eyes were wide as saucers.

Small saucers, though. His poker face wasn't that bad.

Look at us
After all that we've been through

Abbott walked in. He didn't say anything, just stood there looking at them. Lisbon felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. Jane, of course, despite being the one in trouble, was completely unflustered. Lisbon kicked him under the table. His smile actually widened, if such a thing were possible.

Abbott was grinning to himself, though he held a grave face on the outside. Jane was starting to behave more the way that he'd been warned about. He was happy for them. He had felt bad about dismantling the CBI. He was glad they were happy now. They deserved it, after everything that had happened to them. He couldn't think of anyone whom he wished happier.

They were an entertaining couple - the next few weeks were going to be interesting. No, knowing Jane, he was pretty sure the next few years were going to be interesting.

Look at us
Still leaning on each other

"It's time to go," Abbott said, sounding stern. Lisbon was cowed, Jane was not. "By the way, Jane, you owe me a few favours for this."

"Meh. You're delighted. Not quite as happy as I am, though." Jane leaned over to Lisbon. "You're a great kisser, by the way."

Both men watched with interest as Lisbon turned scarlet. She leapt out of her chair, marched over to Jane, and hauled on his arm with enough force to wrench it out of its socket.

"Ow!" he complained.

"That is totally inappropriate!" she hissed at him, draping his arm over her shoulders. Because of their height difference, he was literally falling all over her. He took the opportunity to kiss her on the cheek.

"Concentrate on walking," she ordered him. "And stop leaning all your weight on me. Do you want me to collapse?"

"That would be easier if you hadn't just crippled my good leg," he whined.

She snorted. "You deserved that. And stop kissing me!"

Abbott followed them out. Yes, this was going to be fun.

If you want to see
How true love should be
Then just look at us

James Rawlins was looking on in interest from his front porch rocking chair.

A man and a woman were trudging along the side of the road. The woman was dripping wet and muddy. They were too far away for him to hear the words, but the man seemed to be apologizing.

The woman was louder. Her voice carried all the way down the street.

"Get away from me, Jane."

A mumble from the man.

"I don't care! You sent me down to that dock for 'clues'. I'm sure you knew the suspect would be there."

"I didn't know he would tackle you."

"Jane."

"Yes?"

"You're going back with Fischer."

"But it's a five-hour drive!"

"You're right. Poor Fischer. Well, we're all on the same team, we all have to take turns putting up with you. And I've had enough for today."

The man put his arm around her. She elbowed him in the ribs. James grinned. This was why he was always out sitting on his front porch. A man had quality entertainment out here. Much better than that garbage that passed as prime television.

He watched as the man swung something shiny in front of the woman. She let out a roar.

"My keys! Jane, you're a dead man!" He took off running down the street, the woman right behind.

James settled back into his chair. A small smile played upon his lips. Those two made him miss his wife, God rest her soul. Nothing like being in love to make you fight like a couple of wolverines.

Look at you
Still pretty as a picture

"I might be paranoid," Lisbon whispered, "but that guy at the counter - red shirt - keeps looking over at us."

Jane had already noticed. He said as much.

"Thanks, Mr. know-it-all," she huffed. "Care to explain why?"

He grinned incredulously. "You don't know?"

She glared at him. "I am not in the mood. It's been a long day and it's only lunchtime, and I have no intention of playing guessing games right now."

"Well, if you keep up that ferocious look much longer, I'm pretty sure you'll scare him off."

She was disgusted. "What?"

"He's thinking that you're the prettiest girl he's seen all day, which is impressive considering he works at a clothes store. Jeans department is my guess."

She stared at the man. Jane shook his head. Why would women never believe that they were beautiful? Sure, she was in work clothes - that didn't mean anything. He reached out, took her hand.

"You're gorgeous. Too bad for him that you're mine."

She looked down at her sandwich. He grinned. She was getting better at hiding her blushes. He could barely tell this one was there. He'd have to amp up his game. She was so much prettier with some red in her cheeks.

He'd have to get a picture of her blushing somehow. She'd hate him forever for that. Now, how would he go about it...

Look at me
Still crazy over you

Jane slashed at the ropes. Freed, Lisbon streched her arms over her head for the first time in 38 hours. The pain caused by the movement almost made tears spring to her eyes. Jane crushed her in his arms, ignoring the fact that she was dirty and probably smelled.

Cho handed her a water bottle. "Drink."

She drank. Cho took back the empty bottle and stood up.

"I'll go throw this out."

Lisbon was too tired to notice that the room was now empty. She leaned back into Jane.

He was mumbling into her hair. "Oh, Teresa, I'm so glad I found you. I'm so happy you're safe. I love you. I love you so much, Teresa."

Thinking of him, knowing he'd find her, that was what had kept her sane throughout her kidnapping. It was a few minutes before she realized he was crying. She twisted, trying to look at him. Trying to wipe his tears away.

He held her tighter. "No, no. Stay calm. We need to get you checked out."

She could feel him trembling. "How did you find me? Please tell me you didn't cause an international incident."

He stroked her arms, oh so gently. For the first time, she felt safe enough to let her tears fall.

His voice was soft, broken. "Not knowing where you were... I went crazy."

Look at us
Still believin' in forever

"Will you marry me?"

Lisbon was absolutely not going to cry. She was a fully grown woman, far past the sentimental age. "Yes."

Jane, smiling tenderly, pulled her to him. Kissed her tears away.

In a hundred years from now
I know without a doubt
They'll all look back and wonder how
We made it all work out

"Jane, you absolutely cannot call me 'baby' when we're interrogating a suspect! It's unprofessional!"

"But it's the truth."

"I don't care!"

"If you're worried about losing your authority, I can tell you that the guy was terrified of you. That death glare you shot me sealed the deal for him. He confessed then, you'll notice."

"I DON'T CARE!"

"Should I call you snookums instead?"

Abbott walked out to see what the commotion was about. He was just in time to see Jane duck an airborne pewter pig nursing 5 piglets. (A gift from him to Lisbon. He'd told her "I saw it and just thought of you".) Abbott suddenly remembered some paperwork that urgently needed doing.

"You could have brained me!"

"Yeah! I'll have to work on my aim."

"Oh, you don't mean that."

"Jane, if you don't shut up, I'm going to install deadbolts on all the doors back home and lock you out."

"I'd do worse," muttered Fischer.

"It's a miracle how they put up with each other," said Wiley. He suddenly realized how that sounded. "I mean, uh, Lisbon's nice. She's just, uh, vocal, that's all."

Stop talking," Cho deadpanned.

"Right. Okay. I won't say anything else. I'm shutting up. Right... now."

Jane produced a chocolate bar from nowhere and placed it in front of Lisbon. She ripped it open and took a huge bite.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"No. This means that I have a chocolate bar and I still don't want to talk to you."

But it was too late. Everyone in the room could see she was fighting back a smile. Well satisfied, Jane laid down on his couch.

Fischer shook her head, turning back to her work. "I'll never get it," she muttered.

"Don't feel bad. I don't think anyone does," replied Cho.

"I don't think anyone could figure it out, even if they lived to be a hundred!" Wiley piped up. Cho looked at him. Wiley became very interested in his screensaver.

Jane sat up on his couch, a devilish smirk on his lips. "Baby, will you get me some tea?"

Chances are
We'll go down in history

"This man was the driving force of the greatest investigative team this country has ever seen. He was able to take in a scene at a glance and draw accurate sociological conclusions based on his observations. He was what is commonly known as a 'mentalist', which means he read body language to determine a person's emotional and psychological background and, therefore, their probable actions.

"His extremely successful career as a psychic ended when a serial killer named Red John murdered his first wife and their child. He then threw his efforts into crime solving. He worked at a now-defunct organization called the California Bureau of investigation, or CBI for short. His ultimate goal was to find and kill Red John. In the process, he uncovered the largest conspiracy this country has ever seen: an association of corrupt cops known among its members as the Blake Association.

"He spent two years on a South American island, to escape going to jail for the murder of Red John, before the government was able to track him down. In view of the almost unbelievable record of closed cases he had left behind him, one man with a vision set out to assemble the perfect crime-solving machine. He tracked down this man and brought him back to the States, clearing him of the murder charge. The man refused to work for him unless his previous team leader, a woman, were offered a job in the same unit.

"Now we must talk about this woman. She plays a very important part in this man's life. He was a psychopath in every sense of the word, and he had nothing left to lose, yet this woman managed to control his outrageous schemes with some degree of success. He reportedly said about her: 'She's a fixer-upper. Everything she sees: animals, people, anything. She fixed me up even though I didn't want her to. She made me a man again.'

"It was his weakness for her that led to his eventual discovery. Whilst in hiding on the island he would write her letters. These were eventually traced back to him. Once they were reunited in Austin, he declared his love for her. They were married shortly thereafter and continued to solve crimes for some decades."

In the 23rd row, section H, a boy nudged his girlfriend. "What's with old Towser?" he asked, not bothering to whisper. "Getting all soft on us."

She glared back at him. "Dr. Townsend is a fine professor. Just because we're studying criminology doesn't mean you have to be so cynical all the time. I for one appreciate the romance in this story."

He rolled his eyes. "I have nothing against romance. I go see those rom-coms you drag me to, right? I just don't care about a 50-year-old love story." She smacked his arm. "Ow! You know, I'll bet that wonderful woman he's talking about never hit that mentalist psychopath."

She rolled her eyes. "That's because I'll bet he wasn't a patch on you."

When they want to see
How true love should be
They'll just look at us

The old groundskeeper trudged out into the pale October sun, rake in hand. It was a depressing day.

He sighed. He hated raking. All the dead leaves littering the ground, couldn't they fall somewhere else? But the job needed to be done. He walked over slowly the the northeast corner - the farthest corner. Leaning on his rake, he watched in interest as a dark-haired woman entered the graveyard, a man on her arm.

He knew the woman, of course. He knew or recognized 'most everyone who came here. This particular woman had been coming every year in early October for the last twenty years. The interesting part was that this was the first time since her brother had grown up that she hadn't come alone.

The old man watched as they meandered over to her parents' graves. The woman always had flowers only for her mother's grave. There were a million possible reasons for this, and the old man was not the type who needed to have his curiosity satisfied. He was content to watch and speculate. It helped him pass the long, lonely days.

Now they were standing in front of the gravestones. The man put his arm around her and held her hand. Even from a distance of 50 feet he could see her relax. They stood there, quietly.

The old man smiled gently. People moved slower in graveyards. They took their time, ambled along. It was a nice change from the frenetic pace just outside the gates. The nervous energy there always took him by surprise on the rare occasions he went out.

After a while the couple turned and began walking toward him, back to their car. The woman looked peaceful now. He was grateful. She had always looked more tired, more stressed before. He was willing to bet the change had a lot to do with the man beside her, still holding her hand.

He was glad of it. Graveyards were not supposed to be depressing. They were supposed to be a calm, peaceful oasis in time, a place where you could find solace and closure. You were supposed to leave feeling acceptance and peace, not great sadness.

He could tell that she had finally found hers. He wanted to run after the man, tell him to take good care of this woman, she deserved it. But then, he stepped aside to pull open the gate for her, and the old man saw his face clearly for the first time. The love in his eyes showed clearly that he wouldn't need any advice on treating her like a queen.

Smiling a little more now, the groundskeeper bent to his work. He didn't like raking, but he could allow that if the dead leaves didn't fall off the trees, then there wouldn't be another spring, with fresh green buds and new promise.

He turned to look once more at the couple. She had her arm around his waist now. They were still moseying along. The atmosphere of the graveyard hadn't worn off them quite yet. She tucked her head into his shoulder.

The old man turned back to his work, humming a little. It was so nice to know that love still existed in this world. And the kind of love he'd seen in their eyes lasted a lifetime, he knew. Maybe two. He closed his eyes, turned his old worn face up to the sun.

What a beautiful day, he thought.

A/N: Just an aside - the pewter pig thing actually happened. My grandpa bought one for my aunt. The sad thing is he wasn't joking when he said it reminded him of her.

And someone asked, so: "He wasn't a patch on you" is an expression that means - in this instance - 'he wasn't anywhere near as much of a pain/annoying as you are'. (So sorry if it's more obscure than I thought, I use that expression all the time, but my language is a trifle old-fashioned.)