Author's note: This work has been co-authored by LouiseKurylo and myself. It was LouiseKurylo's brilliant idea, her plot and much of the prose. I claim all the typos and mistakes that you find, also some of the worst doggerel that the language can suffer without sustaining lasting damage.

However only one person can publish a fic under their userID and LK generously insisted that should be me. Thank you. It's been a pleasure and a privilege.

Crack-fic, set early in season 4, soon after 'Ring Around the Rosie'. I have long felt Jane let Wainwright off lightly when the man called him a clinical psychopath.

*Plink*

"Score!"

*Plink*

"And again! The crowd goes wild!"

*Crash*

Rigsby jerked at the break room clatter, aim gone awry.

"What the–" Cho whipped around as a paperclip just missed his eye. He deliberately set his book down and picked up the missile.

Rigsby cringed. "Sorry, man, I–"

"Here." Cho slapped the clip onto Rigsby's desk, then swept the plastic cup from the conference table into the trash.

"I didn't mean–" He shut up when Cho glared and re-seated himself.

Lightly from the couch, "A-n-d, we just missed a live demonstration of an eye for an eye."

Tork glanced into the SCU bullpen, scowled at Jane and stomped away with his coffee. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Wuss."

"His deficit in stature is exceeded by only that of his grace," Jane smirked, unconcerned whether the small man overheard.

Hurrying in, Van Pelt looked around, "Someone call me?" she asked while setting her upgraded laptop on the desk.

"Ah, no. Just noting your absence," Jane obfuscated.

Her brow knit prettily at the palpable tension. To lighten the mood she offered brightly, "How about O'Malley's for lunch, guys?"

Rigsby perked up. And instantly wilted. Forlornly, "Yeah, in–" glancing at the wall clock, "three hours."

Eyes still closed, Jane finished, "–Eight minutes and, um, 50 seconds," showing off.

"Give it a rest, Jane," Cho grumbled, lifting the thick tome authored by Zinn someone.

"Try Diamond. History without the tedious polemics."

Cho's glower was wasted since Jane's eyes were still closed. Irked, he dropped the heavy tome with a thud and reached for a different book.

"You consider Victorian squalor more entertaining?" Jane poked, knowing Cho's other book was by Dickens.

Cho exhaled in irritation and left for the men's room. Responding just makes it worse, he reminded himself repeatedly.

Forgetting, Rigsby fished vainly for a bag of chips in his drawer, slammed it shut. Van Pelt jumped. They banned snacks in the bullpen, dammit, thought Rigsby. Not my fault a mouse ran over Jane on that stupid couch. He sighed and said plaintively, "I'm going nuts. No murders for three days and we can't even work cold cases." He frowned at Jane whose faux nap fooled no one. Jane had maneuvered the new, young – appallingly young - Wainwright into getting Bertram to call in exterminators.

The bullpen was empty of all but desks, conference table and chairs, the better to thoroughly clean they claimed. Hence, no filing cabinets, no cold case files. The sanitary initiative included the noisy new metal food canisters for the break room lest (non-human) pests return. The disruption spilled over to Haffner's team, which was sharing their floor. Every SCU member except Jane was the target of their irritation for the inconvenience. Adding to the joy, humidity was now 100%, courtesy of a freak downpour and sizzling city concrete. Massive misery wasn't a matter of 'if' but 'when' the aged, increasingly infirm air conditioning system failed.

Van Pelt ignored the grousing around her, industriously using the down time to good effect. She had already upgrading her laptop and worked through an on-line database course. Now she was benignly guessing her team's passwords. As suspected, Jane seemed never to have logged into any CBI systems. She hacked his account using the default password 'CBIpassword,' frowning at its utter predictability. Every new hire gets an account and mandatory training. Wonder how he avoided the administrivia. Eh. It's Jane. She smiled and changed his password to 'JaneIsATechnophobe' and logged out. He'll never know. She justified the mild prank because it reduced the slight security risk for her team. Sobering she thought, Not so slight. Red John's hacked the CBI repeatedly. Sensing someone's gaze she glanced up into Wayne's concerned stare and hastily looked down. She understood why they were still treating her like she was made of glass, but it didn't help her get over... She peered at her monitor, determined to focus on anything but that.

Suddenly a voice floated through the bullpen from the couch.

"Wayne Rigsby's frustrated and bored.
Cho will not applaud, Wayne's ignored.
Will Grace ever notice
This charming Adonis
Who cheers every time he has scored?"

"Hey man!" said Rigsby reproachfully, glancing sideways at Cho who was back and apparently engrossed in Dickens.

Van Pelt's disapproving glance made no impression as Jane's eyes were still closed. She decided not to rise to his provocation and turned back to her computer. Don't feed the trolls - troll! Don't feed the troll. It was good advice for more than the internet.

"C'mon Rigsby, fight back! Are you man or mouse?" Patrick Jane's eyes were still closed.

"Poetry competition?" Rigsby asked uncertainly.

"Limericks. Short, satirical. Points for every blow that lands."

"What, like 'There was a young girl from Detroit –'"

"Wayne!" The only limerick Van Pelt knew that started that way absolutely shouldn't be recited aloud in the bullpen. Or anywhere.

"No, your own words, about one of us. I just did you–"

"–I noticed!"

"Your turn now." Jane sat up, grinning, eyes on Rigsby, half amused, half challenging. "You're up for it, aren't you Cho?" he asked, slyly casting a wider net.

"No." Cho didn't look up, though his quick response betrayed his attention.

"How about you, Grace?" Jane asked, eyes still on Rigsby. She was thinking about O'Laughlin again. Or trying not to think about him. Been there, done that. A distraction would be good. If she's in, then Rigsby will be too.

"Um, o-k-a-y…" wary but smiling. She used to like writing poems at school – in elementary, anyway.

"OK," Rigsby agreed, looking at Van Pelt then hurriedly looking away. He turned back to his desk. "I get to write it down first, right?"

"If you like," Jane magnanimously allowed, lying back down on his couch. Cho will join in, unable to resist once Rigsby does one about him. Rigsby won't do Grace, or at least he'd never read it out loud. Wouldn't dare choose Lisbon, would fear payback if he chose me. Cho it will be. Jane settled in more comfortably, awaiting the inevitable.

"There is a state agent named Cho
Who reads when the days are too slow.
On questioning perps
Those idiot twerps
Will soon give up all that they know."

"Very good, Grace." Jane was surprised she was first out of the gate and it showed in his voice. Quickly continuing, "It could use more satire but it's recognizably him." Cho had tensed briefly at his name. He had definitely stopped reading and started composing in his head.

"Cho's face seldom gives us a twitch
When getting the word from a snitch
Though tough when arresting
He did more protesting
When meeting a scary young witch."

Rigsby grinned as he read the last line. The muscles in Cho's jaw bunched and a micro-expression flickered as he gritted his teeth.

He just needs a little push. Of course Jane was happy to provide it. "Ah, Tamsin Dove. She won't be the only one anymore. Her friends will be fully initiated in the ways of Wicca by now." Yup, definitely Cho's worried face. It was swiftly followed by his annoyed one.

"Consultant most delicate, Jane
Said vermin will drive him insane
Controlling the pests
Is hardly the test
Jane's doggerel - pained and inane."

Cho delivered this in his most inexpressive monotone. Jane chucked appreciatively. Gotcha! Now all three were playing his game. He decided to raise the stakes.

"Though JJ LaRoche seems robotic
His voice droning on and hypnotic
His dogged persistence
Breaks down all resistance
So trying to flee is quixotic."

The silence that followed was uneasy. Laroche would never be Mr. Congeniality, but no-one wanted to be in his bad books. Absent a response, Jane raised the ante again.

"Young Luther, whose towering mind
Leaves others so dazzled they're blind;
His wisdom and wit
Convince not a bit-
Mind sharp as marshmallow, we find."

This was a different silence, one flooded with trepidation. A dead-on limerick could spread like wildfire and stick to Wainwright for life. No one really wanted to know how angry their new boss could get. (Lisbon's favorite phrase, "Like children with machine guns" floated unspoken among them.) This wasn't so innocent after all. Jane lay on his couch smiling, apparently unconcerned he'd escalated things to DefCon3.

Rigsby, remembering his stint at the security gate, glanced fruitlessly at Lisbon's office then tried to deflect bored, reckless Jane from the brass.

"So Jane never tries to impress
Our bosses, he couldn't care less.
He antagonizes
And then scandalizes:
I'm not touching that total mess."

Jane laughed aloud. "Nary a wuss in sight!" he grinned, and effortlessly voiced another.

"With prowess at incarcerating
Those criminals that he is hating,
Ardiles, that joker
In black tasseled loafers
Still found baiting Jane quite frustrating."

Cho shook his head. Arrogant even for Jane. Everyone had thought Ardilez would win in Jane's recent murder trial. He tossed one out before Jane could strike again.

"Our tough fearless boss, name of Lisbon
Throws criminals straight into prison
Her fury unleashed
Brings down every beast
Of a perp, because that is her mission."

"Good one, Cho! 'Fearless boss' indeed. How about this one?" Jane was enjoying this.

"Though Rigsby's food sat on a plate
The rapid speed at which he ate
Left crumbs on the table
Which meant we were able
To feed all the mice in the state."

Jane then glanced at Van Pelt. She'd joined in, but no one had composed something for her yet. What could they say that wouldn't immediately bring O'Laughlin to mind? He knew she hated their kid glove treatment so he considered the challenge for a moment.

"A ditzy young Barbie called Grace,
Has never a hair out of place.
Her head full of air
Would badly compare
To a football on which was a face."

Jane studied Van Pelt's profile, more anxious than he would admit. Her offended frown immediately gave way to puzzlement. He could see her realization: That's not even close... Is this Jane's way of including me without landing any real blows? When she glanced his way he offered a sunny grin. She gave a small chuckle and responded gamely.

"Fastidious colleague, P. Jane
Will spend all our budget in vain.
Cockroaches and mice
Multiply in a trice
So soon will return once again."

Van Pelt shot this back at Jane quickly, still smiling. Rigsby had been alarmed by Jane's limerick about Grace. She hadn't been herself since she shot that son of a bitch O'Laughlin and Rigsby hadn't known how to help. He blinked, not understanding what had just happened with Jane, but nevertheless relieved Grace seemed to enjoy it.

Grace was on a roll, now smiling at Cho.

"In the interview room, don't you know
At the mercy of my colleague Cho
Perps seldom see sense
Till technique, intense,
Pulls confessions from those who were slow."

As surely as night follows day Rigsby followed her lead.

"It's hard to tell what Cho is thinking
Because of his manner unblinking
Though when he is reading
I think he is feeding
His mind. At least that is my inkling."

Jane grinned again, this time at the interpersonal dynamics.

Two on the bounce had Cho feeling defensive and Cho retaliated at Rigsby's expense.

"Wayne Rigsby's a pain in the ass.
Flicks paperclips into a glass.
His musical taste
Is a desolate waste
And he eats like a horse put to grass."

Jane did another so it was two Cho and two Rigsby.

"An agent named Rigsby once said
'It's crucial to keep me well-fed.'
I said with a sigh
'We're going to try
But mice like the taste of your bread.'"

Then he launched another at his latest favorite target, Wainwright.

"Our young new chief Wainwright once said,
'This posting won't go to my head.'
But he was so moved
When his Momma approved
His maidenly blush was quite red."

Rigsby wasn't currently eating but managed to choke anyway, coughing and spluttering and needing Cho to thump his back. All eyes in the bullpen glared at Jane, except for Rigsby's which were streaming from his coughing fit. The commotion dragged Lisbon out of her office.

"What's going on? Don't pretend it's work because I'm reviewing your reports right now!"

She glared at three faces playing variations on the theme of 'sheepish' and one consultant who obviously hadn't gotten the memo. Jane beamed at her as though connected to his own personal power plant. It was all she could do not to grin back, though she suspected he was at the bottom of it. Whatever "it" was. Honestly, he's like a little kid sometimes. She huffed softly, only sometimes? then paid attention as Jane bizarrely started rhyming.

"We all know her well, she's the Boss
A boss that I so like to cross;
Tackles perps at a run
Quite a shot with her gun
Though her temper leaves me at a loss."

"You've never been at a loss your whole time working here, Jane."

"You wound me, Lisbon. Anyway, it's poetic license."

"Poetry?"

"Limericks." He launched into a demonstration.

"While no-one could call Tork a wimp
His stature's the size of a shrimp.
Though one shouldn't care to
He's often compared to
A leprechaun, dwarf or an imp."

This predictably got a snort from Rigsby and, unexpectedly, a smile from Cho. At the best of times Haffner's team was unpopular with the SCU. Their recent ragging on Lisbon's team had escalated the ill-will. Lisbon couldn't help but smile, which was all the encouragement Jane needed.

"Gale Bertam, Political Beast
Closed cases his favourite feast
Said to Lisbon one day
As his eyes ran astray
'Your assets are –"

"-Whoa, Jane, stop!"

"-Jane! Too far!"

"-Don't!"

"-Jane–"

They exclaimed in unison, Rigsby's eyes wide with horror, Grace, astonishment, and Cho, open disapproval. Lisbon looked beyond outrage.

"-Best when unleashed!" Jane finished dramatically, the mischief in his eyes accompanied by an amused half-smile. "Or do you all prefer staying leashed in this office?"

Anger waning but still annoyed, Lisbon retaliated.

"Annoying consultant named Jane
Loves driving our bosses insane.
The bigwigs with juice –
Their fury let loose –
Will leave my head pounding with pain!"

Tension dissipated. This time the whole team joined Jane in laughter.

"Bravo, Lisbon!"

She could never tell if Jane was being sincere or ironic. Shaking her head, Lisbon quit while ahead.

Glimpsing the clock, "Lunchtime!" Rigsby announced loudly in delight. And relief.

"We're going to O'Malley's, Boss," said Van Pelt quickly. "The person with the best limerick gets theirs free."

"I could use a break from here," Lisbon said, thinking, And from Wainwright, who's outdoing himself with make-work. "I'll get my jacket." Lisbon headed to her office as the others herded toward the elevator.

Haffner, who had paused unseen at the top of the spiral staircase, walked down once the SCU team vanished behind elevator doors. He had been half-expecting to be on the receiving end of a Jane limerick and was perversely offended at being left out. Then "golden boy" lays not one but two goose eggs! Haffner shook his head a little at his own confused metaphor. Jane damn near accused Bertram of sexual harassment. And publicly skewering Wainwright could get Jane fired – ah, crap, would get anyone BUT 'Closed-Case-Jane' fired. In the privacy of his own skull, Haffner admitted Bertram was rather creepy and Wainwright was way too young and inexperienced. Maidenly blush?! Geez, is Wainwright still a virgin? Jane has that weird way of reading people...

It hit him like a freight train: He couldn't rat out Jane for this. Either Wainwright or Bertram would kill the messenger of those sorts of tidings, especially wrapped up in jaunty little poems. That'd kill my career anyway. Am already on thin ice with Bertram. Don't know what Jane has on Bertram but it must be hot. Why else would he reinstate him and Lisbon instead of firing both their asses after that mall fiasco? Haffner unconsciously ran his finger round his collar, annoyed at the cosmic injustice of murder justified after the fact by a girl chained in Carter's basement. Damn! He so wanted to get back at him. That tricky bastard's gotta slip up sometime... he consoled himself.

O'Malley's was a god-send after the boring, food-less, boss-infested SCU that was rapidly heating up, and not just from Jane's increasingly impolitic limericks.

"Why tweak the brass like that, Jane? I'm still on probation after my suspension."

"Oh, because it's amusing. You won't get into trouble, Lisbon. Besides, I was just channeling Haffner."

She blinked, knowing Haffner fared almost as badly as she had in the fallout after the Carter disaster. "What's Haffner got to do with anything? And what 'channeling'? You're not psychic and Haffner's not dead."

"Meh. Details, Lisbon, details. Hmm." Wicked gleam back, Jane indulged himself anew.

"Ray Haffner's a weasel, it's true.
Surveillance, his cherished go-to.
It's no great enigma:
When adding charisma
He was – at the back of the queue."

Conversation – and limericks – subsided as food arrived and all gratefully tucked into the pleasant and satisfying activity of eating.

They took a long lunch. They'd be called if a case materialized and the office was unbearable today. But all too soon they were back. Cho settled in again with 'Oliver Twist.' Van Pelt had another computer course she could complete on-line, Lisbon had her paperwork but Rigsby had nothing at all to occupy him. He spent ten minutes tidying around his desk, even considered the paperclips again until he caught Cho's baleful eye, then glanced at Jane and brightened.

"Hey Jane? Got playing cards on you?"

Wordlessly, eyes still closed, Jane slipped two fingers into a vest pocket and drew out a pristine pack of cards. He tossed them and they landed on Rigsby's desk with a slap, unnaturally loud in the denuded bullpen. Inwardly he was looking forward to Rigsby's attempts to goad him into action. The man was so very bad at it but quite imaginative: he never tried the same thing twice.

Rigsby had been half-hoping Jane would suggest a card trick or game. When Jane didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Fortunately - unfortunately? - a new Jane limerick flowered in full bloom.

"Said Wainwright 'I think it unfair
That Jane gets to sit over there
So paperwork-free
Cup of tea on his knee
While I have complaints up to here!'"

The agents exchanged looks. Apparently lunch and the end of their competition hadn't quite put a stop to Jane. He was back to poking the bigwigs.

"You don't have a cup of tea, Jane," Rigsby responded with a warning tone in his voice.

"Thank you Wayne, that would be lovely. Milk first in the cup if you're making a pot." Van Pelt smirked at her computer screen, even Cho's lips quirked upwards a second. Everyone hated making tea for the World's Fussiest Tea Drinker but it was pretty funny the way Rigsby had walked right into that one. Rigsby sighed, then complied. It would occupy his time – for another ten minutes - and was easier than deflecting Jane's nagging. At least if Jane was drinking tea he wouldn't be reciting limericks.

"So who'd name their baby son 'Gale'?
Detectives are hot on their trail.
This flatulent tot
Will end, like as not,
As a hoodlum who winds up in jail."

Jane wasn't shouting but he had that way of projecting his voice that gave it a curiously penetrating quality. Mary from Admin had just stepped out of the elevator. From her snigger it was clear his limerick had carried right to her.

"Jane! Hush! You'll get us all in trouble!" Van Pelt's loud whisper was anxiety laden with a soupcon of annoyance. Jane merely smiled. Van Pelt's annoyance grew deeper. Rigsby brought Jane's tea and silence reigned – for a brief, blessed moment.

"Gale Bertram has always one eye
To watch how the Media try
To report what we do.
He watches, it's true,
His ratings. We're hung out to dry.

"Cut it out, Jane!" Lisbon's voice rang out as she passed the bullpen from the restroom. Her command distracted everyone from noticing Van Pelt's dejected grimace. Almost everyone, as it turned out.

"What, Grace?" Rigsby asked, always alert to her slightest change of expression.

"Everyone has to attend a day-long seminar." She read, "From Agent Wainwright, 'In light of this lull in cases, I've had Human Resources schedule a training session. All personnel are to get up to speed on the new policies and procedures.'" She grimaced again. "Mandatory." Her fingers danced over the keyboard, hacking back into Jane's CBI email. She swallowed a smirk, "Jane, in your email the 'all personnel' and 'mandatory' are underlined, italic and bold."

"Subtle," Jane said with a lazy huff. "As though that'll happen." It did inspire further poetic genius, however.

"There was a young chief, name of Wainwright
Who wanted his agents to train right
His leadership waffle
Left all of them baffled –
He did not know how to explain right."

At first unnoticed, Bertram himself now emerged from the elevator, heading purposefully but silently toward Lisbon's office. The whole team spotted him when he rounded the corner and collectively held their breath, watching Bertram's progress. They were all hoping for a case – even one with a politico throwing his weight around – but dreading that somehow news of Jane's limericks had gotten back to Bertram. Jane's eyes were closed. They couldn't warn him of Bertram's arrival without being overheard. Of course Jane resumed speaking at that precise moment.

"CBI chief, name of Bertram," he started. Grace froze, Rigsby's mouth gaped, and Cho closed his eyes, anticipating the worst.

"Is powerful, reasonable, certain
His Agents respect him
They'll never neglect him
They know he'll defend 'em, not burn 'em."

Jane's eyes opened. He faked a startled double-take as he spotted Bertram, then a wide smile spread across his face.

"Hi, Gale! Like my limerick? It's been kind of a slow day, what with the exterminators and all." His expression was guileless. To look at Jane you'd think spotting the Director had just made his day.

"Uh, yes. Very creative, Jane." The grimace intended as smile might be that of a man swallowing a lemon. Bertram proceeded toward Lisbon's office, nearly sideswiping the corner in his distraction. He frowned, obviously dismissing their annoying existence. "Lisbon–" The rest was muffled as he entered and closed the door.

Van Pelt whispered furiously, "You nearly gave us heart attacks! What if he'd heard a real limerick!"

"Yeah, man, I'd be back downstairs forever."

Cho just growled, "Jane."

Jane gracefully but languorously rose, stretched, and smiled. "You didn't all die of boredom and now–" he pointed at the clock, "it's quitting time. You can thank me tomorrow. Right now I need to find out why Lisbon's frowning at Herr Bertram."

Ten seconds later the bullpen was empty. And silent.