Title: Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Author: Miss_Peg/RedFi

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, I just like to play with the characters.

Summary: When Rigsby reads a note he wasn't meant to see, the cracks in his friendship with Van Pelt begin to show.

Spoilers: Spoilers for 5x03 (Not One Red Cent)

Notes: This was written for bromfieldhall for the Paint It Red Stocking Swap Gift Exchange. When I saw the prompt, I just had to have a play. This is going to be a two part fic, but I wanted to get part one up as quickly as I could.

Cold Heart

The office had emptied; Lisbon was in a meeting with Bertram about the replacement for Wainwright, Cho had left early for a dentist appointment and Jane and Van Pelt had gone out to dinner. Rigsby wasn't sure of the circumstances surrounding such a situation but he figured that the bet placed between the two of them was being fulfilled. Going home was the preferred option himself, but Benjamin was teething and Sarah had a massive case on at work. Her mom had picked Benjamin up from daycare and as far as she was concerned, Rigsby had to work, so he relished in a couple of hours of freedom.

He sat down at his desk, a mug of coffee on one side and a newspaper in front of him. It didn't happen often enough anymore, the simple act of enjoying a moment reading the paper. The whole thing was depressing, but the familiarity of it was enough. He even decided that he'd do the crossword, talking to a baby most days left him with a brain of mush. Despite the demands of the job, he still felt the need to question witnesses in the way he talked to his son.

'Four across, medium…middle? No, too short.' He rested his pen in his mouth, nibbling ever so slightly on the end of it. 'Psychic! Thanks Jane.'

A bite too hard and the pen exploded across his mouth, he opened wide and stuck his tongue out, the taste of ink making him feel nauseous. He threw the pen into his trashcan and searched his desk for another.

'Well done Wayne, break the only pen you have.' He walked across to the kitchenette to wash his mouth out, he glanced at his reflection in the back of a spoon and though it appeared there was only a little dark smudge on the edge of his lip, it still felt as though he was ingesting it somehow. 'Now I've gotta find another pen.'

He wandered back to the bullpen and his crossword via Van Pelt's desk. She always had spare pens, in fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd have sworn she had the whole office's supply of pens too. There were six in a holder alone. He took one, then thinking better of it, took a second for safe keeping.

'Pen Velt more like,' he mumbled, stopping in his tracks as his eyes fell upon a notepad sitting face up on the desk. 'What the…?'

He held it up in front of his face and read his name followed by an expletive. Either Van Pelt knew he was stealing her pens (doubtful considered he usually asked her first) or something else was going on that he didn't know about. Regardless, the thought of her harsh words left him with feelings of anger.

He jotted a quick note below the message, returned to his desk and continued with his crossword.

The next morning when Van Pelt entered the bullpen she expected the cheery smiles of her colleagues. Cho was looking worse for wear after his dental appointment and Rigsby barely glanced at her.

'Morning,' she said, trying to make polite conversation but she got barely a grunt from the boys, much to her irritation.

'Good morning Grace,' she muttered in a mock tone. Cho sighed and disappeared from the room with an offering of a coffee; she accepted and went to goad Rigsby out of his sullen mood.

'What's wrong? Little Ben keeping you up still?'

He glanced up at her briefly, his eyes frosty, before he lowered them again. His lack of words confused her. So she returned to her desk, turned on her computer and checked her emails. It wasn't until she went to note down an address that she spotted Rigsby's careless scrawl across her notepad, below a message she couldn't remember writing.

Then it hit her, the writing trick that Jane had showed her. Why hadn't she noticed that Rigsby's name had been written above such a frustrated message to Jane? The fact he wrote something similar in return added to his silence suggested he'd seen her notepad.

'Wayne,' she whispered, looking up, but he still didn't take his gaze from his work. She sighed heavily and carried the notepad to his desk. 'Can we talk about this?'

'There's nothing to talk about,' he said through gritted teeth.

'Yes, there is,' she tried.

'Really, Grace?' he stood up, pushing his chair back with such force that it hit the desk behind him. 'You want to talk about how you have the decency to act like nothing has happened?'

'It's not what it looks like.'

Rigsby laughed loudly. 'Oh really? That's what people say when they've been caught.'

'Why don't you listen to me instead of jumping to conclusions?'

'Why should I?' he shouted, his hands on his hips.

'Because it wasn't meant for you.'

He shook his head. 'Didn't mean for me to see it, more like.'

'Can I at least explain?'

'No, Grace, you know what. I stand by what I wrote on your pad. That's all I have to say to you.'

She watched him sit back down and continue with his work, his lips pressed together tightly and his fist clenched on his desk. Van Pelt tried to speak, but words escaped her. The last thing she ever wanted from that situation was for Rigsby to think she was being horrible. But without him listening to her, what else could she do?

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her eyes filling with tears which she quickly wiped away. She would not cry over this, she couldn't. She was an adult who had made a small mistake, despite Rigsby's reaction; it wasn't her fault that he wouldn't listen to her.