A/N: This little ditty came from something demonbunny7 PMed me. She was making a joke about something she said which gave me an idea for Death, Lies, and Videotape... SO she said she'd give me another topic: Eskimos, Pop tarts, and Orange Juice Fluff. She was kidding... I took it to heart. So this story is for her (she may not want it, but she can't give it back). It's my first full on Jane/Grace story :) All mistakes are mine. All characters are not.

Enjoy...... It's a one shot (You'll thank me for that lOL)

Pop tarts and Orange Juice

"We're stuck."

"We are not. We are just unable to move from our current location."

"Jane!"

"Van Pelt."

"Ug!"

That was the conversation that had transpired thirty minutes ago. Nothing much had been said since. It had been a nice Friday morning. A warm April day. Beautiful on all counts. The temps were in the mid sixties. Weather that called for a light jacket in the morning which could be taken off at noon.

At about 9:30, I made the biggest mistake I believe I've had ever made in my life. All in the quest of a glass of orange juice and a pop tart.

I had skipped breakfast, my first stupid mistake of the day. My stomach decided to remind me of that fact every five minutes like clockwork by rumbling loudly, embarrassing me. I tried to cover it up, but the rumbling wouldn't be denied. Every time it did, I swore I could see Patrick Jane smiling at me from his couch.

Apparently at 9:30, Jane decided he couldn't take it anymore and came over to my desk, sitting himself down on the edge and grinning his evil, swarmy, charming, handsome... where was I? Oh, his stupid, idiotic grin at me, not saying a word. I tried to ignore him like I tend to do when he looks at me like that because A) I hate it. and B) I love it. Having Patrick Jane smile, genuinely smile, at you is like eating turnip greens. You have to get a taste for it, but after you do, you respond favorably every time it is in front of you. So already having those conflicting thoughts in my head, and my stomach rumbling, AND the before mentioned Patrick Jane grinning at me with those big blue eyes and dimples... well, I should have known to say no. I shouldn't have indulged him by asking, "What do you want?" But I was hungry, and stupid... and well... I ended up here.

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11:23 am.

"I can not believe you got us stuck down here." I said, pounding on the old wooden door like an idiot. I don't know who I expected to come and get me. I was in a cellar, underneath an old abandoned theater. How did I get down here?........

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"What do you want, Jane?" I asked impatiently. Highly annoyed that I felt a little thrill running up my spine at the closeness of 'Mr. Jane'.

His eyes twinkled as he offered me his hand. "Come with me. Help me with something, and I'll buy you whatever you want to eat."

I should have said no. I know that now. When a con-artist asks you to come with them, you just say no. Like Nancy Reagan drilled into my head in the 80s. I, however, wanted a pop tart. A strawberry pop tart. I wanted orange juice. I wanted some sort of food.... and there in was why I sold my soul to that devil Patrick Jane.

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I should have prefaced this by saying that we had been working on a case. Someone had been killing stagehands at the Olympic Theater dressed as an Eskimo (the killer not the theater). Cho and Rigsby had been staking out the place, seeing if they could find anything, and Lisbon had recieved a court order to place recorders and video devices down in the cellar where the killer was thought to change clothes between slayings. It was one of our more weird cases, but still, it was California. Weird was our middle name.

Turns out that Jane had talked Lisbon into allowing himself and I to install said video and audio equipment in the cellar of the theater. He knew that I hated cellars. I hated being closed in. He saw it as a way to 'free me of my fear'. I saw it as a mean move by Jane to control my life. Still, I went in the cellar of my own free will. I placed the video feeds and microphones in hidden locations. And I would have walked out of the cellar... if the door hadn't been stuck.

Yes, I was stuck in the cellar of the Olympic Theater trying to catch a killer who dressed as an Eskimo while I craved orange juice and pop tarts.

This could have very well went down as the worst day in history.

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"Breathe, Van Pelt. It's ok." He told me, standing feet from me, trying to show me how to breathe. I knew how to breath, the arrogant buffoon. I had just forgotten how at the moment.

"I can't believe you got me stuck down here." I said through ragged breaths. I hated closed spaces. Hated with a fiery passion. There was some dark deep seeded reason why, but that wasn't the point. The point was I was stuck in this hole, close to Hell with, of all people, Patrick Jane.

"I'm stuck with you." he reminded me. God it was annoying.

"Yeah, well, you aren't claustrophobic." I reminded him.

"And neither are you."

"Am so."

"Am not."

"Am so." We were fighting like school children, excellent. Then it hit me. I did actually live in the 21st century. I felt in my pockets, hopeful to find my cell. "Damn it." I huffed under my breath.

"What?" he asked.

"I lost my cellphone."

"Hm." was all I got from him. A measly little "Hm". Angrily, I huffed and sat down on a crate in front of the one boarded up window which let in just a little light from the cracks in the wood. I rested my face in my hands, trying to fight the urge to either beat the living daylights out of Jane or cry. I didn't want to cry.

Crying was trying to win out however. It was then something surprisingly tender happened. I felt Jane squat in front of me. He gently took my hands in his and raised my chin to look in his eyes. "I'm sorry I've frightened you." he said. It sounded genuine. I couldn't help it. That darn shiver raced up my spine again. I didn't say anything in response. I didn't trust myself. He didn't either. He didn't have too. Sweetly, his fingers followed the line of my jaw up to my cheek. His eyes held mine, and before knew it, he kissed me. The kiss was light, maybe even a little fluffy. Not like a romance novel kiss, but a genuine kiss.

My body was in shock. I mean, Patrick Jane.. kissing me. But he was. His hand glided up to my hair and held my head firmly as his kisse deepened.

I didn't kiss him back at first. I couldn't make my lips move. I felt like a girl having her first kiss, but soon my body began to react and my hands circled his neck. My fingers ran their way through his golden curls. I smiled under his lips. I'd wanted to touch his hair since the moment I saw him.

The kiss began to intensify as he placed a hand on the small of my back, pushing my body toward him, and I ran my fingers lightly over his neck and down the part of his chest his open collar exposed.

I'd like to say that it was me who released first, but it was him. He stopped himself and leaned back, eyes back on mine again. He didn't look sorry he'd kissed me which relieved me. I didn't think I could take it if he felt remorse. "I'm sorry." he said makign my heart. "No." he clarified, sensing my sadness. "I'm not sorry for kissing you. That was wonderful. Something I'd like to do again sometime actually. I'm sorry for this--" he reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone. The warm fuzzy feeling began to fade and anger swept in. "You set me up, you son of a-- "

"I was helping you, Grace." he answered defensively.

"Great, I feel all helped now." I was furious, well as furious as I could be at Patrick Jane-- he of the mesmerizing blue eyes and angel like facial features. I stood and walked to the door. "I guess you did this too."

He blushed.. Patrick Jane actually blushed. He reached in his other pocket and retrieved a key. He jiggled something. Jangled something else and bom! We were out.

I walked out and into the blissfully fresh air. I wasn't stuck inside the cellar any more. In a very uncharactic move, Jane took my hand and led me back to his car. I wondered what that meant... or if it meant anything. I wondered if we were going to have to have that talk.

If I had thought about it, I would have wondered how much Cho, Rigsby, and Lisbon had seen and heard from the audio and video feed that had been transmitting from the room during our 'endeaver'. But I didn't think about it. I only had one thing on my mind. "What do you want, Grace?" Jane asked as sincere as I've ever heard him speak. "If you could have anything, what would you want?"

I thought for a minute and then said, "Pop tarts and orange juice. I'm starving."

My answer surprised him, and he laughed harder than I'd heard him laugh before. He was now relaxed, not romantic Jane as he'd been in the room. That was fine. There was always a place for romantic Jane, but relaxed Jane was fun too.

"As you wish." he said, driving me down the road and onward to my awaiting breakfast.