AN: The Mentalist is not mine and so on and so on...

I saw a scene like this unfold elsewhere and thought it would fit here quite nicely. The two of them are not together at that point but obviously some feelings and a certain level of trust are there.

Please note that English is not my first language so feel free to point out mistakes so I can improve the story. I didn't really write for over a year too so I am a bit rusty.

Reviews, PMs and any kind of feedback is appreciated.

Word Count: 718

With a sigh, Jane flopped onto his bed in the cheap motel room and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, today had not been one of his finest days: he had nagged Lisbon relentlessly and took his boredom and frustration about being stuck in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere out on her, despite seeing her blanch several times throughout the day. While he loved getting a rise out of their fearless leader on any day, he usually had at least some semblance of sympathy with her emotional state and backed off when he felt her getting close to her limits. But not so today, even though he had known she was not feeling her best in the first place.

Making the resolve to apologize (and to actually mean this apology!) to her first thing next morning, Jane laid back and closed his eyes for a moment. Knowing that he wouldn't find sleep any time soon he turned over to his side and grabbed the book he had liberated from Lisbons go-bag earlier that day: 'Egyptian Fairytales' ยด, who knew...

A few minutes later, just as Jane was about to get fully immersed into this story about the magician's contest, he heard someone heaving next door and silently cursed the paper thin walls until it dawned on him that Lisbon had the room next to his, and was apparently feeling really bad by now. With a sinking feeling to the stomach he went over to her door and knocked.

"Lisbon?", he called, while juggling with the book and rummaging in his pockets to find something he could use to pick the lock on her door.

"Go away Jane!", came the, admittedly predictable, reply followed by a muffled sigh and the creaking of bed springs as Lisbon curled up again under the covers.

With a sigh Jane shook his head and opened the door, assessing the situation inside: a very pale Lisbon was lying in the bed in foetal position apparently too exhausted to even glare at him. Jane made a beeline for the bed and sat down next to Lisbon before he gently brushed some strands of hair away from her damp forehead.

"Bit better?", he asked, just getting a tired "Mmmmmm..." as reply.

Sighing Lisbon closed her eyes as his fingertips brushed over her forehead. True enough, the sickly pallor of her face was already less pronounced telling him that the queasiness had subsided somewhat. However her tensed form and her hugging her knees tightly showed him that Lisbon was not feeling much better. Considering her grumpiness the past day and her increased intake of chocolate he suddenly had an idea what was wrong with her, and felt even worse for adding to her pile by nagging her all day.

"Do you always feel this bad?", he asked sympathetically.

"Noooo ... only when I'm stressed.", Lisbon mumbled while struggling to open her eyes again to look up at him.

"I'm sorry Teresa.", Jane replied sheepishly and gently nudged her a bit to the knee, "Come on, let me help you!"

For a moment, Lisbon just stared at Jane, contemplating if this was another of his weird games. Deciding that he was sincere this time, she rolled over onto her back and looked at him quizzically. Watching her carefully, Jane slid his hands under the covers and gently placed them on her lower abdomen, below the navel and waited a couple of moments. Only when he saw no further signs of discomfort from Lisbon he applied a bit of pressure.

Feeling him press his hands lightly into her abdomen, Lisbon flinched unconsciously, causing him to pull back and let his hands hover on her skin until she relaxed again. The warmth of his hands and slight pressure seemed to help though as he felt the tension seeping out of her body and watched her eyes fluttering close.

"Sleep well dear...", he whispered when she had fallen asleep and pulled his hands back. Quietly he picked up the book, he had dropped to the bed when he had seen how ill she was, and crept over to the armchair. After he had turned the pages and found the place where he had stopped earlier, he read with a quiet voice to help her stay asleep.

FIN