Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist or its characters.

Funny what ideas pop into your mind under the shower. Seriously, half of my dissertation came to me while showering. And now the idea for this story. This is more fun to write.

It is a sunny afternoon on a Friday in spring. A tricky case just got closed, a bunch of wayward criminals was put behind bars and to top the satisfaction of all this off, a free weekend for the whole team is only some keystrokes away.

Everyone is adding the finishing touches to the paperwork that inevitably comes up with every case. Well, everyone but me, to be accurate. Me, I don't care for desk work at all. My part of the investigation is done. Case solved, bad guys caught, confessions teased out of them. So I slouch on my favorite piece of furniture in the office, pretending to almost fall asleep while reading a magazine and wait for the others to leave, so I can spread out on the couch and make the office my home for this weekend.

With half-closed eyes I watch Cho typing with his right hand and using the left one to lift up his coffee mug to his mouth every 35 seconds, glancing at his watch between sips. He probably has a hot date tonight and can't wait to get out of here. I chuckle inwardly as I think that he would be a whole lot faster without the sipping and the glancing.

Van Pelt and Rigsby sit at another table, vis-à-vis, each proofreading the other's report. It is kind of cute, actually, seeing how they try to act all professionally and casually. The effort is in vain though as they are also playing footsie under the table.

While I observe the unhealthy drinking habits and frisky mating rituals around me, I never lose sight of Lisbon's ajar office door. I walked by nonchalantly earlier to check if it was a good time to interrupt. She was typing vigorously with her brows drawn together in a slight frown and her lips pursed, so I decided to wait.

I tilt my head sideways to look at the wall clock. She is writing that report for 58 minutes now. Judging from experience and taking into account the complexity of the case and the amount of interrogations conducted, she should be pretty much done by now.

Slowly I rise, pleasurably stretching every fibre of my body.

Simmering with excitement, I head across the hall to pay a visit to Lisbon. The recent case gave me practically zero chance to interact with her and seeing that I now won't see her for two whole days, I need at least something to get me through the weekend. Some banter to analyze while lying on my couch and consuming all the food the office refrigerator has to offer. Or maybe I should start a fight with her and then occupy myself with finding the best way to get on her good side again.

I hear her before I reach her office and stop in front of the door. She's now speaking in a soft and low voice, so I don't really understand what she's saying. She's sitting at her desk, facing away from me, and slightly swivels in her chair from one side to the other. One hand holds the phone and the other twirls a pen. By the way she moves her hand, I can tell that it is more a relaxed than a nervous gesture. The pages of her finished report are lying neatly aligned on her desk.

Then she does something unexpected: she laughs. Wholeheartedly and genuinely. I've never seen her like that before, completely laid-back as if she doesn't have a single trouble in the world. Lisbon in weekend mode. Or, even more so, right now I don't see Teresa Lisbon, Senior Agent at the CBI. Instead I get a glimpse at the private Teresa Lisbon, the alter ego she stores away carefully when she's working. It's confusing. But the novelty is also very appealing. I wouldn't mind getting to know that side of her better.

She spins around, allows me to see her face without herself noticing me. Her body language indicates that the phone call is about to come to an end.

"Yes, I'll see you then." Silence while she listens to the person on the other end of the line. An affectionate smile illuminates her features. "I love you, too, honey. Bye."

Honey?! I love you?! I didn't see that one coming. Not only doesn't Lisbon strike me as the type to give people corny pet names, the outcome of the phone call and the unknown identity of her mysterious conversation partner also causes my imagination to run riot. I'm still processing the idea that there might things go on in Lisbon's life that I so far failed to derive from her everyday behavior, when the door opens and the subject of my musing stands right in front of me.

"Jane, hey. Did you want to talk to me?" I'm aware that I'm staring, taking in her happy face, the glow she radiates. Yes, new boyfriend, most definitely. How did I miss that? Since I never saw her like that before, it could be a recent thing and I shouldn't beat myself up for not noticing earlier. But then again, people usually don't get to the 'I love you' stage right at the beginning of a relationship.

"Jane?"

Grudgingly I snap out of my reverie to find her looking at me inquiringly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You okay, Jane?"

"You look happy." I simply state instead of answering her question. My voice sounds strangely prim to my own ears. If she notices it, she doesn't show.

"Of course I do! We finally closed the Harris case, I have a whole weekend without work ahead of me and it looks like the weather will be really nice as well the next days."

She's good. I almost believe her that some days off and some sunbeams are the sole reason for her good mood. But the 'Honey' is still ringing in my ears.

"So, there's nothing new?"

"New?" She is pulling off a quite convincing confused look now. Oh, please.

I decide to try a different approach. "Do you have any special plans this weekend?"

"Nah, just relaxing. You?"

"No, same as you." I reply, although a plan for an exciting weekend activity just begins to take form inside my mind and to lift my spirit.

"Well, have a nice weekend, Jane. See you on Monday." Lisbon says while extracting her car keys from her purse.

I grab her hand which holds a jumbled bunch of keys. Her pulse rate is slightly faster than normal. It could be a sign that she's hiding something. Or maybe that's only what a crazy consultant abruptly clutching her wrist does to her.

"Can I have my hand back now?" The amusement that gleamed in her eyes earlier is now fully exposed in her tone. Her pulse rate slows down.

Why is she not the tiniest bit angry with me, like usually when I pull crap like that on her? I let go of her hand and wish her a nice weekend.

As the door of the elevator closes behind her, I take my own car keys and rush down the stairs.

Thoughts? Suggestions?