ebonyfeather (ebonyfeather) wrote,

Interesting times

Fandom   - The Mentalist
Pairing     - Patrick Jane / Wayne Rigsby (brief mentions of Rigsby/Van Pelt and Patrick/Shawn Spencer)
Rating      - PG-13
Summary - Rigsby gets drunk and makes an accidental confession to Patrick, with surprising results.
Notes       - The mentions of Patrick Jane/Shawn Spencer are from my previous Psych/Mentalist crossover series, my way of putting an end to that series. You don't need to have read that first but if you want to, the index is here.

Interesting times



Patrick watched as Rigsby downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass back on the bar.


“Stupid,” he muttered.


“What is?”


“Y’know. Wha’s he got, huh?”


Patrick frowned, trying his best to follow the conversation, but Rigsby’s ramblings were beginning to confuse him.




Rigsby turned and gave him an unsteady stare, swaying slightly as he leaned on the bar.


Him. She picked him.”


Ah, now it was beginning to make sense; Rigsby’s crush on Van Pelt had been squashed today when they’d met her new boyfriend. Which was part of the reason for Patrick bringing him out for a drink, to cheer him up. He hadn’t intended to let Rigsby get this drunk but Rigsby had taken care of that all by himself.  


“Listen to me; she’s an idiot. You deserve better,” Patrick told him.


“Nah, not an idiot.”


“Yes, she is. She chose an investment banker over you,” Patrick said.


“Yep,” Rigsby sighed. “’Cos he’s smart. She thinks ‘m just some dumb bruiser with a gun. They all do.”


“I don’t. Anyone would be lucky to have you; you’re twice the man he’ll ever be.”


Rigsby stared into his empty drink glass and frowned.


“Where’s my drink gone?” A moment later, as his brain caught up with the conversation, he looked back at Patrick. “’Really think I’m better?”


Patrick nodded firmly. “Yes, and now I think it’s about time we got you home. You’ve had enough to drink for one night.”


He helped the other man put his jacket on and found a cab outside to get them back to Rigsby’s apartment. Once they got there, searched Rigsby’s pockets for the keys to let them in. As he did so, Rigsby squirmed and laughed.


“’Tickles,” he murmured, before slowly beginning to fall over.


Patrick caught him before he could and balanced him as he finally pulled the key out of Rigsby’s jeans pocket.


“OK, let’s get you sat down before you pass out,” Patrick told him, trying to steer the larger man toward the couch.


Rigsby, however, had other ideas. He slung his arms around Patrick and pulled him into a tight hug. Patrick laughed softly; he hadn’t imagined that Rigsby would be a cuddly drunk. Eventually, he managed to disentangle himself from the other man and sit him on the couch. Rigsby still had hold of Patrick’s hand, refusing to let go and leaving him no choice but to sit as well.


“You’ve got a nice smile,” he said suddenly, moving back to fix his slightly-unfocussed stare on Patrick. “Sexy smile,” he muttered happily to himself, moments before sliding ungracefully onto the couch and falling asleep.


“Now if only you could have been sober when you said that,” Patrick murmured, getting up to remove Rigsby’s shoes and find a blanket to throw over him.




Rigsby awoke to the sound of drums beating against the inside of his skull. He groaned, knowing that he’d have to open his eyes sometime, and knowing that the light would make his headache ten times worse. Unfortunately, he also had perfect recollection of the previous evening, from getting to the bar to telling Patrick- Oh, God; he’d hit on Patrick. The urge to simply stick his head under the blanket and refuse to come out was tempting. Patrick was going to be pissed at him. He’d acted like an total ass toward Van Pelt and Jason-the-investment-banker, although he really couldn’t say it mattered so much to him now.


Grace had been an impossible fantasy, which was probably why he liked it. He wasn’t quite as smooth as people thought he was and with that and work, he never really had the chance to meet anyone. Setting his sights on someone he wasn’t allowed to have, another Agent, was just a way of avoiding the whole situation. And avoiding actually pursuing the person he really wanted, his subconscious added. Now he’d probably screwed that one up, too.


Patrick Jane had also been filed away in the ‘can’t have’ box in his brain, though for an entirely different reason. None of his colleagues at the CBI knew he was bi, especially not Patrick, and so why would he ever think that Patrick would be interested. He knew that Patrick was pretty unconcerned about gender; his relationship with Shawn Spencer had proved that. That had just about killed Rigsby, to see them every day being all happy-couple. But he and Shawn had parted company nearly three months ago and still Rigsby hadn’t worked up the nerve to say anything to Patrick. Instead, back to his usual avoidance techniques, his obsession with Van Pelt had grown worse.


Way to get Patrick to notice you, he thought miserably. Have everyone thinking you’re in love with your female colleague. Yeah, that’ll work.  




He just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice; he lived alone, so he hadn’t expected anyone to be in his apartment. A mug of coffee and two aspirin were set on the low table in front of the couch as Patrick Jane sat down beside him, mug of coffee in hand. He was still in his clothes from yesterday, only now he had ditched the jacket, his shirt had a few more buttons undone and his waistcoat hung unfastened. Rigsby swallowed hard; Patrick may look good in the suit, but he looked even better slightly messed as he was now.


“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Patrick told him conversationally. “It’s nearly seven thirty.”


He watched as Rigsby glanced at the clock, groaned, and then reached for the coffee.


“Thanks. Look, Patrick, about last night-”


“It’s fine.” Patrick set his cup down and turned to face his colleague. “You’d had too much to drink. It was interesting to get a look at the real Wayne Rigsby, not the CBI Agent who hides everything behind a glare and a badge.”


Great, Rigsby thought; now he was an interesting social study. Still, at least Patrick wasn’t mad.


“It’s also rather intriguing that you seem unable to lie whilst you’re drunk,” Patrick continued. “You just say the first thing that comes into your head.”


Rigsby sighed. “That’s why I don’t drink with people I-” he glanced at Patrick. “People I don’t trust not to take advantage of it,” he finished.


Patrick was watching him again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you. You know, it’s actually quite endearing.”


What? Following a Patrick Jane conversation whilst dealing with the hangover from hell wasn’t easy; had he just heard that correctly? He’d told Patrick he had a sexy smile- which he did, but that wasn’t the point- last night; did that mean that Patrick knew it wasn’t just the drink talking?


The couch dipped as Patrick shifted closer and brushed the briefest of kisses over Rigsby’s lips. Patrick studied him for a moment, as though making sure he wasn’t going to pull away, before leaning in to kiss him properly.


Rigsby let himself sink into the kiss, into Patrick’s touch as warm fingers curled around the back of his neck to hold him close. This was what he had wanted from the first day he met Patrick, the thing he had pushed to the back of his mind in the expectation that his affections would not be returned.


Reluctantly he broke their contact and glanced at the clock. They were going to be late for work if he didn’t get a move on and get showered and changed. Lisbon would be annoyed if he was late. When he pointed it out to Patrick, however, the other man just grinned.


“Be reckless for once. Come on, half the fun of my day is pissing Lisbon off,” he joked, pulling Rigsby down for another kiss.


Rigsby smiled, letting him; he had the feeling that his life had just got a whole lot more interesting.








Tags: fiction: slash, patrick jane / wayne rigsby, tv: the mentalist

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