AN: I think I may have reached new heights of ridiculousness in this chapter, but I blame y'all for reading and encouraging me! Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, especially the guests, to whom I couldn't send a PM. I hope you all enjoy this last installment: it includes a shift to Lisbon's perspective, for a bit of a change, as well as a bit of a sappy happy ending (because I just couldn't help it) :)

Patrick Jane was once again feeling confident and sure of himself. He'd nearly lost it there for a moment, but now that he'd managed to clear his head, with the help of a few whiskeys, he had at last figured out Lisbon's plan. Or so he thought. She was trying to punish him for the other night by distracting him with peeps at her lingerie, and thus force him to embarrass himself in front of their colleagues.

Well, if she wanted to play at games of seduction, then he was going to show her who was the master player around here. He would make her sorry she'd ever tried to get one over on him. It was time to even the score.

Somewhere deep within his brain, a tiny voice piped up and asked him why it was her feints had worked so well, why he'd been so strangely susceptible to what was essentially just pieces of colored lace; the voice spoke perhaps of something that might be termed love, but Jane's conscious self squashed it back down forcefully. That was her plan, to get him all confused and thrown off-balance, and he wasn't going to let that happen. He took another swig of whiskey to fortify his resolutions, and picked up his phone.

Operation Lisbon-Gets-Her-Comeuppance is a go.

Teresa Lisbon was in the middle of a frustrating conversation when her phone rang.

"No, Marcus, as I told you the other night, it's over."

"But–"

"No buts. It wasn't working between us, you know what I mean."

"I could–"

"No, you couldn't."

"But–"

"Hush a moment, I have to answer this. Lisbon. … Jane? I– …What? … Okay, I'll be right there. Just stay down."

She ended the call and turned back to the man sitting morosely across the table from her.

"Marcus, I'm sorry, I've got to go. Jane's in trouble."

"Can I–"

"No. Goodbye, Marcus."

Speeding into the deserted FBI car-park and bringing her vehicle to a screeching halt beside Jane's Airstream, Lisbon took a moment to survey the scene. All was quiet and dark. There were no signs of life at all from the solitary trailer, or elsewhere in the isolated lot, and Lisbon quickly swallowed down the nervous tension rising within her. She picked up her phone.

"Cho? It's Lisbon. Look, I'm at Jane's and something's wrong. I might need back-up. … Great, thanks."

She hung up and drew her weapon before exiting the vehicle. Walking carefully to minimize any noise caused by her heeled boots, she approached the trailer steps, looking about her warily for any signs of movement. Seeing none, she tried the door. It was unlocked and she gently eased it open, holding her breath a little as thoughts of what she might find within teemed through her worried brain.

It was pitch dark inside.

From previous visits, she knew just where the light switch was, to the left of the door, so, putting her hand over it, she primed her weapon and flicked the switch.

And gasped.

All of a sudden, events seemed to happen in slow motion.

There, in the doorway to the Airstream's tiny bathroom, less than ten feet away from her, stood Jane. And he was far from being injured, or dead, as she had feared. No, he was leaning casually against the doorframe, blinking a little in the sudden light, but with a smirk on his handsome face and his bare arms folded across his chest.

Which was also bare.

And surprisingly well toned.

And dripping with beads of moisture.

Good God. Patrick Jane is standing in front of me, wearing only a towel. Dripping wet and wearing only a towel. That's practically naked. Patrick Jane is practically naked and standing right in front of me. Right now, there is only a towel between me and a naked Jane.

Jane. Naked.

Lisbon went to take a step forward, a shocked expression still on her face and not yet able to utter a word, but as she did so she tripped on the top step and stumbled forward. Her elbow hit the back of the seat beside her, and as her finger knocked the trigger of her gun, it went off with a loud bang. The alarming sound echoed even more alarmingly in the tight confines of the trailer, and from her ungainly position on the floor, Lisbon heard an anguished shout.

Once again on her feet, she was greeted by the sight of Jane clutching a hand to his shoulder, from which red blood could be seen welling up between his white fingers, while at the same time he tried to keep the towel around his waist from falling down. His face was a grimace of pain and panic, and the effect of the whole picture was so ridiculous that in the shock of the moment Lisbon let out a horrified laugh.

Jane looked at her, an expression of incredulousness replacing the previous agony.

"Good God, woman. You've just shot me in the arm, and all you can do is stand there and laugh. Ouch, Lisbon, it really hurts."

This last came out in a sulky whine, and Lisbon couldn't help but keep the smile on her face as she hurriedly crossed the small space to examine the wound.

Pulling his fingers away from his shoulder, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's just a flesh wound, Jane. You're going to be fine." She couldn't help but be aware of the incredible smoothness of his bare damp skin beneath her fingers, and her breathing gave a hitch. "But there's still a lot of blood, so we're going to have to bind it with something. Give me that towel."

She put a hand on his hip and made to remove the fabric from around his waist. He gave a yelp and slapped her hand away.

"No! You can't have my towel, Lisbon. I've been shot, for goodness' sake. You have to let me keep this last vestige of my dignity."

"Dignity?" she smirked, but relinquished her hold on his precious drapery and started looking around for something else to stem the flow of blood.

"Take off your shirt," Jane reclaimed her attention by demanding. "It's an emergency, Lisbon. I could be bleeding to death here."

At her open-mouthed gape, he continued, a look of glee taking up delighted residence on his features, helped along perhaps by his earlier bouts of alcohol consumption. "I've been seeing so much of your lingerie lately, Lisbon, what's one more peek? What color is it today? Deep crimson? Buttercup yellow? No, wait, let me guess: a vivid violet?"

She glared at him, and then, seeing the blood still flowing steadily from his arm and beginning to drip on the floor, sighed and started to unbutton her blouse.

"Fine."

The last fastening let loose from its mooring, she wriggled her arms out of the piece of clothing and began to bind the material around his upper arm. Securing it firmly, she looked up and rolled her eyes at his slack-jawed expression. "Come on, Jane. As you just said, you've seen it all before."

"Pink."

"Yes, Jane, pink. Very good. Now, come on and snap out of it, we need to get you to the hospital. You're going to need stitches in that arm."

Just then they heard a sound from the open doorway. Spinning around swiftly, and preparing to shoot again if necessary, Lisbon was relieved to find Cho and Fischer standing there. Cho was looking at them with his usual blank expression, a slightly higher pitch to his eyebrows the only visible sign that he was surprised by what he saw before him. Fischer, on the other hand, was standing as if struck, with her mouth open wide and her eyes out on stalks.

When a long while had gone by without anyone saying anything, Lisbon took a sudden look at herself and Jane, and immediately blushed.

"Crap."

Jane's towel had slipped and was barely doing its declared job of maintaining any dignity whatsoever. Jane himself was still staring at her own hardly modest chest area, his eyes a little glazed, and an altogether vacant expression on his face.

"Jane!"

She was tempted to slap his face, but restrained herself on the premise that he could be in real shock from the bullet wound, and that it might result in the loss of the towel altogether.

"Ah, guys, perhaps you could give us a ride to the hospital?" She tried surreptitiously to reach behind her and adjust his covering.

It didn't work. She felt warm skin and whipped her hand back.

"Yeah, sure. What happened here?" Cho spoke at last; his eyebrows were once again back at their usual position.

"Just a bit of…an accident," Lisbon replied, avoiding eye contact. "Sorry for getting you both out here unnecessarily. Wait a minute. What are you doing together? Were you two on a date?"

Fischer's mouth at last slapped shut, and she looked furtively at Cho, as if unsure how to respond. He shrugged.

"Yeah. No worries."

Lisbon stared at them both for a moment, and then shook herself and started looking around her for Jane's trousers. Spotting them at last on the bed, she snatched them up along with his shirt and thrust them into the man's arms.

"Jane, put these on. Can you do it on your own?"

"Magnolia," said Jane, taking the clothes distractedly and backing slowly into the bathroom, eyes never straying from her lace-covered breasts. Lisbon made a hasty grab for the towel as it finally slipped from his hips. Pushing it and him into the other room, she shut the door with a bang.

"No, wait, fuchsia," came his muffled voice through the door.

"What's he saying?" Cho asked.

"Nothing," Lisbon muttered hastily. "He's in a lot of pain."

The three of them stood there in the Airstream, waiting. Lisbon shuffled her feet.

At last, the bathroom door opened again and Jane re-emerged, somewhat disheveled in his wrinkled clothes, but nevertheless fully covered. Lisbon sighed in relief, reached for his unwounded arm and started to pull him towards the door.

"Right, let's go."

"Ah, Teresa…" Fischer started to say something, and then stopped.

"Yes?"

"Do you think… maybe… you should put a shirt on, too, before we go?"

Lisbon felt herself blush bright red again.

"Crap. Yes. Thanks, Kim."

She let go of Jane and wrenched open a cupboard door. There, hanging neatly in an ordered row, were several of Jane's shirts. She grabbed one and hastily put it on, then led the now much less distracted man after the others and out to Cho's car, wishing with all her heart that this night would soon be over.

Cripes, I am never going to live this down.

A couple of hours later, she was leading Jane back up the Airstream steps. He was still somewhat groggy from painkillers, so she allowed him the hand on her hip to keep his balance. It wouldn't do to have him falling down the steps and doing himself another injury, after all.

Once they were inside with the door closed securely behind them, Jane immediately crossed to the bed and lay down on it, curling his body up into the fetal position and closing his eyes.

Lisbon got to work cleaning the blood from the floor.

"Lisbon?" she soon heard, uttered plaintively from across the small space.

"Yeah, Jane?"

"C'mere?"

She sat down beside him, and he took her hand between his slightly clammy fingers.

"You know, I think I like the fuchsia best."

She smiled and couldn't help teasing him. "Really, Jane? I would have thought the green was more your style."

He stared at her without blinking.

"The dark spring green does bring out the color of your eyes, 's true," he eventually said, "but I still prefer the fuchsia. I've always thought you'd look partic'ly beautiful in such a deep shade of pink."

For some unaccountable reason, Lisbon felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Things seemed to have become serious all of a sudden.

"You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course I do." He reached up with one finger and tapped her on the cheek. "Beau-ti-ful."

She smiled and bent down to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, Jane."

"Lisbon?" he asked again, before she could get up and return to cleaning the floor.

"Yeah, Jane?"

"D'ya think I could see more than just your lingerie?"

"What?" She scooted backwards off the bed so fast that she almost lost her balance and fell over for the second time that night.

Jane sat up quickly, too, his eyes wide with drugged panic.

"I think that came out wrong."

"I should bloody well hope so."

"What I mean is," he rubbed a hand over his face and attempted to look tragic, "being shot tonight has given me a new perspective on life, and on recent events."

Lisbon rolled her eyes at his melodrama, but let him continue on with his speech without interruption.

"Lingerie's all well and good, very good, of course, especially when it's yours, but I've realized that… Well, and that's the point, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to enlighten me, Jane. What's the point?"

"Well, that the lingerie is yours, Lisbon. That it's your lingerie that…Well, I mean… I wouldn't be acting this way about anyone else's now, would I?"

"I hope not," Lisbon replied quietly, coming back to sit beside him on the bed.

"So, it has come to my attention that it's you," he reached for her hand again, "who is meant for me. Whatever you might happen to be wearing. Or not."

"That is, quite possibly, very sweet, Jane." She squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

"So can we make a change, Lisbon? Can I be yours? Or you mine? Can we be each other's from now on, do you think?"

"Yes, I think we can, Jane," she smiled and kissed him again, this time on the lips. "At any rate, something has to change. I can't afford to ruin any more of my blouses."

AN: That's all, folks! Hope you liked it :)