A/N: Hello! I'm going to do what I hate doing, and that is give you a blanket thanks for all your wonderful reviews. My problem is, I don't have high-speed internet right now so it takes me forever to respond to reviews because it takes so long for the pages to load. I hope you'll forgive me, and know that I value all those great reviews very much. Let my reward to you be that I will try to have more chapters more often.
So, without further ado, on with more fluffy fun…
Chapter 3
The next morning, Lisbon stood in front of her closet, feeling decidedly at a loss. She had a couple of skirt suits, which she wore for the occasional big-wig agency meeting or court date, but there was little of the sixties vibe about them. She had a few dresses too, but they were either too formal for work or they had too much of a church feel, for that is where she wore them when she actually went to mass. She had been so confident she would win this bet, that she hadn't given much thought to what she would do should she lose.
She slid the hangers across the rack once more, hoping the closet fairies would suddenly fill her wardrobe with sixties chic. She'd about resigned herself to forfeiting the bet and the disappointment of not seeing Jane in gym shorts, when she happened upon a black sheath dress that had been hiding at the far end of the rack. It still had the tags on it. It had been one of those impulse purchases that she'd meant to return, but never had, for she realized later she'd likely never have a place to wear it.
She pulled it out and laid it on her bed, then, inspiration striking, she grabbed her smart phone and did a quick search. Picture in hand, she stood in the bathroom and examined her long dark hair and clean-scrubbed face critically, looking back at the picture.
"Hmmm," she mused to her reflection. "I think I just might be able to make this work. Not exactly Peggy Olson, but certainly good enough to fulfill Jane's requirements for the bet…"
A half-hour later, she'd slipped on the dress, and added her mother's short strand of pearls at her neck. A black belt cinched her small waist, pleasingly emphasizing the curve of her hips. Simple black pumps finished the look. It was the hair and makeup that was most different, she knew. She smiled in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She felt feminine and pretty, but there was a mysterious air about her that she hadn't expected to see. She was suddenly excited to know what Jane would think.
He won't know what hit him.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lisbon met Van Pelt in the parking lot, and they looked at each other and grinned. Van Pelt certainly had more of a Joan look anyway, and she'd decided to work that to the hilt. She wore a black pencil skirt and a tight pink sweater, with her own black pumps and her red hair in an understated bun. She really looked the part, and Lisbon nodded approvingly.
"Oh, my God," exclaimed Van Pelt, admiring Lisbon's outfit, "you look just like her! All you need is a long cigarette holder."
"Well, you'll certainly cause a stir, just like Joan," said Lisbon, trying not to be intimidated by her subordinate's ample bosom as they walked into the building.
Van Pelt blushed. "I feel like we're going to a costume party," she said wryly.
Despite the endless training in sexual harassment sensitivity, the two women garnered more than their fair share of low whistles, winks, and whispered suggestive conversations. Lisbon knew she and Van Pelt looked sexy, but she hated to be the center of attention—she'd always be a band geek at heart-and she wished she'd grabbed some big sunglasses to make her costume complete.
"I can understand why women stopped wearing such things to the workplace. Way too distracting," murmured Van Pelt as they stood in line at Security.
They both smiled shyly at the leering men, grateful they hadn't met any of their team yet, but then, the extra attention they'd paid to their appearance had made them a few minutes late. It was rather surreal, having to hand over purses to be checked since they didn't have a place for a holster or their badges, and it occurred to them how few women would have been in law enforcement from the era they represented. If Jane's intention was that they feel shame in setting back the woman's movement fifty years, their attire seemed to have done just the opposite; they felt proud of the women who had come before them, who had been brave enough to break away from societal norms to pave the way for their positions now.
Still, their hearts pounded nervously and they said little on the elevator ride up.
"Shall we make an entrance together?" asked Van Pelt.
Lisbon sighed as the elevator dinged its announcement of the SCU floor. "Sure. May as well get it over with so we can all get on with our day."
Everyone was already in the bullpen as the women took deep breaths and walked in together.
"Good morning," said Lisbon brightly, her usual daily greeting.
"Good—" began Rigsby, but then his eyes lit on Van Pelt. "Holy…" And then he was at a loss for words.
Even Cho's eyes widened, and both women couldn't help preening a little beneath the men's admiring gazes.
From his place on the couch, morning tea in hand, Jane took in the view like a man appreciating a fine painting. He set down his cup and stood to walk over for a closer look.
"Well, well," he said, all smiles. "Joan herself has arrived. You look absolutely lovely, Grace."
"Thanks, Jane," she said, and moved to set her purse down on her desk.
Then he turned to Lisbon. He unabashedly eyed her from head to toe and back again, his eyes sparkling at her transformation. "It would seem the ghost of Audrey Hepburn is visiting us today." He twirled his finger around in the air to suggest she turn so he could see all sides.
"Not on your life," she refused, flushing furiously.
Instead, she suffered the further embarrassment as Jane walked completely around her, nodding in satisfaction while her pulse rate increased exponentially.
"Enchanting," he said, facing her again. She met his eyes, and the only time she'd ever remembered him looking at her that way was when he'd caught her trying on a bridesmaid's dress once upon a time. That time, she'd been annoyed. This time, however, she felt an unusual wave of heat coursing through her body. His eyes darkened at what he must have seen in hers.
"Though it's not quite Peggy Olson, I uh, trust this satisfies the requirements of our wager," she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady, but one hand nervously smoothed down her dress.
He nodded. "Beyond expectations," he said softly.
Everyone else in the room sensed the change in the air, a new tension they'd never felt before between Jane and Lisbon, but it was gone so quickly, later they each wondered if they'd imagined it.
"Well, good," said Lisbon. She dragged her gaze from Jane's and looked at the rest of her team. "I'll be in my office."
Jane watched her walk away, the gentle sway of her sweetly emphasized hips making him feel rather off balance. He caught himself and smiled at the three in the room who still looked at him speculatively. He shrugged and went back to his tea. At his desk, Cho smiled, but just a little.
"Oh," said Grace, reaching into her purse. "Rigsby, I brought you something."
Rigsby, blatantly ogling Van Pelt's breasts as she rummaged through her bag, walked closer for a better view.
"Did you now?" he asked suggestively.
Van Pelt rolled her eyes, then held out two books. "Here is your reading material for the next two weeks. I'll quiz you at the end to make sure you read them, and not just the Cliff's Notes versions."
Rigsby was still looking salaciously at her figure when he felt her pressing the volumes insistently into his hands. He looked down at them. One was Immortal Poems, the other, Wuthering Heights.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
"Not at all. And I want you to memorize one of the poems and be ready to recite it two weeks from today."
"What?"
"You going back on the deal?" she accused.
"No, not at all. Just…not looking forward to it."
Van Pelt smiled. "I'm sure."
Rigsby glanced back at Cho, and a sudden mischievous expression settled on his face. He looked down at Van Pelt who had sat down and begun sorting through her mail.
"Hey, toots, what say you get me a cup of coffee?"
Cho closed his eyes and shook his head, cringing inside at his friend's horrible miscalculation. Van Pelt's face contorted into an angry scowl, and she pointed her letter opener meaningfully at a highly sensitive part of Rigsby's anatomy. She looked up at him coldly.
"If you ever call me toots again, you'll have to consider a change of religion. Get your own damn coffee."
Rigsby gulped, and Jane hid his smile behind his teacup. Rigbsy backed away from Van Pelt slowly, then took his new books back to his own desk.
"Damn women's libbers," he muttered.
For Jane's part, he still felt a little flummoxed at his reaction to Lisbon. She was still Lisbon, of course, just in a different shell. And it wasn't like he hadn't seen her in a dress before—he had, on several occasions. So what was different about now? For one thing, he'd had a purely masculine reaction to her, whereas when he'd beheld her in past dressy incarnations, he'd been more amused than…captivated. She'd made no bones in the past about how much she hated dresses and skirts, while fidgeting with a scratchy neckline, complaining how high heels were torture devices invented by men. Whenever he thought of Lisbon in a dress, he'd had the indelible image of her as Scout Finch on her first day of school.
What had made Lisbon different from most tomboys, however, is usually they grow out of that stage and eventually come to embrace makeup and frilly things. By virtue of her occupation, Lisbon still had permission to run around in jeans with the boys and play with guns (though they were no longer of the cap gun variety), so, in effect, she'd never had to set aside her tomboy ways. Well, until now.
Jane sat against the back of the couch, tea forgotten, trying desperately to understand what had changed. He thought of her again in her sophisticated costume, how her dark hair was swept smoothly to the side and pulled up into a slight bouffant. Her green eyes appeared smoky and sensual and rather catlike, and her hips—it almost pained him to think of the way they swayed within that clinging dress, which was further emphasized as she walked away from him in those black heels. He shifted uncomfortably in his place. These were Lisbon's hips he was contemplating, Lisbon's creamy, toned calves flexing with each stride. It was almost blasphemous!
And then it hit him—he'd reacted differently because Lisbon had felt different about herself. Yes, that was it entirely. He had seen her as a sexual being because she had felt like one in that dress. Now that he thought about it, she had purposefully moved those hips in an enticing manner, had looked at him beneath sensual, sooty lashes on purpose. He was used to her blushes (relished seeing them, actually), but this time it was sexual awareness that had heated her cheeks, and he, a man, had been so taken off guard that no amount of biofeedback could have prevented him from responding to that.
Little Lisbon had grown up at last.
He grinned to himself and rose to his feet, heading purposefully toward Lisbon's office. He felt compelled to further analyze his conclusions, and the only way to do that was to confront the subject face to face.
She was just settling in with her coffee, had flipped on her computer, and was sorting through her mail when Jane came in without knocking.
"I must say, Lisbon, you really took to the spirit of the wager."
She looked up at him (through those long, long lashes that he'd always taken for granted) and sure enough, the spark he'd felt earlier was still there. Hmmm.
"Well, it was by necessity, actually. That's the only thing in my wardrobe that even remotely resembled something a sixties woman would wear. I'll have to go shopping during my lunch hour unless I'm going to be Audrey Hepburn for two weeks."
"That wouldn't be so bad," he said, his eyes almost caressing her face. Lisbon stiffened. Why the hell was he acting like this?
He made himself comfortable in the chair across from her desk.
"I don't know why I never saw her in you before," he continued. "Not that you look exactly like her, but you have some of the same features. Gamine face, alabaster complexion, dark hair, expressive eyes."
She blinked her expressive eyes in surprise at the personal comments. He rarely made those, at least about her appearance, though he once called her a princess.
"Uh…thank you?" she said, because she couldn't think of anything else.
"And may I say, I've reconsidered characterizing you as Peggy Olson. In retrospect, she is much too dowdy, too lackluster a model for the type of woman you would have been in the sixties."
Now what could she say to that? Instead, she changed the subject.
"Oh, I just got word they found the gun in the river, registered to Jerry Morrison. You were right—there were two shots fired. Still waiting for ballistics to get confirmation it was the same gun that killed him."
"Hmm," said Jane, amused at her sudden change in topic.
"So, I need to start writing my final report."
"Aw, you're giving me the boot. Well, my attic is calling anyway. Still lots of my own project to do up there."
He rose to leave.
"By the way, Rigsby says their pick-up game is after work down in the gym."
Jane's smile faltered. "Don't worry, Lisbon, I'll be there."
"I know you will," she said with a grin.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane knew the game of basketball inside and out. He could cite every rule and regulation off the top of his head, knew every team, both college and pro, and he used to be able to name all the top players-you had to know this stuff when you were betting on the outcome. But he found out very quickly that knowing was much different than playing.
It wasn't as if he had never played before. He used to play all the time, that summer when he was ten. And so he found himself in the CBI men's locker room at 5:15, at the age of forty-three, changing into basketball shorts that hit him at the knee and sneakers he hadn't worn in ten years. As he pulled on his plain blue t-shirt, he listened to the locker room talk with mounting trepidation. Although it was pick- up basketball, these guys were serious about the game, and Jane had watched a time or two, so he knew how rough things got without a referee, without adhering to many of the rules, and when a player was guarding someone twice their height.
As for Jane, he had never felt so out of place in his life, and he could sense the odd looks he was receiving. Everyone knew who he was, of course. His shenanigans within the Serious Crimes Unit were the stuff of legend, but that wasn't necessarily a selling point for him as a prospective ball player, not when his notoriety came from being a habitual rule-breaker and a cheat. It wasn't that they didn't like him necessarily—it was hard to hate someone who oozed charm through his pores—they simply didn't trust him because they'd heard too many stories of what happened to those who'd gotten in his way. And also, most of them thought he was kind of weird, and maybe a bit on the prissy side.
"Nervous?" asked Rigsby as they made their way out onto the court.
"Yep," he said honestly, and the taller man slapped him on the back.
"I'll look out for you."
Jane grinned at the man's inherent kindness. "Thanks."
Relief flooded him when Lisbon wasn't in the stands. He didn't mind so much being embarrassed in front of the guys—his greatest fear was Lisbon seeing him fail. There would be no hiding behind intellect or intuition in this situation, and he knew he would feel naked without his usual crutches.
When the two captains stepped up to begin picking their teams, it was like every nightmare Jane had ever had about public education. Everyone feared the humiliation of being picked last, so when Cho, captain of one team, picked him first, he seriously considered kissing the man.
"Do what I tell you and you might survive this," Cho muttered, while the other captain picked Rigsby first.
And so it went, until all ten of them were picked, with a good mix of tall and short, young and old, physically fit and well, Jane.
After the tip off, Jane tried to stay on the wiry young rookie from Vice he was supposed to be guarding, but it soon became evident that Jane would never be able to keep up with him. After ten minutes of hard play, he was drenched in sweat, but had managed to pass the ball a few times successfully, and stayed mostly out of the way of the experienced players.
Jane was momentarily distracted by the arrival of Lisbon and Van Pelt, still in their sexy sixties outfits, just in time to miss catching the ball. It bounced painfully off his chest and went out of bounds. He doubled over, winded.
"Didn't see that one coming, did you Mr. Psychic?" said the kid from Vice he was guarding.
His teammates grumbled, but when Jane looked up and nodded his head breathlessly toward the women in the bleachers, play stopped abruptly.
"I saw Van Pelt at Security this morning," said Scott from Narcotics. "She's lookin' hot today. Man, that woman has sex written all over her."
"Didn't you used to tap that, Rigsby?" asked Vice.
Rigsby, who was being much more discreet this time around, felt his jaw tighten under the strain of secrecy. "Yeah," he ground out.
"My God, Agent Lisbon is a woman after all," laughed the tall guy from Firearms.
Jane felt his own body grow rigid, his hands clenching into fists at the insult to his wonderful, beautiful, saintly Lisbon.
"I always thought she played for the other team, if you know what I mean," spouted Vice.
Jane felt himself move to strike, but Rigsby had sensed his intentions and held him back, so Cho beat him to it.
"Hey," said Cho coldly, standing nose to nose with Vice. "Watch your mouth."
The thinner man held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, sorry, man. I was just kidding. Sheesh. You SCU guys are so sensitive."
He backed away, knowing full well Cho could back up any threats, implied or otherwise.
In the stands, Van Pelt called: "Hey! I thought you guys were playing basketball not brawling like school boys on the playground!"
The rest of the players laughed, defusing some of the tension, but Jane still shook with fury. He should have been the one to defend Lisbon's honor. He didn't know why it was his job in particular, but he couldn't help feeling like it should have been. He looked up at Lisbon who was grinning at him, unaware that he had almost used physical violence on her behalf. He returned her wave, but his eyes went back to Vice.
"He's not worth it," said Rigsby softly. "Believe me, I'd dearly love to punch him in the mouth."
Rigsby let him go, and Jane vowed revenge against the big-mouthed kid. He'd picked the wrong person to mess with on that score. It wasn't long before the opportunity presented itself.
The game continued, Jane guarding Vice again, but he found it very difficult to concentrate, his adrenaline pumping with his anger and with the added stress of feeling Lisbon's eyes following his every move. When Vice got the ball, Jane was on him much more aggressively than before, purposefully fouling him, knowing full well no one would take the time to call it in the ref-free game. No blood, no foul—that' where that expression came from. And there'd been no bloodshed, at least, not yet.
The second time Jane bumped Vice, the man stumbled, landing hard on his ass. He was already riled up from his earlier confrontation with Cho, and was feeling ganged up on by having three SCU agents in the game. So, when Jane reached down a sporting hand to help him up, he'd obviously had enough. On his feet once more, Vice caught the ball, arms up in preparation to shoot a basket. But then he turned suddenly, Jane having been close at his back, and one pointy elbow slammed purposefully into Jane's left eye.
"Holy shit!" Jane cursed, seeing stars. He squeezed his eye shut against the searing pain, then, acting fully on instinct, he swung his fist and hit the guy squarely in the jaw. Vice dropped like a rock.
In the stands, Lisbon and Van Pelt had been enjoying the rough play, the sounds of gym shoes squeaking on the floor, the grunts and huffs of male exertion, the occasion foul word echoing in the gym. It was sexy to see men sweat and to hear the sounds that reminded them of other physical exertions. Both women had grown up playing sports, and they had even joined a game or two here on occasion. They were mainly cheering for Cho's team, but if Rigsby made a basket for the other side, they cheered him too.
But mostly, Lisbon watched Jane. He was acquitting himself much better than she'd expected. He was slower than the other men, never even attempted a point, but he was obviously giving it his all, and for that she felt an unexpected sense of pride in him.
She felt oddly like she was watching her boyfriend the night of the big game, and the feeling was a little unsettling. She cringed every time there was a near-miss, and she pictured him falling and slamming his head onto the hard floor. But as with his movements off the court, he was smooth and graceful, and seeing his hair and shirt dark with perspiration was also incredibly sexy. When he picked up the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow, she caught a glimpse of flat, glistening stomach and her mouth went dry.
After the little tussle when they'd first arrived, the atmosphere on the court seemed to change. She watched in annoyance as Jane gave a few intentional fouls to Jesse from Vice. When Jane got elbowed in the eye, Lisbon and Van Pelt rose to their feet as one. Lisbon gasped, the air hissing loudly through her teeth.
But he didn't fall. He did, however, punch poor Jesse, who fell to the floor in a heap.
"Jane!" she cried.
She was so angry she could spit, and nearly fell down the steps in her high heels in her rush to get down to them. She slipped off her shoes and ran barefoot to Jessie, who was out cold on the floor. Van Pelt was right behind her.
The other players had realized they had a man down, and Cho squatted down beside him, slapping Jesse gently to try to revive him. When he began to come around, Lisbon turned to Jane. Rigsby was peering down into Jane's injured eye as he held his head back.
"Boy, are you gonna have one hell of a shiner. Let's go get you some ice from the locker room."
"Damn," said Jane. "It hurts like hell."
He realized then his fist hurt too, and he shook it out with a grimace. He and Rigsby had begun walking slowly toward the locker room when Lisbon caught up with them.
"Jane, for crying out loud! What's the big idea hitting someone when they accidentally foul you? That's the most unsportsmanlike thing I've ever-"
"Hey, Lisbon," he interrupted cheerily, his hand over his bad eye. "Thanks for coming. Nice evening for a manly game of basketball, eh?"
"It was no accident," said Rigsby.
"I saw the whole damn thing. It could have happened to anyone."
"But Boss-" Rigsby began, but Jane caught his eye with his one good one and slightly shook his head. Rigsby looked surprised Jane didn't want to rat that asshole out, but his respect for him increased tenfold because of it. They'd reached the locker room, Lisbon still making comparisons of men to apes, and commenting on the inability of some people to play well with others.
"Look, Lisbon, would you mind haranguing me later; I'd really like to get some ice on this and take a massive dose of pain killers. And, at the risk of sounding sexist, you can't go in here with me."
She followed him into the men's locker room anyway. Rigsby's eyebrows shot up, but there was no way he was going to correct his boss. Jane found his way to a bench and sat down, his head pounding, and Rigsby went off to fetch the ice. He picked up a clean towel stacked on the bench and mopped his brow and neck.
"I'm too old to be playing with children," he commented, and instantly Lisbon's anger faded. She was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and she felt suddenly guilty for his pain.
"Here," she said gently. "Let me see."
He resisted at first, but she reached gently for his cheek to turn his face toward hers. She leaned in close to him, her fingers cool against his aching cheekbone.
"Can you open your eye?"
He complied, but barely, and he let out a small groan of pain. His eye was bloodshot and already showing signs of bruising around the entire area.
"You should probably have a doctor take a look at that."
Jane felt intoxicated by her unfamiliar closeness, by the rich scent of vanilla that clung to her skin.
"I'll be all right. I think I have a bag of frozen peas in my mini fridge in my motel room."
"Well, you were injured at the CBI. We need to get you checked for liability purposes."
He instinctively attempted to roll his eyes, but had to stop and groan at the effort.
"I'll drive you."
By that time, Rigsby had returned with an ice pack, and Jane took it gratefully. He'd heard Lisbon's offer.
"I'll take him, Boss."
"Yeah, Rigsby'll do it. You go home and plan your wardrobe for tomorrow."
"And I believe it's the strip club for you tomorrow night, right? If you feel up to it, that is."
"I'll definitely come along for that ride," Rigsby said with a grin, then flushed when he remembered his female boss would be joining them.
"Okay, Rigsby, but you get him to an emergency room, no matter how much he resists. Cuff him if you have to. That's an order."
"Yes, ma'am."
Lisbon stood, strangely reluctant to leave him.
"I can't believe you socked that guy," she said, shaking her head in disappointment.
"And here we go again," Jane said wryly. "I'm pretty sure this conversation isn't good for my eye. I'll see you tomorrow, Lisbon—well, maybe with only half my depth perception."
She smiled in spite of herself.
The other men, apparently having called it quits for the evening, began trickling into the locker room, surprised to see a woman in no-man's land.
Lisbon sighed. "'Night guys."
Lisbon almost literally ran into Cho on her way out.
"Jane okay?" he asked, stepping back from her personal space.
"Yeah. Rigsby's taking him to the emergency room in case there's some damage to his eye, the idiot."
"I'm glad he punched Jesse. I was tempted to do it myself."
"Why?" she asked in surprise. It took a lot to make Cho mad.
Cho succinctly told her what had transpired on the court, and Lisbon felt her emotions go from outrage to gratitude to another feeling she was unwilling to define.
"He was defending me?" she managed to ask.
"Yeah."
She looked back toward the locker room entryway, tempted to go back in there and—what? Thank him? Hug him? She didn't know if he would welcome any of that. He obviously hadn't wanted Rigsby to tell him the truth.
"That idiot," she said again, but this time her tone held admiration along with more of that other indefinable emotion.
A/N: I really hope you had as much fun with this chapter as I did writing it. Despite my reviewing problems, I would still love to hear your thoughts. I appreciate every single one and it really does motivate me. Thank you!