A/N: Sorry if some of you found the lap dance disturbing, lol. I thought it would be less uncomfortable if Jane wasn't aware of the situation, because I have no earthly idea what he might have done had he known what was happening. Thanks for the great reviews. I apologize again for not replying, but I do read and take to heart every one you submit. I'm so excited you are enjoying this silly fic.

Now, many of you were equally excited where I left things last chapter, and by the end of this one, I hope some of your wishes will have come true…

Chapter 5: When Two Worlds Collide

Lisbon awoke to the sound of her shower running, which, at first, was very disorienting. She hadn't had anyone stay the entire night at her place in years. A man? Never. Her hand had gone automatically to the gun beneath her pillow, but as awareness returned, she remembered who it was who must be utilizing her bathroom.

It had been a long night. Despite her instincts telling her that Jane hadn't overdosed on alcohol and pain meds, she'd gotten up frequently in the night to check on him. He'd barely changed positions since she'd thrown the covers over him, just continued to sleep deeply and peacefully (if you didn't count the snoring). Finally, around four o'clock, she'd allowed herself to relax; there was still work in the morning.

She glanced at the bedside clock and noted with a groan that it was five a.m. Sometimes that man had the worst timing. She lay in her bed, wide awake now, realizing with wide eyes that Jane was naked right across the hall. What would he do if she joined him in the shower? She imagined his surprise at first, then he'd pull her, hot and wet, into his arms, kissing her as the water sluiced around them. He'd push her against the wall of the shower, hoisting one of her legs around his waist and… A wave of heat washed over her body, and she turned her face into the pillow, groaning for an entirely different reason.

Abruptly, the shower stopped. She'd left her bedroom door open so she could hear should Jane have needed her in the night, and the position of her bed afforded her an unobstructed view of the bathroom. She turned over on her back to watch vigilantly.

Suppose he needs help in there? She thought. Suppose he's still woozy from the drugs and loses his balance and falls out of the shower?

Lisbon tensed, straining to listen. She was relieved when, after a minute, she heard the water running in the sink, and the distinct sound of gargling. She grinned. In lieu of having his own toothbrush, he must be using her mouthwash. Before she could close her eyes and fain sleep, the door opened, emitting a burst of steamy air.

When it cleared, there stood Jane, damp, naked back to her, his lower half encased in those sexy jeans of his. He had borrowed one of her pink disposable razors and was in the process of spreading her raspberry scented shaving cream on his face and below his chin. He took a washcloth and wiped at the fogged mirror, and she watched, fascinated, as he quickly and efficiently shaved his two-day's growth of beard.

Her heart began a steady tattoo against her chest as she saw his back muscles flex, admired again the way the unfamiliar jeans hugged his wonderful ass. It was surreal.

Patrick Jane is in my bathroom shaving. Shirtless.

She'd never seen him do something so intimate before. He rinsed off and grabbed a hand towel from the rack, wiping at his face as he turned around-and she was caught.

Busted, she thought, her face flushed.

Jane's quick gaze zeroed right in on hers and he grinned widely, stepping out of the bathroom and the two steps across the hall to stand at her bedroom door.

"Good morning, Lisbon," he said brightly. No trace of grogginess there.

"Morning," she said, sinking farther under her blankets. Apologizing for gawking at him would probably just make things even more awkward.

"Sorry if I woke you. It got too steamy in your bathroom and I had to open the door to see anything."

"You like your showers hot," she said.

His eyes grew amused. Were they really talking about his shower?

"Yeah," he said. "I do indeed."

She resisted the urge to shake her head violently to snap herself out of her sensual trance.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Your eye looks amazingly like a rainbow."

He chuckled. "Well, the pain has dropped tremendously, but I'm still a bit fuzzy about last night. Actually, I feel like I've lost an entire day. When I woke up earlier, it took me about five minutes to realize where I was. The last thing I remember yesterday was arriving at the club. The rest is all a blur. Eerily like coming out of a fugue state," he finished wryly.

"You were pretty out of it. Rigsby had to carry you over his shoulder to get you in here." And she laughed at the memory. It was funny, now.

"Great. Did I do anything particularly embarrassing?"

An image of him calling out her name while Officer Friendly gave him a lap dance came to mind. "Uh, no, not really."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"Trust me, Jane, it's best that you don't know."

His smile faded. It must have been pretty bad if she didn't want to tell him. He resolved to question Rigsby thoroughly later.

"Okay. Well, thank you for letting me use your couch. I assume I must have been in such bad shape you thought I shouldn't be alone."

Her annoyance from last night returned. She sat up in her bed. "Yes. It was pretty stupid of you to drink while taking those pills. Don't you read warning labels?"

"You know, I've been thinking I might get some glasses. Lately I've been misreading a lot of things."

Again with the double meanings.

The blanket had fallen away when she sat up, revealing the yellow tank top she'd worn to bed. With no bra. Apparently, he liked what he saw, for his eyes darkened, his hands strangling the damp towel he still held. She pulled up her sheet self-consciously and he smiled.

She certainly looks beautiful in the morning, was Jane's errant thought.

He figured she must have showered the night before, for her hair now hung in natural waves about her shoulders. Her sleepwear was certainly very enticing, at least the top half. At that moment, he wanted desperately to know what she might be hiding beneath those sheets. He never imagined he'd ever get to see her this way. No, that wasn't strictly true. He'd actually thought of this many times; the scenario was just completely different. He swallowed hard.

He wondered what she would do if he walked in and sat on her bed beside her. Would she push him away, or invite him to crawl in with her?

"Well, that kind of mistake could kill you," she was saying, and it took him a moment to remember the thread of their conversation instead of thinking she could suddenly read minds. "If I hadn't figured out how many pills you'd had yesterday, I might have taken you to get your stomach pumped like Van Pelt suggested."

Jane shuddered. He'd been through that before, all too recently. "Sorry about the inconvenience. I'll be much more careful next time."

"It wasn't that inconvenient. You just slept on my couch. And used my last razor."

But it was worth it to see you like this.

Her eyes flicked over his cleanly-shaven face, then down his smooth, bare chest and lower, to where the pale hair on his stomach disappeared into faded blue denim. Jane felt his whole body grow hot at her blatant appraisal.

"I'll reimburse you," he said, pleased his voice didn't crack as it sometimes did when his emotions got the better of him.

She met his eyes again. "I'm just kidding about the razor. Make yourself at home. Speaking of which…I'd be happy to fix you some breakfast. You're probably starving."

"Why don't you just stay where you are and I'll go pick something up? I already cased the place, and you have exactly one egg, no milk, no bread, no pancake mix. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday so dry cereal and orange juice aren't gonna cut it for me. Plus, there's not a teabag to be found in the whole damn place."

"You're not supposed to drink tea for two weeks, remember?"

"You let me yesterday, when Grace made some for me."

She shrugged. "I felt sorry for you yesterday. Today, except for how god-awful your eye still looks, you seem good as new, so no tea."

"You're right. I'm fit as a fiddle and ready for breakfast. So, if you'll just loan me your car keys, I'll—"

"Ha. Nice try. You are absolutely not driving my Mustang. Give me fifteen minutes, and we can go out and find you some good, greasy diner food."

His expression brightened immediately. "I'll give you twenty minutes if I get to pick the diner."

She smirked. "Fine. Now, get out so I can get dressed."

But he hesitated, leaning his bare back against the door frame, crossing his arms thoughtfully in front of him.

"You know, if I were a gun-toting, basketball playing, strip clubbing man of today, I'd just stand here and leer at you while you changed, wouldn't I?"

He had to be teasing her, of course. Or was that sparkle in his eyes a challenge? They both knew how she reacted to challenges, and he still wasn't budging.

Shyness on the back burner to a dare, Lisbon threw off her covers and swung her legs to the edge of the bed. Turns out, Jane observed, Lisbon wore only a tank top and bikini panties to bed, and her robe hung on a hook by her closet. He watched in well-concealed awe as she padded across the carpet to stand before him. She smelled of apple shampoo and warm, sleepy woman.

"You know, if I were a skirt-wearing, hair-coiffing, high heel-shod lady from the sixties, I'd cower beneath the covers and pray for some gentleman to save me from your lechery."

Jane dropped his hands to his sides, the damp towel slipping to the floor. His hands clenched into fists, as if he were restraining himself from touching her.

"I know a secret about women, Lisbon," he said softly, blue-green eyes dark and intent on hers. "It doesn't matter what time in history a woman is from, she wants to be looked upon with appreciation and even lust—by the right man, of course."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her pulse quicken.

Who was this Jane, who could ratchet up the heat between them with just a few well-chosen, sensual words?

"I-I can't argue with that," she managed in a halting whisper.

She was so close that it would only take one step to be standing in his very personal space. The scent of raspberries and deodorant soap clung to his skin, and she haltingly breathed him in. She reached out her small hand to touch his warm chest, and Jane felt as if it were burning a hole right through to his heart.

What would she do if he gave in to his basest impulses and pulled her into his arms? Would she gladly melt into him, accept the wild kisses he longed to give her? Or blacken his other eye?

Jane belatedly realized that her touch was not strictly a caress, for she was slowly propelling him backwards into the hall. Before his head could catch up with the rest of his body, however, her hand was on the door and she was pushing it closed between them.

She paused when he could only see her through a small crack in the doorway.

"And I know a secret about you, Patrick Jane. Despite your treatment of others to the contrary, you are always a complete gentleman with me."

And she shut the door the last inch.

"It's actually a bit of a curse sometimes," she heard him say dryly.

She leaned her back against the door, heart still racing, a small smile dimpling her cheeks.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With no case to occupy him, Jane was resigned to sit on his couch and not drink tea or sit in Lisbon's office and not drink tea. In the interest of self-preservation, he chose his couch, but his eyes kept straying to Lisbon's office. With nothing to do, it also gave him plenty of time to mull over ad nauseum the morning's events.

Twenty minutes after Lisbon had shut her door on him in her apartment, she had emerged from her bedroom, dressed in a simple black skirt and elegant green blouse, frilly at the neckline and belted at her slim waist. She'd fashioned her hair into a high chignon, and she looked sweet and very professional. He'd complimented her enough to bring color to her cheeks, but as much as he liked her attire, the image of her in her underwear earlier would not leave his mind. So much for the feminine mystique; he'd had a glimpse into Lisbon's, and he wanted to see more—much more.

He had changed out of his jeans and t-shirt into the spare suit he kept in the CBI locker room, and for a brief moment, he really wished he could be a different kind of man for Lisbon. Was that what she really wanted? A man's man who liked strippers and domestic beer?

His mother had taught him to respect women, to open their doors and avoid swearing around them. Women should be treated like queens, she had told him. Sometimes he wondered if being a gentleman really was a curse, like he'd told Lisbon that morning. His body had certainly screamed at him to pick her up and carry her to that messy bed of hers. He wanted to show her that he could act very ungentlemanly, given the right circumstances.

With a sigh of resignation, he went to the break room and eyed the thick, dark liquid that passed for coffee. He'd just poured it down the sink when Rigsby arrived, empty cup in hand, hoping, no doubt for a refill.

"Hey," he said, "that was just settling into the right consistency."

Jane looked to the heavens. "Coffee should have the consistency of water until you liberally lace it with cream and sugar. No way am I drinking that black tar. And anyway, aren't you supposed to be drinking tea?"

"Don't rat me out, man," Rigsby said sotto voce. He pulled from his pocket one of Jane's tea bags which he'd cut open and emptied out the tealeaves.

"I dunk this in my coffee and Grace can see the tea string and label dangling out of my cup." He chuckled at his own cleverness.

Jane shook his head. "It will be very bad for you if you get busted."

"You're just saying that because you hadn't thought of something this smart."

"No, you certainly one-upped me."

He opened the coffee tin near the maker and looked sadly at the freeze dried grounds. Not even whole beans. What kind of barbarism was this?

"There's a Coke in the fridge," Rigsby suggested helpfully.

"Can you drink it hot?"

Rigsby laughed. "I don't think you'd want to."

Jane sighed heavily and began scooping coffee into the filter.

"Looks like you recovered from your adventure in mixing pain meds and booze," Rigsby commented.

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. It's pretty much a blur to me. Did I do anything completely out of character? Lisbon sure acted like I had."

"Not really. Once that stripper started giving you that lap dance, you—"

"What?"

"Oh, my God! You don't remember? The girl was dressed like a cop. You freakin' called her Lisbon!" And then Rigsby began to laugh until tears gathered in his eyes.

Jane stood before the coffee pot, mortified. Normally he didn't take himself too seriously, but this was a very unique situation, to say the least.

About this time, Cho joined them in the break room for a refill. He frowned at the empty pot.

"Talking about the lap dance?" he said, the brief sparkle in his eye the only indication of how humorous he'd found Rigsby's twice-told tale.

Jane didn't even know what to ask now; he was afraid to hear any more. He forced his suddenly cold hands to fill the coffee maker with water and flip on the switch.

"Enjoy the ballet tonight," Jane said meanly, and Cho actually grinned at how suddenly Rigsby's face fell.

Jane left them to their brewing coffee and escaped upstairs to his attic lair.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where's Jane?" asked Lisbon to the bullpen at large.

"I think he's licking his wounds in the attic," said Rigsby sourly. His coffee was so weak, it may as well have been tea.

"What did you do, Rigsby?"

"Me? Nothing. I just filled him in on what he missed last night. You know, he didn't even thank me for hauling his butt to your couch."

"He didn't remember?" asked Van Pelt. She cringed. "Poor guy. I'll bet he was embarrassed." She adjusted her fitted jumper and looked sympathetically toward the attic.

Without another word, Lisbon headed for the elevator (no way she'd climb two flights in heels).

She knocked loudly on the door to his man cave.

"Jane, it's me. Open up."

"I'm busy," he called after a moment.

"I've got baseball tickets…" she tempted, reaching into her skirt pocket.

The door slid open immediately. "Really?"

She held up the pair of Oakland A's tickets as proof. She'd bought them from a friend in Accounting who had season tickets but couldn't go that night.

"I thought I'd give you a break of sorts today. Baseball is still a very masculine pursuit, right? And since I didn't think you were up to playing touch football…"

"No," he said gravely. "I honestly don't think I'd survive it."

She knew how much he liked this sport, at least. He could spit out baseball statistics like a computer. She turned to leave, glad she had cheered him up, and looking forward to spending another evening with him more than she wanted to admit to herself.

"Well, we should leave right after work if we're going to make it through traffic in time."

"Hey, Lisbon. Rigsby filled me in on what happened last night. I want to apologize if I did anything that made you…uncomfortable."

"You didn't do anything really, just sort of… sat there. Rigsby is to blame. He paid for that stripper to do what she, uh, did."

"I must have been pretty delusional, to call her by your name." He made himself look her in the eye, and she blushed at the memory.

"Yeah. Drugs and alcohol definitely don't mix. But I'm sorry this week hasn't really been that fun for you. This was supposed to be a bit less painful."

"It hasn't been all that bad."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, it's been pretty ghastly. I'm sorry I've disappointed you. You know what they say about leopards and spots."

"It wasn't my intention for you to feel bad about yourself. Or to change you," she said seriously. Suddenly, it seemed more important for him to know this than to win a stupid bet.

"Well, that's a good thing," he was saying, "because there's another expression about old dogs and new tricks."

"I guess so. But after tonight, I think I'm willing to forget this stupid bet if you are."

He watched her a moment, his eyes roaming up and down her charmingly old-fashioned outfit, pausing at her shapely calves. "I don't know, Lisbon. I think I'd miss the skirts."

She smiled, and maybe even preened a bit. "You know what? I've actually enjoyed dressing up this week. I might work skirts back into my wardrobe occasionally."

"You won't hear me complaining."

The silence that followed was unusually awkward, and Lisbon turned once again toward the door and the safety of her beckoning office. It had never bothered her to be alone with Jane—she trusted him implicitly in this case, at least—but she'd never been so aware of him as a man before. He'd shaved half-naked in her bathroom that morning, for God's sake.

She held out her hand to present him with the tickets. "Why don't you hold onto these."

He took them from her, and when their fingers touched, they both felt the mild jolt that passed between them.

"I'll see you in a few hours," he said.

"Yes, you will."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in his jeans and a clean shirt, and Lisbon in her own feminine version of the same, they met in the parking lot of the CBI after work. With a new awareness humming between them, they suddenly felt like they were on a date, but there was no way either of them would admit it.

She must have been feeling really bad about his eye and the disastrous night in the club, for she let Jane drive them in his Citroen all the way to Oakland.

"You're drug free tonight, right?" she verified as he started the engine.

"I vow I will never again get elbowed in the eye while playing pickup basketball, so that won't be something you have to worry about."

She laughed and the rest of the trip was spent talking baseball stats and sixties fashion.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The Oakland Coliseum was alive with spectators-families, guys out with the guys, people on dates—all having a good time and looking forward to the A's beating the Houston Astros. Once they got past the gate, Jane made a beeline for the concession stand.

"You can't watch a baseball game without a hotdog or two," he claimed, ordering two for both of them, along with the requisite two Cokes. When he looked up from paying for their dinner, Lisbon had disappeared.

"Lisbon!" he called, attempting to load himself up with his purchases.

She returned, weaving her way through the crowd.

"There you are! I thought you'd ditched me."

"Nope, just had a little errand to run."

With a mischievous grin, she produced an Oakland A's cap from behind her back and put it on his head, adjusting it so it sat at a rakish angle upon his curls. With his hands full of hot dogs, he could do nothing but grin back at her.

"Now the look's complete," she said triumphantly.

"Gee, thanks. Now, could you please take these drinks before I spill them?"

They found their seats behind first base and settled in to eat, Jane commenting between mouthfuls on the players and each team's chances of a win. It was an exciting game, and they found themselves on their feet cheering and high-fiving on many occasions.

Between innings, they sang along with the organ music of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and watched the funny videos on the Jumbotron. Then came Lisbon's favorite gimmick—the Kiss Cam. They watched in amusement as the cameras focused on couples sitting in the stands, catching them unawares until they saw themselves up on the Jumbotron. The pair were expected (and strongly encouraged) by the crowd to kiss.

"Well, they're on the verge of divorcing," said Jane of one reluctantly kissing couple. "This ballgame might be the last straw for her—look at her expression."

They both laughed as the wife wiped her mouth after her husband's halfhearted kiss. And then, like magic, their own laughing faces appeared on the screen, and from that moment, everything happened very quickly. Lisbon found herself pulled roughly into Jane's embrace, his warm, full lips meeting hers. For an instant she froze, but he was persistent in getting her to snap out of her shock and kiss him back. And then she did, wholeheartedly.

The roaring crowd was drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, the harsh quickness of Jane's breathing. The seconds seemed like minutes as the kiss went on and on, her mouth opening to admit his seeking tongue, impatient hands knocking his hat off to delve into his hair and bring him closer still. She moaned softly and the kiss deepened further. They forgot where they were, forgot they were on camera, forgot everything in the world but the feeling of heated lips and the sensual tangling of tongues.

"Hey," cried a man behind them. "Get a room, will ya?"

The nearby laughter brought them out of their spell, and Jane smiled at Lisbon's dazed expression, then, ever the showman, he waved triumphantly to their audience via the Jumbotron, giving Lisbon a brief, smacking kiss on the lips. The stadium filled with laughter, applause and a few crude comments, but then the camera moved on to other victims, and Jane and Lisbon were left with pounding hearts and shell-shocked expressions.

"Well," said Jane when the game resumed. "There'll be no keeping this a secret." He cast her a sidelong look of amusement.

Lisbon smiled, her lips still tingling.

"Nope, I suppose not."

And then the first of many excited text messages blew up her phone.

A/N: Okay, I know that was pretty cheesy, but give me a break. I've written so many first kisses between them by now that I'm trying to keep it fresh each time. I hope you found it as funny as I did.

Now, the bad news (at least for this fic). I'll be on vacation for the next week, so it is highly unlikely I'll have a new chapter up for awhile. I will probably do some writing on the plane, because I can't quit cold turkey, so hopefully I'll have something for you the minute I get back.

Thanks again for reading! See you back here soon!