Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: Many thanks to bloodwrites for the concept feedback.

Disclaimer: The Mentalist doesn't belong to me; Title taken from Sugarland's Every Girl Like Me.

Stretching out on the lawn chair, he tucked his hands behind his head and watched as she climbed the ladder once more, her attention fixed on the house.

Their house.

Even after a year, it still could catch him off guard. Remind him he was no longer frozen in time just waiting...

A light breeze blew through the yard and he grinned as she cursed and juggled the drill and level while trying to brush her bangs out of her face at the same time. He could just imagine the spark of determination—fire—in her eyes as she fought to do it all herself.

Yes, that was his Lisbon, strong and tenacious yet surprisingly soft and warm. It wasn't that he'd ever suspected otherwise, it'd been clear from the start that she was compassionate, a woman who loved the results of her job, but seeing—feeling—it directed towards him was something entirely different.

"You know, if you'd just measured everything first—"

"Do you really..." Steadying herself, she glanced over her shoulder at him safely secluded from any manual labor at the other end of the yard. Not that she'd honestly expected him to help fix the shutter that had started to fall off the house, but he could at least be near enough to hand her a damn tool. "Want to finish that thought?"

"I'm merely stating that it doesn't make sense to measure everything after you've already got it in place."

Rolling her eyes, she reached between the rungs, grabbing the new hinge from the shelf. "Says the man who would end up hanging it sideways."

"You wound me, woman. I'd at least be able to get it perpendicular."

"Ok, so then you'd end up drilling yourself into the house. Either way..." Grinning, she turned back to the shutters, leveling it once more.

He chuckled and lifted his book as a comfortable silence settled around them. It was nice, relaxing even, the steady scrape of tools against house, her light humming floating in the air.

Reclining even further, he continued to read, his gaze occasionally drifting back to her as she screwed the new hinge into place. He had to admit, there was something undeniably alluring about it...

Inhaling slowly, he closed his eyes, counted to ten, before trying to focus on the page in front of him. He'd just about managed it, calmed the swimming words, when she shrieked, the ladder clattering against the house as she hurried down it.

He jumped up, tossing his book to the ground as she started across the yard. He'd barely taken three steps though before she was beside him, breathing heavily, her eyes wild.

"What's..."

"Slithering... slimy..." She pushed him forward, staring at the ground as she pulled in breath after shaky breath. "Just unnatural... damn snakes."

"Seriously?" He laughed lightly as a tiny snake slithered out from the flower bed and towards their neighbor's. "You confront murderers and criminals, but a little repitle..."

Really, the woman was usually so unflappable. Fearless. No only did she routinely face ruthless killers and psychopaths, but she'd survived a less than stellar childhood and all the Red John fall out. She'd kept him focused after that, pulled him back from the brink when he was questioning... well, everything... And a baby garden snake made her lose it?

He didn't think it was possible, but it made him love her even more. All those lovely contradictions in a petite, sexy package.

Still, he'd be remiss if he didn't—

He grimaced as she shoved his shoulder and leaned to the left, no doubt checking to make sure the snake wasn't trying to sneak back into their yard.

"...and Tommy put it right on my head."

"And you never forgave him or the snake. Really, dear, they're harmless. Keep the mice and vermin awa—"

The words stuck in his throat and he gulped as a much, much larger—ok, it was a giant—snake slid out from the bushes and towards his abandoned chair. Clutching her hand, he tugged her forward, towards the back door.

"What about your book and mug?"

"He can... keep... use them for decorations in whatever little den he's got hidden."

She laughed, head tipping back as they raced to the door. "Who's being irrational now?"

"I didn't... never..." The shades rattled as the door slammed shut and he collapsed on the couch, pulling her into his lap. "I don't recall saying you were irrational."

"You didn't have to, I can tell."

He nodded, breathing deeply as she turned in his arms, pinning him against the armrest. "It's just amusing. Strong, sexy, formidable Teresa Lisbon being afraid of the ordinary old snake."

Leaning closer, she ducked her head, the corner of her mouth lifting as her fingers flexed against his wrists. "Oh, I'll give you something to be afraid of..."