Title: Silly Arguments

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

Rating: T

Summary: Five silly arguments Jane and Van Pelt shared within their relationship. J/VP.

Spoilers: Minor spoilers for 4x19.

I like fluff, I like Jane/Van Pelt, and I like making people happy. Written for loveconquersallxxx, who continues to blame me for making her ship things.

I.

"How come I never choose where we go on dates?" Van Pelt asked Jane, as he opened the car door for her. Jane merely smiled and held out his arm for her to take, which she did after a moment or so of silence. "We've been dating for nearly two months now, and you've yet to let me pick where we go."

Jane chuckled, before he answered her statement. "There's a reason for that, my dear." Van Pelt paused in mid-step to glance at him; the lights from wherever Jane had decided to herd them to for the evening twinkled above them both, as she furrowed her brows at the mirthful expression he wore. In her opinion, she could pick dates just as well, if not better, than he could for the both of them. "If I let you take me out, we'd spend the night at the zoo. You'd spend the night giving more attention to the animals, than you would me." He threw her a wink, which only served to further fuel her anger. She tore her arm from his and turned on her purple heels to escape from him, when she felt his strong arms wrap around her midsection.

"Jane!" Van Pelt cried, as she struggled against his tight hold. She heard him chuckle and she scowled. "If you don't knock it off, I'll hit you." Dating or not, she wasn't afraid of using her elbow to knock him off his high horse. He said nothing, and she slowly brought her elbow forward, when she felt his nose bury into her hair. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to read your thoughts." Jane muttered and she rolled her eyes.

"You can read my thoughts by sniffing my hair?" Van Pelt asked him in disbelief. Of course, she knew he couldn't. Jane had always said that psychics didn't exist, so why could anybody read thoughts by using their noses. He said nothing to her in response, and she continued to scowl. "There's absolutely no…" Jane shushed her, before he went completely silent again, and she could feel him moving his nose through her hair. "Seriously, Jane? What are you doing?" Once again, he said nothing and she tried to wiggle her way from his grasp.

"Grace." Jane addressed her, lowly and she stopped for a second to listen to whatever he had to say. "If you'd stop wiggling, I could maintain some dignity and let you go." Van Pelt bit her lip to keep from laughing, before she decided to wiggle against him again. If anything embarrassed him, it served him right; the man was absolutely insufferable and all she wanted to do was choose one date for them both. "Grace!"

"Did you need something, Jane?" Van Pelt asked, sweetly. Jane growled playfully in her ear.

"Stop teasing, Grace." Jane warned.

"Or did you have something you wanted to say to me?"

He said nothing and she smirked. They both probably knew that if he ever wanted to maintain any dignity within their relationship, he would let her pick the next date.

"No?" Van Pelt asked after his continuing silence. She felt his head move slightly, which made her decide to slowly wiggle her hips into his again. "If you'd let me go, you can go enjoy your date alone."

She heard him sigh. "I know what you're doing, Grace. It won't work." She had thought her technique was working. "I like being able to reasonably plan our dates with both of us in mind."

"You're jealous of zoo animals, Jane." Van Pelt responded. "How is that being reasonable?"

"I never said it had to make sense, did I?" Jane asked her with a laugh, and she couldn't help but laugh in agreement. "But if it makes you happy, I will let you plan the next two dates."

She did, and neither date involved the zoo, much to Jane's amusement.

II.

"If I didn't know any better, Grace Van Pelt, I'd say you're tryingto kill me." Jane teased, as the red-headed woman collapsed onto her couch next to him. It had been a rather long day at work for both of them, and apparently, she had decided that a pair of short shorts and a sparse tank top would be appropriate enough for the evening-in. She mumbled something into his shoulder and he quirked his lips into response. "Grace, my ears are up here."

He felt her pull away from him, before she spoke again. "I said, "I left my gun at work, how am I trying to kill you?" He turned to glance at her in surprise. "What?"

"We're ordering pizza, right?"

"Unless you suddenly learn how to not burn down my kitchen," Van Pelt responded and Jane shook his head; the whole fire in her kitchen hadn't been his entire fault, it had been the combined faults of an overloaded socket and a leaky sink, "yes."

"You're not allowed to answer the door then." Jane told her.

"We're in my apartment, which means I have to answer the door." Van Pelt answered him and he eyed her carefully. "I also said I was paying for this dinner."

"I'm answering the door." He argued with her.

"No, you aren't." Van Pelt argued back.

Unfortunately, Jane realized that they both could be rather stubborn, as the argument continued, and it didn't seem like Grace would give-in anytime soon. Finally, he stood from the couch and turned to stare at her. "You're not answering the door dressed like that."

Van Pelt stared down at her attire, before she glanced back up at him. "I always wear this."

"Yes, when we're not expecting the pizza guy and his wandering eyes." He answered her, and he watched her roll her eyes in response. "I'm sure Lisbon would not appreciate getting a call about me having been locked up for punching the pizza guy in the face, just because he stared at my girlfriend."

"If you interrupted Lisbon for that, she'd kill you."

"Exactly," Jane agreed. "So, please don't make me spend tonight in handcuffs and let me answer the door?"

"I'm sure the handcuffs miss you though." Van Pelt stated after a few moments of silence, and Jane eyed her in surprise.

"I'm not getting arrested, Grace."

"Who said you had to get arrested to wear handcuffs, Patrick?" Van Pelt asked, with a smallish grin and Jane laughed. Grace was a little minx! "However, if it makes you feel better…I'll only tip the guy…"

He didn't let her finish her sentence, as he pressed his lips against hers.

III.

"You've been living here for almost a month now, and you still haven't figured out where to put your socks?" Van Pelt asked Jane, as she leaned down to pick the offending clothing item up off the floor. Jane glanced at her from the bathroom, a toothbrush lulling from his mouth as he continued to ready himself for work. "I don't understand that. You can solve murders, but you can't put your socks in the hamper?"

"It's the curse of misdirection." Jane explained to her, after he had managed to pull the toothbrush from his mouth and spit in the sink. "I'm a handsome man, who just happens to solve hundreds of crimes for the CBI, yet I have horrible aim." He threw her a light smile and she rolled her eyes. Her bedroom wasn't completely clean, but she enjoyed being able to see the dark floor without finding his horrible socks all over the place.

"If I had known what I was getting myself into," she retorted dryly, "I would have adopted a cat instead." Jane playfully frowned and she rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm a messy person…but I do like to have some order in my life."

"Of course you do, dear." Jane agreed with her and Van Pelt found him to be even more irritating than usual. "I'm just trying to see if our socks will mate…"

"They're socks!" Van Pelt exclaimed. "Socks! Not living creatures with vital body parts!"

Jane turned back to the mirror. "You're overreacting, Grace."

"I'm overreacting?" She repeated. "I'm overreacting?" Van Pelt clenched her hands together and reminded herself that strangling her boyfriend was still illegal in the eyes of the law, even if nobody would blame her for doing so.

"It's just a bunch of socks." Jane explained. "We could be fighting over a lot of things, Grace. You're just picking socks, because it's the safest thing to pick on." Jane turned back to stare at her. "I know you, Grace. You want to say something about our latest case at work, but you can't…so you're choosing something that you wouldn't normally care about."

Van Pelt narrowed her eyes. He just thought he knew her.

"If you want to scream at me about work, go ahead." Jane told her. "Our relationship is supposed to be an open and honest one, and…"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, before her heeled shoe collided with his gut.

"You're an ass, I hope you know that." Van Pelt said. Jane sputtered in surprise. "Next time, pick up your damned socks!"

After that, she never found another sock of his on the floor again.

IV.

"I either need to start doing more laundry, buy more shirts, or stop letting you wear mine." Jane told Van Pelt, as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She contently sighed and snuggled closer to him. "Does that mean you'll give me back my shirt?"

"No." Van Pelt told him and he frowned.

"No?"

"No." Van Pelt repeated.

"And if I may ask, why not?"

"Because it smells like you and I'm wearing it." Van Pelt replied. "I thought that much was obvious." He said nothing in response and she blinked up at him. "Is there a reason why you want this particular shirt, when you have at least five others that look just like it?"

"It smells like you and you're wearing it?" Jane offered playfully and he watched Van Pelt roll her eyes. "Also, I'm not entirely too sure where my other five shirts went…"

"You lost your clothes in my closet?"

"I lost my clothes in the dryer."

Van Pelt bit her lip. "You lost your clothes in the dryer?"

"I thought I just said that." Jane responded and Van Pelt burst out laughing. "It's not funny, Grace."

"It kinda is." Van Pelt answered.

"It really isn't." Jane said. "We have work tomorrow morning and without a shirt, what am I supposed to do?"

"Go around work without shirt?" Van Pelt suggested in a fit of laughter. Jane eyed her; she was really enjoying his misery, wasn't she? "Borrow a shirt from Rigsby or Cho?"

"I could borrow that shirt from you." Jane also suggested.

"It's my shirt."

"It's actually mine."

"But you gave it to me."

"…I didn't think I'd actually ever need it." Jane reasoned. "I had five other shirts here, why would I need to borrow the sixth one from your body?"

Van Pelt paused in her laughing fit to stare at him. "You didn't ruin my dryer did you?"

Jane glanced away from her. "Not really…"

"Jane!" Van Pelt exclaimed and he knew he was in trouble; this was one of the various reasons why the woman hadn't allowed him into her laundry room until he had been able to run her complicated death machine. "Did you ruin my dryer?"

"I did everything you told me to do." Jane explained. "I just didn't realize that one of your pink shirts had been mixed in…" Van Pelt burst out laughing again, much to his irritation. "What?"

"You didn't lose those shirts, did you?" Van Pelt guessed through her laughter. "You dyed them some other color on accident, didn't you?"

Jane closed his eyes. "Yes, Grace. I dyed my shirts pink. Happy now?"

"So, you didn't destroy my dryer?" Van Pelt restated and Jane sighed.

"Some girlfriend you are; caring more about that death trap of a machine, than you do about my mental state through this whole terrible ordeal." Jane teased lightly.

"You're being silly." Van Pelt said. "I doubt anybody will notice, because you wear a vest overtop."

"If you'd give me my shirt…"

"No."

"Grace…"

"Patrick, this is my shirt from you. This was a gift. I am not going to gift you my gift from you. Besides," she added, "I've heard all real men wear pink."

She was wrong. Everybody did notice.

V.

"Normally, the husband is supposed to surprise her wife with the honeymoon." Jane tried to explain to Van Pelt, who merely rolled her eyes. It had been the same conversation over and over again since Jane had proposed to her five months earlier. "The fiancée can pick where she wants to get married, but I'm picking the honeymoon." Van Pelt had the wedding planning materials spread across their bed, and Jane, so far, seemed more interested in picking a fight about the honeymoon than anything else.

"I can pick anywhere then?" Van Pelt asked him and he nodded, as he absent-mindedly glanced over whatever he had written down. "Okay then, we should get married while skydiving." She waited for him to react, but he didn't. "Or, we should just get married on the moon." She glanced at him. "Patrick?"

"All of those sound like excellent ideas, dear." Jane answered, obviously still very absent-minded in whatever he was doing and Van Pelt shook her head. If he wasn't going to pay any attention to her suggestions, she would have a little fun with him until he did listen to her. "Warm or cold?"

"Warm." She responded, before she spoke again. "I'm thinking that one of us should just get arrested; you, probably. I'm a CBI agent, and I have standards to uphold. You, on the other hand, seem to enjoy life behind the bars." Van Pelt smirked, as she imagined Jane dressed in yet another jumpsuit. "We'll get married behind bars, having taught myself how to ordain an actual wedding ceremony and then, I'll stage an elaborate breakout using explosives." He still didn't react and she rolled her eyes, before she continued on with her story. "After we escape together and fake our own deaths using opossums, we'll spend the rest of our days as mimes in Paris."

Jane glanced up at her from his notepad. "Mimes, huh?"

"It sounded much better in my head."

"I'm sure it did." Jane soothed her with a smile and she glanced at him. "Don't think I'm not listening, I'm just intently focused on something non-wedding related at the moment."

"We're supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Patrick." Van Pelt responded and he remained quiet. "What could be so important that you'd break your promise to me?"

"Technically," he answered her question, as he glanced back down at his notepad. "I promised that I would listen to you wedding plan. I never promised I would put everything aside to pick the color and type of flowers." She shook her head at his grin. Just because they had discussed flowers for twenty minutes last week didn't mean he was going to be subjected to the roses versus lilies debate every day. "Besides, you know what I would rather do. Take the team to Vegas and…"

"We're not getting married with a goat." Out of all his ideas, Van Pelt had put her foot down on that one. "We either do this right or we don't do it at all." Her family had expected a "real" ceremony: flowers, a ring, the flower girls, etc… not something set out of a silly romantic comedy about a couple and their ordained minister goat.

"Casino wedding chapels are perfectly legal, Grace." Jane explained. "It's also a quicker and less painful way of getting married."

"If you want to get married in a casino, we might as well just honeymoon in the adjacent strip club."

Jane frowned. "Do you have something against casinos?"

"Besides the fact that I've helped you rob one?" Van Pelt asked and Jane chuckled in response. "I don't have anything against casinos. I just want my family to like you, and if we get married in a casino…"

Jane took her hand in his and squeezed lightly. "I understand, Grace."

"However," she conceded. "City Hall is looking better and better every day." Both laughed, and she leaned into kiss him on the lips.

The wedding planning would always be there for later, and it seemed, as he began to undo the buttons on her top, that they had more important work to do at the moment anyway.