The Strangest of Inventions

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist or its wonderful characters. Just borrowing them for a little fun.

A/N: First Mentalist fic, so judge tenderly of me, please. I'd like to encourage low expectations so I can exceed them. ;P Also, I have no practical knowledge of hospitals or medicine in general, if anything seems odd, just go with it, 'mmkay? Thanks. :D

Dedicated to luisa_f on LJ.

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'Of all the bright machinery, love's the strangest of inventions

How could this all just turn on me? When all I wanted was perfection

And you are, that's what you are to me, you're the brightest star…'

- Bic Runga, Election Night

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It wasn't the pain that woke her.

The sense of something left undone nagged at her, and the knowledge that this something was very important. Teresa Lisbon was not a woman who lightly shirked her responsibilities, and her brow furrowed in her sleep as she pursued this wispy trail of nebulous anxiety, intent on pinning it down to something tangible.

All she knew was a deep wrenching feeling of dread. The cause…the cause was an elusive wraith that flitted around the edges of her consciousness, evading her attempts to grasp at it, slipping through her fingers each time she reached out…willing herself faster, Lisbon launched herself forward in one last desperate attempt, just as a deafening boom filled her ears and she was falling, everything was tilting crazily around her, shifting, blurring, and the only constant was a pair of intense blue eyes that would not let her look away…

The shock of recognition jolted her awake, memories flooding back. "Jane," she gasped, throat dry with fear, barely registering the flare of pain in her shoulder as she jerked upright in bed.

"Interesting," said a familiar voice from the dark corner of her room, and she just barely suppressed an undignified yelp of surprise as the shadowy outline of Patrick Jane moved into view. He dragged his chair over to the side of her bed, where the dim light illuminated the teasing smile on his face and mirthful gleam in his eyes.

Heart rate slowing to a more regular pace, she relaxed back against her pillows, reassured at seeing him gloriously alive, decidedly safe and unharmed from their most recent escapade. Then she tensed as he drawled softly, "How often would you say you wake up with my name on your lips?"

Lisbon hated it when he used that intimate tone on her. He'd used it to fluster her very effectively more times than she cared to remember. And, she recalled, her main mistake every time was letting him provoke her into charging into a verbal skirmish to try and prove to herself that he had no effect on her, though her resulting blushes betrayed the exact opposite.

But even though she rarely came out on top, the few points she'd managed to score off him in their time together made it almost impossible to resist the effort. The memory of his expression on the occasions when she'd bested him, either blank with chagrin or alight with amused approval and nodding in concession, spurred her on. Lisbon had started to thrive on the challenge, in a twisted sort of way.

However, considering that she was currently wounded and stuck in hospital, unable to stalk off if he embarrassed her too much, it didn't seem to be the right time to match wits on that front. So rather than engage him, Lisbon settled for a glare and misdirection. "Damn it, Jane," she scolded him, taking refuge in the familiarity of their bickering routine. "Don't do that. My heart can't take it."

He shrugged, unperturbed, and offered her a wicked smile. "It isn't my fault, I always seem to have that effect on women. Blame nature for gifting me with the genes for overwhelming attractiveness."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's an uphill struggle not to swoon at your feet," she said. "You know, I do feel rather light-headed- although it could be that your gigantic ego just sucked all the oxygen out of the room. If you could park it outside, I'd appreciate it."

Rather than taking umbrage at her sarcasm, he lifted his hands defensively. "Jeez, woman, you sure are snippy when you wake up."

She tried out a one-shouldered shrug, careful not to jar her injury. "Give me a break, I just got shot. You weren't any better when you went blind, temporarily. If I recall correctly- and I do- you were much worse."

"Do I get to pinch you when you insult me?"

"No."

"Double-standards, Lisbon? I thought better of you. Surely you're not trading on the fact that you're a woman-"

"Hey, it's not like that. My actions were justified," she protested. "The hospital staff shouldn't have had to put up with your attitude, they were trying to help and they didn't deserve to be insulted. However," she added in severe tones, "You totally deserve it."

Silence.

Lisbon waited for the ready retort that always sprang to his lips but she got nothing in return. Wondering at his lack of response, she glanced over- and her eyes widened at the expression she saw for a split-second on his unguarded face. She'd struck the winning blow in this bout and hadn't even realized it.

"Jane," she said, then promptly floundered, unsure what to say. Had that really been a look of enormous guilt and shame? Was she reading too much into an insignificant twitch of a facial muscle? But Jane normally had superior control over himself. He wasn't- translucent. He was the master at masking his emotions and presenting a convincing façade that nobody could see through. For that to drop, even for a moment…it was un-Jane-like. It worried her.

"Hey," she said softly. He met her eyes at last, calm, serene, like she had never seen any cracks in his composure. It was this air of determined calmness that confirmed her suspicions. That's all very good and well, she thought, but now what? She was no good at this touchy-feely stuff.

But for Patrick Jane, she would try, no matter how silly and self-conscious it made her feel. She could always blame it on the drugs if this ended badly.

Lisbon reached out and tentatively placed her hand on his. When he didn't move away or, as she'd half-feared, smile widely and reveal that it was all part of his plan to develop her sensitivity or something, she curled her fingers around his. "What's the matter, Jane?"

She had thought about being subtle, trying to carefully tug the truth out of him, but she knew that there was no point in it. He'd see through any such efforts, so her best recourse was this simple heartfelt plea. Open up to me, just this once.

He stirred, rubbing his thumb across her fingers gently. "You're right. I deserve it. I deserve much worse."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm tired," he said quietly, and she had to strain to hear him. "So tired of being responsible for putting the people I care about in danger."

That's what this was about? Her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Jane, it's not your fault."

"Oh, but it is. Once again, my arrogance, my stupidity…" he trailed off, eyes distant, haunted in a way that made her heart ache for this damaged man, who had once claimed he could not be fixed, which had done nothing to cure her of her instinct to do just that. Jane laughed, a harsh unpleasant sound devoid of any real humor. "You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now."

Enough of this. "Don't," she said, digging her nails into his hand, drawing him out of that bitter self-loathing reverie and focusing back on her. He looked so lost and it scared her. Because this was the wounded side of Jane that lurked deep beneath that cheery, over-confident persona and even though she knew he existed, seeing him face to face was another matter altogether. Because she'd wanted to help Jane, she'd wanted to prove him wrong and show him that he could be fixed, but if he never let her in, there was nothing she could do about it. They were both such stubborn creatures, such intensely private people, and she'd resigned herself to accepting the fact that she hadn't really failed if he never gave her the chance.

Now, at last, here was her chance and all she could think about was the infinite number of ways that she could screw this up. How to even begin? With the softly-softly or tough love approach? She regarded him warily and bit her lip in thought before she spoke.

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Reviews always appreciated. ^_^

PS. I know I'm cheating by making it a future!fic so I can refute any accusations of OOC-ness by saying they've changed, lol, but it also fit because I wanted to refer to Red John's Footsteps without specifically making this a post-finale response fic. I've read too many brilliant takes on that theme- Beneath the Surface by hardly loquacious and Unforgivable by lil smiles are two of my favorites- to try penning my own, I can't take the pressure of the competition, lol.