Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist or any of its related characters or themes.

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Of Acorns and Colds

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"Lisbon?"

"..."

"...Lisbooonnn?"

"..."

"... Liiisssssbbbboo-"

"-WHAT IS IT, Jane?" Lisbon snapped, finally looking up from her paperwork. Ever since their last case ended it had been a paperwork nightmare at CBI Sacramento. A simple murder case turned into a nasty four-weeks-and-several bureau-agencies-involved-case. It took forever for the CBI to coordinate with the DA, then the FBI and finally ending up back at Sacramento PD. Oh the joy of forwarding twenty emails to three different agencies at once, then replying to all sixty return emails individually. Numbers might come naturally to Lisbon and Cho, but trying to coerce Rigsby to indulge in some sticky-note apps... things did not end well... or, ARE not ending well.

Especially not when a sick –possibly contagious- Patrick Jane was thrown into the mix.

"Can you pwuueeezzeee get me cup of tea?" he asked, trying to crane his neck enough to allow her to see his puppy-dog eyes.

"Can you pwueeze get it yourself? I'm busy," she retorted flatly without missing a beat. Although, she couldn't but feel a slight tugging at her heartstrings at the sight of him just lying there. And the wet cough he's trying to suppress isn't sounding too good. But, he looked better than yesterday...

He's got his one arm slung over his stomach, the other covering his eyes. He's got his jacket draped over him and, by the looks of it, was still shivering.

On their last stake-out Patrick had started with the sneezing. The fidgeting. The fever-stained cheeks. The whining.

Good gravy could he whine. At least the whining only started when he actually started feeling BETTER. Which didn't make much sense to anyone in Lisbon's unit... well... discounting Cho, that is. Cho's rationalization of some topics could probably end up one day proving the existence of aliens and UFO's, but nonetheless, his explanation was logical and simple: Does he want to appear weak and fragile when he really is?

Obviously, no.

He was quite content to sit upright with his blazer on during the worst of his fever, reading through an old case-file. Jane would force himself to sit, feet planted on the floor –another thing he almost never did- as he read. He would force himself to read through the entire case-file before asking if there was anything anyone needed help with before taking off for an hour. Then, by the hour, he would rock up again, a glaze to his eyes and sleep-lines indented on the side of his face. No doubt having used that time to take a quick nap.

But now? He was lying down in the workroom, dramatically fussing over how bright the lights are, how noisy everyone is and how much he would loooovvveee a cup of tea.

"Cho...?" Jane asked, diverting his attention to his next victim. "Could you please bring me a cup of tea?"

Cho didn't even look up, "Ask Rigsby."

..."Rigsby?"

"Ask Van Pelt."

Van Pelt looked up, her phone still to her ear, "Hmmm... what?"

And Patrick Jane had the audacity to bat his eyelashes at her, "Van Pelt?".

"...Whhhaaattt?" she couldn't help but say distrustfully, a frown forming on her face.

"Tea, please?" Jane asked, smiling sweetly. And he look every bit as sweet as a Easter-egg wrapped up in pink cotton candy.

"Um... sure," she said, but abruptly held up her hand to silence him, "Yes- I'm still here... thank you...", and with that, mouthed an 'I'm sorry' to Jane.

He flipped over, dangling his one hand on the floor and sighed -deeply. He grunted –loudly- as he stood up. Stretched to the side until his back popped –distractingly. And then shuffled over to the kitchen –noisily. And everyone around pretended to just ignore him. And they did a pretty good job since he ended up walking normally once he passed the threshold of Lisbon's office.

Jane ended up taking his time to brew his tea. The layman way. Steeping the teabag in the cup of milk and warm –not boiling- water for about four minutes before finally adding sugar. The Earl Grey flavour was delicious. Not exactly the blend he was accustomed to, but it will have to do.

He picked up his cup, waltzed over to the back table and set it down on the counter. He took a seat, yawning as he did. Not that he was tired. Of course not.

Patrick took his time to lean forwards, inhaling the steam of the tea, smiling as the smell hit him. The warmth and moisture even helped the raspy edge to his breathing, although the heat did feel like it was scalding the tip of his red-scrubbed nose.

He enjoyed it for a moment longer before the eventual niggling sniffle started to take a sharp turn to sneeze-ville. He leaned to the side, grabbing his handkerchief just in time and holding it to his nose. "HHHCCCTTXXXCHHH-", he blew his nose as covertly as possibly and tucked the offending object back into his pocket until the next time his body betrayed him.

He hated being sick. Hated it.

Jane rested his head in his hand, massaging his forehead. He was pretty sure he had already taken some painkillers this morning, and couldn't help but wonder why he suddenly felt like he hadn't. He passed it off as him becoming accustomed to them and diverted his attention back to his tea-brew.

Oh glorious creamy haze of deliciousness... He took a sip. Revelling in the warmth it soaked back into him. Even his sore throat just seemed to numb when he drank his tea. Even his headache seemed to disappear...

...

... ...

"Jane?"

With a start, Patrick's eyes opened. 'I fell asleep here?' he thought with bewilderment, his head still on his arms, and him still in a sitting position. Even his last view of the office hadn't changed. Well... maybe the fact that it had been early afternoon back then, and right now, it seemed to be dark out. Not good.

He inadvertently grunted as he sat up, cringing as his back protested from being hunched over for so long.

"What are you still doing here?" Lisbon asked, a hint of amusement to her voice. By the looks of it, she was packed to leave, bags and files and everything in her arms.

"Finishing my tea," Jane replied smoothly and stood up. And taking a step back. And back. And-

"JANE!" and with a desperate grab, Lisbon latched on to Jane's wrist and pulled him upright.

"Whoopps... " he said airly, brushing off the hollow feeling in his stomach, the dark spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked, not releasing her hold.

"I'm fine," he retorted, and collected his cup and saucer, heading to the sink. "Don't you have a date for tonight?"

"I do... " she answered unsurely, still trying to get a read on her friend, "Are you still sick?"

Still sick. He frowned, "No," was his curt reply. He headed back to 'his' couch and grabbed his wallet and cell. He looked outside. There was still the last edges of light to be seen on the horizon, but the stars had already started to shine and the new moon peeking through the cloudy mist. He started to yawn again, but ended up sneezing instead. He held his hand over his mouth, quickly replacing it with his handkerchief. He suppressed a wince as he rubbed his sensitive nose.

"Jane?" Lisbon called, now standing in the threshold of the workroom. "Are you okay?"

He turned around and the look he wasn't giving her, was all the answer she needed. He didn't have that cocky, teasing look on his face. The same one had had on earlier today.

Right now, it was replaced by a pair of red-rimmed glazed eyes, dark circles underneath those eyes, very pale skin and two very fever-red cheeks. He didn't exactly look like a picture of health. He was even breathing harder than normal, a raspy tone now lining his voice.

"I'm fine, thank you," he repeated, stuffing his cell and wallet in his pants' pocket, straightening out his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She watched his slightly swaying walk as he passed her and not until he pressed the elevator button did she react, "Jane... I think I should drive you," she said and walked closer to him.

His shoulders stiffened up for a moment, "No, thank you, I'm really okay... " he said and buzzed the elevator again.

"You're so stubborn..." she growled, hugging her files closer as she walked until she reached his side, "You pass out while driving and crash your French import around a Oak tree and when an acorn falls from that gigantic tree and dents the roof of your car... possibly crashing right through it and landing on your head and give you a concussion... I will be standing in the ICU three days later saying 'I told you so'."

"...You are the only person I know who could associate acorns with concussions... " he said, stepping in as the doors of the elevator opened, "... but you may have a point...". He knew, in her own way, she was showing that she really cared about him. The overdrawn dramatic scenes usually ended up being his department, but sometimes she could wield them at her advantage –if she really needed to- and she would often do so to get him to follow her orders. And that's just how they worked. She knew him well enough to know what will and won't work on him, same with him. Only difference is, Jane was an expert in the field and Teresa was still learning... and it was a good thing she's a quick study.

"Don't expect me to buy you dinner... I still have a date, you know," Lisbon pre-emptively said, punching in the 'ground' floor-button.

"I wasn't expecting anything..." he said flatly and turned around, leaning on the wall of the elevator. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket again, holding it to his nose. He clamped his thumb and first finger around his nose, trying his best to muffle out the oncoming barrage of sneezes about to erupt. And, at first, it was alright. Only a slight jerk of his head was a sign of him sneezing, but after the third one, he was sniffling and coughing in between and Lisbon was rubbing comforting circles on his back.

"Jane, breathe... you're turning purple," Lisbon said, her eyes widening with each second. She honestly didn't realize that things had progressed so far in such a short time. She was pretty sure this morning that he was over his small bout of sinus trouble from the day before. She was sure he looked alright... but now...

The door pinged and Lisbon slowly led Patrick out of the elevator, "Just take a deep breath... " she kept on saying, lightly clapping his back.

He gulped in the night air and sighed. After a few moments of panting, his breathing was back to normal. "Sorry about that... 't went down the wrong pipe I guess..." he quickly said, forcing himself to make a cheesy grin.

"...I guess..." Lisbon repeated doubtfully, looking him over.

When Teresa led them to her car, she was intermittently sighing, a trait she reserved for the times they were sent on one of those goose-chasing cases. It wasn't the usual tired sigh. Or the what-have-you-done-now sigh. OR the do-I-REALLY-have-to?-Sigh. But Patrick didn't comment on that, he just simply followed.

Not half an hour later and Teresa pulled up in front of Jane's apartment, keeping the engine running as Jane exited the car. "Thanks, Lisbon," Jane said, a sharp sneeze punctuating the slamming shut of the door.

Another sigh. "I'll cancel my date... " she started, fishing her cell from her pocket.

"What are you going to do that for?" Jane asked, ducking his head down so he could meet her eyes.

"You're sick..." she said, as if it were as clear as daylight.

"I don't get sick..." Jane replied and waved his hand dismissively, "Go on your date..."

"-but" Lisbon started, but Patrick simply grinned at her.

"Go."

"But what if -" she started up again, but this time it was Jane's turn to sigh.

"If I were sick... I would much rather wallow in my own misery than listen to you complain about missing your date to take care of me..." he reasoned airily.

"...Are you sure?" she asked, unsurely dropping her cell back into her pocket.

Am I sure that I would much rather wallow in self-pity than listen to you complain about having to look after me while I'm sick... ... "Yes... I'm sure..." he said and turned on his heel and headed to his apartment. Because I'm not sure I can handle you complaining about spending time with me instead of the person you're dating.

And with that, he headed up to his apartment, fully intent on getting to sleep as soon as possible. And THAT is something he could live with...

He locked his apartment and took off his jacket, hanging it on the coat-rack. He dropped his cell and wallet on the stand next to the front door and headed into the kitchen.

Water. All he needed before heading off to bed was a glass of water and some cold meds. Hopefully no sleeping pills.

He paused as he passed the medicine cabinet on his way back from the faucet, noticing the small shooter glass stocked up with pills. He took a closer look, noticing the different coloured tablets inside.

It suddenly hit him that he hadn't taken his cold medicine that morning... that he HAD left it to the last minute and DID forget about it. No wonder he felt like a piece of trout dragged out on the sidewalk. Shrugging, he finally popped the contents into his mouth and washed it down with the glass of water.

'This could've saved me so much trouble if I took it when I was supposed to...' he thought morbidly, shuffling to his bed.

A buzzing of his phone alerted him of a text he just received, but he wasn't about to head back just for one text. He was on a mission. A mission of slumber. And he was fully intend on fulfilling that mission if-

Another buzz. Not good.

He slowly headed back to the stand, checking his phone. 1 missed call. 1 new message.

Accessing his inbox, he checked out the ID's. Lisbon?

'Hope you feel better soon. Sent team 2 check in. You better still be sick when Rigsby gets there or some1 will get shot.'

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Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!

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