Title: There's No Place like Home

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Thanks to Frogster, Wldwmn, WeBuiltThePyramids, and SteeleSimz for the lovely reviews!

So, let's continue on...shall we? :)

1—It Really Was No Miracle

Jane couldn't help but stare at the pink-dress clad, tiara wearing Teresa Lisbon as she roughly lifted the silky material of her dress with her fingers and turned to narrow her green eyes on him.—if Lisbon had anything to do with this couch revenge, he thought cautiously, she probably wouldn't be wearing the very same pink dress Grace had goaded her into wearing back when the red-headed agent had nearly married Craig O'Laughlin.—

He tried not to laugh but the disapproval across Lisbon's face coupled with the white diamond tiara that remained perched across her dark hair made him chuckle.

"Looks like somebody found their tiara," Jane snidely commented.

She shook the bottom of the dress in front of him and he watched as a few sparkles flew off. "Damn it, Jane! What are you playing at?"

"I should ask you the same question, Lisbon." He stopped his laughter. "I just want to go back to my couch. You know, in Sacramento?"

Lisbon blinked. "Sacramento? What mysterious land is that?"

Jane nearly scoffed until he saw the earnest confusion bleed across her face.—She's not joking, is she?—"Where are we?" he continued on.

"The Wonderful Land of Oz, of course," Lisbon responded in a neutral tone. "Right now, you're standing in Munchkin Land." She made an arching movement with her hand and he burst out laughing.

"The Wonderful Land of Oz?" he managed through his laughter. "Munchkin Land? Oh, Lisbon! Is Bertram behind this?" Jane peered beyond her shoulder and scanned for Bertram, or even LaRouche. Lisbon seemed perplexed again and he sighed. Lisbon honestly couldn't believe that she was the good witch or that they were in Munchkin Land.—The Wizard of Oz had always been one of my wife's favorite movies, Jane recalled silently.—"Next, you're going to tell me I killed the Wicked Witch of the East." He laughed at his own comment as Lisbon glanced over his shoulder and raised her eyebrow.

"I thought you said there were no such things as psychics, Jane," Lisbon commented as Jane turned slightly to view his couch, where he became all too aware of the pair of black and white stocking-covered legs sticking out from beneath his couch.

"My couch killed someone?" Jane asked incredulously. Lisbon nodded. He eyed her. "It was a house in the movie, Lisbon. Not a couch!" He furrowed his brows. "I've seen flying houses but never a flying couch."

Lisbon shrugged. "House, couch—same amount of letters. Obviously, you were on that couch of yours because the Munchkins called to tell me that it fell from the sky and landed on the Wicked Witch of the East." She stopped to eye him. "If you are a good witch or a bad witch is what they want to know."

"They?" Jane asked.

"Yes, they! The Munchkins!" Lisbon repeated and Jane stared. "They would like very much to show their glowing appreciations to you but only if you can tell them what you are."

"I'm not a witch," he stated.

"Sure, you aren't," Lisbon argued before she spoke again. "The Munchkins are happy that the Wicked Witch is dead and that she cannot terrorize them anymore."

"The munchkins aren't real, Lisbon," Jane argued in return. "My couch didn't simply fall from the sky. You had Rigsby put it there."

Lisbon raised her eyebrow. "They are real, Jane." She glanced around. "You all can come out now, people of Munchkin Land—Jane has killed the Wicked Witch and he's an awfully harmless witch."

Jane watched in amusement as no one came through the bushes toward them. "Your so-called Munchkins," he threw with a chuckle, "aren't coming out, Lisb…" He paused, as people began to pop out from within the bushes. Their clothes were bright, mismatched and each individual wore a hat but he could recognize each and every so-called Munchkin before him; even if the people they used to be were much taller than the four feet they all currently stood at. He turned to glance back at Lisbon. "Aren't you supposed to sing? I'm pretty sure somebody is supposed to sing me a song."

Lisbon scoffed. "I'm not singing to you. You dropped a couch on somebody and you think you deserve an entire song? Yeah, right."

"Of course I do, Lisbon," Jane reassured her. "Dorothy got many songs for dropping a house from the sky. I dropped a couch and I get this trivial little welcome party." He waved his hand around before he glanced at the familiar faces—the red-headed woman who sat at the desk in front of Grace, Ron, and even the men who had taken temporary residence within the Serious Crimes Unit after Lisbon and everybody else had been temporarily suspended. "No offense to all my smaller co-workers, who of course, are…munchkins right now…but I want a song with an entire orchestra."

Lisbon stared, "Just because you just killed the Wicked Witch of the East…"

The munchkins all cheered happily.

"…what makes you think anybody will actually sing for you?" She finished with a smallish smile pressed across her lips.

"In the movie…" Jane began.

"I thought we already established this isn't a movie, Jane," Lisbon answered. "You aren't this Dorothy." She eyed him. "However, that can be changed. Trust me." He did trust her.

"I'm not the one in the pink dress, Lisbon," Jane returned. "I knew you'd be the good witch—sparkly tiara and all." Lisbon narrowed her eyes again, while her hand inched toward her clothed hip. "Are you the Good Witch of the NRA, instead of the North?" He snorted at his own joke, as she pulled out a tiny, silver…pencil? "You're going to report me to death? What a classy act, Lisbon."

He broke into a second smile as she twirled the item in her hand. "It's not my usual gun but it does the job." She waved her pencil and Jane felt absolutely nothing—no tingle, no pain—nothing. "If you're going to laugh at my ridiculous outfit, then yours will need to be just as ridiculous." Lisbon swept her eyes over him, and she smirked. "You're very welcome, Jane." He slowly glanced down at himself, and instead of seeing the familiar dark grey three-piece suit he had donned that very morning. Lisbon's "pencil" had somehow managed to make his jacket completely obsolete. His remaining clothing had been turned into a blue and white plaid mess, though she hadn't dared to touch his brown shoes.—all in all, he thought bitterly, I'm the male version of Dorothy Gale…sans the ruby red slippers, of course.— She tilted her head to stare at him before she nodded. "Oh, I almost forgot something," Lisbon continued to smirk. "You need a companion for your long journey." She waved her pencil again as a picnic basket materialized besides him and something moved inside of it.

"Toto?" Jane questioned, as he bent over to open the lid. "My companion is Toto?"

"No," Lisbon stated firmly. "Your companion is Cranberry." The dark, furry dog popped from the basket, and looked up at them both in question—his little pink tongue lolling from his mouth.

"Cranberry?" Jane threw in disbelief. "Why not call him Blueberry?"

"That's all they had," she answered.

Jane seriously doubted that but before he had the chance to say something, or argue with the dark-haired witch again, a flare of angry red smoke burst forth from the middle of the celebrating town and all the residents' took cover by playing a healthy round of opossum, while he and Lisbon turned to stare at the Wicked Witch of the West: an emerald painted Grace Van Pelt, dressed in all black, with a broom held tightly to her chest.