A/N: I heard someone on tumblr was looking to re-read this story, so here is the repost in the hopes that the person gets his/her fix. Thanks, that was pretty awesome to hear! :)

If you have read this story previously, know that this is essentially the same thing. Edit: Chapter 19 is previously unreleased. Some rewrites might have occurred, but I'm not editing this for story/language for the repost. I know there are a lot to cut and fix and can only warn for some pretty gruesome stuff to come. Sorry!

That being said, thanks for the interest, I hope you'll enjoy!

This story can be read two ways:
1) the first (1) + the last chapter (42) for a little more serious story (original)
2) all the way through for banter and silliness (added per requests)

Half-truths, Whole Lies
Pt 1/2

Sharon, even distracted by these fancy surroundings, still had one question. It was the simplest, the most complex one: why? Not even the white tablecloths and flickering candles set next to vases of single roses could hide the fact that Andy had been acting strange the whole day, well the previous one too, and, if possible, he was acting stranger now. Stranger by the course. Stranger by the minute.

There was also the second 'why' of the dinner in the first place. Not that she minded having dinner with him, but it really was superfluous. A night at the ballet was more than enough, and no hardship on her part. In fact she quite enjoyed the ballet, especially so when she had someone with whom to share the experience. However, he had insisted on dinner, which again, was no hardship on her part. Dinner was dinner and she had to eat. Though company that was not jumpy and preoccupied, barely able to hold a conversation, would have been appreciated.

By the time Sharon got the warm cup of coffee between her hands, she had enough. Having put up with his behavior all through the entrées and mains, a warm drink in solid china strengthened her resolve nicely. She was damned if she was going to let him ruin the dessert too.

"Andy, what's wrong?" she pried in the gentlest tone she could muster.

"Everything's fine."

He ate his dessert shiftily, to say the least. To minimize the distractions, she put the cup down.

"Let's try again," she said. "Do you care to tell me what's wrong or do you want to keep lying?"

His eyes rose to make contact with hers. Perhaps if he stared long enough, she would relent. He was feeling bad enough already. Having to say it out loud would probably make things even worse, he mused. However, if he was being honest with himself, she already clearly knew something was going on. Her eyes seeming to see straight through him confirmed his suspicions. That small narrowing thing they did finally broke the flimsy remains of his resolve.

"Alright, but don't get mad."

His defensive tone mingling with ripe resignation simply oozing out of him didn't bode well. Not many times in the history of the Universe had a man told a woman not to get mad if there was no reason to do so. Suddenly the flash restaurant Sharon had thought a funny and sweet (and utterly unnecessary) gesture appeared fateful and dangerous.

"This doesn't sound good," she tried laughing it off.

"It isn't." He rushed to add, "And I apologize for that."

The launched explanation was meandering, full of stops and starts and little coherence. It took her a minute to understand what he was actually trying to say with his flurry of words. The issue, as far as she grasped it, was that his family thought they were seeing each other, socially. Romantically, even.

That left her speechless.

He appreciated that, the way she let him finish without interruptions. Quietly she listened through every word, her face giving nothing away. Well, perhaps displeasure, but that was an easy conjecture even for a blind man. When he exhausted all the words he could think of, he was still met by the silent stare. That he didn't appreciate. It was positively squirm-inspiring.

With a foreign tone she finally asked, "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! Honestly, nothing."

"So they arrived at the conclusion that I am — that we're involved, completely unaided?"

"Well, I might have sort of... implied... that we were seeing each other. Which, technically we are, five days a week. Kind of," he trailed off, his explanation sounding false even to his own ears.

"I am guessing there was a question that made you realize your — implication." Andy didn't like the way she said 'implication' emphasized with a rolling motion of her wrist. Before he got his mouth open to comment anything, she blocked him with both gestures and words. "I don't want to hear it." She returned to staring at him and he tried not to waver. "Tell me, how did you see this going?"

"Badly. In fact, a lot like it is going this far."

"I meant your scheme. Christmas is coming. I assume they would expect me to be somewhere and I wouldn't. One or two 'something's come up's could be understandable, but what then? New Year's? What about Easter? Sooner or later they would put two and two together."

"Hopefully by then I had the nerve to tell them the truth and they would trust me enough to forgive."

The omission of the two other options of how he could get the appropriate results were evident in his mind, but not appropriate for saying out loud.

"So you didn't think?"

"No, I didn't think," he snapped. Her pointed look made him breathe out the main brunt of it, after all, this was all his own doing. "Going along was easier and when they thought something had changed for me to have a relationship with som—," he tried to come up with a more roundabout way of saying what he thought, but abandoned it for the truth. He owed her that much. "— with someone who seemed better than just one of my usual flings," he sighed, "well, I exploited the chance, plain and simple. I'm sorry I did it, but I'm not sorry for wanting the results. The results I got."

She hesitated. "I make you look good?"

"Oh yeah."

As inadvertent as his admission was, it still made her face tingle. Good thing for coffee cups that could bashfully hide your just as inadvertent unschooled smiles.

While she concentrated on her dessert, he concentrated on watching her. Andy had no clue how mad or hurt she was. Actually, he wasn't even sure if she was angry or hurt.

When she glanced at him, he offered, "You know you can go, right? My lie, my mess."

"I know." Relaxing back against the chair's backrest, she sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

He shrugged, helpless. Hopefully nothing too harsh.

She studied him, twirling the cup around between her fingers. So what if someone thought they were seeing each other in contexts other than they actually were? If only he didn't say anything that was an outright lie... And he was right. Sometimes the end justified the means. The question was, who was hurt here? Her pride. Which didn't matter. At least he had ambushed her now, alone — though in public as if he had expected a scene, instead of letting his family do it.

Which was the smaller harm, him not getting to reconnect with his family or his family getting misled into thinking there was something between them? Strictly speaking, there indeed was something between them: a collegial friendship. A friendship she was not averse to keep or deepen. It was somewhat petty if his family was willing to give him a chance only based on the other relationships he had. One relationship in particular.

What if the roles were reversed? What if she was the ex being misdirected, hers were the kids their father was trying to reconnect with?

Would she mind if Jack used a friend to help him have a better relationship with his kids?

"Alright."

Andy's eyes snapped to focus. "'Alright' what?"

"I'm saying, alright. We can't control what someone else thinks of me coming to see a ballet with you. This is not the place or the time for you to come clean."

"You know they will be thinking 'Dad and his girlfriend'?"

She didn't acknowledge his effort to dissuade her, just jumped ahead to stating the rules. "This is strictly a favor from a friend to another, just to tide you over, are we clear?"

"Yes, of course."

"No embellishments, no further lies and no one else knows."

"Well —"

"And no calling me your girlfriend if you can avoid it. Even if it comes after the words 'not my'."

Andy waited for a few seconds to see if he could get some words in without her interrupting. When nothing else seemed forthcoming, he tried reasoning with her, "Sharon, you can't get sucked into my family drama. You've been kind enough to —"

"If there comes a point where you can clear the misunderstanding with minimal penalties, you do it. I am your friend and you will tell your family that."

Again he waited. Apparently she could take her time, even in the middle of a lecture.

"If you're sure," he finally ventured to say.

"I am. You want to make amends, you deserve the chance. If giving you that chance requires a friend of yours to have dinner with your family, dinner she shall have. It's nobody's business what our relationship is, what it entails." Sharon paused to take a breath, to think if there were any more points to reiterate. She eventually came across one. "But absolutely no more lying," she repeated. Grabbing the bill from the small tray in front of her, she proffered it in his direction. "And you're paying."

"I —" Seeing her sly smirk, he accepted the bill and gave up on commenting that he was always going to pay. The issue seemed settled, her decision made. Nothing else to say. For now. "Thank you, Sharon. I really appreciate this."

"So you should. And whatever you do, you do not — not — screw this up."