Ronnie Masters | the MENTALIST (COMPLETE)

BLOODSHOT : pt I

The day after the Marquesa case, Ronnie pulled up to the CBI building early enough to grab two coffees from the cart by the street. She chatted pleasantly with the vendor and then took her drinks inside, turning back just in time to catch a glimpse of Van Pelt.

The younger woman looked very becoming in a fitted skirt suit, her long auburn hair curling elegantly around her shoulders and shining richly in the sunlight. Self-assured by her latest success in taking lead on the last case, Grace wore the most beautiful smile.

A man approached, taking her into his arms, and the slender redhead giggled delightedly.

Ronnie watched with raised eyebrows, amusement battling with disappointment on Rigsby's behalf. Perhaps it wasn't the glow of pride, but rather that of a brand new relationship.

What is it that men do that makes adult, armed women giggle?

Finished watching from the sidelines, Ronnie filed the new information away to percolate over later and ducked inside.

She marched to her desk, still reveling in the luxury of their country club excursion, determined to find ways in her own life to bring back that sensation of finery, and lowered the coffees to her desktop, letting her purse slide off her shoulder and land in her hand.

And, maybe one day, she'd be able to talk herself into moving out of her hotel room.

"We have to review all of our recent cases. The division is being audited again."

Glancing up to see Cho approaching, she dropped the bag to the floor and pushed it under her chair with her foot, along with her jacket.

He'd seen it, though, and raised one questioning eyebrow at her.

She'd done her hair, the long, blonde layers blown out to delicately frame her face and sweep down her back. Her eyebrows were shaped, her eyes lined, eyelashes bold and black, her lips a glossy pink.

He crossed his arms, looking unimpressed and vaguely suspicious.

It wasn't like she was still undercover.

Why was he looking at her like she'd forgotten the case had been closed?

Cheeks flushing pink under his gaze, Ronnie held out one of the coffees. "Good morning."

He blinked slowly twice and then accepted the paper cup, not even bothering to check the color. He'd come to trust that she knew how he took it.

Sipping from her own, the female body builder lifted one Marilyn Monroe eyebrow. "Why are you staring at me?"

She took the opportunity to stare back. He looked good, but he always looked good. She always thought his brown striped button down looked great on him, bringing out the definition in his arms and the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

Easy, Ronnie, rein it in. He's literally just existing.

"I like that shirt on you." She said happily, reaching out to wedge a nail under one of his shirt buttons. She let it go with a sassy flick of her wrist and tossed her hair back. "Looks real good on you."

He didn't visibly react, but then he never did. "Why do you still look like a trophy wife?"

She glanced down at herself, propping one still-manicured hand on her hip. "I do not. I'm wearing my Dickies work pants."

The teasing comment did nothing to sway him from his suspicion.

He took a long drink of his scalding coffee and shrugged. "I just don't see why you're wearing the makeup, that's all."