Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: Heaps of thanks to bloodwrites for being willing to discuss TM and offer feedback at a moment's notice.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me; Title found in Little Big Town's Novocaine.

Groaning, she pushed the door closed, throwing her keys into the bowl on the end table. They clanged loudly as they landed on his and she grimaced at the grating sound of metal on metal, the way it rang through her head.

A headache was just what she needed to complete her day.

The flash of her key ring—a tiny metal badge—nestling against his (where Cho had found a small planchette from a Ouija board she still didn't know) made her smile even as she tiredly ran her hand through her hair. It had been an exhausting case, an even longer day; she was glad to be home.

Glad, but slightly nervous.

She hadn't seen him since he left headquarters two hours ago to "gather rations". The way his mouth had tipped up at the corner, his fingers absently smoothing his vest, telling her he was up to something.

Hopefully not a trip to San Francisco for dinner or a night out at a jazz club.

Oh, she'd had fun those nights, but she was pretty sure the pain coursing through her lower body wouldn't allow it tonight.

Hell, she was going to be pretty lousy company any way you—

"Ah, you're home." He grinned, folding the plastic bag he'd just (if the groceries and supplies on the table were any indication) finished unpacking. Enough food for the next four days was spread out, mixed with books, an aromatherapy candle, and a new pair of yoga pants. Her heating pad was draped over the arm of the couch, her favorite beer—the expensive one she never bought herself—opened on the coffee table in front of it.

Shaking her head, she inhaled slowly, slightly overwhelmed as she realized just how well he knew her, how he'd recognized what was going on the second she bit Rigsby's head off that morning. It wasn't just part of his gift; it was spending practically every minute of the last three years together.

Of understanding—loving—her.

"...had to circle back thanks to a dreadful detour, but I still managed to make it home well ahead of you." He winked, scooping up the food and carrying it into the kitchen. "I was about to put this away when—"

He laughed as he came back into the room and found her curled up on the end of the couch, tearing into the box of Midol he'd purchased. "Did Christmas come early?"

"Christmas, my birthday, and Valentine's Day."

"How romantic." Kicking off his shoes, he smirked and settled next to her. "You know, dear, you really shouldn't ingest alcohol while taking those—"

His words died as her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"One time isn't going to kill me." Her eyebrow lifted, dimple appearing as, despite his protests, he handed her the open bottle. "Besides, after the day I had..."

"Hey, Judge Bloopal was asking for it; she humiliated Grace without reason, called your judgment into question and then had the nerve to ask for my honest assessment."

Shoulders shaking, she snorted. "For once, you were the least of my problems."

Not that there were that many of those instances post Red John and their falling ass backwards into a relationship anyhow.

No, it was as though instead of leaving him without a reason to exist, Red John's death—she sucked in a harsh breath as pain flared in her hips—had given him a new one.

A second chance.

She wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up tangled in it, but, more often than not, she was glad she did.

Especially now that he didn't push people, himself included, quite so hard.

Oh, he still spoke his mind, crossed lines he probably shouldn't, picked on her relentlessly, but he was less likely to do anything that would truly land her in hot water. They—the team, too—were family and family teased family.

Protected family.

"...made it so bad? It wasn't the deposition for the Franklin case and surely it's not just your cramps..."

She laughed, head tipping back, calmness—comfort—starting to radiate through her as she flicked on the heating pad.

There was something undeniably amusing about hearing him say the word so matter-of-factly. As if he was about to follow it with some twelve syllable term that hadn't been used since the forties.

"What? It was the deposition?" He tilted his head towards her, eyes dancing in the low light of the evening. "My miscalculations are that amusing to you?"

"No, that's not..." Taking a long pull from the beer she swallowed a second pill before turning to face him. "It wasn't that. It was having to jump through hoops and a lot of bullshit paperwork and..." She sighed, sliding her half empty bottle onto the table.

"And?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, clearly that wasn't the only thing; who do I need to hypnotize to bark on cue, Teresa?"

"No one."

"Are you sure? Just say the word and I can have Bertram expatiating on the virtues of the ballet in the middle of the bullpen."

A soft smile spread across her face and she breathed deeply. It actually seemed like a flimsy punishment for the asinine training they'd outlined and wanted her to go through... again... She didn't want to think about it now though, didn't want it to intrude on the first peace she'd had all day.

"Expatiate? Did you spend all those years in the CBI attic reading entry after entry in the dictionary?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to know." He pushed off the couch and stood. "There were dictionaries and thesauruses and a Word-A-Day calendar; it was all very sordid." Leaning down, he grinned as their eyes met and he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm gonna go start din—"

"No, stay." She laughed at his gasp of surprise as her hand caught his wrist, pulling him back to her. Grabbing the folded newspaper from its place near her feet, she shoved it into his chest. "Find out what time the hockey game starts."

"Hockey? Again? But it's so... so violent and base and..." He settled back into his seat, smiling as he started to flip through the pages of paper. The game might be sort of horrifying, but it was oddly intriguing, too. Plus, Lisbon loved it and... well, it was actually sort of disturbing how turned on he got watching her yell at the screen.

"You like it, don't lie."

"Mmm, couldn't if I wanted to, dear." Flipping to the correct channel, he stretched out, arm falling over her shoulders.

"I know." She relaxed against him, eyes drifting closed as he sighed, his hand drawing slow, warm circles across her back. Forget medicine and hot baths and chocolate, this—she burrowed into his embrace, head resting against his chest, fingers splaying over his hip—this was what she needed.