Obviously, I do not own The Mentalist, and I am just using these characters for amusement. No copyright infringement is intended. (Thanks, Mr. Heller!)

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Set sometime after Red in Tooth and Claw (5.14):

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I inhale the heady aroma of hot pizza as I place the two cardboard boxes onto the bullpen table. Rigsby and Cho are up in a flash - it's lunch time, after all.

I wave my hands back and forth over my head to get Lisbon's attention. She has her head buried in paperwork in her office, but she finally looks up and I point down to the pizzas, making silly, exaggerated eating motions. Her face brightens and my antics earn me a smile.

In a moment, she has joined us and we gather around the table to celebrate. We've solved this case quickly and left a few of the living better off, which is about the best outcome you can hope for when you work homicides.

"Doesn't seem quite right without Grace here, does it?" Lisbon says as she picks up a slice of ham and pineapple from the open box.

Nobody's surprised when Rigsby agrees a little too quickly.

"Pineapple again?" Cho's face contorts in a rare show of emotion.

"Don't fret, Cho, there's pepperoni, too," I tell him, and I open the second box. He and Rigsby nearly pop heads reaching from opposite sides of the table to grab a slice.

"Not a comment on this case, is it? " Lisbon asks, giving me one of those sly, sideways looks. I love that little glint in her eye when she's about to get someone's goat. Even when it's mine.

"Fruit on pizza," Rigsby laughs, getting it. "That's pretty un'PC' of you, Boss."

"Dr. Wesson's term, not mine," she points out. We all know she's no homophobe, and take her comment in the playful manner in which it was meant.

She's referring to the case we just closed. Discovering the guilty party was initially made more difficult because the killer had blackmailed a gay man, Dr. Wesson, into serving as his alibi. The physician was attempting to protect his partner in a closeted relationship – or at least they had thought it was closeted.

The two middle-aged men were both physicians, partners in a ten person group of pediatricians. They lived next door to each other and the other man, Dr. Smith, was married, with two grown children. (Yeah, Smith and Wesson. I smile to myself. You can't make this stuff up.) Dr. Wesson had remained single over the years and figured he was publicly regarded as an eccentric, workaholic bachelor.

Over their twenty years together, the two physicians had never acknowledged their relationship, fearing the reactions of their patients and friends. Of course Smith's wife knew, but they had decided to stay legally "married" both for their children and for financial reasons. They remained great friends, and she was quite comfortable with the arrangement.

Dr. Wesson had been blackmailed into providing an alibi for his lawyer, who had killed his own brother – the homicide we were investigating. The lawyer had discovered their relationship and threatened to expose Smith if Wesson wouldn't provide an alibi for the killer's whereabouts on the night he committed the murder.

I easily discerned the Smith/Wesson relationship, and managed to get the tearful truth from Dr. Wesson without much problem. The amusing thing about the whole case was that everybody we interviewed - from the medical office staff, their friends, and even Smith's kids – knew the truth about the relationship already and simply respected both men's apparent preference to keep it private.

Once Dr. Wesson realized that everyone already knew about his partner, he was happy to expose the lawyer and we had plenty of evidence to put away another murderer.

Afterward, Dr. Wesson thanked us profusely. "I never actually lied to people, you know. I always called Frank (Smith) my partner. It's an ambiguous term, isn't it? But it feels good to know everyone knew and didn't care, and that we have nothing to hide now. I don't know why we didn't have more faith in the people who loved us. Sure explains that annual Christmas fruit basket from Frank's son though, doesn't it?" he'd laughed with good natured shrug.

So yeah, I figure we can really celebrate this time. We caught the killer and freed two good people at the same time.

Rigsby was already reaching for his third slice of pizza. He can eat more and faster than anyone I've ever met. "Nobody take this wrong, because I'm all for gay rights and everything, and people should be able to do whatever and whoever they want…" He looks around the bullpen to make sure no one else is listening. It's empty except for us. "…but for me personally, the thought of doing that with a man…well…it's just really weird. I don't get it. The attraction, I mean."

"I certainly don't mind the thought of doing that with a man," Lisbon says with a saucy grin.

"Boss! That's not…" Rigsby starts.

"Just so you know, Rigsby, I've always found you to be a very attractive man," I say without cracking a smile, and I reach over to put a hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell, Jane?!" Rigsby sputters as he jerks away from my hand. I attempt to look hurt.

"Usually it's men who are troubled by their own homosexual erotic thoughts who are the most vocally opposed," deadpans Cho.

We all have a pretty good laugh at Rigsby's expense. "Man, remind me not to say anything personal ever again to you people," Rigsby huffed. "You know I didn't mean it like that. I'm just trying to understand. You know. Get it."

"People don't choose who they love, Rigsby," I point out. "They just love them."

"Too true," Lisbon agrees with a fleeting, wry smirk. I can tell by her expression she's starting to feel bad for teasing Rigsby, and she puts her pizza crust down on a napkin. She's attempting to soothe his feelings when she says, "Hey, I heard from Grace yesterday. She said she's learning lots and she's having a great time in LA, but she misses us."

"Lots of good lookin' men in LA." Cho's response is less sensitive, which results in a wounded glare from Rigsby. There is something going on between those two lately, and I suspect Cho has been pressing Rigsby about his feelings for Grace.

The poor guy looks so bewildered that even I begin to feel sorry for him. "Hey Rigsby, we're just yanking your chain. By the way, where are those new pictures of Ben you were telling us about earlier?" I catch Lisbon's eye and she nods almost imperceptibly.

The taller detective immediately brightens. He stuffs the rest of the piece of pizza into his mouth, wipes his hands on his pants, and pulls out his phone.

Cho rolls his eyes but doesn't voice the "not again," as Lisbon and I attentively "ooh" and "ah" our way through Rigsby's photos. It's not hard. The kid is cute as a button. I pause to appreciate how much fatherhood has matured Rigsby. It's truly a life changing experience. I miss it every single day.

Pretty soon I excuse myself, and head to the attic. I have work to do.

XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXO

Two hours later I'm sitting at my desk, looking out over the gray, damp city of Sacramento. The wind rattles the old panes of glass in my window and blows the rain at an angle. It's unseasonably cold today and I take a warming sip of my newly brewed cup of tea.

I know it's her even before she knocks. I hear the seven quick raps on my door, and then Lisbon's voice, "Jane? You in there?" I get up and slide the big metal door aside just far enough for her to slip in, and then close and latch it behind her.

Magically, the room brightens. There's an air of excitement about her and she is clutching a brown folder in her hand.

"Whatcha got?" I ask, as we immediately move to sit at my desk.

She opens the folder and slides it in front of me, and her eyes are shining. I'm taken aback at how alive and vibrant she looks in her eagerness for me to see what she's discovered.

"We can rule out Gregory LeMons," she says with certainty. Her eyebrows are high, signaling confidence. Every face has its own language, and after nine years, I am quite fluent in Lisbon. "I'm sure of it," she continues. "He was in Michigan working for the health department from 1986 through 1992. This is good documentation." She taps a finger on the pertinent paragraphs.

"Great," I say, as I return my attention to the papers in front of me. She's absolutely correct. "That's one more," I agree. "We've got it down to three hundred sixty eight. I think I have Gary Rogers ruled out as well," I tell her. "Three hundred sixty seven."

When I reach across the table to get my evidence, I notice her shivering.

"Cold?"

"Yeah, it's freezing up here today. How do you stand it?" I don't mention that lack of comfort is part of the point.

"Want a blanket?" I ask.

"Nah." She eyes my tea. "Is this hot?"

"Freshly brewed."

"Great," she says, and she wraps her hands around the blue cup and lifts it to her lips, downing some warm tea. "This will do it," she assures me. "I've got a meeting in ten minutes."

"Bertram?"

"Yeah." She rolls her eyes.

"Better you than me, " I say, and we both smile.

I show her the information about Rogers and she nods. "There's no way we can put Rogers at the farm during the time frame of those murders, " she agrees, still sipping my tea.

We spend the next ten minutes huddled together over the table, going over what we have on a couple more of the people on my list. I notice the scrunch of her nose when she concentrates, and commit the graceful angle of her neck to memory. Lisbon would laugh if she knew she had her own room in my memory palace. It's full of little things I've learned about her over the years. How her eyelashes flutter when she's about to fall asleep. The smell of her shampoo. That sweet sideways grin she gets when I've managed to amuse her.

"Jane! Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, yes," I say, and I force my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Catching Red John.

As we examine the information, Lisbon and I reason out that Ed Hoppe can be crossed off the list, too. That narrows it down to three hundred sixty six. We make a good team, Lisbon and me. Our methods compliment each other quite well. It occurs to me I've been working with Lisbon longer than I was married.

I wonder again why Red John hasn't tried to kill her. It's a question that keeps me up at night. Maybe it's because he knows it would be more than I could bear, and he wants to turn me, not kill me. I don't actually know what's in the madman's mind, but I'm ridiculously thankful she hasn't been targeted, whatever the reason. I worry constantly that this will change.

She glances at her watch and stands up, so I rise too. "Gotta go," she says. "I'm expecting some more stuff to come in later this afternoon on Harold Nall. Maybe we can eliminate another one today!"

She's working so very hard to help me on this and suddenly I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for this kind, fiery little woman. I spontaneously wrap my arms around her and give her a big hug. "Thank you, Lisbon," I whisper. I enjoy the fact that she smells like my mango tea.

She looks a bit shocked as I release her, but I open the door and she's almost out before she says, "You're welcome, partner." She grins and tilts her head, and then she's down the hall. I close the door and the room immediately seems colder.

Back to work. I look over the folder that Lisbon brought again and file it away in my box of rejects. Just three hundred and sixty five left for us to eliminate. We're making very good progress, my partner and I.

I walk over to the window and watch the drops of rain race each other down the panes.

Partners. A smile drifts across my face. Such an ambiguous word.