A/N: This is a bit of silly nonsense (if you're looking for something deeper maybe try elsewhere on this occasion!) but hopefully it's enjoyable for some of you.

Apologies my updates and responses to reviews (& reading others' amazing fanfiction updates too) have not been as frequent this year. I will try to do better in 2018. But I really can't say how much I appreciate all of you who are reading these stories still and especially those who review so regularly.

And for those who celebrate hope you have a lovely holiday season.

Disclaimer: Uh...nope...I'm not Bruno Heller and I don't own The Mentalist.

That Night with the Cabernet

Well, here it goes.

In for a penny and all that...

No turning back now...

She'd thought about this moment for the past thirty hours.

Well, longer than that she soon admitted. Much longer.

Weeks.

A month.

Months, even.

Long before she'd had that extra glass of Cabernet that night and changed the course of her destiny.

And his.

...

Teresa Lisbon had, naturally, heard of the perils of online shopping while intoxicated. She had recited the same to herself as she'd picked up her phone in one hand that night, that glass of red in the other.

She'd lectured herself at length as she'd typed her request into the search engine.

Then, vaguely aware her fingers had seemingly turned into sausages (that should have been her red light to quit what she was doing and take to bed instead like the sensible woman she was heralded to be), it had taken her numerous attempts to type those alluring words into that ostensibly innocuous white rectangle.

But she'd persevered. And even been thankful for what she once considered the patronising tone of DID YOU MEAN: as results finally appeared for her perusal.

She'd shaken her head then. Gave herself another strong talking to. Made the rather rash and counterproductive decision to accompany said reprimand with another large mouthful of wine.

It wouldn't hurt to click on one of those links, would it?

It was only browsing, after all. Its name the very definition of a harmless pursuit. Not committing to anything. Definitely, NOT committing, she'd repeated as she'd taken another sip from her glass.

Well, that was it.

That was the moment her sanity had decided to take the rest of the night off and her consciously careful inate nature fell into a wine induced coma.

Or maybe just – a blond angel on her shoulder whispered to her in a once familiar voice - she had finally found herself precisely where she had wanted to be and taking action in place of inaction after months in no man's land.

Whichever way it would turn out from that instant she had been trapped in the spider's web. (No pun intended.)

Fingers were suddenly nimble, wine placed on the coffee table in front of her as they moved to their own tune, possessed by a demon or that troublesome angel she wasn't sure which (but, in most likelihood, it was still most probably the wine).

She'd woken up on the couch with a dry throat and a headache. A blast of freezing air had awakened her further, the embers from the fireplace long cold. She'd squeezed her eyes closed to recollect which day it was. Not that it mattered much. Cannon River was not Sacramento. The Police Station a far cry from the CBI Headquarters. If she was a few minutes late to work it would barely be noticed. If at all.

As she'd moved gingerly to get to her feet she'd seen the empty wine glass first and then it on the table in front of her. She'd regarded it like it was a poisonous python and stayed unmoving for a long moment where she stood as she assessed the probable damage it might cause her.

Crap.

The phone had grinned back at her, screen shining like a gleaming smile. More like a crocodile than a snake now. One was as bad as the other as far as she was concerned. An image of Jane with his own knowing smirk popped into her head, taunting words to her.

Lisbon, when have I ever steered you wrong?

Her hand had whipped up to her forehead and she'd scanned the offending device silently. If she didn't pick it up maybe she could pretend she hadn't done what she had done the night before.

Right? Just ignore it. Pretend I've forgotten all about it, take two headache pills, a gallon of coffee and get on with my day.

Unfortunately, rather obviously, that course of action had been easily dismissed. Well, for one, she needed her phone for work. Plus she had only just signed up to a new contract and the thought of another tedious sales call where the pitch of the latest model was cited to her as some kind of modern day mobile Messiah so soon again with her cell provider might just be the end of her. And even if she made it through that battle and acquired a new one there were still email confirmations...credit card bills...

Damn.

Crap.

Sheep Dip.

Then, as much as she'd tried to suppress the other emotion that accompanied her rising dread, her lips had suddenly curled upwards and made it clear.

A sliver of excitement flooded her consciousness as a consequence of her actions the night before.

Because rather than some dubious purchase of some egg cups depicting pictures of cows or a throw in the shape of a mermaid's tale she had, while her judgement had been sorely impaired, made some travel arrangements in the witching hours.

Teresa Lisbon was going on vacation.

And a lowly island off the South American coast was her destination.

So here she was. On her way.

Perhaps.

Fingers crossed.

Mother Mary, full of grace...

The combination of a rattle, thud and the following girlish yelp from her throat stopped her mid prayer.

Okay, I'm actually going to die before I see him again.

She repeated those words like a mantra to herself, one hand clutched to the cross around her neck.

There's a reason I like big cities. Big planes, for one.

The single-engine plane swerved in its course as it came into land on the dirt runway and the T-shirt she'd been wearing for the past twenty-four hours was bathed in yet another layer of sweat. She grabbed the arm rests each side of her with the same ferocity of a lioness hanging onto her prey and glared at the man beside her who was attempting to use one in between them. Wisely, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window for fear of poking the bear (or lioness, in this case) any further. She glanced up at her seat number as she attempted prayer again – 12B. She swore she'd never ever sit in the same seat number again. It was cursed, for sure.

If her legs weren't still shaking when she exited the aircraft (an insult to other fine airplanes catalogued under that same umbrella, surely?) she might have sprawled herself on the ground Pope-like. But, fearful she would not have the strength to get up again, she trudged on instead, deciding the best course of action would be to put as much distance between herself and that death trap before her day became (only) marginally worse and it turned into a fireball and took her with it.

She'd only taken a few steps when the relief of some fresh air was marred by the humidity she encountered. She rolled her eyes, thoughts of a hot shower and air conditioning spurring her on like a lemming to join the queue for security.

As she stood in the line with passport at the ready she had time to think properly for the first time since she'd begun the long journey to see him. She was, as far as she knew - unless he'd moved on recently - on the same patch of earth as him for the first time in two years. It was crazy and impetuous what she was doing. Sensible Teresa Lisbon doing the unexpected. Jane would be proud. She hoped. Well, she'd know soon enough for sure. A grin made its way across her face at the prospect.

Jane had never told her where he was exactly but she'd known for months where his little island was located. With the number of hints he dropped in his letters where he talked about hoping to see her again one day she knew someone he trusted must know exactly where he was for just that occasion. When she'd rocked up at Carson Springs and asked Pete he'd nodded at her knowingly and shot her a look that said 'took you long enough to ask, Pepper'.

That was when the idea had formed fully, she guessed. All those months back and long before that night with the Cabernet (as she'd come to describe it to herself). Naturally, she was terrified of the FBI finding him through her. And she would never have made the plans she had if she'd been entirely sober. But the die was cast when she'd booked the tickets that night on a drunken whim so there was nothing else to do but see it through. Plus, the more the idea gestated the more she really wanted to see him. Extradition laws were on his side so that was something. And she was allowed a vacation to any destination she wanted, wasn't she? There was little the FBI could do. Also, in the end, when it came down to it, she really didn't care. She hoped Jane would see it the same way.

She checked into the only hotel in town and shown to her room by a kindly busboy named Franklin. She'd considered showing him a photograph of Jane but determined she was better off not. If Jane were around she didn't want to spook him into fleeing when he heard someone was looking for him, just in case. Also, the idea of surprising him was just too tempting to resist, a little payback for some of his own stunts over the years.

She turned the air conditioning in her room to its highest setting then showered immediately, scrubbing the scent of travel and trepidation from her skin. Shivering as she exited the bathroom in her towel and adjusting the airflow again while moisturising, she thought of grabbing a nap as she had barely slept in over a day. But she was too keyed up and too anxious to see him. And her body clock was entirely off kilter so while it was around ten am she was craving something far more substantial than her usual fruit or bear claw.

Hm. A nice breakfast.

Eggs, maybe.

She smiled as she dried her hair casually. If he was in town than that was where she would find him at this hour. She was certain Franklin would know where the best eggs in town were served.

Teresa Lisbon wasn't a dress kind of girl. Never had been. But, on a whim, she'd bought a couple at one of the airport stopovers on the way. Light sundresses that might be a nice change of pace for a woman on vacation. And much more comfortable in the heat. And perhaps another surprise for the man she came to surprise.

As she wandered around town wearing a cream strappy cotton dress that skimmed her knees in search of the beach where the cafe Franklin mentioned was best for breakfast, she felt a tremendous sense of déjà vu. Jane's letters had described the place in minute detail she realised and found herself smiling as she walked, feeling less like a stranger than she imagined she would. She stopped short when she saw the post office and tears pricked at her eyes instantly. Memories of the first letter she received hit her hard, her surprise and delight, relief that he was safe and alive. She'd barely been able to read it all the way through at first with shaking hands and tears running down her face. Was it really that long ago? It seemed both like yesterday and also an eternity.

She quickened her pace almost to a jog when she saw the waves in the distance.

Then worry began to creep in with every step.

What if he had moved on to someplace new? What if she had missed him?

Suddenly, this wasn't such a fun game anymore – the idea of surprising him. Maybe she should have checked at the hotel first. Or the post office to stop herself getting her hopes up any further. She could barely breathe by the time she noticed the bar shack on the beach, tables and chairs haphazardly placed on the sand. She shielded her eyes from the sun and her gaze flickered from table to table.

Then she saw him, his back to her as he stared at the breakers before him. She'd know the back of his head and that hair anywhere even if she couldn't see his face just yet. She drew a large breath full of relief and joy. She was stuck to the spot momentarily as she saw his right hand extend slowly to pick up a mug of tea and bring it to his mouth, his usual pause just before he tasted his favourite tipple. The familiar gesture made her tear up immediately and she fought to remain in control of her emotions.

Stop it, she told herself harshly. It's been almost two years, you really want his first sight of you in all that time to see you cry? Plus you put on mascara! Come on!

She exhaled and took a couple of steps forward. Her tan sandals wedged on the sand just behind him he didn't move, his gaze still straight ahead. Somehow, she expected he'd know she was there and realised belatedly she was waiting for him to announce her presence like the mind reader he used to pretend to be.

She opened her mouth to speak, thought of yelling 'Surprise!' or 'Guess who?!' in his ear.

But, in the end, she could barely make any words to form as she saw the profile of his face more clearly. A ragged breath released of its own accord when she saw him react to the tickle of her intake on the back of his neck. She could make out a slight frown on his tanned forehead, a question of recognition, a holding of his own breath in response.

He turned in his chair then, mouth slowly agape as his eyes travelled over her face, blinking rapidly as if to wake himself and construct reality from a dream.

"Hey," she finally whispered, grinning.

- THE END -