A/N: Well, I'm off work for the summer and enjoying my free time. Okay, so I'm bored, and for me boredom breeds…fanfiction! Call me crazy, but here is my third working fic right now!

This one is much lighter than the others, almost silly in places, and I will not apologize for that or any possible OOC moments. So, proceed at your own risk. I admit to stealing the seed of an idea from an episode of "Moonlighting," but it is only a small seed—the rest is totally mine. There will be Jisbon, by the way, and some Rigspelt too. I hope you enjoy this light, summer fare.

The Red Planet

Chapter 1: The Battle of the Sexists

If Lisbon had a dollar for every time she had to nudge Jane awake on his couch, she'd have been able to retire to somewhere tropical by now, but no, it was part of her job to make sure their consultant was doing his.

"Jane, we got a case."

"Hmm?" said he, turning over to present his sleep mussed hair and stubbled cheeks.

"You heard me. Get up."

He sat up instantly, eyes bright as if he hadn't been sleeping at all. Sometimes she wondered.

"What is it?"

"A man found murdered in his car on state property."

They began to walk toward the elevator, and Lisbon filled him in, so by the time they reached the company SUV in the parking lot, he knew the whole sad story. Cho and Rigsby were already aboard, and they drove just a few blocks to the River Park.

It was a picture Jane could have painted in his sleep—coroner's van, SacPD vehicles, CSU—against the backdrop of the golden Tower Bridge.

Just like countless other cases in ten years of cases, Jane thought. Would it be insensitive to yawn?

The CBI team gathered around the late model sedan, an unassuming beige. The man was in his late forties, and he sat hunched over the steering wheel, the bullet having lodged in the poor sap's skull. Someone had apparently shot him through the open window at close range.

"Looks like a hit," said Cho.

"You mean gang related?" asked Rigsby. "He looks too old to be a banger."

"Nah," said Jane, focusing on the beige man in his beige suit and beige car. "This was a family matter."

"How do you know that?" asked Lisbon.

Jane picked up the dead man's left hand; a scratched gold wedding band adorned the traditional finger. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to hold took a cell phone from the console, pressing a button that displayed family photos. Wife much too pretty for this guy. Perfect looking son and daughter, likely college age.

"See?" Jane said, showing the others. "What are some reasons why a forty-something family man would be shot in the head?"

"Didn't leave the toilet seat down?" suggestion Rigsby. Nobody laughed, and he shifted uncomfortably. Well, Jane grinned.

"Business deal gone bad?" suggested Cho.

Jane shrugged. "Maybe. Look at this car though. It must be ten years old. He doesn't look like someone high enough in his business to be making the big deals."

"Robbery?" asked Lisbon.

"You would think—but here's his wallet," and Jane reached back inside the car to hold it up gingerly by a corner. He opened the bi-fold. "Still contains credit cards and two crisp twenties."

Lisbon took it from him into her latex-gloved hands. "Jerry Morrison," Lisbon read. "He's…forty-two. Lives here in Sacramento."

"Before your next guess, I guarantee there will be no drugs on him or in his system," said Jane.

"Can we quit the guessing games," said Lisbon in annoyance. "What do you think happened here?"

Jane squatted down by the driver's side of the car, so that his line of sight would be the same as Mr. Morrison's had been.

"He was watching someone. I'll bet it was his wife."

"She was meeting someone," said Cho, who nodded toward a bench before the river, clearly a lovely setting for an evening tryst.

"They must have realized they'd been caught, and decided to get rid of the husband," added Rigsby.

"You are a very devious thinker, Rigsby," teased Jane. "Well done."

Rigsby blushed a little, and Jane grinned.

"A SacPD patrolman went by here on a sweep at around one o'clock last night," said Lisbon. "The car wasn't here, so it must have happened between then and when a woman walking her dog called it in an hour ago."

"Hmmm," said Jane in satisfaction.

"Okay," said Lisbon on a sigh, depositing the cell phone and wallet in an evidence bag. "Let's go find the wife."

"Bring your handcuffs," advised Jane.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three hours later, Mrs. Rita Morrison had been brought in for questioning, and was sitting in the interrogation room, Cho and his notebook before her. Jane, Lisbon, Rigsby, and Van Pelt watched from the other side of the one-way window. It was a very crowded observation room, but Rita Morrison was so entertaining to watch, Lisbon didn't have the heart to clear them out.

For one thing, she was so over-the-top melodramatic that there was no doubt she was hiding something. For another, her double-D's were barely restrained by her low-cut red dress, which surprisingly did not clash with her cinnamon colored hair.

"Where were you last night between one a.m. and seven this morning?" asked Cho.

Rita grabbed a second handful of Kleenex and blew her nose. "Poor Jerry! He didn't deserve to die that way."

Cho patiently repeated his question.

"I was at home alone. In bed. Waiting for Jerry, just like I said already. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I think he was having an affair."

"With whom?"

"That floozy from down the road, Billie Sue Dixon."

"You have any proof of that."

"I don't need any. A woman knows these things."

"That must have made you very angry with him, eh?"

"Well, yes."

"So you tracked him down and shot him by the river?"

"No! I loved Jerry!"

"Were you having an affair?"

"God, no! I loved my husband, like I said. He was a great provider. He took a second job to put both our kids through college. Oh, God, how am I going to tell them their daddy is dead?"

"We questioned your neighbors, ma'am. A uh"—he looked down at his notebook—"Billie Sue Dixon, said she frequently saw a car in the driveway whenever your husband was gone. She said it belongs to…Zack Ezzell."

"That lying bitch! She's trying to set me up! I bet she did it. Jerry wouldn't leave me, so she shot him. Poor Jerry!" And the tears flowed freely once more.

"Holy crap," muttered Rigsby from the other side of the window.

Jane grinned in glee. "She's wonderful," he said in admiration. He always loved a great con artist. "Clearly a sociopath though."

"How do you figure that?" asked Lisbon.

"Well, obviously she's lying through her bleached white teeth. She was sleeping with this Zack person and one of them offed poor Jerry."

"Where'd you get that bruise under your eye," Cho was asking.

"I ran into a door."

"Was the door named Jerry, or maybe Zack?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Who hit you, Rita?"

"Like I said, I ran into a door."

Cho looked up at the window with a pained expression on his face.

"Maybe you killed Jerry yourself because he beat you."

"No! Where are you getting these crazy ideas?"

Rita dropped her Kleenex, and when she bent to pick it up, Rigsby craned his neck so he could get a better view. He received a slap on the arm from Van Pelt. Jane chuckled, enjoying himself immensely. Perhaps this case wasn't so boring after all.

"She so killed him," commented Rigsby. "Poor guy. Probably didn't even see it coming with a wife like that."

"Poor guy?" said Van Pelt. "He was cheating on her and obviously beat her."

"No reason to kill the man."

"You're kidding, right?"

Jane grinned and watched the fireworks.

"Hush," said Lisbon, "or you two are out of here."

Cho was still talking. "Wonder what Zack will say when we bring him in."

"That Billie Sue is a liar, just like I said."

"Last chance to change your story, Mrs. Morrison. We have Zack in lock up right now."

"You do?" She looked genuinely frightened.

"Yeah," said Cho, snapping shut his notebook. "Just like I said."

"She did it," said Jane matter-of-factly.

"Why don't you wait till we interview Zack Ezzell before you make that decision?" said Lisbon. "Rita might be afraid of him. He might have been the one beating her, forcing her to do things she didn't want to do."

Jane shrugged. "Bring him in."

"Take Mrs. Morrison to Interrogation Room 2," Lisbon directed Rigsby.

"I'll do it," said Van Pelt.

"Whoever. Just get her out of there and bring in Mr. Ezzell."

"Yes, Boss," they both said at once, both deciding to take care of Mrs. Morrison.

When they were gone, Cho turned and looked at the window. "She did it," he announced.

Lisbon flipped the speaker. "Let's wait for Mr. Ezzell."

"See," said Jane. He sounded like a proud papa.

"Geeze, did you guys miss that part in interrogation school? You know, hearing all the evidence before drawing a conclusion."

"Well, the only school I went to, Lisbon, was the school of life. This is just natural instinct at work here, and I know a man trap when I see one. Look, the woman didn't even admit to having the affair with Ezzel. And if she's lying about that…"

"You can be a liar and not a murderer," said Lisbon.

"Or you can be both. What is it about this woman, who seems to be a fraud in every way, right down to her fake hair and teeth, that makes you believe in her innocence?"

"Women's intuition," she said with a sarcastic smirk. Jane rolled his eyes.

While they waited for Zack Ezzell, the pair wandered out to find their favored hot beverages in the break room. While Lisbon stirred cream into her coffee, Jane dunked his tea bag.

"Rita is a very attractive woman," said Lisbon conversationally. "Normally you men would jump to her defense on that basis alone."

"You men?" He gave her a chastening tsk. "How very sexist of you, Lisbon."

"You're saying that just because she is built like a brick house she must be this evil seductress? That tells me a lot more about you than about her."

"Oh?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

Jane dropped his tea bag into the trash as he followed Lisbon back to the observation room.

"Most men are intimidated by women who are confident in their sexuality."

"It's self-preservation, my dear. They don't call women like Rita, bombshells for nothing. When they explode, there's lots of collateral damage."

Lisbon laughed. "Well, you would think that kind of danger would keep men away from women like that. But in my experience, it's quite the contrary. They're like moths to flames."

Jane grinned. "You're not making your case for Rita then. With that kind of sexual confidence, she could very easily have manipulated Zack Ezzell into doing anything she wanted him to, like say, killing her husband for her."

"Well, now you've made my case. You're basing your accusations purely on the woman's sexuality. I'm sure it's all tied up in your mind with your own past experience with women like that. Women who manipulated you with certain…behaviors."

Jane paused, teacup halfway to his lips. "Aww," he said knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you've gone personal on me all of a sudden, Lisbon. If you've got something to say, just say it."

"I don't think I need to say it. You know exactly what I'm talking about, and you're letting what other women have done to you personally influence how you see women in general."

She wasn't about to name names, but they flashed through her mind anyway: Sophie Miller. Erica Flynn. Lorelei Martins. He'd lied for and even broken the law for all of them. No way he could tell her it had nothing to do with their sexuality.

He was saved from a reply with the return of Cho from his bathroom break, and Rigsby and Van Pelt with Zack Ezzell in tow. They escorted the suspect into the interrogation room, pushing him gently down into Rita's vacated seat. Van Pelt and Rigsby joined Jane and Lisbon once more, but there was a distinct chill in the air between the once and again lovers. Jane and Lisbon weren't the only ones engaged in a battle of the sexes.

Once again, Cho began doing what he did best.

"Mr. Ezzell, were you having an affair with Rita Morrison?"

"Yes."

"Bingo," said Jane to his fellow observers. Lisbon gave him a sidelong look of annoyance.

"What did you think of her husband, Jerry?"

"He was a cruel bastard. He beat up on Rita all the time." The man was obviously still angry about it, right down to the set jaw and clenched fists.

"So you killed him. I can understand how a man could be driven to violence when the woman he loves is abused."

"No way, man. As much as he deserved it, I'm no murderer," Ezzell said.

"Sounds like you had a pretty good reason to though. If not you, then who?"

"What did Rita say?" he asked, ignoring Cho's question.

"She didn't even acknowledge your affair. Blamed all of this on some woman named Billie Sue."

The man snorted. "Bull shit. Billie Sue wouldn't know one end of a gun from the other. She's dumber than a box of rocks."

"You sleep with her too?" asked Cho.

He blushed. "What of it?"

"Just curious. So how did Morrison find out about your thing with Rita?"

"He followed Rita to the river. He saw us meeting there."

"He must have been very angry. Then what happened."

"I told Rita I was tired of sneakin' around, so I walked up to his car. Rita didn't want me to."

"Was she afraid of what you might do?"

"No, of what Jerry might do."

"Then what?"

"She really denied our affair?" said Ezzell, as if the news had just registered.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll tell you exactly what happened. Rita pulled a gun from her purse, told Jerry she didn't love him anymore, that she was through being his punchin' bag, then shot the bastard in the head."

"Why would you rat her out now?"

"Man, I begged her to leave the guy, that I'd take care of her, protect her. Now she's denying what we had, leaving me twisting in the wind? I'm starting to think Rita was playing some sick game with me and her husband."

"Could be," said Cho. "Where's the gun?"

"Ask Rita. It was hers."

"He's lying," said Van Pelt in the adjoining room.

"I agree," said Lisbon.

"You're kidding me," said Rigsby.

"Well, obviously she was lying to protect him. If there was no affair, there could be no clear suspect," concluded Van Pelt.

"Hmm," said Jane.

"What does that mean?" asked Lisbon.

"No disrespect, but you women are jumping to conclusions based on some very romantic and illogical notions."

The women in question turned to look angrily upon the consultant, hands on hips.

"This has nothing to do with our sex, Jane," said Lisbon tightly.

"It certainly has nothing to do with the evidence," Jane replied.

"What evidence? It's his word against hers. We need to find that weapon, and we need to test them for who fired a gun. Van Pelt, put them both under arrest for suspicion of murder."

"Both of them, Boss?" said Rigsby. "CSU only found evidence of one bullet near the crime scene. One shooter."

"Well, until the lawyers work it out, we're keeping them. We've got up to forty-eight hours before the AG decides to charge them; we'll use all the time we can."

"This is all circumstantial, to use cop speak," added Jane. "It's not going to hold water, especially when they lawyer up. You should let Ezzell go."

"This is one of those gut feeling, natural instinct things you were talking about, Jane. And my gut feeling is he did it, so I'm not letting either of them go. Now, Rigsby, you and Cho get out there and get me some more evidence one way or another," Lisbon ordered. "All I really want is the truth."

Lisbon left the small room then, and Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt moved into action. Jane followed Lisbon back to her office, where he got comfortable on her couch with his tea and Lisbon took her usual place behind her desk.

"You realize this is very out of character for you. Weird to see you acting on instinct rather than hard evidence."

"Maybe I've learned more from you than I thought."

"Hmm…well, let's make this more interesting, then, shall we?" He said.

"I'm not betting on someone's innocence or guilt, if that's what you're suggesting."

"It is, but it doesn't have to be for money, if that's what's offending your moralistic sensibilities."

She sat back in her chair, regarding him warily. "I think I've also learned after all these years that it's stupid to make a bet with you."

"So you're saying you really don't have much faith in your instincts as a woman?"

"That's not—"

"Then put your money—or whatever—where your gender is, Lisbon."

He sat with his arm spread across the back of the couch, legs casually crossed, looking as full of confidence (or something else) as he always did when he was convinced he was right.

"I can't believe you want to make this whole thing about sex," she said.

"Not sex, Lisbon. Sexism." He grinned. "There's a difference, you know."

Lisbon blushed. "You know what I meant, and I'm not a sexist. But I'll bite-if not money, then, what?"

He set down his teacup on the side table and sat forward on the couch, looking at her intently. She felt distinctly uncomfortable, but willed herself not to fidget.

"If you are wrong about Lovely Rita," he began after a few moments, "I think your blatant defense of her based solely on her femininity has set back the women's movement about fifty years. So, if you lose this bet, I want you to dress and behave like a woman from fifty years ago."

"What?"

"You heard me. I think you watch that sixties advertising show, don't you? Well, I want you to be like the women on that show. Dresses or skirts every day, high heels, carefully coifed hair—the whole bit."

She rose to her feet, her tone coldly sarcastic.

"And I suppose you want me to bring you your drinks and meals and kowtow to your every desire…?"

"Well, I hadn't thought you'd go that far, but okay." And he grinned.

She stared at him, in utter disbelief at his temerity. "You are seriously deranged if you think I'm about to fulfill some Neanderthal male fantasy of yours…"

"Not Neanderthal, Lisbon, mid-twentieth century."

"Ha! Almost the same damn thing."

He shrugged, then played his trump card: "Chicken."

"I am not! What you're suggesting is completely ridiculous, not to mention impractical, given my totally modern job description. How do you suggest I run and tackle a perp wearing high heels and a skirt?"

He had to admit, the mental image was surprisingly…tantalizing. Now where had that thought come from? He hastily shook his head to clear it.

"I would concede to your having a change of clothes and shoes should you go out in the field, but other than that, for say…a month, you'd play the sixties office girl to the hilt."

"A month? No way. A week, at most."

"Two," he countered. When she hesitated, he said, "Not as confident in Rita's innocence as you claim, are you?"

"Fine," she conceded. "Two weeks. But I get to set my terms for the very real possibility that you will be wrong here."

"Aw, Lisbon," he said with annoying condescension, "how often am I wrong about these things?"

"More often than you care to remember, I'm sure. But you're definitely wrong in this case. So…now what to do with you?"

Jane sat back against the cushions again, thoroughly enjoying the expressions flit across her pretty face as she thought of his punishment. She tapped her bottom lip in a gesture oddly similar to one of his, and he had the distinct feeling she was mocking him. He grinned, but let her have her fun.

"You need some more time to think—?"

"No, no…I got it." She looked at him now, dimples on full display. "You want to make this about gender, well, I think it's high time you start acting more like the chauvinist pig you clearly are, rather than hiding behind your three-piece suits and your herbal teas."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning my masculinity?"

She blushed anew. "No, not at all. But you're so free in spouting your archaic male attitudes, that I think you should practice what you preach."

He continued to sit in his place, patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop, his heart oddly picking up speed in anticipation of what she would come up with.

"Go on," he encouraged.

Lisbon came slowly from around her desk stopping when she stood before him on the couch. He hoped she felt powerful, looking down on him like that. It made him smile even wider.

"First," she began thoughtfully, "you should go to the shooting range, shoot some manly weapons to get that testosterone coursing through your veins. Then, you should do some sports. Rigsby and Cho have a weekly game of pick-up basketball—I think you should go and play with them. Or, better yet, play some tackle football. Oh, and you should definitely go to a strip club and drink a lot of beer, maybe slip some singles into a g-string or two. And while you're at it, wear jeans and a t-shirt outside the office, the scruffier the better. Maybe play some violent video games. And one more thing: no tea. Only coffee and sugary sodas for two weeks. But don't worry; I'll be there cheering you on just to make sure you're really completing these tasks. You think you can manage that, Mr. Caveman?"

"What makes you think I don't do all those things already, Lisbon?"

That brought her up short. She really didn't know all that he did outside the office. She knew that home was a run-down, extended stay motel, and that he only went there when he had to, to shower and change clothes. Sometimes he would disappear from the office for a day or two and never tell her where he was. God only knew what he did then, but she always assumed he was doing something that had to do with his own private Red John investigation. Maybe she'd been wrong.

Then she laughed, shaking her head. "Nah, I don't think so. You're more of a cerebral guy, which is totally the point of this. You want to talk in stereotypes, well it works both ways, buddy."

"Well, I must say, Lisbon, those are very intriguing stakes. I admit however, that I think I would have the easiest time of it—in the unlikelihood that I lost, that is. But I'll take this bet."

He stood as well, and held out his hand to seal the deal. Lisbon's eyes gleaming with humor, she spit into her own hand and waited for him to do the same. He only hesitated a moment before mimicking her action and grasping her wet, sticky palm with his. It was more amusing than disgusting, and when Jane reached into his pocket and pulled out a white monogrammed handkerchief to wipe his hand, Lisbon laughed aloud.

"You are so gonna lose, Nancy Boy," she said, wiping her own hand on her jeans.

"We'll see about that, Butch."

They went back to their seats and their cooling beverages, enjoying their momentary complacency while dreaming of their triumph.

A/N: Too much? Please log in and let me know what you think.

Until my next chapter of this story, I'd love for you to check out my other two collaborative efforts: "Boy Wonder" with starry19 and "Red Roulette" with waterbaby134. A little something for everyone…