Title: Mendacious

Summary: AU Pirates spin-off. "Craig, here, will have the same reputation if he's not careful."

Disclaimer: If I owned The Mentalist, do you really think I would sit around writing fan fiction about it?

Rating: T

So, you might remember a little story called Chasing the Storm by iloveplotbunnies. Well, she and I plotted that story out together. Throughout, we always said how interesting O'Laughlin's point of view would have been. What his reasoning was for the actions that took place and the answers to some of the questions when it concerns Lisbon and her kidnapping.

iloveplotbunnies and I have discussed this idea and she has agreed, because O'Laughlin was my creation, that I could write the spin-off. (Look, she is giving you guys a sequel and is working on another huge story; give her a break).

Before reading this story, you should read Chasing the Storm, in order to understand what is going on. Link: s/7919736/1/Chasing_the_Storm

Anyway, let's have some fun, shall we?


One year ago…

He drummed his fingers against the splintered, wooden countertop of the nameless, underground speakeasy. Manse Island never advertised places like this. Only those who looked for them, found them. The speakeasy he sat in smelled of dried urine, whiskey, and cheap sex. He also discerned a hint of vomit in the air, but that could have been from the adjacent room that held the toilets. He had no idea how long he had been sitting at the bar. It could have been days for all he knew, but ever since he had sat down at the bar stool and took his first shot of whiskey, his feelings remained steady. He was angry. Angry at the bitch who had, single-handedly, ruined his engagement to the Governor's beautiful daughter, Grace Van Pelt Bertram.

It had been an arranged marriage, set-up by the Governor. He had claimed that a rowdy, party-obsessed woman was influencing his daughter to leave the lifestyle and that if he were to marry Grace; he would be able to persuade her to do the "right" thing and get married. Although, Craig knew what Governor Bertram had really wanted though - his daughter to stay loyal to him. Craig knew that the real reason for the arrangement hadn't been because of his personality or good heart, but because he had been loyal and supportive of Grace's father for years. Governor Bertram promised him a good part of the family money and various other rewards if he were to go through with the marriage.

Before the Governor had proposed the idea, Craig had dreamt of marrying a woman for love and not for money. It wasn't that he never had his share of women, but he had just never found the right girl. Sure, he had girls, but no one he connected with. He had carried on those beliefs even when Bertram had proposed the idea to him and he would have rejected the offer, if it hadn't been for the fact that he could profit from it. He had felt terrible tricking Grace like that, when he had started to court her, but as time went on and they had spent more time together he started to care for her and, he could say now, he had fallen in love with her.

Now though, here he was, in a dirty, disease filled bar with nothing, but the shot glass in his hand and anger in his heart because that bitch had decided she needed to get laid. He had never been angry with the Governor for what had happened. The Governor had explained that his son, James, had made an inadequate decision by falling for that harlot.

Bertram had said, "I'm sorry, Craig. I should have known that Miss Saffron would try something like this. She always did like to ruin a good thing."

He shook his head at the memory of those words. He had understood that Bertram was not able to control a woman who had not been his daughter. He had understood that a wedding would make the town immediately suspicious and Bertram never wanted the scandal to reach outside the walls of his home. Bertram had told him to leave the island, if only for a few months, just so everything could go back to normal and he had. He had come to Manse Island, in hopes of finding Kristina Saffron. He had wanted to find and kill her for ruining his life, but when he had arrived, the locals said there had been no sign of her for weeks.

There had been rumors around the town that she had run off with another man, she had killed herself, or that her family had locked her away in an asylum. Either way, there had been no sign of her, but he had stayed on the island because, besides it being a beautiful place, he had nowhere else to go. He had no family, no real friends to speak of, and no home. He had been staying at the cheapest hotel for almost a month now and nothing had changed. At the beginning, he had spent a lot of his time thinking about Grace and how much he wished he hadn't left her. Then, as time went on, he found himself not thinking so much about Grace, but about how he could move on. Sure, he still wanted to take revenge on Kristina Saffron, but he was not going to waste his life on a quest for revenge. If he ever found her, he would take the opportunity to do what he had been wanting, but until that day, he had to move on and find something new.

It wasn't until, about a week ago, that he had found the speakeasy and had made himself at home on his current bar stool. It was sad to think that the only friend he had made since he had arrived on the island was the bartender and he had always been told to not be on a first name basis with them. The bartender's name, despite the advice he had been given, was Steve.

There weren't many patrons in the bar and he, basically, had the counter to himself. There was a group of degenerates who sat in the back, but it seemed that every time Craig stepped into the establishment, they were always there. He wondered if they ever left at all.

Probably not, he thought emotionless. He sighed, loudly, and mentally prepared himself to leave the bar and back to his hotel room to put food into his rumbling stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he had a decent meal and he had been craving a steak all day. He shook his head, which brought him out of his thoughts and into reality, and found himself looking at the newest patron. She had just stepped into the bar. His eyes widened and lips parted slightly at the sight of her. The woman wasn't tall; he was sure that he had a good foot on her. He looked her up and down. She had long, dark hair that curled at the bottom and rested just below her shoulders. She was petite, but he immediately noticed the muscle in her legs and upper arms. She had exquisite facial features and as she got closer he noticed her blazing, emerald eyes. He swore that if it had just been darker inside the speakeasy they would have lit up the room.

She stepped over to the counter, head held high in confidence and poise, and he watched her muscles flex in her leggings as she walked over. He was suddenly frightened to even try to talk to her. His eyes scanned over the rest of her. He noticed the sword that sat in her holster and it rested on her tiny hips. She wore a green, buttoned-up, v-neck t-shirt that loosely fitted around her midsection. His eyes went up further and hit her chest. She was small, but they looked firm and were big enough so he could…

His thoughts on her flawless figure was interrupted by the sound of her angelic voice. It filled his ears and it made him internally smile. He wouldn't want her that he thought she was an exquisite woman and he was sure that she had heard all of this several times before. He knew that a smile told a lot about what a person was thinking and this woman was not an idiot.

"Rum, please." He heard her request to the bartender as she took a seat a stool away from him. He watched her put her head into one of her hands as she waited for her order. Her face, now that she was closer to him, was tense and tired. She looked as if she had just gone twenty rounds with her worst enemy. He had the urge to comfort her, but he didn't even know her and he wouldn't want to sound intrusive. He shifted his focus from her to the bar glass in his hand. He needed to forget about her because there was no way a woman like that did not have someone waiting for her when she returned home. Physically, he thought, she was the woman of his dreams, but he knew there was more to a person than just what they looked like physically.

"Miss Lisbon," he heard the bartender say, "you're back. Earlier this time." She had been here before? A dark thought crossed his mind. What if she was a prostitute? That would kill him that he had fallen for a woman who went for anything just to make a profit. His hand went through his hair and he tried to push the thought out of his head.

He heard her voice again. "Well if you have met my Captain, you would understand why I come here." He felt his ears perk up at the sound of "captain." She had been a part of a crew? No wonder she had a sword, it explained a lot about her, but that still didn't mean she was a part of that crew because the men didn't want sex from her.

"Oh Miss Lisbon," he heard the bartender explain, "your Captain is no stranger to the men who wander into my bar. I've heard of him." The bartender's voice sounded strained and judgmental. He wondered who they were talking about, because he had certainly never heard of this "captain" before. If he had, he was sure that he could have agreed with them, given that he wanted to take part of the conversation.

The bartender's voice filled the room again. "To be honest, I'm surprised he's not here with you. He has the reputation, from what I've heard." He heard her chuckle at the response that the bartender had given her. He watched her nod her head in agreement with his statement.

Steve hadn't let her respond when he spoke to her again. "Craig, here, will have the same reputation if he's not careful." He glared at the bartender; he knew the conversation they were having about this woman's Captain wasn't a positive one and would not want to be put into the same group as this guy. If this woman was coming into this speakeasy almost every day, then the man that they were talking about had to be a real pain in the ass. His heart hurt for her because he knew she deserved better, even though he didn't even know her.

He heard the bartender continue to explain his underhanded insult. "Other than your Captain, Miss Lisbon, Craig knows how to control himself and his mouth." He felt her eyes staring at the side of his head. He slowly turned his head to face her and he only saw her smile and it was beautiful. All he could do in response to her, however, was nod and briefly wave. He watched as the bartender went into the backroom and he looked at the woman again.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, "he loves to put me on the spot. Especially when women come around." She downed her glass of rum and stared at him, expressionless. He figured that she was either figuring out what to make of him and if he was worth her time or she was just going to scoff and walk out of the speakeasy, to never be seen again. She would forget all about him and he would stay on his bar stool and drown in his sorrows.

"You come here a lot, huh?" She hadn't even acknowledged his apology and had gone straight for the jugular. This woman played no games and he noticed that when she had asked the question, she had stared straight into his eyes. The intensity of her gaze made him want to look away, but he couldn't. He could only focus on her beauty.

He looked up at the warped ceiling and searched for an answer to a fairly simple question. He had never been this nervous to talk to a woman before, but he knew she was different. He had to give her the right answer or he had no shot with her. "I only found this place a couple of days ago. You look like you need the drinks more than I do." He gave her a small smile and hoped she would at least chuckle at the joke he had just made. She continued to stare, but he noticed that her shoulders relaxed and she started to slouch. He guessed that she had been on the defense because she had not known who he was, but he guessed that he had not hit on her immediately made her relax.

"My Captain," she explained still with a smile, "is someone who, after a day, you need several drinks." He slid his filled glass over to her and nodded at it. Her face gave him the impression that he had confused her.

"Take it," he offered. She thanked him with a grin and she shook her head. He almost regretted handing her the drink because, now, he had nothing to fiddle with as he talked to her. He could hear his heartbeat race in his ears and the sweat pooling at the base of his neck. He had never had this reaction to a woman before. Usually, he was confident with them and could easily charm them, but she had been different. She was somebody he knew he had to impress before he could ever try anything with her. He had to gain her trust.

"What's your story?" He heard her ask him, but she had more to add. "People who come to bars often have a story." Her question intrigued him, but he wouldn't even know where to begin in response. It was a long story and not one you told in a speakeasy in the middle of the afternoon. He knew that if he wanted her trust, she would have to gain his before he could ever tell her what had happened to him. She seemed like the kind of woman you could spill your secrets to. She would listen to them and then lock them away for no one else to ever get a hold of. Unless, he thought, she was spiteful.

"I would find it odd if I were to just spill my secrets to a complete stranger." He kept his eyes focused on her and watched as she shifted in her seat and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes told him that she agreed as they darted left and right.

"What's your name?" He asked hopeful that she would give him the courtesy of a name. He hadn't been entranced and intimidated by her for this long to not get her name. He had to know for when he ever had the urge to find her again when she left him.

She narrowed her eyes on him. He suspected she found him suspicious for asking the question, but it was just out of common courtesy that he had asked her. Plus, if he ever found himself needing to see her, he could ask around and find her in hopes that she would remember him.

"Teresa Lisbon." She responded in haste. He admired her name in his thoughts; he liked it and it suited her well. He wondered why the bartender called her "Lisbon" though, when "Teresa" seemed much more polite. This woman was not someone you treated like one of the guys, but someone who deserved the utmost respect. She was not an object, but a woman and deserved to be treated as such. The more he thought about how Steve had treated Teresa, the more he wanted to choke the man for being so rude to her.

He acknowledged her. "Nice to meet you, Teresa. I'm Craig. Craig O'Laughlin." He shifted on the bar stool to face her. He felt it rude to not be facing such a beautiful woman; she deserved his undivided attention. "You don't seem like the kind of woman who would want to be on an island like this. What brings you here?" He tilted his head and gave her an inquisitive look, but waited patiently for an answer. He watched as she sighed and put her hand to her head. Had he upset her? Had he asked too much too soon? He hadn't wanted to alienate her or make her feel uncomfortable. He immediately regretted ever asking her the question.

She rose from her bar stool and sat in the adjacent seat. Her body language had told him that she had been frustrated by the question, but her sudden movement next to him said that she wanted it to continue. Gosh, he thought, she's a complicated woman to figure out. She twirled at a lock of her hair. "The reason for my being here is complicated and is not reasoning I'm to divulge to strangers."

He looked down at the empty countertop. He understood where she was coming from; they had just met. He couldn't expect her to tell him everything at first meeting. That would be expecting too much out of her. He heard her voice in his ears again. "What do you do around here? You don't look like you fit in with this kind of crowd much either." He shook his head. They were both asking questions that weren't proper to answer at first meeting, but he had wanted to tell her something. Something that would spark her interest and make her want to stick around. He had gotten this far with her and he wanted to see how far he could take this. He would have offered her to go out to eat, but it wasn't like he could afford any of the dining areas on Manse Island. He was barely affording the hotel room he had been staying at for the last month. He was slowly coming to a realization that he wasn't good enough for her.

He let out a heavy breath. He felt the strain of the stress pushing down on his neck. In order to try to relieve the pressure he put his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed gently. It helped for a few seconds, but once he put his hand back atop the counter the pressure reemerged. "I'm a loner. I go from place to place. I'm not one to stay somewhere permanently." He glanced into her eyes again. He saw compassion and understanding, which was not something he received often. Growing up, he had only had his father. He had loved his father, but the man had never shown any compassion. Craig remembered that he had to earn his father's love; it hadn't been handed to him. However, what he saw in Teresa was an immediate interest in understanding. She wanted to learn about you to see if she could help you. He knew that if she hadn't been interested she wouldn't have made herself comfortable next to him. She wouldn't have asked him anything. She would've just brushed him off after her glass of rum and left the bar. "I've never belonged anywhere," he finished.

He hadn't been trying to impress her or sound melodramatic. It was true. He had left home because he never wanted to become like his father. They still wrote on occasion, but all he read from those letters was how he should have made something of himself and to take over the family business. Then, the Bertram family had sent him away because of standing and a scandal. He always was the outsider.

He tilted his head towards her, again, and stared at her – unblinking. He noticed that they both continued to hold the stare for what seemed like hours. He wished he knew what she was thinking, knew if she was trying to find some way to help him or if she was finding an easy way out of the conversation.

"Do you have any experience with a sword?" His eyes still focused on her, he narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth slightly. The question had come out of left field and puzzled him, but all he could do was nod at her in confirmation. When he had been an adolescent, he was taught by his father and now, knew he could hold his own, but he had been out of practice for years.

Her face, he observed, lit up for a moment and he watched her as she rose from the adjacent bar stool. She walked around the stool and turned to him. "I think I have a solution for you." He turned his head over his shoulder and continued with his puzzled expression.

He finally asked, "What do you mean?" His curiosity was slowly building and he wondered what she had been up to. He wasn't sure what she had meant by "solution," he hadn't had a problem. Unless, she thought she could fix his lack of a permanent home, but he doubted it.

She waved her hand for him to follow her. "I have someone I want you to meet. I'll explain to you on the way." He watched as she started out towards the door and into the light of the mid-afternoon. He asked no questions and followed her outside.