Tarzan gently leans Jane back on the skylight. He cradles her head in his hands as he looks her over. Crouched over her body, Tarzan inspects his new friend. He caresses her cheek with the back of his hand. He then caresses his own cheek with his other knuckles. He moves past her lipsticked lips to her chin. He strokes her neck with the back of his fingers. He slides his hand down between her breasts to the exposed part of her flat belly where her shirt has flipped open. It's right next to the cell phone she didn't use when she was in trouble. Tarzan strokes the skin of Jane's stomach. This wakes Jane up, and she uses the squinty-head-shake of "Do I have a concussion? Where am I?" She lifts her head and holds it, making a pained noise. Tarzan's game, and does the same. She sees him and pushes him hard, grunting. Okay. Tarzan love games, so he spins on his monkey feet and comes back at her. He smiles and pounces at her. You have the right to go bananas, mister! Jane leans back, still confused, not bothering to call for help or pull her gun or stand up or do anything other than look at this manchild. He leans in, smiling. He touches her open mouth with his fingers -- the ones that recently were ripping open raw meat, and have touched every filthy street, building, and roof in New York City. ["Um, Pam? When you really love someone, you even love their disgusting germs. Maybe someday you'll love someone enough to know that." -- Wing Chun] He puts those fingers in her mouth and makes an awed sound. Jane doesn't even flinch. In fact, she's loving it. Tarzan then touches his own lips and exhales. Jane blinks three times. Then there's the sound of a helicopter overhead. Jane squints and turns her head away as bright lights engulf the roof and Tarzan stands up to face the Man Beams bravely. His hair is awesome. Men swoop in on ropes from the sky. Tarzan shields his pretty face. Jane -- an officer sworn to protect and serve -- does nothing. Well, she hides her pretty face away from the bright light and wind. Tarzan growls and monkey-crawls over to the men in black, who instantly shoot him with tranquilizer darts. Tarzan looks down at his magnificent chest and then passes out. Jane watches all of this. A man stands over her, looking through his night-vision goggles. Jane squints until she looks like Bonnie Hunt reading a cue card. The man turns, like he's in a line-up, to a profile, the light hitting the patch on his arm. Gee. It's a "G"! Three men clumsily carry Tarzan into a net. Jane squints, and the man with the goggles stares at her again. Surprisingly, we don't go to Silence of the Lambs-cam here. He walks away. Jane, a police officer, still does nothing. Tarzan's all chained up in his net now, and the men fly out on their cables just as they flew in, this time with Tarzan in tow. Jane keeps watching as the men disappear into a beam of helicopter light like evil angels. Jane blinks a lot as the helicopter flies away. The "tribal" music starts again as Jane looks down on the roof and sees Tarzan's necklace. It must have fallen off when she was doing absolutely nothing to help him. She picks it up and holds it in the air. Breathless, there's only one other choice now: our first commercial break.