-White Lie-

Hello there,

As promised in my last story, I'm continuing this collection.

This story is set in the same universe as "Silver Lining" and can be seen as a kind of prequel. There will be a second chapter (and possibly a third and fourth chapter), which will definitely be finished sometime this decade. Probably. I think. At least the second chapter is already in the works. So, it might only take a few more years ;)

I want to thank everyone who took the time not only to read "Silver Lining" but also to leave kudos and comments. It means so much to me and really motivates me!

A very special thanks goes to my beta reader, Emilie_786 (on AO3) , who especially helped me with English editing and grammar and gave me lots of helpful tips.

Check out her amazing Mentalist stories!

(PS: I did publish this story in German, too. Since some of the directly translated wording sounded weird, I took the liberty of making a few minimal changes. But nothing that changes the content of the story.)

But now:

Enjoy reading!

Chapter 1

White Lies and Little Secrets

"Surely, there's got to be an easier way," Patrick Jane thought to himself. Struggling with the buttons of his shirt, he wandered aimlessly through his beloved's apartment.

This was his second failed attempt to force his garment top into submission. Futile. One would think that with all his magic tricks, he'd have mastered the art of sleight of hand by now.

Ever since the wedding (had two whole days really passed already?) he hadn't felt the necessity to wear a shirt. Or pants. Or anything, really. Somehow, he even managed to forget what tedious work these damn buttons could be during this short amount of time. Meanwhile, other things had entirely captured his attention.

As reality gradually returned and life settled back into routine, he had to turn his attention to these trivial matters once again. A real shame. Being an adult sucked. He still had a chance to talk Teresa into a honeymoon, though. Given her pregnancy, he preferred to avoid flying for the time being. Not that there was anything necessarily dangerous about it per se, but caution was key. He wanted to minimize all risks. Her health and that of their unborn baby came first and foremost – without question, without competition.

He wasn't taking any chances. Luckily, he still had the silver buc– Airstream, he quickly corrected himself. Damn, Teresa was definitely rubbing off on him.

So, the U.S. it was. Or perhaps Mexico. That still left a lot of possibilities. Virgil would probably be pleased at the thought of seeing his 'adoptive daughter' again. Worth considering. For now, there were more pressing matters to deal with.

He glanced down at his shirt and sighed. The buttons were uneven, half of them off by a hole. A mess he had somehow managed twice already. Time for attempt number three. Begrudgingly, he turned his attention back to his button-clad nemesis. Maybe he should've just opted for a t-shirt, he mused. That certainly would've cut down the time it took to get dressed. Thinking about how the vest would add even more buttons made him groan inwardly. Why he did this to himself was a complete mystery to him. Just to meet some friends at some bar...

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true. He knew exactly why.

Anything to impress his wife. His wife. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around that. The last few days felt so surreal. Like a dream. A dream he never wanted to wake from.

In a way, it was his own fault she had a thing for his vests. He had, after all, worn them every day for years, in sickness and health; for better or for worse.

Right, the vest – where was it again? He vaguely remembered Teresa holding it. A quick flash of memory crossed his mind: Teresa, throwing the vest somewhere as she desperately tried to get him naked. A smile crept across his lips. Not that he had any complaints. He'd been a more than willing participant. The only question now was where that thing happened; where exactly that "somewhere" was.

His steps led him toward the bedroom.

"Hey, Teresa, any idea where my vest might be?" Without looking up from what he was doing, he asked the other party of their recent activities.

No response. Odd. The lack of reply made him pause and raise his head in confusion. Was Lisbon not in the bedroom like he had initially assumed?

But there she was. Half-dressed in a tank top, sitting on the bed. Surrounded by a pile of clothes. Her face buried in her hands. His internal alarms went off.

"Teresa?"

Her head shot up. Wide, startled eyes met his.

"Huh? What?"

"Are you alright?" His voice was full of concern as he carefully watched her, scanning her face for any sign that might explain her behavior. He couldn't read her. Something that had become increasingly common lately. He needed to change that soon. Yet another thing on his growing list of postponed issues.

Self-consciously, she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?"

He motioned toward her and the surrounding mess. "If you're worried–"

She shook her head absentmindedly. "I'm not worried," she replied. Well, that was a lie. Nice try, though. He could tell by the way she avoided his gaze that she wasn't fooling anyone – especially not herself. Maybe it was the lack of coffee, or just the pregnancy hormones, but she didn't seem as confident as she was pretending to be.

"If you're worried about what to wear, don't. Whatever you choose, you'll look fantastic anyway." That made her blush. She should've been used to his compliments by now. Secretly, he hoped she never would. He loved making her blush, and it had the added benefit of distracting her and lowering her guard.

"Besides, it's just a bar. No need to dress up," he added.

"Oh, that's not it, believe me."

"Then what is it? I–" He gave a helpless shrug. "I'm a bit lost on this."

A few years ago, this sentence would never have passed his lips. Just as she couldn't admit when she was exhausted or needed help, he couldn't admit when he was wrong or clueless.

"It's– It's silly," she muttered, trying to hide behind a curtain of hair.

"I'm sure it's not. However, let me be the judge of that." He sat beside her on the bed, attentively waiting. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, but not so close as to actually touch her. He allowed her the space she might need, but still wanted her to know he was there. His shoulder hovered near hers, not quite making contact.

"Well?" His gaze rested firmly on her, patient but intent. He raised an eyebrow in question, watching her carefully, silently encouraging her.

"I was just thinking–", she hesitated. He remained silent, giving her time to gather herself. She seemed to be struggling internally, weighing whether to tell him the truth. He took her hand in his and traced soothing circles on the back of it with his thumb. That seemed to give her the confidence to continue.

With a deep breath, she nodded to herself, as if gathering her courage. Then, she spoke.

"How do we explain that I'm not drinking any alcohol? In a bar? I mean, it's not like I've ever been a heavy drinker, but I've always had at least a beer. At the wedding two days ago, with all those people, nobody noticed that I swapped my drink for a non-alcoholic one. Even you didn't catch it. But later– Later, it'll just be the five of us." She was getting increasingly agitated, her voice rising.

"Well, they're our friends–"

"Exactly! Friends who are very nosy. Friends who've spent most of their lives as investigators." She threw her hands up in frustration. "And the fact that the bar's only a few blocks from my house makes the whole "designated driver" excuse sound ridiculous. Damn it to hell."

"Hey, Teresa, there's no need to get upset. We'll come up with something." He took her hand again, the one she'd just pulled away, and resumed stroking her knuckles. This time, it didn't have the desired effect.

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down, okay? I am calm!" she snapped at him, her voice bordering on hysteria. Startled by her own outburst, she stopped. A wave of embarrassment flushed her cheeks red.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you," she murmured, eyes downcast as she fidgeted with the bedsheet, her hair falling into her face. Jane gently tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Then he reached for her hand for the third time after she had pulled it away during her little speech. He squeezed it reassuringly. He was really going to have to get used to these mood swings. Jane knew her outburst wasn't aimed at him personally. After all, it wasn't the first time her hormones got the best of her. He couldn't believe he'd missed the signs for so long. The clues were all there. He would reflect on it later. For now, his top priority was calming her down and showing his support.

"You don't have to–"

"Yes, I do. I need to apologize."

"It's alright. Really," he shrugged. "It's just the hormones. It's only going to get worse."

"You don't always have to defend me or make excuses just because I'm pregnant. And you can't keep blaming everything on hormones."

"Eh, maybe not always. Still, for the next few months, you've got a pretty solid excuse. Plus, you've stood up for me plenty, back then and now. Think of it as payback. Besides," he grinned at her, a teasing glint in his eyes, "I kinda enjoy being bossed around by you."

"Well, I haven't seen much of that at work," she grumbled.

"Who said anything about work?"

He was expecting an eye roll, or at least some kind of reaction, but her thoughts had already wandered off again – she metaphorically hung her head.

"Hey, we'll figure this out." She didn't seem entirely convinced. "Come on. Have a little more faith. Remember, I'm the master of improvisation. And distraction." He winked at her, accompanied by a cocky shrug.

That finally made her chuckle. "Oh, right. Just like you're the master of modesty."

"Hey, can I help it if I'm just that good at what I do?"

"My point still stands."

"Touché, my dear, touché."

Shaking her head, she playfully nudged him. The consultant took it as an opportunity to dramatically fall backward.

"Oof. Why are you always so rough with me?"

She let out a laugh, then leaned down to poke him gently in the ribs.

"Drama queen. Not my fault you've got the body control of a dead fish. And didn't you just say you liked me being bossy? Stop complaining."

"For the record, I've had two rather intense nights. My energy reserves might be a bit low, so cut me some slack." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And as far as I recall, you were involved as well. Or am I wrong? Should I worry about my performance? We could always reenact it. To refresh your memory."

"Dumbass." She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and stood up – at least that was her intention. Unbeknownst to her, Jane's arm had sneaked around her waist during his little cheer up speech. He now used it to gently pull her down toward him. Momentarily disoriented by the unexpected move, Teresa found herself suddenly face-to-face with him, his mischievous grin inches from her own.

"Apparently I'm not the only one with the body control of a dead fish."

"That wasn't fair. I wasn't prepared."

"I know," he replied smugly. "Master of distraction, remember?"

Rolling her eyes, Lisbon tried to get up. His grip remained firm and unyielding.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, softly brushing his thumb across her lips. Her gaze darted to his mouth and then back to his eyes. He raised his brows in anticipation. She looked back at him, unimpressed. After a brief staring contest, she gave in, her gaze softening. He knew he'd won. She planted a soft kiss on his lips, which he deepened instantly. When she moved to pull away, he tightened his hold on her.

"We need to get dressed", she whispered against his lips. His hands circled her waist, letting the warmth of his touch seep through the thin fabric of her top. Expecting her resistance, he drew her even closer, their bodies nearly melting into one.

"That can wait," Jane murmured, his voice low and husky, pressing a tender kiss to her neck. He felt her heartbeat quicken beneath his lips.

Her mind, however, fought to maintain control, trying to resist the pull of emotion. One last little push would be enough to sway her decision one way or the other. And he had to do everything he could to turn it in his favor.

"By the way, did I mention how much I love you today?" he asked with a soft smile. To his surprise, his plan actually worked, and Lisbon straddled his lap. Her hands made their way to his half-buttoned shirt, her lips back on his. Finally.

He kissed her back with full passion, every nerve in his body seeming to remember the sensation of her touch. Of course, his body clearly remembered this, even if it forgot how to button his shirt.

He felt the fire inside him flare up, a desire that only intensified with her closeness. Her touch was like electricity coursing through his veins. It was as if every fiber of his being had been waiting to be claimed by her in this way. The moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, his mind consumed by the intensity of her kisses.

And then, reality began to intrude, snapping him out of the haze. So that's what it felt like to be pulled from a trance.

He had to admit, he was feeling slightly disappointed when he realized that her thoughts were heading in a different direction than his own. Because, despite still kissing him, her nimble fingers began closing the remaining buttons on his shirt. Slowly, but with purpose. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the contrast between the passion of her kisses and the cool efficiency of her actions.

He made one final, desperate attempt to change her mind. His hand gently glided over her arm, searching for a sign of surrender, as his lips grew more insistent, almost pleading. The resistance in her movements crushed his hope. Another button clicked into place.

"Mmh, I think you're doing that the wrong way," he teased, holding her arms still to stop her movements. Taking advantage of her surprise, he managed to undo a few of the buttons, reversing her progress and exposing part of his chest. She blushed. Out of passion. Or at least embarrassment, he told himself. He preferred to think it was the former. Though her current mood was more like "angry little princess." Okay, she just growled at him. Definitely angry princess.

"Hush, we don't have time for that. I want us to be on time, and since you kept sweet-talking me, I had to take matters into my own hands." With those words, she swatted his hands away, gave him another kiss, and resumed her mission. Oh, so she wanted to play, did she? Fine by him. He'd turn the tables on her. Two could play that game.

His hands found her thighs, where he began tracing slow circles on the exposed skin with his thumb. He felt her shiver. So, his efforts weren't going unnoticed. That only encouraged him further.

"Oh, I like it when you get all authoritarian on me."

Recognition flickered in her eyes, just as he had hoped. She paused once again. Grinning, he waited for the penny to drop.

Meanwhile, his thumbs crept higher and higher, unnoticed by her. He could almost see her trying to place that sentence. Watching as the gears turned in her head. Until, suddenly, everything clicked, and the pieces fell into place.

"You've said that to me before."

~ Some years earlier ~

He was sleeping on his beloved couch. Well, he was pretending to sleep. He wasn't sure why he continued this charade, when no one else was in the bullpen. Maybe he was trying to trick his body into thinking he'd gotten some real rest. Perhaps he wanted to deter anybody from bothering him if they happened to pass through and see him awake. Or maybe it was simply one of those strange habits picked up over the years. Either way, it was rather pointless, if not downright silly.

Just as he considered "waking up" – it had to be somewhere around eight o'clock anyway – he heard the familiar, determined footsteps of his favorite brunette team leader. She was the only brunette team leader he was working with, but that wasn't the point. And she was clearly on a mission. He listened as she drew nearer; anticipating her boot's inevitable impact with his poor couch.

Once again, she surprised him. He liked – loved – that even after all these years, she still had that effect on him, despite his claim that she was an open book. Because instead of the expected kick, he felt a gentle hand touching his shoulder, barely a brush.

It was a stark contrast to a few years ago, when she would have simply kicked his couch to wake him up or get his attention. Oh, how he loved riling her up. It was one of his favorite pastimes. He adored how her brow would furrow, the small crease forming between her eyebrows. Or how she'd roll her eyes – those beautiful, captivating eyes.

If he had to choose one color to see for the rest of his life, it would be the color of her eyes, no question. Everything about her was just so damn perfect. Which was exactly why he had to protect her, at all costs.

He yearned to uncover the meaning behind this unfamiliar feeling and its implications. Yet something – someone – was stopping him from venturing further in that direction.

He knew he could never allow himself to go down that road – not if he truly wanted to keep her safe.

The thought that his need to be near her and to spend time with her ran deeper than mere friendship was something he could never admit, not even to himself. He couldn't let his thoughts go there. He wasn't allowed to. Not, if he wanted to protect her. Not only from Red John. Protecting her wasn't just about keeping her safe from a mad serial killer. It was about shielding her from the darkness that lived inside him. She was too good, too pure – a shining light he could never afford to lose in his infinite sea of darkness–

"Oh, I like it when you get all authoritarian on me."

Before he could stop himself, the sentence escaped his lips. So much for trying to hold back. He blamed the exhaustion; his guard was still down – apparently – from the nap, and his mind hadn't quite recovered the sharpness it needed.

Too late now. Well, screw it. He said what he said. Just like with that "Love you," he could always pretend he'd forgotten. He knew he hadn't. She knew it too. Or at the very least she had a strong suspicion that he was lying, only pretending to have forgotten.

Whatever. They were still friends, weren't they? He could barely remember a time without the constant flirting. Nonetheless, he had to get his act together. One slip-up, fine. But two? That was already pushing it. He had to stop right there.

He couldn't afford to make the target, that HE had put on her for Red John, any bigger. Otherwise, he might as well put a neon sign on her.

Banter was easy. Banter was safe. It didn't add to the danger. They were just friends. Colleagues. Colleagues bantered all the time, right?

Good thing he was great at deflecting. He hated how good he'd gotten at lying to her. Even if Red John wasn't after her because of him, she deserved better than the broken mess that was him.

"You really meant it back then, didn't you? Not just the part about me being authoritarian. The 'Love you', too." She nervously shifted on his lap.

He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I think you already know the answer to that question," he replied, his voice calm, eyes firmly fixed on hers.

She hesitated, as though weighing her options, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes mixed with a hint of uncertainty. "I still want to hear it."

His expression turned serious as he looked deeply into her eyes.

"I probably lied to you less often than you think. The trick is – or rather, used to be – half-truths," he corrected himself. "I'm done with that."

He paused for a moment, considering his next words. "That doesn't mean that those particular statements were lies. Even if I tried to push it away; deny it... The truth was, my feelings for you had changed. It was inevitable, really, even though it wasn't supposed to happen. You have that kind of effect on me. You've changed me for the better, you know that, my dear? And now – I plan to make up for all of that."

"Stop it. You're doing it again," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her voice trembling with emotion as she turned away, smiling pleased despite herself.

"What?" He put on his best innocent face, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"You're trying to distract me with flattery. If you keep it up, I'll either start crying or I'll give in. And one of us has to stay strong."

"That was the idea. Not the crying part, obviously. But seriously." He paused for dramatic effect.

Her expression shifted in confusion, until he grinned broadly. "If you keep fidgeting like that, we're really going to be late."

He gave her a pointed look, accompanied by a subtle shift of his hips. Her eyes widened as she realized, and she quickly scrambled off him.

"Jane!" she hissed.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. As if they hadn't already been in far more, let's say, explicit situations. His thoughts drifted to that evening when he knew, deep in his heart, they had conceived their baby. He caught himself swallowing hard at the memory. But he digressed–

She too seemed to have refocused, giving him a final, lingering kiss before standing up decisively.

Jane stayed lying where he was, arms folded behind his head, watching her as she randomly picked a blouse from the pile and pulled it over her head. Then her pants followed. He loved observing her doing such mundane, everyday tasks.

He was grateful he didn't have to worry about his buttons any longer, thanks to her quick hands. Which reminded him of something else.

"Hmm, I actually came to ask you where my vest is."

"Why do you need your vest? It's just a bar. No need to dress up," she teasingly quoted him with a challenging look.

"Mmh. Maybe. But someone in this room thinks I'm irresistible in that vest," he said with a cheeky grin, pointing at a random corner of the room. "And I'm pretty sure it's not that spider over there."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. There she was again, his angry little princess. No trace of the earlier mood was left.

"Keep dreaming."

"Mm, it has nothing to do with dreams, though the activity happens to involve a bed," he replied with a sly wink.

She ignored his comment. "Your vest is in the bathroom," she said instead, heading in that direction.

When he made no move to get up, she added, "Come on, Romeo. We don't have all day."

He trailed after her into the bathroom, but before he could reach the doorway, she tossed the vest at him.

"You stay out here," she said firmly, pushing him back towards the hallway. Disappointed, he tried giving her his best puppy eyes. She didn't budge.

"If we're both in there, we'll never get anything done," she reasoned, a hint of amusement in her voice, before closing the door in his face.

"Yes, ma'am."

Standing in the hallway, the vest in his hand, he found himself staring at his reflection in a mirror. He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head with a small smile. Honestly, he could only admire her determination and persistence. Probably one of the countless reasons he fell for her in the first place. And why he was in this current situation.

Let's just say that once they overcame the initial shyness, it became almost impossible to keep their hands off each other, especially in the comfort of their home. A simple brush of hands could ignite a passion within them that neither of them could (or wanted to) control. It took every ounce of his hard-earned self-control not to give in to his impulses and ravish her at work. Honestly, he felt like some randy, hormone-driven teenager, and sometimes, he suspected she felt the same way.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, lost in thought. So he didn't notice her approaching from behind, until she wrapped her arms around him, standing on tiptoe, and rested her chin on his shoulder. He smiled, looking at their reflection in the mirror. "That's what true happiness is supposed to look like," he thought.

And just as he had predicted, she looked absolutely stunning. And that's exactly what he told her.

"You look beautiful, my love."

She turned her head slightly, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and hugged him tightly once more before letting him go and heading for the bedroom.

"Aren't you going to say how handsome I look?" he called after her.

"I wouldn't want it going to your head," she teased, glancing over her shoulder.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Oh, come on. Admit it– you can't resist the vest."

"Maybe it's less about the vest and more about the man wearing it," she quipped.

He chuckled softly, a deep, warm sound that echoed in the quiet air.

"Maybe," he conceded. "I'll take it as a compliment anyway," he muttered, turning back to his reflection.

"If you say so," her voice suddenly chimed beside him. He couldn't help but flinch slightly. She had snuck up on him. This woman would be the death of him one day. He was about to voice his irritation when a kiss landed on his cheek.

"You look very handsome," she said with a smile, giving his bum a playful pat before walking away. Jane couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across his face.

"And now hurry up!" he heard her laughing as she disappeared.

Thanks for reading!

If you have any tips, critiques, or ideas for future chapters, feel free to share! I'm always happy to hear from you!

(Chapter title comes from the poem "Little Secrets: a poem." by D. Wyn Price)

(This story was also published on A03.)