Disclaimer (That applies to every single chapter of this story): I don't own The Mentalist.

Time Waits For No One

Chapter One: Just Take My Hand

Her body arched into his as she threw her head back. Her eyes slipping shut and fingers gripping onto his golden curls as he ran his hands along her back, and moved up towards her delicate shoulders. She brought her head back down level to his; he caught her lips in his once more feeling the overwhelming softness of them. Her hand slid away from his curls and down the side of his neck. She began trailing her fingertips down past his shoulder and bicep, barely brushing them over his forearm as she moved to grasp onto his dry bloodied hand. He returned her hold and broke his lips away from hers.

Briefly parting, their eyes never wavering as they locked with each other. His eyes were dilated, and she knew hers probably were as well. His lips were swollen, and when he leaning in further, she realized that her over-sensitive lips were just as swollen as his. Leaning back into him, she let out a weathered sigh. His hands moved up and grasped behind her head, his hands tangling within her dark auburn locks. Shutting her eyes again, she was pressing into his body once more with more fervor than before. He was pressing his lips against her much harder than before, his tongue putting pressure against her soft lips. Opening her mouth, she granted him permission, and he slipped his tongue inside to tangle with hers. Emitting a soft moan, she let herself fall back further into the cushions of the department issue Chevy Traverse. She was reaching up and wrapping her fingers around the lapels of his jacket. She began pushing it passed his shoulders and down his arms. Without breaking contact with her lips, he helped her slide it off his arms. Once that was off, she began working on the buttons to his vest. Her fingers were trembling and her heartbeat was erratic. Pulling away slightly so she could breathe, she gasped and felt a blush rise up in her cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked her, brushing his thumb against the apple of her rosy cheek.

Her eyes locked with his, "Yeah." She leaned forward to capture his lips in a long drawn out kiss. He slid his hand from her cheek and trailed it down the side of her face and neck. Drumming his fingers along the smooth flesh of her neck, he felt her stiffen beneath his grasp. The man pulled away only slightly so he could trail soft kisses from her nose up to her hairline. Then he brought his head down, gently nuzzling her, nose against nose.

Blinking softly and unbuttoning the last button to his vest, she deftly slid it past his shoulders. Tossing it to the side so it landed right on top of his jacket, she brought her hands up to his bloodied shirt. Seeing dried coppery blood on his baby blue shirt was a new sight, and it should have been appalling to her, but it wasn't. Instead she ran her fingers over the blood stains, her breath hitching in her throat as tears formed in her eyes. She began to look away when his finger hooked underneath her chin and brought her eyes to look back up at him.

Love. Warmth. Devotion. Heartache.

Letting the tears fall freely from her cheeks, she began undocking his shirt from his trousers. Her eyes never fell away from his, she kept her eyes on his the entire time as she slid her hand up and began unbuttoning each and every clear button that held his shirt together. When she finished, he was reaching down and grasping her hand in his. Bringing her hand up to his lips and pressing a barely noticeable kiss on her knuckles, she felt a wet teardrop fall onto her hand. Curling her fingers around his, she took her free hand and began to work his shirt off his body, not wanting to break the union of their hands. She heard his breath hitch as she softly brushes her fingertips along his bare shoulder blade.

He let the shirt fall from his arms as he leaned forward to kiss her firmly. Pushing her back down against the car seat, his fingers began removing her shirt from her pants and hitching it over her head. He only broke contact with her lips briefly so her shirt could be removed completely from her body before being placed on top of his. Leaning closer to her body until he was pressed solidly into her body, he felt her body stiffen beneath his. His heated skin against her abdomen had her curling her toes inside her shoes and her heart beating erratically than ever before. Then she felt more of her briny tears rolling down her cheeks and sloping down the side of her neck. He saw the path of the watery drops and leaned down, nuzzling the side of her neck and letting his nose dampen with her tears. She brought her hand up to tangle in his curls before she grasps on tighter to pull him up. His eyes darken and dilate further. Hers do as well. Within seconds, his mouth is over hers and his hands wrap around her hips.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Teresa Lisbon could only conclude that she looked like crap. Her eyes looking distant with dark circles beneath them and her hair everywhere, it was only a matter of time before someone were to ask her if she was all right. Truthfully she was far from "all right," but she would never admit to it. A few hours ago her consultant, Patrick Jane, not only killed the serial killer Red John, but also made love to her in a department issue vehicle. Now he was sitting in a holding cell deep in the CBI's basement where he awaited transportation to prison. The thought created a deep chasm in the bottom of her stomach, but she knew it was what the law stated.

She shook her head and brought her hand up to run it through her unruly waves. Pausing, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath in and then out through her mouth. She opens her eyes and moves forward to turn the dial on the faucet. She keeps it on cold, which is exactly what it is right now: cold. Placing her hands underneath the frigid water, she shivers and chokes back the tears that prick on the corners of her eyes. Hunching her shoulders up to the point where they seem to rest beneath her ears, she squeezes her eyes shut and suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to scream. How dare he just go and kill Red John just like that! Didn't he care about the people around him? Those who needed him and loved him? After all they had been through over the course of the years, he still had the audacity to go ahead and shoot the serial killer at close range with her gun. She wants to go down to that holding cell right now, yell at him, scream at him, and tell him of his mal actions. But she already knows what he will say or do. He will say something about how his wife and child needed this, and how he needed this all the same. If she were to talk to him, she would have to fight herself to keep from calling him a moronic idiot.

Twisting the dial, she shut the water off and reaches over for a rough paper towel. Thoroughly drying off her hands, she throws the wadded paper away in the bin and heads out towards her office, her head remaining up for all to see. She avoids the looks of her team as she walks past them and ignores their concerns. They heard that she got their too late and just in time to see that Jane had indeed taken her weapon and used it to kill Red John. Her team definitely did not know what they had done in the crossover sports utility vehicle right before they had returned back to headquarters, and they didn't necessarily need to know.

She moves into her office and sits down on her couch. Leaning back, she brushes her hand against the soft fabric of the couch that tickled the tips of her fingers. He had bought her this couch awhile back, and it held some sentimental value to her, but now she wanted it gone. She didn't even want her old couch back. She wanted a brand new couch that would replace this one and the other before. Both held too many memories with Patrick Jane and she wishes for them both to be erased from her mind forever.

"Boss?" she hears a soft knocking on the door frame.

Looking up, she sees the perturbed face of Van Pelt standing before her. "Yes, Grace?" Lisbon wonders if she still had a few tears on the side of her face, but she was sure that they were gone before she left the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Her rookie steps further into the room with her hands clasped in front of her body. "The guys and I are a bit worried, and –." She stops talking when she sees Lisbon's face.

Downcast. Forlorn. Melancholy.

She wasn't okay.

Revision Date: 16 April 2012