Jun. 7th, 2014 08:47 am
The Guy Next Door (Chapter 1)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
little_firestar
The Guy Next Door
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
little_firestarArtist:
kathiannLink to art: here
Word Count:~50.687
Rating:T (on the safe side)
Summary:AU- In a world where it wasn’t Red John to take away Jane’s family, Patrick and Teresa still meet; but what happens when she is a workaholic CBI agent, set on her career, and he is her nosy, loud and handsome new neighbor? Will spark fly, and what will they need to heal their old wounds?
Disclaimer:The Mentalist is trademarked and propriety of CBS Productions.
Notes:Many thanks to the amazing Kathian, who volunteered to beta this little monster of a fic and provided the amazing art that accompanies it. Working with her every big bang is an hell of adventure- in the all right way!
He was doing it-again.
Since Teresa Lisbon had moved into what was supposed to be a quiet apartment, the guy next door had never stopped hammering, sawing, pounding and God knew what else. All that hubbub prevented her from concentrating: couldn’t that bumpkin understand that, on the weekend, people deserved some quiet?
Not that she was actually planning to enjoy some free time, she thought sighing, trying to block out the noise.
Just the day before, ADA Oscar Ardilles had informed her that the trial against former sheriff Thomas McAllister –aka serial killer Red John – had been moved up to the middle of the following week due to death threats to the murderer. That meant that Lisbon had to review her case-file, knowing it words for words, and prepare her testimony. Ardilles had even given her a list of question that “the shark” – Daniel Stark, McAllister’s defense attorney- could ask, given his style of defense. She wanted to be ready for everything: the last thing she wanted was to be the one who had arrested (almost dying in the process) the killer who had terrorized California, Mexico and Nevada for over 20 years, and then do some mistake that resulted in him being released.
No, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. She had worked too much to get the man. She was going to see him behind bars- for all the victims of the killer, and also, yes, for her. She liked this job at the CBI, and she wanted to have a career there. And this case could open so many doors for her that….
Bang!
She shrieked like a little girl at the noise coming from the apartment next door. She fisted her hands, feeling the rage raise. What the hell was that man doing in his apartment, tearing down the walls? God, she didn’t know what to do any longer about him. She had really tried to be nice, putting note after note underneath his door, asking, begging him to stop whatever he was doing, even if just for a short while. But he had kept on; just the previous day she had left him the latest note, threatening to report him at the following condo board meeting. She had hoped that it would be enough, and yet… Well, the next meeting was going to be in just a few days. And then, he would have to stop making all that noise all day long!
She tied her hair in a slightly less messy ponytail, and taking big breaths to control her anger; she left her apartment and took the few steps that divided her from the guy’s door. She didn’t know if she was supposed to sigh or grunt out of frustration: she didn’t want to have to move again; she had moved here less than a year before, and in the last two months, since that man had moved there, her life had turned into a nightmare. She had always loved the tranquility of her few rooms, but now she dreaded the moments when she wasn’t on the job, busy arresting perps of any kind.
It was a real shame, because she liked her condominium; the huge, rich mansion that had generated the tiny apartments had been originally built in the 20s, and it narrated stories of the Old World, a lost aristocracy and Al Capone-like gangsters. Whoever had fractioned the house into apartments had even kept the space as close as possible to what it used to be. In her bedroom, she even had a huge hanging chandelier.
When she reached his apartment, she felt as mad with him as never before; that man had no respect whatsoever; in front of his door the noise was intolerable. She couldn’t understand how he could live like that, let alone the other tenants. She lifted her closed fist one, two, and three times, looking for the strength to just knock on his door and get it done. That wasn’t how she had planned her first conversation with the guy. To be honest, she hadn’t planned to talk with him at all. Fifteen years before she had left Chicago and moved to another big City far away from her own, knowing too well that in Sacramento there were chances that she could go on months- if not years- without saying as much as hello to the people around her. It wasn’t like she was anti-social, but she wanted to be the one deciding who she was supposed to be social with. Besides, her work took away enough energy and was time-consuming, and at the end of the day- and on the weekend in particular- she rarely felt like partying or going out. She didn’t even know the guy’s name; she was aware that his name started with P, and his last name was Jane, and only because she had seen it written on the doorbell.
The noise started again, and Teresa closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the past. That noise, it sounded too much like her father when he almost demolished their small apartment back in Chicago, after her mom’s death. Her whole body went rigid, and she clenched her teeth, shaking her head. She couldn’t think like that: she had moved to California to forget the past, that part of her life she wished had never happened to begin with. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. She had allowed herself to think about her dad only when she had to remind herself that he was the reason she was there, if she had made a name for herself, it was for her need to escape him, prove him wrong.
Bang! Bang!
Every hit reverberated through her whole being, making her angrier and angrier. Now it was as clear as a day that Mr. Jane was going to get her five cents at the next meeting. Shaking her head, she put on her best cop attitude, and finally, she knocked at his door. He hit the wall with what she could only assume was a hammer, and Teresa decided that he wasn’t going to win it that easily; she knocked at the door, again and again, with much more strength this time.
“Mister Jane!” she shrieked.
“Yeah, yeah, I am coming, just give me a minute!”
About time! Crossing her arms, Lisbon cleared her throat, ready to remind Mr. Jane that he wasn’t the only one living in the building. But then, he opened the door, and the words died in her throat when she saw the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. Defining him as “beautiful” was ridiculous; his physique wasn’t properly masculine, and yet she felt like in that instant, with the stubble and the worn-out jeans and the plaid shirt covered with dust, he was the very incarnation of the word “man”. Maybe it was also because of the eyes, mischievous and questioning, like the ones of a detective or a reporter, that gave him personality. And… well, she wasn’t going to lie- she was a woman, after all, who liked her man. And that man had the most amazing blonde curls she was already dying to run her fingers through and eyes as the color of the ocean, neither green nor blue. He was slightly tanned- natural, she noticed- and had a nice chest, good biceps. She slurped down a mouthful of saliva. He was her annoying neighbor: she wasn’t supposed to think about grabbing those muscles.
Then, as her eyes traveled south, she saw that he had a hammer in his right hand, and she remember why she was there. She lifted her chin, ready to speak her mind.
“Mister Jane…” she started, but he stopped her, leaning against the doorframe, that mischievous expression back in his eyes. She felt his eyes on her as he asked out loud who was interesting in talking with him, and his eyes traveled the length of her body. The shameless bastard was checking her out, and if he thought that his good look and his charm were going to stop her, well, he was wrong. She had learned to deal with men like him a long time before.
“I’m Teresa Lisbon; we live on the same floor.”
His eyes went back to her eyes, and his whole demeanor changed. Teresa grinned satisfied, feeling a little bit victorious: he remembered her. “Ah, yes; you must be the nice lady who leaves notes underneath my door. How may I serve today, Mrs. Lisbon?”
“Miss Lisbon”, she clarified, blushing, unsure why she had felt compelled to let him know she was available. Well, sort of.
Jane chuckled shamelessly, crossing his arms on his wide chest, the hammer still firmly in his right hand. “So, Miss Lisbon, what can I do for you?”
Miss Lisbon felt very much like behaving like a kid in that moment, because surely he was doing the same. He was acting innocent and oblivious, but she was sure that he knew what she wanted. “You’ve been making a lot of noise, lately.”
“I’m installing a claw-foot tub.” He explained. He was looking at her with a strange expression, like to say. So, what?
“Well, I am happy for you” Teresa sarcastically started, and he grunted. Apparently, he too believed that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, like her younger brother. “But I am preparing my testimony for an important case and…”
“A testimony?” he asked, shocked, looking at her as he came closer and closer. “What are you, a lawyer?”
“No, I am not a lawyer” she looked at him, her eyes suddenly filled with rage. He was just like any other man she had ever met in her life. Because she was a woman and petite, they didn’t believe she could be a cop. “I am a detective with the California Bureau of Investigation, sir.”
“Well, I am happy for you” He quoted her like a parrot, clearly unimpressed. His voice was dripping sarcasm- she hated when men thought less of her because of her gender. “Again: what can I do for you?”
Really, she wondered, lifting her eyebrows. She thought she had been quite clear. “I was wondering if you could be a little quieter. I can’t concentrate with all that noise.”
He chuckled, looking at her like she was a silly girl playing make-believe, a silly blonde (and she was a brunette) who didn’t know a thing about life. “Miss Lisbon… hammering is, by definition, a noisy activity. Sorry, I don’t think I can do it softly.”
She clenched her teeth, looking at his eyes. She recognized how he sounded, how he looked. He wasn’t taking her seriously. She stood, fiery, and looked into those green-blue eyes, and yet, she felt immediately like all the energy was leaving her. He was too much, towering over her by over twenty cm. “I asked you already man, many times to make less noise...”
He tsk-tsked, shaking his right index. “No, you put note after note underneath my door demanding that I stopped making noises. You didn’t ask me anything.”
“Oh, really? Then I’ll ask you now: could you please make less noise?”
He chuckled. Again. “Sorry, can’t do. As I already told you, I am redoing my bathroom, and in case you didn’t know what I mean…”
“OF COURSE THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!” She screamed. She had never been too patient with strangers, but this man was eating away all her control.
He checked her out. “Uhm, no, I don’t think you know what I mean, but,” he said, lifting his eyes to her face. “Maybe I could show you. Or you could help me. Hammering can be… cathartic.” He rolled the last word on his lips, biting and licking them unconsciously for emphasis. Teresa went hot and cold in the span of a second: was he flirting with her, seriously? Her eyes fixed on his chest, on his muscled arms.
“I.… have a lot of work to do.”
“Me too.” he answered, and suddenly his whole demeanor changed. “And it’s Saturday afternoon, not night, and I think it’s acceptable to redo my apartment in the weekend. If the noise gets to you, you and your reports can always leave.”
She felt like acting childish again and stomp her feet on the ground-after all, he was doing the same – because yes, she knew he had a point. She could always go back to HQ, but why? She had a home, and she didn’t want to live according to others’ exigencies, God knew if she hadn’t done it enough in the past. If she wanted to stay at home, in her extremely expensive apartment… she was going to do exactly that.
“I could have accepted a couple of days, but you’ve been going at it for months, Mister Jane, months!”
He looked at her again with the condescended look, like she was just a silly girl who knew nothing about the world. He probably imagined she was a daddy’s girl, or the mistress of some rich guy to be able to afford such a place, but she wasn’t. She had worked a lot, and hard, to get where she was. She wasn’t stupid- she was young and had her own unit back at the CBI.
“Miss Lisbon, I am redoing the whole apartment. Do you understand what kind of work we are talking about?”
Teresa felt like slapping him. She hated how he was behaving, avoiding the issues and a direct confrontation. “And what about the other tenants, what can you tell me about them?” She grinned satisfied. There was just no way that she had been the only one to talk to him about what he was doing.
“Sorry, but you’ve been the only one with something to say.” Oh, how she hated that smug smile of his. She felt like kissing- no, nope, slapping it away from his face. He was her devious neighbor: she wasn’t supposed to have steamy thoughts about him, just because he was sexy and hot and.…
She shook her head: it was time to stop it.
“Mister Jane” she said, with her most authoritative voice. “If you don’t desist, I’ll have to talk to the manager.”
He chuckled. Again. Couldn’t he be serious, or scared, like all the other men on the planet? He put his hands in the pockets of the jeans, leaning against the doorframe, showing off his sensuality. “Right. We wouldn’t want the manager getting involved. Why, wait a second…” he paused for effect, his eyes filled with mirth. “Now that I think about it… the owners voted me as the manager. Do you think this is the reason no one had said anything yet?”
She remained open mouthed, unable to process fully what he had just said. It couldn’t be possible: she had hoped to have the administrator as her ally, and now she discovered that her enemy was the man in charge.
“Ok, now… I think I’ll get back at my tub… so… goodbye.” He closed the door in her face, without waiting for her to answer him. Teresa shook her head, and only when she heard the sound of hammer once again, she returned fully to reality.
“But.… but I have work to do!”
And then, the sound stopped, and when she was already leaving with a smile on her lips, the door opened once again, with Mister Jane smiling at her, charming and sexy. She felt like one of those cool girls at school, like one of the cheerleaders, finally getting the attention of the hot quarterback. Maybe she could not like him so much, but it felt good to have the attention of such a sexy man.
“Miss Lisbon, to repay you of all the troubles, I have something for you.” Once said that, he left in her hand a pair of earphones “I think you’ll need them.” And few seconds after he had closed the door, he started again to hammer- this time, singing at loud along to some imaginary tune.
Since Teresa Lisbon had moved into what was supposed to be a quiet apartment, the guy next door had never stopped hammering, sawing, pounding and God knew what else. All that hubbub prevented her from concentrating: couldn’t that bumpkin understand that, on the weekend, people deserved some quiet?
Not that she was actually planning to enjoy some free time, she thought sighing, trying to block out the noise.
Just the day before, ADA Oscar Ardilles had informed her that the trial against former sheriff Thomas McAllister –aka serial killer Red John – had been moved up to the middle of the following week due to death threats to the murderer. That meant that Lisbon had to review her case-file, knowing it words for words, and prepare her testimony. Ardilles had even given her a list of question that “the shark” – Daniel Stark, McAllister’s defense attorney- could ask, given his style of defense. She wanted to be ready for everything: the last thing she wanted was to be the one who had arrested (almost dying in the process) the killer who had terrorized California, Mexico and Nevada for over 20 years, and then do some mistake that resulted in him being released.
No, she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. She had worked too much to get the man. She was going to see him behind bars- for all the victims of the killer, and also, yes, for her. She liked this job at the CBI, and she wanted to have a career there. And this case could open so many doors for her that….
Bang!
She shrieked like a little girl at the noise coming from the apartment next door. She fisted her hands, feeling the rage raise. What the hell was that man doing in his apartment, tearing down the walls? God, she didn’t know what to do any longer about him. She had really tried to be nice, putting note after note underneath his door, asking, begging him to stop whatever he was doing, even if just for a short while. But he had kept on; just the previous day she had left him the latest note, threatening to report him at the following condo board meeting. She had hoped that it would be enough, and yet… Well, the next meeting was going to be in just a few days. And then, he would have to stop making all that noise all day long!
She tied her hair in a slightly less messy ponytail, and taking big breaths to control her anger; she left her apartment and took the few steps that divided her from the guy’s door. She didn’t know if she was supposed to sigh or grunt out of frustration: she didn’t want to have to move again; she had moved here less than a year before, and in the last two months, since that man had moved there, her life had turned into a nightmare. She had always loved the tranquility of her few rooms, but now she dreaded the moments when she wasn’t on the job, busy arresting perps of any kind.
It was a real shame, because she liked her condominium; the huge, rich mansion that had generated the tiny apartments had been originally built in the 20s, and it narrated stories of the Old World, a lost aristocracy and Al Capone-like gangsters. Whoever had fractioned the house into apartments had even kept the space as close as possible to what it used to be. In her bedroom, she even had a huge hanging chandelier.
When she reached his apartment, she felt as mad with him as never before; that man had no respect whatsoever; in front of his door the noise was intolerable. She couldn’t understand how he could live like that, let alone the other tenants. She lifted her closed fist one, two, and three times, looking for the strength to just knock on his door and get it done. That wasn’t how she had planned her first conversation with the guy. To be honest, she hadn’t planned to talk with him at all. Fifteen years before she had left Chicago and moved to another big City far away from her own, knowing too well that in Sacramento there were chances that she could go on months- if not years- without saying as much as hello to the people around her. It wasn’t like she was anti-social, but she wanted to be the one deciding who she was supposed to be social with. Besides, her work took away enough energy and was time-consuming, and at the end of the day- and on the weekend in particular- she rarely felt like partying or going out. She didn’t even know the guy’s name; she was aware that his name started with P, and his last name was Jane, and only because she had seen it written on the doorbell.
The noise started again, and Teresa closed her eyes, willing herself to forget the past. That noise, it sounded too much like her father when he almost demolished their small apartment back in Chicago, after her mom’s death. Her whole body went rigid, and she clenched her teeth, shaking her head. She couldn’t think like that: she had moved to California to forget the past, that part of her life she wished had never happened to begin with. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. She had allowed herself to think about her dad only when she had to remind herself that he was the reason she was there, if she had made a name for herself, it was for her need to escape him, prove him wrong.
Bang! Bang!
Every hit reverberated through her whole being, making her angrier and angrier. Now it was as clear as a day that Mr. Jane was going to get her five cents at the next meeting. Shaking her head, she put on her best cop attitude, and finally, she knocked at his door. He hit the wall with what she could only assume was a hammer, and Teresa decided that he wasn’t going to win it that easily; she knocked at the door, again and again, with much more strength this time.
“Mister Jane!” she shrieked.
“Yeah, yeah, I am coming, just give me a minute!”
About time! Crossing her arms, Lisbon cleared her throat, ready to remind Mr. Jane that he wasn’t the only one living in the building. But then, he opened the door, and the words died in her throat when she saw the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. Defining him as “beautiful” was ridiculous; his physique wasn’t properly masculine, and yet she felt like in that instant, with the stubble and the worn-out jeans and the plaid shirt covered with dust, he was the very incarnation of the word “man”. Maybe it was also because of the eyes, mischievous and questioning, like the ones of a detective or a reporter, that gave him personality. And… well, she wasn’t going to lie- she was a woman, after all, who liked her man. And that man had the most amazing blonde curls she was already dying to run her fingers through and eyes as the color of the ocean, neither green nor blue. He was slightly tanned- natural, she noticed- and had a nice chest, good biceps. She slurped down a mouthful of saliva. He was her annoying neighbor: she wasn’t supposed to think about grabbing those muscles.
Then, as her eyes traveled south, she saw that he had a hammer in his right hand, and she remember why she was there. She lifted her chin, ready to speak her mind.
“Mister Jane…” she started, but he stopped her, leaning against the doorframe, that mischievous expression back in his eyes. She felt his eyes on her as he asked out loud who was interesting in talking with him, and his eyes traveled the length of her body. The shameless bastard was checking her out, and if he thought that his good look and his charm were going to stop her, well, he was wrong. She had learned to deal with men like him a long time before.
“I’m Teresa Lisbon; we live on the same floor.”
His eyes went back to her eyes, and his whole demeanor changed. Teresa grinned satisfied, feeling a little bit victorious: he remembered her. “Ah, yes; you must be the nice lady who leaves notes underneath my door. How may I serve today, Mrs. Lisbon?”
“Miss Lisbon”, she clarified, blushing, unsure why she had felt compelled to let him know she was available. Well, sort of.
Jane chuckled shamelessly, crossing his arms on his wide chest, the hammer still firmly in his right hand. “So, Miss Lisbon, what can I do for you?”
Miss Lisbon felt very much like behaving like a kid in that moment, because surely he was doing the same. He was acting innocent and oblivious, but she was sure that he knew what she wanted. “You’ve been making a lot of noise, lately.”
“I’m installing a claw-foot tub.” He explained. He was looking at her with a strange expression, like to say. So, what?
“Well, I am happy for you” Teresa sarcastically started, and he grunted. Apparently, he too believed that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, like her younger brother. “But I am preparing my testimony for an important case and…”
“A testimony?” he asked, shocked, looking at her as he came closer and closer. “What are you, a lawyer?”
“No, I am not a lawyer” she looked at him, her eyes suddenly filled with rage. He was just like any other man she had ever met in her life. Because she was a woman and petite, they didn’t believe she could be a cop. “I am a detective with the California Bureau of Investigation, sir.”
“Well, I am happy for you” He quoted her like a parrot, clearly unimpressed. His voice was dripping sarcasm- she hated when men thought less of her because of her gender. “Again: what can I do for you?”
Really, she wondered, lifting her eyebrows. She thought she had been quite clear. “I was wondering if you could be a little quieter. I can’t concentrate with all that noise.”
He chuckled, looking at her like she was a silly girl playing make-believe, a silly blonde (and she was a brunette) who didn’t know a thing about life. “Miss Lisbon… hammering is, by definition, a noisy activity. Sorry, I don’t think I can do it softly.”
She clenched her teeth, looking at his eyes. She recognized how he sounded, how he looked. He wasn’t taking her seriously. She stood, fiery, and looked into those green-blue eyes, and yet, she felt immediately like all the energy was leaving her. He was too much, towering over her by over twenty cm. “I asked you already man, many times to make less noise...”
He tsk-tsked, shaking his right index. “No, you put note after note underneath my door demanding that I stopped making noises. You didn’t ask me anything.”
“Oh, really? Then I’ll ask you now: could you please make less noise?”
He chuckled. Again. “Sorry, can’t do. As I already told you, I am redoing my bathroom, and in case you didn’t know what I mean…”
“OF COURSE THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!” She screamed. She had never been too patient with strangers, but this man was eating away all her control.
He checked her out. “Uhm, no, I don’t think you know what I mean, but,” he said, lifting his eyes to her face. “Maybe I could show you. Or you could help me. Hammering can be… cathartic.” He rolled the last word on his lips, biting and licking them unconsciously for emphasis. Teresa went hot and cold in the span of a second: was he flirting with her, seriously? Her eyes fixed on his chest, on his muscled arms.
“I.… have a lot of work to do.”
“Me too.” he answered, and suddenly his whole demeanor changed. “And it’s Saturday afternoon, not night, and I think it’s acceptable to redo my apartment in the weekend. If the noise gets to you, you and your reports can always leave.”
She felt like acting childish again and stomp her feet on the ground-after all, he was doing the same – because yes, she knew he had a point. She could always go back to HQ, but why? She had a home, and she didn’t want to live according to others’ exigencies, God knew if she hadn’t done it enough in the past. If she wanted to stay at home, in her extremely expensive apartment… she was going to do exactly that.
“I could have accepted a couple of days, but you’ve been going at it for months, Mister Jane, months!”
He looked at her again with the condescended look, like she was just a silly girl who knew nothing about the world. He probably imagined she was a daddy’s girl, or the mistress of some rich guy to be able to afford such a place, but she wasn’t. She had worked a lot, and hard, to get where she was. She wasn’t stupid- she was young and had her own unit back at the CBI.
“Miss Lisbon, I am redoing the whole apartment. Do you understand what kind of work we are talking about?”
Teresa felt like slapping him. She hated how he was behaving, avoiding the issues and a direct confrontation. “And what about the other tenants, what can you tell me about them?” She grinned satisfied. There was just no way that she had been the only one to talk to him about what he was doing.
“Sorry, but you’ve been the only one with something to say.” Oh, how she hated that smug smile of his. She felt like kissing- no, nope, slapping it away from his face. He was her devious neighbor: she wasn’t supposed to have steamy thoughts about him, just because he was sexy and hot and.…
She shook her head: it was time to stop it.
“Mister Jane” she said, with her most authoritative voice. “If you don’t desist, I’ll have to talk to the manager.”
He chuckled. Again. Couldn’t he be serious, or scared, like all the other men on the planet? He put his hands in the pockets of the jeans, leaning against the doorframe, showing off his sensuality. “Right. We wouldn’t want the manager getting involved. Why, wait a second…” he paused for effect, his eyes filled with mirth. “Now that I think about it… the owners voted me as the manager. Do you think this is the reason no one had said anything yet?”
She remained open mouthed, unable to process fully what he had just said. It couldn’t be possible: she had hoped to have the administrator as her ally, and now she discovered that her enemy was the man in charge.
“Ok, now… I think I’ll get back at my tub… so… goodbye.” He closed the door in her face, without waiting for her to answer him. Teresa shook her head, and only when she heard the sound of hammer once again, she returned fully to reality.
“But.… but I have work to do!”
And then, the sound stopped, and when she was already leaving with a smile on her lips, the door opened once again, with Mister Jane smiling at her, charming and sexy. She felt like one of those cool girls at school, like one of the cheerleaders, finally getting the attention of the hot quarterback. Maybe she could not like him so much, but it felt good to have the attention of such a sexy man.
“Miss Lisbon, to repay you of all the troubles, I have something for you.” Once said that, he left in her hand a pair of earphones “I think you’ll need them.” And few seconds after he had closed the door, he started again to hammer- this time, singing at loud along to some imaginary tune.
Tags: