A/N: This chapter went on much longer than I intended, but I hope you don't mind. Thanks for the great reviews of the past chapters. I hope you like this one too. There's some Rigspelt to start you off, and a healthy dose of Jisbon at the end.

Chapter 4

Rigsby was on his way out of the office for the day when he nearly ran into Van Pelt, her head down, just exiting the ladies' room. He held out his hands to prevent a collision, steadying her. When she looked up in gratitude, he noted that her eyes were on the red side, as if she'd been crying.

"Grace?" he asked, his hands holding her upper arms lightly. "You okay?"

She sniffed a little self-consciously. "Yeah." Then, to Rigsby's horror, her brown eyes welled with sudden tears. "No," she amended. "I'm not okay."

Rigsby looked around, then led her by the hand into an empty interrogation room. He shut the door, closing the blinds and pulling out a chair at the table for her. He passed her the Kleenex box, and she promptly dabbed at her eyes and nose. He took what would be Cho's normal seat across the table from her.

"Sorry," Van Pelt was saying. "I've tried to keep this to myself, but Jane really pissed me off."

"Jane?" he said, hoping he sounded innocently neutral enough. "What did Jane do?"

"He made me think he was"-her face reddened with embarrassment—"that he was…in love with me."

"What?"

"Yeah." She briefly explained what of course Rigsby already knew about the letters and the poetry, but he was more than curious to hear what had occurred at the café in his absence. He'd only looked sheepishly at Jane after lunch the day before, and the consultant had said nothing to him. Rigsby had known he was being a wimp, but he'd found he couldn't face her, wasn't ready to tell this beautiful woman of his true feelings for her for fear she'd reject him. Well, Jane obviously hadn't told her that he was the one Jane had been writing for. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but it pained him to think she was this upset because she'd thought Jane didn't love her.

"Jane said he was helping out a friend who was too shy to tell me his true feelings. You know who he's talking about?" She asked him, an eyebrow raised speculatively.

Rigsby supposed he could lie, maybe even get away with it since Jane hadn't named names. But Van Pelt was very upset with both Jane and the secret admirer who'd bailed on her, and if she even suspected him, Rigsby knew he'd lose all hope of ever winning her if he lied now.

"Yes," he sighed, running a nervous hand through his spiky dark hair. "It was"—and he cleared his throat—"it was me."

He expected her to yell and lambast him, maybe even slap his face. He certainly deserved it. But she only sat in her seat across from him, regarding him evenly.

"When Jane told me what he'd done, I thought it might have been for you."

Rigsby blushed. "I'm that obvious, eh?"

She actually smiled a little. "Yes. But you didn't have to get Jane to do your dirty work for you. And you certainly screwed up by standing me up for lunch. Am I really so difficult to talk to?"

"Yes," Rigsby admitted. "You intimidate the hell out of me."

Van Pelt looked genuinely surprised. "I do? Why? I try to be open and friendly-"

"You are, you are," Rigsby rushed to reassure her. "You're just so—so pretty. So smart. Way out of my league. I'm sorry for putting you through all that e-mail garbage. Sorry for being a no-show at the cafe, too" he finished, looking away in acute embarrassment.

She regarded him now, having been fully prepared to lay into him, bring up words like sexual harassment or worse, cowardice. But he seemed genuinely penitent, and very sweet in his admiration for her. She reached out a hand to touch his where it rested on the table.

"Tell me, Wayne, did you actually read some of the things Jane wrote?"

He looked down in surprise at her hand over his, then looked up to meet her eyes. It was like she had hit him, only he felt it in his gut. He swallowed. "Yes, I read them. And I…I agreed with everything he said."

She smiled slowly, sweetly at him, and he felt suddenly at ease, relieved she hadn't unloaded on him like he deserved.

"Thanks. It was all very flattering. But I like this Wayne so much better, here in person, not hiding behind flowery words that aren't your own."

"You like me?" he asked, feeling foolishly like a twelve-year-old boy in front of his junior high crush. He was tempted to ask if she liked him liked him.

"Yes, of course I do. You're such a genuinely nice guy. It's been hard to find many like you since I moved to California. And really handsome too," she added, an appreciative gleam in her eye. "You know, if it hadn't been against the rules, I might have been the one to invite you to my room that first case we worked together." Van Pelt's heart picked up a little at her own daring.

Rigsby himself remembered well the first day they'd met, how Jane had teased both of them mercilessly about how taken Rigsby had been with their new team member. He might have propositioned her too, if Jane hadn't tipped his hand, or, (if Rigsby were honest with himself), if he'd had the balls to do it.

He grinned, still blushing at the memory. "You don't have to say that, Grace. You're really being too nice about this whole thing. I'd punch a man if he did that to me."

Grace smiled mischievously, lacing her fingers with his and leaning closer over the table. "Are there many men sending you love poems, Wayne?"

He flushed anew, then chuckled in appreciation of her humor. "Well, you know how it is. Handsome guy like me and all."

They stared at each other, smiling, warmth spreading up their arms from where their hands were still connected.

"Look, Grace. I know it's against the rules and all, but still…would you ever consider maybe…going out for dinner sometime?"

Her smile turned sad and he realized he had his answer. She stood then, releasing his hand with a squeeze, and he rose to his feet like his mother taught him. But as his heart sank into his stomach, he watched in surprise as she slowly walk around the table and stopped in front of him. He was a tall man, but she was tall for a woman, especially in high-heeled boots, and she need only arch her neck up a little in order to reach his lips. Before he'd even realized it was happening, she moved her soft mouth from his.

"Maybe," she whispered. "Sometime…"

She left him then, alone in the interrogation room, the scent of lilacs the only evidence that she'd been there at all. That, and Rigsby's gently pounding heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon received her second letter from Jane the next morning, this time slipped beneath her apartment door. She stopped short when she saw the familiar envelope, as fearful to pick it up as if it were on fire.

She realized now she had feelings for him that went far beyond friendship, thanks in part to his last letter. Now why couldn't he just leave her alone to try to deal with it?

She found that her hand was shaking as she bent her knees to retrieve it, and she carefully opened the envelope, the same expensive stationary only emphasizing the importance of the message—at least to Lisbon. She unfolded it, and, stomach quivering in dread, began to read.

My Dear Teresa,

It occurred to me that our conversation day before yesterday might have been a bit upsetting for you. I'm sorry for my part in it. I was wrong (yes, you can quote me on that) to have said some of those things. I didn't really mean them. Scratch that—I really didn't mean for them to sound so harsh. You know me; I usually mean what I say, but sometimes I lack a bit of tact. (Quit rolling your eyes, Lisbon. Okay, are you done now?)

Lisbon paused in her reading, laughing out loud at how well he knew her. She had rolled her eyes. She sniffed a little and continued, a small smile playing about her lips.

We're friends, aren't we? As your friend, I just want you to be happy. The poem might have been to charm you out of your anger toward me, but I meant every word, just as I always say what I mean. Your happiness is important to me. Your friendship is important to me. You, dear Lisbon, are important to me.

Let me take you out to dinner to make it up to you—any place you want. But please, for the love of any deity you might worship, do not suggest Mr. Wong's or Burger Palace. Some place nice, where we can dress up. You deserve to be adored, Teresa. I meant it when I said that too.

Yours,

P. Jane

She re-read the letter twice more before returning it to its envelope and slipping it into her blazer jacket pocket with a soft smile. She smiled through morning traffic. Smiled as she drove through to pick up her coffee. She smiled as she parked and walked into the office, smiled some more when she caught sight of Jane sipping tea on his couch in the bullpen. He smiled back, lifting his cup a little in greeting, and she smiled some more when she called out her usual good mornings to the rest of the team before disappearing into her office.

Once settled into her chair, she pulled out the letter again, thinking of the hand that wrote it. Jane had the confident, graceful hands of an artist, a surgeon, or maybe a pianist. They'd caught her eye on many occasions-long, slim fingers holding a teacup, gesturing dramatically, sliding through his unruly hair, performing a card trick for her amusement. She wondered if hands were an indicator of the kind of lover someone was, and she felt her face heat as she looked at his beautiful handwriting, then focused again on what he'd written.

Jane had asked her out on a date. She knew she should feel tremendous trepidation about this, but she found she could not. Perhaps he just saw it as a friendly way to make things up to her, but she planned to use it as a test of her newfound feelings toward him. If she found she cared about him beyond the office doors, then she would know whether it had been more than just envy and loneliness causing her heart to skip a beat when she'd found his letter that morning, or when he'd smiled at her over his tea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty minutes later, Jane tapped on her door and walked right in without waiting for her consent-the better to catch her off guard again. The better to test his own feelings toward her. That had been the reason behind his offer of dinner as well. If he found he cared about her beyond the office doors, then he would know whether it had been more than just sympathy and loneliness causing his heart to skip a beat when she'd smiled at him in the bullpen earlier.

"Jane," she said, briefly startled at the suddenness of his entry, precisely as he'd intended. "Do come in," she said dryly.

"Lisbon." He noticed the familiar envelope sticking out of her pocket, and he found he was inordinately pleased that she'd brought it along with her. Perhaps she would bring it out and re-read it throughout the day. "Did you decide on where you want to go for dinner tonight?"

"Tonight?" she said, surprised apparently that he was moving so quickly. He really wanted to be relieved of some of this torture.

"Yeah. It's Friday. Unless you have other plans…"

She looked at him narrowly, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. He was hard to read as ever, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"No," she replied, "I don't have any plans. Same for you on a Friday night, eh?" she couldn't resist asking. A girl had to stick up for herself a little too.

He grinned good-naturedly. "Nope. Free as a bird. Where do you want to eat?"

She'd actually been thinking of it right as he'd walked in, a search engine already pulling up suggestions for an expensive steakhouse. Her eyes flicked to her computer screen.

"Norton's," she said smugly, noting the outrageously expensive entrees.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Needing to feed your inner carnivore, eh, Lisbon?"

"I'm rather hungry for some red meat all of a sudden," she said menacingly, "and I want it to hurt your pocketbook just enough to make you pay for that old maid remark."

He nodded, cringing inside a little in remembrance of his unfortunate words.

"Fair enough. I'd better get on the horn and see if I can get a reservation. I'll get back to you on the time."

She nodded casually, anticipation already making her heart flutter.

"Oh, Jane," she called after he'd already left her office. He backed up and popped his head and shoulders inside again. "Nice letter this morning."

He smiled gently at her. "You're welcome, Lisbon."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Neither of them was calling this a date, at least not to each other, but when Jane picked Lisbon up at her apartment at seven o'clock, it certainly seemed like one. He'd brought her flowers. He was wearing a tie. He could see her cleavage. There wasn't a better word for it than date.

"You look lovely," he told her, the way his eyes swept her strapless black dress telling her he meant it.

She felt her cheeks go pink. "Thank you. I like your tie." It was shiny and silky and the blue-green matched his eyes exactly.

"Thank you." For the first time in years, they both felt awkward in one another's company.

"These are for you," he said lamely, holding out the bouquet of lavender roses.

"Oh," she said. "How beautiful!"

She gestured that he come inside while she put them in water, and he stood watching her, admiring her bare back, realizing with a clench of his stomach that she couldn't possibly be wearing a bra beneath that dress. She'd curled her hair too, and it hung just above her shoulders in soft, defined corkscrews. She looked sexy and young and he was in no way looking at her as he would a friend.

She turned from the sink at that moment, seeing clearly his admiring appraisal, and she froze, vase and flowers in hand. After a moment under his intense regard, she set the vase on the small dining room table and walked back toward the door, a rush of warmth flowing through her at his masculine appreciation. She felt her confidence returning.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly. He shook his head a little, as if to clear his head, and gave her a forced grin.

"Uh,yeah; let's go." He opened the door for her and his hand fell naturally to her bare back. She couldn't help shivering a little at his touch, and she wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders so he wouldn't see that her trembling wasn't from the cool Sacramento evening.

Three steps away from her door, and the heel of her shoe promptly broke. She stumbled and Jane caught her before she fell, and she grabbed onto him instinctively.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, her ankle throbbing from where it had turned.

"Here, lean on me," he said, helping her back to her door. She bent over to remove her shoes as he held her steady, and he once again was caught off guard by the curve of her small hips beneath the clinging fabric of her dress, and the brief flash of deep cleavage as she awkwardly moved her body.

"Vanity, thy name is Jimmy Choo," he commented, earning an irritated look as she stood before him now, shoeless. She reached back into her small evening clutch for her keys to reopen the door.

"I bought these damn things eight years ago for my tenth high school reunion. Seven hundred bucks, and I've only worn them three times."

"Sorry, Teresa. They were nice shoes." And they did spectacular things for your backside, he finished to himself.

She sighed. "Just give me a minute and I'll find a different pair."

He grinned as she padded barefoot back to her bedroom.

A few minutes later, Lisbon newly shod, they walked to the parking lot to Jane's car. Or, to where Jane's car used to be.

"Where's my car?" he said, looking frantically around the parking lot. "Someone stole my damn car!"

"Are you sure you parked it here," she said calmly, as he stood in the disabled parking space where he claimed it had been parked.

"Yes, Lisbon. It was the closest open place."

"Well, it was parked illegally; maybe it got towed."

"I was only in your apartment ten minutes, tops. No, someone stole it."

"Why would they steal that piece of crap car of yours? And in ten minutes?"

He sighed indulgently, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "First of all, that piece of crap is a classic. Secondly, when I was a kid, I could hotwire a car in five minutes flat. It could be done. Well, obviously it was done. My goddamn car is gone." His hands gesticulated in frustration.

"You used to steal cars?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Well, more like borrow them to impress the girls. I'd put them right back where I found them though, good as new. I even refilled the gas tank if I had any money."

"How thoughtful," she said wryly. "Seems to me Karma's the one who stole your car tonight."

He ignored her jab. "Are you gonna call it in for me or not?"

She took out her cell phone and dialed Sac PD. "Captain Morrison, please," she said, while Jane's eyes continued to scan the parking lot. A moment later, and a man's deep, official voice filled her ear.

"Captain, this is Teresa Lisbon, CBI."

"Agent Lisbon, how may I help you?"

"I need an APB put out on a light blue, 1971 Citroen,"

"Eggshell blue," Jane clarified, and Lisbon amended the color, trying hard not to roll her eyes.

"It's license plate number is…"

Jane gave her a spate of numbers and letters, which she repeated back to the Captain.

"Citroen, eh?" mused the Captain. "Sounds like that consultant's of yours, Patrick Jane's car."

Lisbon cringed, knowing what was coming. "Yes," she said hesitantly. "It was stolen just minutes ago from the Walnut Grove apartment complex on East M street."

"You remember what Mr. Jane did last time he showed up at a Sac PD crime scene, don't you Agent Lisbon?"

She closed her eyes at the vivid memory. "Well, he'd just seen Beverly Hills Cop, and he claimed one of your officers was being snippy with him. He happened to have a banana and—"

"You know, Sergeant Moss got third degree burns trying to get that banana out of his car's tail pipe." Lisbon's hand went to her forehead in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Captain. Please, send me his medical bills and I'll make sure Jane pays them."

"He was being snippy," Jane muttered petulantly under his breath, having caught the gist of the conversation.

"Well, don't blame my men if they don't get into a big hurry to find your man's car."

"Please, sir, as a favor to the CBI, I'd really appreciate it if you took this APB seriously." She turned aside and whispered into the phone. "You can see what I have to deal with on a daily basis, Captain. If we don't find his car soon, he's gonna hound me to death about this."

She heard the man sigh on the other end of the line. "Fine. I have a couple of patrol cars in that area I'll have look around, maybe check out some of the local chop shops. But you owe me, Agent Lisbon."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir. And I'm sorry again for any inconvenience my consultant might have caused in the past. Please call me if you get any leads." She hung up and looked sternly at Jane. "Karma is revisiting you big time tonight, isn't she?"

"Aren't you gonna get Cho and Rigsby on this?"

"No, I am not calling my agents into work on a Friday night unless it's a matter of life or death."

"Well, can we go please? Your car hasn't been stolen, and time is of the essence in these situations."

There goes my steak dinner, Lisbon thought morosely. "Okay. Let's go," she called, walking toward her SUV in resignation.

Two and a half hours later, after driving around the neighborhood to no avail, they pulled in front of Norton's Steakhouse. Jane got out and went to the locked door, then banged on it when he saw the hostess hovering anxiously around the front of the restaurant. He gestured that she come to the door. After a moment's hesitation, she complied, refusing to open it despite his impassioned pleas.

"We're closed, sir. Come back tomorrow night."

"But there are still people eating in there," he said, pointing toward the few remaining patrons who were finishing up their late suppers.

"The chef is no longer cooking, sir. The kitchen's closed."

"I'll pay you five hundred bucks to let us in and throw a couple of steaks on the grill."

"I'm sorry sir. We're—"

"Thanks for nothing!" he said. "And my money and I won't be back to this joint, ever!"

Back in the waiting car, Lisbon hunched down in the driver's seat in mortification.

"Seriously?" she said, pulling quickly away from the curb. "You've just banned us from the best steak place in town?"

"Clearly their customer service leaves something to be desired, Lisbon."

They drove around but found the same situation in every fine restaurant for five square miles. Even Mr. Wong's was closed. That left either some greasy spoon diner or the twenty-four hour drive- through of Burger Palace.

"I'm starving, and if I can't have steak…" Lisbon said, stopping at the outside menu, despite her passenger's protests. He sat looking out the side window, sulking. Without asking his preference, she ordered two cheeseburgers, fries, and two chocolate milkshakes, then drove to the nearest park. Amidst the homeless and the male and female prostitutes hanging around beneath the security lights, Jane and Lisbon ate their own late suppers inside her SUV.

"I'm sorry," Jane said, reluctantly biting into the greasy burger. "This isn't quite what I had in mind to make up for my recent bad behavior."

"Yes, Jane. The way to make up for bad behavior is not more bad behavior."

He smirked around his mouthful and allowed himself to relax, his natural good humor restored with the fat-laden sustenance. Their burgers really were good, he thought, though he would never admit that to Lisbon.

"You're right, of course. But what I'm most sorry for now is that you wasted such a pretty dress on Burger Palace."

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself," she said, and he saw the flash of her smile in the darkness of the car. "And Jane, I am sorry about your car. I'm sure it was just some teenagers off on a joyride."

"Probably. But you know how joyrides frequently end."

In crashes and abandonment, Lisbon knew. She frowned around her French fry. "Sorry," she repeated sincerely.

"Aw, well, the Citroen and I had a good run, she and I. All good things, etc., etc."

"Not all good things," she said, toasting him with her milk shake. "Burger Palace has never let me down."

He chuckled. "Maybe you should get your cholesterol checked before you say that."

She grinned, but dug into her burger with new gusto, just to spite him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After they ate, she drove him back to the extended stay motel he was occupying that month.

"I'll make this up to you, Lisbon, I swear," he said as she stopped in the parking lot and turned off the engine.

"Don't worry about it, Jane. I wouldn't say I had a good time, but it certainly wasn't like the usual dull and predictable dates I'm used to."

There. She'd been the first one to say the D-word. Of course, he couldn't resist pouncing on that one.

"Is that was this was? A date?"

She was glad he couldn't see her blushing in the relative darkness.

"Well, we both dressed up and at least planned to go to a fancy restaurant…"

"If this was in fact a date, Lisbon, there's a traditional way these things end."

Her pulse picked up speed as he reached across the console and took her hand. He held her knuckles to his lips, grinning because she smelled of hamburgers and perfume. He pressed his partly opened mouth to her soft skin, allowed his wet tongue to briefly taste her. He closed his eyes, shaken by the contact more than he cared to admit.

He looked up a moment later, and saw that Lisbon had been just as affected by the old-fashioned gesture as he was. Her free hand came out, and she placed it affectionately on his smoothly shaven cheek, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Thank you," she said, a touch of humor beneath her solemn expression, "I had a lovely time."

He mimicked her demeanor, his eyes sparkling back at her. "We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Minus the broken heel, the car hunt, and the greasy burgers," she said, giving in to her amusement and grinning at him.

At that precise moment, Jane felt an overwhelming desire to kiss her, and not just on the hand. She instantly sensed the change in the air, how the SUV was filled suddenly with the electricity of mutual attraction and longing. Frightened of her own feelings, she tried to pull her hands away from the overwhelming physical contact, but he held fast to her hand, and leaned slowly across the console, his intention achingly clear.

She closed her eyes and waited for the first touch of his lips on hers. When it came, it was light as a feather, brief as a flash of light, but it shot straight to her heart, straight to the very core of her. Jane leaned back into his seat as if to catch his breath, and she noted through her haze of shock the quick rise and fall of his chest.

"Good night, Teresa," he said breathlessly, releasing her hand and opening the car door.

She watched him climb the stairs up to the outside corridor of the cheap motel, pull a key from his pocket, and disappear inside his room. She closed her eyes and leaned her heated forehead against the steering wheel, trying to pull herself together for the drive home.

A/N: I took some of my inspiration for this chapter from the "Moonlighting" episode, "Symphony in Knocked Flat," lol. I didn't copy it exactly, but I realized I didn't want Jane and Lisbon's first date to be stereotypically perfect and romantic, which David and Maddie's definitely was not on that hilarious episode. Oh, well, we get our inspiration where we can find it. (By the way, for a good laugh,you can check it out on Youtube.)

And don't worry about Jane's car—I'm sure it will turn up eventually…

Thanks for reading! And reviews are always welcome.