A/N: Yes, I know I'm working on two other stories, but those are kind of serious, and I was craving a bit of fluff. Yes, this might be a bit out of character, and it would probably never happen on the show, but that's what fanfiction is for, right? So here, to help us get through this rather empty Sunday, is a fun piece for your entertainment (and mine).

The Sum of His Parts

"You seriously need to go clothes shopping," said Lisbon, about three beers in.

They had revived the tradition of closed-case pizza, Cho having invited Kim Fischer to join them (though Jane thought she was a sad replacement for Rigsby and Van Pelt), but they had left his Airstream a few minutes before, leaving behind the remnants of the pizza and what was left of the twelve pack of Coronas.

And Lisbon.

She was sitting with her stocking-feet tucked under her body on the built-in couch, while he sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle, swiveled around to face her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the alcohol, and she looked happier and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.

"Shopping?" Jane said, taking a swig from his own bottle. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

He wasn't really offended. In another life, clothes had mattered to him much too much, and he had found it freeing to dispense with his expensive ties, and recently, the third superfluous pieces of his suits-the vests. But it seemed the manly thing to do to protest a woman's interference in something so personal as his wardrobe.

"Your suits are a little worse for wear, don't you think? I mean, you've had this particular model since the day I met you, right?"

He looked down at himself in the dim lamplight of his new home. "Yes. I'll have you know this suit cost me three thousand dollars."

"Hm," she said, not impressed. "Impressive."

He cocked a blonde eyebrow at her. "What will shopping accomplish, Lisbon? Does anyone really care how I dress? Besides, a man is more than the sum of his parts," he paraphrased.

"Well I've heard that his clothing makes the man," she countered, feeling emboldened by the beer. "The old suits—as expensive as they were—are just as calculated a façade now as they were in your fake psychic days."

"Oh?" he said, amused at her psychological analysis. "What do you suppose I'm hiding?"

She set her beer down on the table, absently shutting the pizza box while she considered how to answer.

"You want people to believe you're eccentric, mysterious, unpredictable- uncaring, even. You and I both know you are actually none of those things."

The relaxed atmosphere of a few moments before suddenly became charged with tension, and Jane found himself distinctly uncomfortable. Lisbon, however, seemed inordinately pleased with herself. She'd proven once and for all that she really did know him better than anyone else.

"You've been reborn, Jane," she continued, meeting his eyes directly. She noted his discomfiture and her voice softened. "This is a new life for you. The absence of your vest and the addition of those silly island shirts shows me that. You just haven't found the right way to express this new persona."

"You're a mean drunk, Lisbon," he commented, his good humor returning.

"You know I'm only tipsy," she replied dryly. "We're friends, right? Partners? Friends don't let friends wear decade-old suits."

He grinned. "So tell me, Madame Fashion Critic, how would you dress me to show the real me?—were I to desire people to see the real me, that is."

"Come shopping with me tomorrow," she suggested. "It's Saturday. We'll make a day of it."

He considered her a moment, saw the light in her eyes at the prospect of making him over. Women liked to do that sort of thing, he knew. Despite being a bit excited at what she might do, he couldn't resist, well, resisting a little more.

"You're not suggesting I buy off the rack?" he said in mock horror, though he was only half-kidding.

She smiled benignly and finished her bottle. "Can you afford three thousand dollars for a suit these days?"

She knew he had once had money hoarded away, but she had guessed correctly that two years on an island without any income had depleted those reserves.

"I suppose not," he conceded. "Okay, I'm game. More out of curiosity than anything, mind you. But I have one condition."

"Of course you do." She should have known his easy concession was too good to be true.

"I get to pick out something for you too."

She looked genuinely terrified. "Like what?"

"I'll know it when I see it."

That was not very comforting.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Saturday…

The trendy menswear shop in the swanky outdoor mall was like something out of a nightmare, thought Jane. There was not a pinstripe or a measuring tape to be seen. He found himself missing Victor and the little tailor's shop on the island in South America. Lisbon, however, was even more of a taskmaster than his old Spanish friend had been. She went excitedly to a display of colorful shirts surrounding a silver mannequin frozen in an unnatural pose, his plastic crotch as featureless as his face.

I know just how you feel, buddy, he thought morosely.

Lisbon held up a pale green number with a button down collar, of all things.

"You're kidding me," he said.

She held it up to his chest, dimpling in delight. "This would look great on you! You really should wear more color. How about the blue one?"

And so it went, until Jane was piled down with five shirts of similar design (in a rainbow of colors), three pairs of contrasting slacks and a pair of jeans. (He hadn't worn jeans since 1994.) He was a little dismayed when she gave him a size smaller than he had requested. She led him to the dressing room, practically pushing him inside.

"Come out and model them for me," she called.

He found an empty stall and entered, locking the door behind him and setting down Lisbon's picks on the carpeted bench. It was then that he caught sight of himself in a full-length mirror for the first time in two years. He'd lost weight, he realized. His suit hung shapelessly on his body, doing nothing for him at all.

He removed his sport coat. The shirt that Victor had tailored for him still fit perfectly, but it was such a jarring contrast of style when paired with his expensive suit that he actually grimaced at the sight of himself. His hands went to the small mother of pearl buttons and he removed the shirt as well, noting with surprise that he was looking much more fit than when he'd left Sacramento two years before. He still had the remnants of his tan from his daily swims in the sea, and as he unzipped his trousers and let them drop to the floor, he noted the tan line at his trim waist above his boxer shorts. His legs and arms looked pretty damn good—nicely toned from swimming.

Not bad for an old man, he said to himself.

For a brief moment he thought about coming out of the dressing room in just his shorts, even smiling when he imagined Lisbon's jaw-dropping reaction. It would serve her right, putting him through this makeover. Only one woman had actually seen him naked in the last twelve years, though he felt he looked much better than when he and Lorelei had fumbled around awkwardly together in the dark.

That old life is gone, he reminded himself, echoing Lisbon's words of the night before. "Good riddance to it," he said aloud.

With a sigh, he picked up one of Lisbon's choices, an electric blue cotton shirt and a pair of flat-front khakis.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon stood outside the dressing room nervously, waiting for Jane to make his appearance. Once she'd gotten out of the cab that had taken her home from Jane's Airstream the night before, she'd had immediate second-thoughts about suggesting Jane change anything about himself. He was a beautiful man as he was, and she'd love him in a gunny sack. But the beer had loosened her tongue, allowed her to be completely honest with him—well, about this one thing, at least.

He'd never lacked confidence about his intelligence, God knew, but he'd always buttoned himself up as securely as a Victorian widow. He had a natural elegance about him, an innate grace in the way he moved and walked. She didn't think he realized how staid he came across, however. It pained her to think he was so insecure about his body image that he had to hide it under conservative suits and ridiculous leaf prints.

"Okay," he said, breaking her reverie. He stood outside the dressing room in his new duds. "What's the verdict?"

Lisbon felt her face grow warm as she stared at him, her green gaze evaluating him from head to toe. He looked absolutely, mouth-wateringly incredible. The slim fit of these clothes took at least ten pounds off his frame, emphasizing the natural broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, the faint outline of a nicely formed chest. Without thinking, she moved one finger around in the air to get him to turn for the full effect, and Lisbon's eyes widened at how his well-shaped behind was molded beneath the slacks.

Holy crap.

Jane was used to catching the eye of a woman. He knew he was attractive—how could he not? It was partly what had garnered him attention as a psychic, especially from the ladies, who had been his main clients. But when Lisbon seemed to be in awe of his appearance for the first time since he'd known her, he felt himself sweating a little. He faced her again, caught the fact that her eyes went swiftly from the south up north to his face, and she was blushing prettily.

In that moment, he felt a rush of pleasure, and yes, masculine self-confidence. It was suddenly difficult not to preen in front of her like a damned peacock.

"You like?" he couldn't resist asking.

She met his eyes and smiled, and he felt a quick jolt in the vicinity of his heart.

"Very much," she said. "You look…great." He could tell she would have liked to have been more descriptive of her feelings, but she'd turned suddenly shy. Then she surprised him by saying: "Try on the jeans…and the green shirt."

He raised his eyebrows, but then a slow, sexy grin creased his cheeks, and he practically strutted back into the dressing room.

Mother of God, she thought, upon beholding Patrick Jane in blue jeans for the first time. Then there was the double whammy of his wearing a shirt that exactly matched his eyes.

The male sales clerk appeared at that moment, offering additional assistance, to which Lisbon said: "He'll wear this out of the store."

Jane chuckled at her demanding tone, but he didn't argue. The clerk came back with a pair of scissors to clip off the tags of his new outfit, and Lisbon beamed with pride at her handiwork. He found his eyes drawn to another mirror, and he adjusted his collar, then moved to stuff his shirt in more snuggly. There was a row of belts on a nearby rack, and he picked one out, then passed it through the loops of his jeans before buckling it. All the while, Lisbon watched, her mouth dry, her heart racing.

As he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to expose his tan forearms, he met her eyes in the mirror and paused, and she saw his Adam's apple bob once as he swallowed.

"I'll, uh, just go collect the rest of my things."

She nodded solemnly.

In the end, he bought everything she'd picked out, plus more socks, and a casual sport coat (because old habits, etcetera, etcetera). They left the store, Lisbon carrying half his purchases at her insistence. Every female they passed smiled at Jane, or nudged their friends when they were gifted with his winning smile. Lisbon was used to this, after all these years walking by his side in public, but it was even more pronounced today, for the man practically oozed self-confidence. She didn't blame those women a bit, however-that shirt did fabulous things for his eyes, and the way he filled out those jeans...

She hoped she could herd him out of the mall before he remembered the other end of their bargain, but of course, Patrick Jane never forgot anything.

He stopped mid-stream in the flow of humanity to stare at a flowered dress in the window of a women's boutique.

"That's it," he said matter-of-factly.

Lisbon looked at the floral confection with much trepidation.

"It's a dress," she said, like he'd presented her with a toad.

"And they say you're not a good detective. Let's go in so you can try it on."

"Seriously?"

"A deal's a deal, Agent Lisbon. Tit for tat and all that."

She sighed dramatically, then preceded him into the store. In delayed reaction, she looked over her shoulder at him in annoyance. "Who says I'm not a good detective?"

Jane rolled his eyes in reply.

"Where's that dress that's in the window?" Jane asked a sales clerk who was busy arranging sweaters on a shelf display. She looked up at Jane and she visibly perked up with interest.

Sheesh, thought Lisbon. It's like a created a monster.

"Right this way, sir. What size does the lady need?" She looked absently at Lisbon.

Yeah, that's right. I'm here too.

"Three," Jane answered before she could open her mouth.

Naturally he was correct, but she was a bit miffed that he'd answered for her. And how the hell did he know her size, anyway? Had he really looked at her body that closely?

The woman presented Lisbon with the dress, and she thrust the rest of Jane's bags into his hands before following the clerk to the dressing room.

"Remember to model it for me," he called.

She gave an annoyed grunt in return.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd only seen her in a dress a handful of times, and never one this short. It was a simple white sheath dress that came just above her knees, with reddish-orange poppies that looked liked they'd been dumped from a spring basket and spread haphazardly over the fabric. Her dark, wavy hair fell around her bare shoulders, and her bare feet looked even tinier out of her usual heavy-soled boots. He felt breathless just looking at her, like she'd punched him in the stomach.

She stood outside the dressing room and reached up to adjust the square neckline in exaggerated frustration.

He grinned. "You look like Scout on her first day of school."

"I look ridiculous. I'm really not a flowery sort of girl."

To her surprise, he ignored her protest and instead, held out a pair of strappy, red, high-heeled sandals. "Put these on," he instructed.

"No freakin' way. Look how tall these things are. I'll fall down and break my neck."

"I'll be there to catch you," he promised. "Besides, they'll make your legs look fabulous."

"Jane—"

"Lisbon—" he mocked.

She grumbled, much like Scout Finch had, but sat in resignation on a nearby bench to bend awkwardly in her tight dress to put on the heels. To her utter shock, he knelt before her and slipped the shoes carefully onto each delicate foot, his hands warm on her ankles as he fastened the tiny buckles. She looked down at his golden head, feeling absurdly like Cinderella with her prince, glad that she'd been compelled to shave her legs that morning. When he finished, he gave each ankle a pat of encouragement and looked up into her eyes. She could tell he was reading her mind again.

"Perfect fit," he said in satisfaction.

He winked at her, and she blushed to her hair.

Jane helped her to her feet and then stepped back to get the full effect. His heart skittered inside his chest.

"Is this going to work for you?" asked the sales clerk helpfully.

"Yes," said Jane.

"No," said Lisbon.

"She'll wear this now," he told the lady, ignoring Lisbon's gasp at his audacity.

"Of course, sir."

"Don't be a hypocrite, Lisbon. Look, I'm wearing your selection."

"But you look totally hot," she replied without thinking, and he gave her a knowing and supremely confident grin.

"You look as intoxicating as those poppies," he whispered so only she could hear, and when she looked into his pale green eyes, she was taken aback to see he was completely sincere.

"Oh," she said stupidly. "Thanks."

Lisbon had to take Jane up on his offer and hold his arm firmly as they exited the boutique, both struggling to carry their purchases at the same time. She felt as wobbly as a new colt in her red shoes, but the way she was catching the attention of more than one man, she had to admit that they made her legs look much longer, the muscles of her calves more defined. Jane was right again, the bastard.

Jane was well aware of all the masculine interest she was garnering, and like any man would have, he felt proud that she was walking on his arm.

"You should wear dresses more often," he commented casually as they seated themselves at an outdoor café. It was pleasantly warm, the umbrella shade shielding them from the bright springtime sun.

She snickered. "Maybe I would, if I had a desk job. Can't you just see me chasing down a perp in a tight dress?"

Actually, he could, and the image made him smile.

"Sadly, you're right," he said instead.

"And jeans aren't exactly appropriate attire for the FBI," she countered wistfully, thinking of his firm backside.

"No," he agreed, but it might be kind of fun to irk Abbot a little.

They lunched on crisp salads and crusty bread, and, at Jane's insistence, glasses of white wine. They spoke of unimportant things, laughing often, and sneaking appreciative glances at one another when the other wasn't looking. Jane even dropped his napkin for the excuse of taking in her shapely legs up close again. Juvenile he knew, but he found he couldn't help himself. It was like they were seeing each other for the first time, and Jane was reminded of that day they were reunited after two years of missing her. He was almost as happy to look at her today.

The air between them was heady and warm, and it wasn't just the ambient temperature. Something new was humming between them, and yet, at the same time, it was tantalizingly familiar.

After their leisurely lunch, they walked in silence on their way to Lisbon's SUV. He'd picked her up in it that morning, since she'd left it parked in front of his motor home the night before. He dug into his front pocket for her keys, then opened the door for her.

She looked from the driver's seat down to her tight dress in dismay. How was she supposed to climb inside the high vehicle and still look like a lady?

"Hold on a second," he said.

Jane realized her charming predicament and, after putting their bags in the back seat, he turned to her. In her heels, she could look straight into his eyes, and when he took a step toward her, they widened in awareness, her lips parting as a small gasp escaped between them. His hands went to her waist, and she could feel their searing heat through the thin fabric. Before she could protest, he'd lifted her easily into the driver's seat, where she sat sideways, still facing him. Her dress had slid up even higher, and as Jane took in the creamy whiteness of her thighs, a wave of lust and longing swept over him.

Before he could think, he stepped up on the SUV's narrow running board, bracing his hands on the doorframe and swooping his head awkwardly inside the cab. His face was mere inches from hers, and he caught a glimpse of surprised green eyes as he whispered hoarsely. "Just once…please…I have to know."

He didn't give her a chance to reply, but by the way her lips trembled beneath his, he knew she was just as curious as he. He explored her mouth tenderly, still hesitant to do more than tease, his hands resting on the metal doorframe. He experimented with the way their mouths fit together, swiped her bottom lip with his tongue. He could still taste the tang of the wine he'd chosen for her. She smelled of sweet honeysuckle and warm woman, and he could hear his own heart pounding, could hear her shallow breaths as his senses came alive with each tentative touch.

One small hand came up to weave through the hair at his nape, pulling him closer. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and he moaned a little at the intimate contact, moving further into the cab. His right hand came to rest on the side of her seat, the left found and caressed her smooth thigh, just below the hem of her dress. In this awkward position, they couldn't get close enough, and as their passion flared, it became increasingly obvious that they wouldn't be able to hold it much longer.

One of them—no one could remember who—leaned on the horn on the steering wheel. Instinctively, Jane reared up at the noise and banged his head on the door frame, letting out a few choice curse words Lisbon had never heard him utter before. She leaned her face into the seat back, shaking now with breathless laughter.

Jane stood on the pavement of the parking lot again, massaging the lump on his head. He caught her eye and grinned sheepishly, then flinched in pain.

"Well," he said, observing her flushed cheeks and chest. "That was unexpected."

The slapstick moment had defused some of the tension, but the pair was still out of breath, still dealing with racing pulses and thwarted desire. Jane had a painful reminder of how tight jeans weren't the most comfortable garments in situations like this.

"Are you okay?" she finally managed to ask. That was a loaded question.

"I'll live," he said wryly. "You?"

"I think so," she replied, her laughter dying down to a warm smile. She admired how the sun glinted off his hair, made his eyes the color of weathered copper.

"Lisbon—" he began, suddenly serious.

He took another step toward her, but she had already swiveled those sexy legs of her to rest beneath the steering wheel.

"This isn't really the place to talk about this," she interrupted. A family of four—two parents, a toddler, and a baby in a stroller-arrived back at the mini van parked next to them.

He nodded, pushed her door closed, then went round to get in the passenger's side. She started the vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot, merging carefully into Austin traffic.

"I'm not going to apologize," he said earnestly.

"Good."

He grinned, relieved that this wasn't going to be a big argument or some pointless discussion about the meaning of it all. It had happened. They'd kissed. It didn't have to be a big deal. But he was fooling himself if he thought it wasn't. Truth be told, it was a huge deal, of monolithic proportions in the grand scheme of his life.

She must have sensed his roiling emotions.

"I'm not expecting a proposal or anything, Jane." There was amusement in her voice, and he smiled anew.

"You're not going to make an honest man of me?" he teased.

She let out a bark of laughter. "If that were all it would take to make you an honest man, I'd have done it ten years ago."

He had to chuckle at her ability to find humor in such momentous occasion. That was just one of the reasons he loved her.

"It's just an expression, Lisbon. I'm not usually one to talk things through, but I think maybe certain…things need to be said."

She sighed, looking sidelong at him as they stopped at a traffic light.

"We've been either talking around this, or rather, not talking around this for years, Jane. For the record, I'm glad you kissed me. I've always wanted you to, always wondered how it could be between us."

"And?" He held his breath, waiting for her to continue. Her lips quirked.

"And I think it merits further investigation."

"Always the cop, eh Agent Lisbon?"

"Not always. Sometimes I'm just a woman in a dress."

The light turned green and she drove on, consciously taking the onramp that would lead them to her apartment.

He reached across the console and fingered a lock of her long hair. "I can't decide which woman I like more," he mused, his eyes traveling to her legs again. "But I think both deserve a fighting chance."

"And I think we should not talk about this some more…at my place."

She stared straight ahead, her heart accelerating at her own boldness.

"That sounds like a plan worthy of one of my own," he said.

His hand found hers, and they laced their fingers together, resting them on the console between them as she drove toward home.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later…

Jane rolled off Lisbon's shaking body, the blood singing in his veins and roaring in his ears. After a moment's worth of recovery, he pulled her to his side, lovingly kissing her damp temple. His chest still heaved with the remnants of their passion. He stared up at the ceiling as the fan rotated lazily, gently stirring the afternoon air.

"You probably shouldn't wear those jeans anymore," she said, and he felt her smile against his chest. "I could barely control myself."

"That really isn't a good argument," he said, eyes closed, a contented smile on his full lips. "At least, not from my standpoint."

"You think I can return my dress?" she asked, remembering how it had torn at the seams when he'd tried to pull it up to her waist.

"Sorry about that. It really is a shame. I loved that dress. I'll buy you another one. Or two. Actually, you might want to stock up, given my reaction to the first one."

They were quiet a moment, basking in the newness of it all. But there was something familiar too. Right, thought Lisbon. It just seemed right.

"And all of this came from a simple change of clothes," she commented.

"Aw, Lisbon, there was nothing simple about it. I think those new clothes gave me the courage to do what I've wanted to since we met. I thought I'd buried the past—my old clothes were the last vestiges of it, I suppose."

She turned her head and stretched up to kiss him. "Don't change everything," she whispered. He kissed her back languidly, until the heat began to simmer between them again.

She drew herself up to lie upon his naked body, feeling the renewal of his desire against her stomach. "Okay," she said, one hand caressing his short blonde beard. "There is one more thing I think you should change."

"My beard?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "I thought you liked it."

He remembered earlier how she had shivered at the feel of it sliding across her flat belly, and brushing against her inner thighs.

He saw in her eyes that she recalled this too, in intimate detail. She blushed.

"No, not that. I'd just like to point out how…inspired I was by your new clothes. Who knows what I might do were you to buy different…shoes."

Her hand moved between their bodies, and his breath hitched at her touch.

"My shoes? Those shoes are a metaphor for my life. They have history…character…Now that, woman, is a line you will never make me cross."

She wrapped a hand tightly around him and began to slide it up and down, undulating her breasts against his chest at the same time. His eyes squeezed shut, and she felt his pulse leap beneath her hand.

"You sure about that?" she asked, using her thumb to its best advantage. Her eyes sparkled with sensual mischief.

"Uhhh…How late was that shoe store open again?"

A/N: Okay, shameless fluff, I know. I'll get back to the more plot driven fics soon. Now, go back to what you were doing. And hey, just two more weeks left of the hiatus! *groan*