Yay! Chapter three. This one made me happy, because I've been wanting to write about Jane/Grace for a while. This is them watching the movie "He's just not that into you." I'm not sure if it's OOC, especially at the end, but it was fun. There's a nod to J/L if you squint, because I can't help it. Please R&R.

It's a rare day off.

I'm a rookie, and a good one, I think—and that means I haven't had a Saturday off in almost two months. It's going to be a quiet day—I'm standing in line for a movie in the mall, wearing a pink tee-shirt and jeans, which feels foreign after months of suits. A quiet, uneventful afternoon.

In front of me, a group of women, maybe five to seven years older than me, look off to the left, giggle at what they see, and turn back, nudging each other. Like it's high school, and they're ogling some hot jock who doesn't need to shave yet, but does it to feel like a man. I snicker to myself at them, until I see who they're checking out. And then I'm not smiling anymore. I'm rolling my eyes.

It's Jane.

Jane, wearing a white tee shirt, jeans, and an understated leather jacket, strolling through the mall all self-assured, like he does this every day. Quiet afternoon with myself and a chick flick? That idea is officially toast.

He comes up to me, of course—his eyes get brighter, he bounces over to stand beside me in line like a little kid. The women in front of me look sour, and I actually laugh. As much as I like Jane, they have no idea what I'm saving them from.

"Van Pelt!" He's smiling that dangerously handsome, infectious sort of smile. "Aren't we looking lovely today? The pink suits you."

Okay, I want to be annoyed. I really do. I want to be annoyed so I can be cold, and then Jane will tell me to have a nice day, and I can go on with my afternoon as planned. Not that I dislike Jane, far from it, but with him everything turns into an event, and I'd like some peace for at least one day. If that doesn't totally make me a bitch.

But I'm not annoyed. That's the thing. It's really hard to be annoyed when you've got Jane with you going a million miles an hour—the sheer energy is enough to make you smile. You really can't help it. I'm not blessed with Lisbon's poker face, and even she has trouble keeping it in.

So that's the point. I'm grinning back. I'm encouraging Patrick Jane. God help me.

"And you're here to see 'He's Just Not That into You'? Mind if I tag along? I've been meaning to check that one out."

It sounds like a question, right? The untrained ear would think he was asking permission. But I know him, and the untrained ear would be sadly, sadly mistaken. It's not a question, it's a statement of intent.

So, the best thing to do? Roll with it. Trying to change Jane's mind is like standing in front of a train and politely asking it to stop. It's something I've learned in the past few months, and something which the boss is just recently coming around to—with Jane, the best thing you can do is try to limit the damage.

We get to the front of the line, and he orders our tickets with some air of authority. He takes out his wallet to pay for them. I shut my mouth and figure I'll leave the seven-fifty on his desk at work on Monday.

The lady behind the counter—a pretty blonde in her early fifties, I would guess—smiles at me. I peek at her name tag. Her name is Paula.

"You've hooked a good one, honey. Coming to see chick flicks with you?" She raises her eyebrows suggestively at me.

Um… say what now? What just happened? I guess it's a reasonable assumption to make—it's a Saturday afternoon and we're seeing a movie, dressed casual. He's older than me, but not anywhere near enough to be my father, and he doesn't look enough like me to be my brother. And he's good looking, to be sure—if I knew him a little bit less, I'd probably be attracted to him. And so as these thoughts are going around in my head, I'm silent a bit too long, because it gives Jane time to swoop in.

"Well, Gracie here is absolutely worth it," he says with a cheeky grin. Putting an arm around me to seal the deal.

Gracie? Seriously? Gracie?

What would Lisbon do right now? She's a little bit tougher than me in this department, the Jane department. She'd do something to embarrass him back. I'm trying to channel my boss right now, but it's not coming. And so I'm silent while he pays, silent as he gets the tickets, silent as he gives Paula a charming smile and grabs my hand to lead me away. Seriously. There is something wrong with me.

It's not until we get more than fifty feet away that I snatch my hand back, and glare at him. "Do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Embarrass me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure."

My mind is stuck on a case we worked three months ago—the one with that wacko art dealer—when we went probing around in that small town, and Jane just had to make up that story that we were, what? Engaged, and he had been my professor but had seduced me, and that was why he was over ten years older than me and we were getting married. Just in case the random people sitting in the art store happened to want to know that about two complete strangers. And then, as now, I'd just kept my mouth shut and waited for it to be over.

"Popcorn?" Jane's voice breaks through the memory. Well… I'm cutting out junk food. I'm always cutting out junk food, because I never entirely cut it out. So, sure. Extra butter. And packets of salt on the side. Why the hell not.

***

"I don't know if this movie is entirely accurate," Jane whispers loudly to me less than fifteen minutes in.

"It's not scientifically proven, Jane." I hiss back. "It's just a movie."

The two women in front of us turn around and glare, and I fall silent. Jane doesn't.

"Well, that's true," he says, gesturing at the screen. It's at the part where Beth's fiancé doesn't want to get married. "If a man doesn't marry you after seven years, something's up. Although it's stating the obvious, I'd say."

"Be quiet. And some women need to hear it," I reply. It's true. I rub my arms, trying to warm them in the cold of the theater.

He turns to me. "You speaking from experience?" He means to whisper, but Jane entirely lacks volume control. The women in front of us turn to glare again.

"My sister," I whisper back. "She waited nine years for her boyfriend to marry her before she realized what we all already knew."

"Realized what?"

I look up at him. He's turned toward me, blue eyes wide in the dark. Jane's a good listener, he's interested in people. Most of the time I'm annoyed by it, because it translates into prying, but it's actually a good quality.

"That he never really loved her. I swore I wouldn't let that happen to me."

"That's sad." Then he pauses, considering. "I think that explains something about you, Grace."

Of course he takes a small, mundane story that's not even about me, and makes it mean something.

"Shut up, Jane."

The movie goes on. It's cute, but undoubtedly a chick flick. I keep looking over at Jane, expecting him to look like guys tend to look when women drag them to see girl movies, but he never does. He watches movies like he watches people; head tilted to the side, rapt, analyzing them.

"That's not true, either," he says later, pointing to the screen again. "That if a man is interested, he'll automatically make it happen."

I shush him with a finger on my lips.

"I'm saying, it assumes all men are wired the same way. Like that book that came out a few years ago, with the rules in it for women?"

"You read that?"

"I read a lot of things. It said that a woman should never, under any circumstances, talk to a man first, because he'll never be interested. "Which is totally untrue."

I shouldn't be interested, but I am. "You think so?"

"I'm sure of it. You, Grace, could talk to almost any man you wanted, and I'm sure that at least eighty percent of the time they would enthusiastically reciprocate."

I find myself giggling, I can't help it. "Be quiet."

"And Rigsby, he's not exactly making it happen, is he? But we all know he loves you."

I've been trying to keep that whole thing to myself, without success. I throw out, half-heartedly, "He does not. Mind your business."

"I just mean, you could drop him a line, and he wouldn't be less interested. All men have had a woman who they just couldn't make it happen with, something got in the way… it happens."

"To you?"

"Well, not to me."

"And why do I doubt you're telling me the truth, Jane?"

"Because you're very perceptive."

"And I've witnessed direct evidence to the contrary." Direct evidence with green eyes and dark hair that comes into the office every day just after seven in the morning.

He looks at me and shakes his head, looking like a man who has been caught. "Perceptive indeed, Grace." He surprisingly slips out of his jacket, and hands it over to me.

"What's this for?"

"You're cold." He says. It's not a question.

I consider giving the jacket back, but I really am cold. The jacket is big on me, the fleece inside it warm and comfortable. "Thank you."

The woman in front of us turns, her face obviously annoyed. "Could you two please shut up?"

I put my hand over my mouth, suddenly guilty.

***

The movie ends after two hours.

As we're walking out, I'm still picking at the kernels in the bottom of the big container of popcorn Jane and I shared. I still have his jacket draped around my shoulders.

"I'm still hungry," I fake-whine.

"So I'll buy you lunch." Jane's smile is charming, and contagious. I don't take time to think about it.

"That sounds nice." Well, it does. Jane can be great company when he decides to be, it turns out.

"I know a good Turkish place."

"I'd rather have Italian."

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it?"

Just before we walk out, Paula from the front desk calls to us. "You two enjoy the movie?"

"Immensely," Jane replies. "Gracie has wonderful taste in movies. She always picks a great one."

He's doing the Gracie thing again. And putting his arm around my shoulders again. And I'm freezing on the spot, unable to move, again. When does this ever end?

"Oh, and he always lets you pick the movies," Paula shakes her head at me. "You've really got a great one, honey."

There are a number of things I could say. Number one, I don't have him. Number two, if I did, I'm sure it's not all it's cracked up to be, although almost every woman he comes in contact with probably wouldn't believe me. The charm just makes them fall in love with him. Number three, I like someone else, and I get the vibe that he does, too.

I don't say any of that. I smile wanly, and keep silent.

"It's not so unselfish of me, if I'm being honest, Paula," Jane says, adopting a naughty look. "I get something quite pleasant out of the deal, if I do say so myself."

"I'm sure it pays dividends," Paula replies, in the same suggestive tone Jane has. Jane grins, enjoying himself way too much.

That's it. He is toast.

"Oh, you have no idea," I say to Paula. I lean up, and plant one right on Jane's lips. My mouth is closed, but his isn't because I've caught him by surprise. It only lingers for a second, it's quite chaste, but Jane obviously wasn't prepared for it.

"It's going to be paying dividends tonight," I continue, fixing him with the most lascivious stare I can manage.

Paula giggles. "You two have a good night, now," she says, as I lead Jane away by the wrist.

His eyes are wide, he's shaking his head at me. Shell-shocked. He can dish it, but he can't take it, huh? I just totally stood in the path of the train, and it stopped in its tracks.

"That's right. I can play, too." I wink at him and start walking to my car.

It takes him a second to catch up.