Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: This was originally written for last month's prompt at BW ( , one of those things I completely didn't even intend on writing for but than an idea hit and there was no stopping it. Many thanks to Alanna1231 for the feedback.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me; Title found in Rocky Horror Picture Show's The Time Warp.

"Hurry up, we're going to be late." She smoothed the white apron over her dress and resisted the urge to itch the back of her head; the wig was driving her crazy.

As was the fact that her date was taking longer than she had to get ready for a stupid Halloween party.

"Patience..." His voice was muffled slightly by the closed door between them yet she could still detect the smile in it, the way his head would be tipped towards her. "I assure you, it will be worth it, Lisbon."

Rolling her eyes, she leaned against the front door, gaze boring into the wall separating her from where he stood in the kitchen; there was no reason it should be taking this long to find the last touch for his costume.

Hell, if she knew him, he'd picked it out weeks ago.

"Glaring isn't going to help me make the decision any faster."

"You're insufferable, you know it?"

"Meh, you wouldn't have it any other way."

She sighed, her eyes closing as she slowly, slowly counted to ten.

The problem was, the bastard was right. It had taken them years to admit it, to break past each other's walls and scars, but she wouldn't change him.

Yes, there were times she wanted to throttle him, but it was generally outweighed by the warmth in his eyes as he teased her, the stubborn way he insisted on taking care of her for a change.

"Almost ready; you might want to put your shoes on."

Groaning, she shoved her feet back into the black Mary Janes; they were the cheapest pair she could find and the way the strap was cutting into her foot, she knew why. They'd be better off as torture devices.

The kitchen door finally swung open and he stepped out, top hat askew on his head, a bright bowtie hanging undone against his lapels, teacup clenched tightly in his left hand.

(She highly suspected he'd chosen their costumes just so he had an excuse to carry around a cup of his favorite drink all night.)

"I can't quite figure—" He gestured to the material with his free hand.

"You mean there's actually something in men's fashion Patrick Jane hasn't mastered?"

"No need for ties at the carnival..." He smiled, shoulders lifting slightly as she stepped towards him. "Or maybe I just wanted to get you a little closer."

Shaking her head, she fingered the smooth silk of the tie and slowly began looping one end under the other. "You're lucky I had an eccentric little brother."

"Tommy?"

She just shook her head, concentrating on the work at hand.

That was his Lisbon, all right. Always focused on whatever she deemed most important. Why she'd chosen him as one of those things he still wasn't quite sure; she deserved far better.

He'd embraced it though. God, he couldn't remember feeling this alive since—

Her fingers brushed against his skin and she stepped away, flicking her blond wig over her shoulder. "Finished. Now are you ready? I'm sure Van Pelt is about to send out the search party."

"Mmm, I don't know if I want to go anymore." He raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting over her. "I can think of more enjoyable ways to spend our time..."

"Oh no, you're the one who wanted to go, you're the one who picked the costumes, we're going." She crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrow lifting in challenge.

Only Patrick Jane could get her to dress up for a Halloween party (well, ok, him and the tempting, tempting promise of winning the competition for best costume between her coworkers); he wasn't about to back out now.

"Admit it, you're actually looking forward to it. To showing everyone what a great Alice you make."

"I look ridiculous as a blonde."

She did, there wasn't really any arguing about it and yet—

"I think it's sort of becoming, a little Sleeping Beauty meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

"Jane..." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers twisting in the hem of her skirt as she tried to tamp down the sudden warmth flaring at the amusement and heat—love—dancing in his eyes. "Bite me."

"I believe..." He grabbed her coat, hands skimming down her arms as he slipped it over her shoulders. "The cake said 'eat me', but..." Pressing his lips to the pulse point on her neck, he grinned at the small shudder that ran through her body, the way her fingers laced through his. "Gladly, my dear, gladly."

A/N: If you hadn't guessed, the prompt given was 'bite me' :)