Title: Will You Marry Me?

Disclaimer: Nooo. *sobs* don't remind me. :P

Thanks to HelpATemporaryIdentityCrisis, xXLuvin-itXx, 24Mentalistlover, MizzFizz, P. Schoeller, Tabitha of MoonAurora, Brown Eyes Parker, Yaba, TeresaJane, Jisbon4ever, lucyyh, blueMnM415, lisbon69, lysjelonken, ShunKickShunKers, Frogster, nitakb, Famous4it, waterbaby134, katiegirl101199, kate tidly, JackSam, Mrs. Peeta, In The Name, and Streak of the Sun for the absolutely wonderful reviews.

So, it's J/L time by my watch!

I've wanted to write for this lately, but I wasn't quite so sure how Jane would propose to Lisbon—especially as Jane seems to choose the most off-the-wall proposals…but oh well, he wouldn't be Jane if he just proposed to Lisbon with a ring, now would he be?

(Besides that, I also figured that we needed some J/L fluff-humor!)

XV.

"Lisbon," he whines, as the both of them remain on stakeout within the SUV due to their latest suspect. "I'm bored." She only glances at him, before she grasps at her coffee and takes a sip before she focuses back on the large white house. "Lisbon," he repeats and she ignores him. "…please, I'm going to slowly die of boredom…"

"Nobody has died of boredom yet, Jane." Lisbon interrupts him. "However, if you don't stop whining—you're going to find yourself on the end of a very uncomfortable situation." He grins. "I'm trying to concentrate…"

"…on what?" he interrupts, as he glances out the windows to look around. "A few mailboxes designed as a cow, a chicken and one that looks oddly like a…" Lisbon fixes him with a glare. "…never mind, I'm not quite sure what that last one looks like…"

"Jane, we're on a stakeout here…"

"I know that, which is why I'm dying of boredom." He whines. "You won't even let me turn on the radio…"

"You're right." She interrupts again. "I'm not about to let you turn on the radio, especially not after your impromptu karaoke party in my vehicle last week."

"I thought you enjoyed it, you were even singing along."

"I was not." She sputters and he grins.

"You have a very beautiful voice, Lisbon—you shouldn't be ashamed of that, and I bet you even sing in the shower." He answers, and she fixes him with a dark glare. "What? No argument? I'm surprised."

(He honestly is surprised, especially at the lack of blush on her cheeks—but he isn't so surprised that she looks ready to strangle him with his seatbelt.)

"I'm trying to decide if I want to toss you out of the vehicle or if I should just ignore you."

"If you toss me out of the vehicle, I'll just go knock on our victim's door…"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Want to bet?" He asks her, and she grimaces. "…besides that, you owe me for dragging me out to the middle of nowhere to look into someone who is innocent."

"We have to follow all leads, Jane and no, just because our suspect had an alibi does not mean I trust him."

"Of course you wouldn't trust him, you barely trust me."

"I don't trust you at all."

He moves his hand up to where his heart is and pouts, "You grievously wound me, Lisbon."

"You'll get over it." She focuses back on the house, and he glances around in the vehicle to find a sheet of paper and a pen nearby—he picks both items up and uses the dashboard to place his paper before he uses his pen to draw a backwards seven, then he draws twenty small lines and hides the sheet of paper from Lisbon's eyes. "Do I even want to know what you're doing?"

"We're going to play hangman." He beams. "Guess a letter."

(He wonders if she'll kill him after this, especially once she reads their lovely phrase.)

"If I play, will you leave me alone afterwards?" He nods, and she sighs. "A."

"There are two A's."

"E"

"Three E's"

"Z"

"Nope," he tells her as he draws a head for their hangman figure. "Who uses Z anyway?" She glances at him.

"Z is a letter in the dictionary, Jane. Zebra, Zoo…"

"Zimocca," He offers and she raises her eyebrow.

"You made that up."

"Did not, Lisbon." He argues. "It means bath-sponge, but I doubt that I'd be using it in our game of hangman—unless I'm asking you to give me a sponge-bath…" He wiggles his eyebrows, to which she lightly smacks him. "Next letter."

She bites her lip, "C"

"No; our poor little hangman fellow..." he informs her as he draws the head a stick body. "I know you can do better than this, Lisbon."

"Fine," she sighs again. "W?"

"One W"

"T?"

"Yes, there's one." Lisbon sighs.

"O?"

"One."

"M?"

"Two."

"Jane, what exactly are you having me spell out?" She asks him, and he grins.

"That's why we're playing hangman, Lisbon. Next letter."

"L?"

"Two L's"

"Q?"

(Is the woman this bad at hangman? He wonders, as he draws an arm for their hangman figure.)

"R"

"Three R's."

"I don't know, Jane." Lisbon continues. "I really have no idea what you're trying to spell."

"Lisbon, you have twenty-six letters in the alphabet and you've only guessed eleven of them…come on, woman. I know you're smarter than that."

"If you don't shut up," she fixes him with another glare. "I'm going to throw that outside the window."

"...and then I'd make a citizen's arrest, because that's littering and you could be fined for that before spending up to ninety days in jail…and I can only imagine Hightower's face once we tell her why you were thrown in jail." He beams. "Next letter, Lisbon."

"Y."

"There are two of them."

"F."

"Look, you're slowly killing him." He states, as he draws the second arm. "I thought you were supposed to protect people, not kill them."

"I don't think saving stick people is in my contact, Jane." She retorts, dryly. "But, just to shut you up…my next letter will have to be S."

"One S."

"U?"

"One."

"I?"

"Yes! You saved Joe!"

Lisbon glances at him. "Joe?"

"Yeah, what else do you call a two armed stick figure; Arnold?"

"You do realize that it's a line with a circle, and then two smaller lines right?"

"Joe."

"Never mind, I just want to know what the phrase was."

He turns the paper toward her and waits for her reaction.

Will You Marry Me, Teresa?

"Can I see the paper and pen, I would love to play hangman with you now." He beams, and passes it to her. "Eight letters, Jane—three words." She marks them on her paper, and he throws out the first letter.

"R?"

"No."

He gains a head for his stick figure.

"L?"

"Two."

"G?"

"One."

"O?"

"Two."

"H?"

"One."

"T?"

"One."

"E?"

She pauses to glance at him.

"Congrats, Jane—you win…do you want to see the phrase?"

He nods, and she turns it toward him.

Go To Hell!

He glances back at her. "I guess this means no, then?"

(The now crumpled piece of paper hits him in the head, and he continues to sulks for the rest of their stakeout.)