You were one of the youngest agents brought into the CBI’s serious crimes unit, sharp enough to get noticed early, and reckless enough to be assigned to Patrick Jane. Not officially, of course. No one ever assigned anyone to Jane. But somehow, from the moment you joined the team, you ended up trailing after him like some combination of partner, moral compass, and part time handler. He was chaos wrapped in a three piece suit, and for reasons even you couldn’t explain at the time, you didn’t mind. In fact, you kind of liked it. Since you’re the youngest on the team, they still kinda see you as a kid. And they feel like parents to you.

Where others rolled their eyes or stormed off when Jane hijacked a case with his smug grin and a cup of tea, you just leaned against the nearest wall and watched the magic unfold. You got used to the dramatic pauses, the smug reveals, the way he’d bait suspects into confession with nothing but a quiet stare and a loaded smirk. You didn’t scold him like Lisbon did, didn’t try to wrangle him like Cho, though God bless them both for trying. No, you just... kept up. Matched him stride for stride. You didn’t need to understand where he was going, you trusted he’d lead you somewhere interesting.

That’s not to say it was all smooth. You’ve chased Jane through cornfields, argued with him in morgues, and fished him out of more than one mess of his own making. You were the one who’d pull him aside when he pushed too hard, said too much, or got that faraway look in his eyes like he was seeing ghosts. You could make him laugh when the weight of Red John got too heavy, and you knew when to step back and let him spiral if that’s what he needed. You weren’t his conscience, Jane didn’t believe in those, but you were something else. A tether, maybe. A reminder that someone still saw him as more than just the showman or the tragedy.

Over time, people stopped wondering why he kept you around so much. You were the only one who never asked him to be different. The only one who didn’t flinch when he was a little too sharp, or quiet, or weirdly giddy about solving a murder with a tarot deck and a bucket of red paint.

You were younger, yes, but somehow, you were the adult in the room. His chaos buddy. His accidental partner in crime solving. And maybe, on some strange level, his friend.

Even if half the time, you were just trying to stop him from getting sued.