A/N: A companion piece to Trampled and Slain. Post Red Bulls. Rigsby's POV. My imaginary lawyers inform me that I've yet to acquire the rights to the Mentalist. They'll keep cracking though.

Silent Acceptance

I went through the rest of the day in a fog. People were saying things to me that I didn't hear. Lisbon's orders, orders I always followed with no question, had trouble sinking in. I had to ask her to repeat them. She gave me a knowing look, but said nothing. She may not know about us, but she definitely knew about me. I loved Grace. Everyone knew it. As I stood by the ambulance, watching it drive away, I pined like hell to be inside of it. Her being wounded today was unacceptable. I should and would have taken the hits in her place. Even without the damn vest. Fuck it. It would have saved her from pain. But I couldn't die for her today, so I killed for her instead. I looked down at my right hand. My index finger still felt the pressure of the trigger. That DZer woman threatened Hicks, which made it lawful. Secretly, I was glad she did. If I'd found her and cornered her without provocation to shoot her, I don't know what I would have done. She shot Grace. She could have killed her. Maybe wanted to kill her. Even now, I feel my rage boiling over. But she threatened Hicks, so I got to be a cop. I didn't have to discover if I'm a vengeful, murdering bastard. But, given my lack of remorse, I had an inkling.

Suddenly Jane's damaged psyche doesn't seem so foreign.

Five o'clock had finally decided to make an appearance. I left without a word. None are needed. Everyone knew where I was going. Again, fuck it. I could visit an injured colleague in the hospital, couldn't I? The fact that I want to sweep her up in my arms and never let her go was irrelevant.

The tight ache in my chest that had been with me all day evaporated when I walked into her room. It released in a relieved gust of air. Christ, she was beautiful. Even wrapped from waist to sternum in gauze and wearing baggy scrub pants, she knocked me out. She turned to me and smiled, whispering my name. My first name. God, I loved that sound. But I didn't get to revel in it, as she cringed with pain.

Oh God, my baby. She was hurt so badly.

I went to her instantly. Perching anxiously by her side as the nurse finished wrapping her up. She left and we were alone. I wordlessly helped her lie back and get comfortable on the bed. Her arms went around me. I tried not to purr out loud. I sat back down again. I had so much to say that it bottlenecked in my throat. Do I start with 'I'm sorry'? With 'I love you'? With 'Stay with me forever, I need you like I've never needed anything in my life'? With "You're so gorgeous that if it weren't for your ribs I'd drag you into my bed and never let you leave'? None of my thoughts seemed remotely appropriate, so I took her hand and kissed it. It helped. I could feel her gaze on me as I did it. God knew what she was thinking. Probably still furious at me for letting Hicks' opinion matter more to me than hers. She had every right to slap me upside the head again, so I lowered it against the mattress. She could take a bat to it for all I cared, so long as I didn't have to look into her eyes and see her angry with me. Earlier in the ambulance, her anger had terrified me. Bullets had hit her chest from the outside and buckled her ribs. Her anger made my heart expand with terror and cracked my own ribs from within. It was a pain unlike any I'd known. I never wanted to experience it again.

Suddenly I felt her fingers run through my hair. My pain magically healed and was replaced with joy. I'm forgiven. Thank Christ. I ventured a look up at her. She was smiling. Another shot of pure joy hit my bloodstream. I smiled back.

"When will they let me take you home?"

"Anytime," she answered. "There's nothing to do for broken ribs except sit back and heal."

"We can go now?" Why the hell were we still there?

"Yeah."

Then we were definitely leaving. I jumped up and went out to the nurses. I informed rather than asked. I tried to be polite about it. I asked about meds. They said they'd get them for me. Super.

I tried to not run as I went back and began to pick up her things. Her gun and badge were on the table. Her clothes were folded neatly on a chair. I lifted them, proud that I fought the urge to lift them to my nose and inhale deeply. I hated that I wasn't so strong on other occasions. I would pass her coat on the rack, or lean over her shoulder to read something on her computer. Every single time, I'd lean in that extra inch and breathe in her scent. It drugged me. Addicted me. In department stores, I'd often pass the perfume counters and curse that there were so many. If there weren't, I might consider going from bottle to bottle, lifting each top and testing, searching, for the one that she wore. Once I found it, I'd buy it in bulk and soak every inch of my apartment with it. It would be there when I went to sleep. When I woke up. When I got home. It would torture me, absolutely, but it would comfort me as well. It's probably best that I never looked for it. Again, I'd have to face some hard truths about what kind of man I really was.

A nurse came in with a chair and went to help Grace up. I stopped her. Politely, again. Grace was mine. Anything she needed was my responsibility. I leaned down and offered my body to support her. She took it, trusting her weight to mine and lifting gingerly up and off the bed. Our arms around each other as we settled her into the chair. I cursed this circumstance. When Grace held me and I held her, our reason should be anything but assistance. No matter. She needed me now, so she'd have me. Lover or crutch, I was hers.

I took my jacket off and wrapped at around her bare shoulders. She couldn't go out in just a wrap of gauze. Suddenly my favorite sound. She giggled, cutting it short with a gasp when her ribs grated against her laugh. I leaned down, eager to see what made her happy.

"You," she smiled at me. "Chivalrous you. You gonna throw this jacket over a puddle too?"

She was teasing me. I chuckled a bit. Surely she knew I didn't give a damn about my jacket and if there was a puddle anywhere near her, I'd throw it down without a thought. "If you asked, anything." It sounded melodramatic out loud. In my head, it was the simplest, most unadorned fact.

Her smile disappeared. She wasn't fooled by the melodrama. She saw the simple fact. I felt a sliver of embarrassment, but mostly I felt centered. It was the truth. I always felt at ease with the truth. I gazed back at her, letting her read my sincerity. It shocked her, but she didn't turn away. She continued to stare back, watching my eyes just as I watched hers. After so many months of aching for her to see me, the least I could do was bare myself to her scrutiny. She deserved it. She deserved everything.

She pulled my jacket around her. "Take me home, Wayne."

She gave me my new favorite sentence.

I did as she asked. I drove slowly. I held her and walked slowly. I would not risk jarring her injury. She had to get well. I needed her.

Once inside, she turned to me and asked, "Will you stay with me?"

Scratch. That was my new favorite sentence. Not that I'd ever had any intention of leaving. She could impose any rules of propriety she wanted, but I wasn't going anywhere. She needed rest and food and water and care and I. Wasn't. Leaving. I said as much.

She blushed. God, I loved her. She stuttered that we had yet to spend the night together. I loved—loved—that even in her condition, she was thinking about us. Couple us. Romantic us. I hugged her. It was all I would risk. I offered to take the couch.

She set my soul on fire when she said no. "You're sleeping with me. I think we're passed the humble couch phase, don't you?"

Was she kidding? I was hardly the guy to ask. For the last year and a half, she'd occupied my bed in my fantasies and dreams so often that the couch never even entered the equation. Not as a phase, anyway. My bed certainly didn't corner the market for my fantasies of Grace. I'd christened every room with her, every piece of furniture, every wall. I'd cried out the name of my imaginary lover more times that I cared to think about. But now was not the time.

I indulged myself and stroked her hair. I wondered if it would be weird to ask for a lock of it. Was that too Victorian? Too stalker-ish? Too voo-doo-y? I'd think about it.

"Then I humbly suggest we go to bed. You need rest." I meant it. She needed to sleep. She nodded and let me help her to her room. I tried my best to look away as I helped her dress for bed. I would not allow myself the pleasure. Not now. She needed me. I wasn't about to fuck this up by sleazing my way into her bedroom. I had nothing but the most honorable of intentions.

She laughed and lifted my eyes to hers. I kept them there. No surreptitious sweeps of her beautiful body. "It's okay, Wayne. I want you to see me."

How many favorite sentences was a guy allowed to have?

I didn't allow myself the pleasure. I kept my eyes on hers. I explained as best I could. I wouldn't look. Not like that. Not until she was able to act on my gaze. She smiled her understanding. Well, my momma told me to never love a fool. She'd be proud.

"How did you want to sleep?"

I looked at my clothes and answered honestly, hoping she didn't think I was feeding her a line. "But I can keep my t-shirt on, if you want me to."

"I want you comfortable. Sleep how you always sleep. Please?"

I'd do anything she asked if that please followed. I'd been hypnotized once. Now I'd fallen in love with another woman capable of casting that kind of spell. I undressed. She watched me. I was pleased that she wanted to. Once in my underwear, I went to her. Oh, the number of times I had pictured that moment. She would wrap her arms around me, whisper my name and accept my body into hers. I'd defiled a thousand tissues with that scenario. Now, I thought of nothing but her broken bones as I eased her back onto her pillows. I wondered if I was still allowed to adore that moment as much as I would a sexual one. She was letting me help her, letting me be with her. It was exhilarating.

I made sure she was comfortable before walking to the other side and getting in. I wanted to hold her so badly, but I stayed on my side. It was enough to watch her, to share a bed with her. It was more than I ever thought I'd get.

"I can't exactly make the first move here, Wayne. If you want to cuddle, you'll have to come over here."

Scratch again. That one was it. It was perfect in every detail.

I went to her and wrapped my arm around her neck. I placed a hesitant hand on her stomach. It was by far the most intimately I'd ever touched her. I aligned my body with hers and nestled my forehead against her temple. "Grace," I sighed happily. Her smell was drugging me again. After all those months, I finally got to fall asleep with it wafting around my face. Just as I suspected, it comforted me like all get-out.

"Wayne?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Hmm?" I was inebriated. Ask me anything, sweetheart. Your scent is the strongest truth serum in the world.

"It's not that I don't want to say it back."

I went rigid. That was not was I expected to hear. I relaxed instantly, not wanting to upset her. "Don't worry about that now. Just sleep."

I felt her rise up, her voice, her insistence. "But I--,"

No. We were not going to talk about that now. She was hurt. She needed rest. Peace. She wasn't allowed to cloud her brain with worries about us. Baby steps. I kissed her. I quieted her. God Almighty, her mouth. So soft, so sweet. The caged animal in me started howling and thrashing against the bars. I demanded it shut up. I kept my kiss small and short. To risk longer was to risk pushing for more. I released her lips and chipped a small piece of my own heart out. I paid it dearly but gladly.

"Sleep," I whispered.

She relaxed in my arms. I felt her drift slowly. I felt myself drifting with her. Maybe we'd meet in our dreams?

I exhaled softly. Words came out. I didn't really hear them. I didn't really care. She was with me. That was enough. That was everything.