Grace Van Pelt rubbed absently at her bruised wrists while she was being checked out by an EMT. "I'm telling you, I'm fine, this isn't necessary."
"Van Pelt, be quiet for two minutes and let them check you out, please. You're almost as bad as Jane." Teresa Lisbon was in no mood for yet another member of her team to cause trouble for medical personnel.
Van Pelt's voice was on the edge of panic. "I need to find Rigsby. Did you or Cho see him when you came back?"
"Wait, what? What do you mean you need to find Rigsby? Where did he go?"
"When Dan came by, he and Rigsby had sort of a confrontation, but I don't know where they went or what happened." Oh, God, if Dan hurt him, I will kill that bastard myself!
"I'm sure he's fine, Van Pelt, Rigsby can take care of himself. Local PD is searching the building, if he's here, they'll find him."
Suddenly, Patrick Jane's voice interrupted the conversation from the back of the ambulance. "Try the first floor men's room, Grace. If they went to have a private conversation, isn't that the first place they'd go?"
Van Pelt bolted out of the parking lot and headed directly for the CBI building. As she rounded the corner nearest the first floor restrooms, she burst through the door just as another EMT was headed out. That was when she finally saw Rigsby, leaning unsteadily against the wall, and she let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in. "Oh, you're alive, thank God. Are you okay?" She reached out to hug him gently and noticed a fair amount of blood on the back of his neck and on the collar of his shirt.
"I'm fine." he managed to say, a little thickly. He wrapped his right arm around her and tried not to collapse into her arms.
"I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry." She fought hard to keep the panic and fear out of her voice, and even harder to hold back the tears that were threatening to start raining down her face.
"It's all right, it's all right." He hoped that he sounded reassuring, when the truth is, he was anything but all right. He'd been unconscious for more than an hour when the Sacramento PD officers found him, and they couldn't answer any of his questions about what all had happened, but he knew at this point that Dan Hollenbeck was somehow involved. Someone would fill him in later; right now, all he wanted was to make sure that Grace was okay. He slowly lifted his head to look her in the eyes and nearly lost his composure when he saw that she was blinking back tears. That little bastard Hollenbeck caused all this, I should have caused more trouble for that creep when I had the chance. Rigsby's train of thought was abruptly interrupted when he realized that she was leaning in to kiss him.
She leaned back from their embrace slightly, and searched his face to make sure he wasn't lying to her. She could tell he was in a lot of pain, and she wanted to kick herself for helping start this whole mess in the first place. What she wanted even more than that was to take away some of that pain, even if only for a second, so she leaned in to kiss him …
BANG!
The door opened with a loud thud, and the agents jumped apart guiltily. A janitor had been sent down to clean up, but he decided to leave the pair alone for a moment to pull themselves together.
Rigsby shook his head slightly; everything was still a little foggy and he needed an excuse to be anywhere but that small, stuffy room; he had to try to clear his head of everything that had just happened. Paperwork, that should do it. "I have an H746B form to fill out." he sputtered, as he stumbled out the door.
Van Pelt couldn't decide whether to laugh at Rigsby's lame, but ultimately effective, attempt to defuse the situation, or cry in frustration at everything that had happened over the last two hours. Frustration eventually won out; she left the men's room and slumped against the wall in the hallway, head between her knees. She was so angry – angry at herself, for being duped so easily; angry at Dan, for leading her on, abusing her trust, and being a complete scumbag; and lastly, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, she was angry at Patrick Jane; she was certain the Cragers weren't the only family torn apart by Jane's schemes and manipulations, and she had a strong suspicion this wouldn't be the last time the CBI got dragged into the "fake psychic"'s former life. She heard footsteps coming from around the corner, and recognizing that the cadence belonged to her boss, hastily started wiping at her eyes.
Teresa Lisbon sat down, back against the wall facing her most junior agent, box of tissues in her hand. This conversation is not going to be pretty. She offered the tissues wordlessly to the young woman sitting in front of her. Before she had a chance to launch into the lecture she'd already mentally prepared, Van Pelt interrupted her thoughts with a question.
"Boss, what happened to Dan? I mean, I saw you shoot him, but I wasn't really paying attention when the EMTs arrived. Is he -"
"Dead?" Van Pelt nodded. "No. Unfortunately, my aim is not as good as it used to be. I hit him in the shoulder. Good enough to drop him long enough for Sacramento PD to arrive and take him into custody. Last I heard, he was in surgery at Mercy General. He'll be under guard until he's stable enough to be transferred to the hospital ward at County."
Van Pelt relaxed a little and leaned further back against the wall, tilting her head upward both to stem any more tears, and to avoid seeing what she was certain would be a disapproving look on her boss' face. "Jane told you everything, I assume? About my relationship with Dan, how he used me to get access to the CBI lot, and get to Jane?"
"Yes, I know everything I need to know. "
"What happens now? Am I suspended?"
Lisbon saw the very nervous and fearful look on Van Pelt's face, and tried her best to be reassuring. "No, Van Pelt, you're not suspended. You couldn't have known about Hollenbeck's background, or his obsession with getting revenge on Jane. If we had to run background checks on everyone in our lives, none of us would ever get a date."
Van Pelt chuckled, appreciating her boss' attempts at levity.
"However, there are a few procedural things that we have to deal with. Your Jeep, for one. Unfortunately, it's evidence – the forensics team is going to have to dust for prints and examine all the damage to make sure the physical evidence corroborates our statements. It's probably going to be a couple of days before they'll release it; in the meantime, you can drive the Suburban and get the paperwork started to get reimbursed by the Bureau for the repairs. You also have mandatory meetings with the Professional Standards Unit and the Bureau's psychologist tomorrow afternoon." At the mention of the PSU – CBI's answer to Internal Affairs – Van Pelt blanched. "They're formalities, Grace, nothing more. I'm the one they're investigating, not you - I shot a suspect as part of our investigation. It's standard operating procedure. Nothing to worry about." Lisbon reached for the tissue box and handed over the keys to the team's official vehicle in one swift motion. She then clambered to her feet. "Go home, get some rest. Take tomorrow morning off – I don't want to see you in the bullpen until after you've given your statement to PSU and seen the shrink. That's an order."
"Thanks, boss."
"Good night, Grace." Lisbon turned and headed back towards her office.
Rigsby stumbled back to his desk and sank slowly into his chair. His head was pounding, but all he wanted to do was get this blasted form completed, go home and forget any of this had ever happened. "Dammit, why didn't I see this coming?"
"See what coming?" Kimball Cho inquired as he entered the room walked over to his desk, settling in to complete paperwork of his own.
"Dan Hollenbeck."
"Oh, he's the reason you look like hell?"
"Thanks Cho, that sums up about how I feel, too." Realizing that he wasn't going to get any sympathy from his partner, he continued. "Hollenbeck is the guy Van Pelt has been dating. He came by tonight, we had a confrontation in the men's room, and he got the drop on me. I can't believe I let my guard down."
"There's plenty that neither of you saw. Turns out, Hollenbeck is Paul Crager and Jill LaMont's son. His whole relationship with Van Pelt apparently was a ruse to get at Jane. He blamed Jane for his parents' divorce, taking him from overindulged Hollywood brat to the stuffed shirt you met earlier. After he took you out, he was going to kill Jane, and probably Van Pelt too. They got away from him long enough for us to get back with Crager in custody and for Lisbon to take Hollenbeck out with a shot to the shoulder."
Rigsby stared at Cho, dumbfounded. "Are you kidding me?" Cho shook his head solemnly. "God, that sick son of a bitch, if Lisbon didn't kill him I will finish the job myself." Rigsby slammed his fists emphatically onto his desk, then realized that was a bad idea, as the noise just made his head hurt worse.
Cho laughed a little at his friend's demonstrative nature. "I don't think that would go over too well with the boss. Rigsby, go home. You look like shit, and you need some sleep. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow."
"Yeah, you're right." Rigsby slowly straightened up, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his head. The EMTs said he'd managed to avoid a concussion, but if he didn't get some aspirin soon, he knew there was no way he'd be able to get any sleep.
As he approached his car, which was parked next to the team's Suburban, he saw Van Pelt standing on the driver's side of the SUV, and realized that she had been waiting for him to emerge from the building. "Van Pelt, what's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Lisbon is letting me use the Suburban until Forensics releases my Jeep out of evidence. I just wanted to make sure you were going to get home okay. You could have a concussion, and you're probably still bleeding …." she trailed off, and he recognized her nervous habit of chattering right away. He was still reeling from their almost-kiss in the bathroom, and he wasn't sure that he could keep his emotions together around her much longer. However, he suspected that trying to fight her on this issue was going to be pointless, so he opted to head her off at the pass instead.
"Van Pelt, I'm fine, really. The EMTs gave me the all-clear, I promise. If it will make you feel better, though, why don't you follow me home? That way, you can make sure that I'm okay."
Van Pelt brightened a little at this suggestion. She knew he was humoring her; under other circumstances, she would have been annoyed, but this time, she appreciated the gesture. She climbed into the driver's seat of the Suburban; even though she herself drove a Jeep, she felt dwarfed by this particular vehicle and always had to adjust the front seat. Once settled in, she pulled out of the West Parking Lot and trailed Rigsby's black Explorer around the Capitol grounds and on to N Street.
After about five minutes, she realized they were headed east towards Winn Park, a neighborhood she'd wanted to move to when she first relocated to Sacramento, but couldn't quite afford on her rookie salary. She never would have guessed that Rigsby lived in this area of town, but when she thought about it some more, she realized it made sense – close to the office, a relatively young, professional population, and lots of bars and restaurants. She bet he had a favorite – some place where he was a regular, the bartender knew him on sight and always remembered his usual drink. She was so lost in thought, she was startled to realize they'd already pulled up in front of his duplex. Rigsby tapped gently on the driver's side window to get her attention.
"Here we are, all in one piece. Do you want to come in for a minute?"
"Sure." She was a little surprised at the suggestion. She hopped out of the Suburban and trailed Rigsby to his front door. She was little bit nervous at seeing his apartment, almost as though she was invading his personal space. Get it together Grace, he's your friend, and your colleague; this is NOT A BIG DEAL.
Rigsby strode through the front door and headed straight for what she assumed was his bedroom in the back. "Give me two seconds, be right back." She took the time to look around the living room – widescreen, flat-panel TV, what she guessed was an Xbox 360 peeking out of the entertainment center, large comfy couch; it all look lived-in. Tidy, but lived-in. Empty pizza boxes and beer cans were noticeably absent from the kitchen. Rigsby strode back out into the living area, now wearing a black t-shirt, gray sweats and a very rueful expression as he stared at his bloody dress shirt sadly. "This was one of my favorite shirts."
"Let me take a look." He handed over the shirt reluctantly. "C'mon, Rigsby, you're forgetting that you're talking to a football coach's daughter. My mother knew every trick in the book to get stuff like this out of my brothers' clothes. You don't think she passed some of that information on to me? Especially when I decided to go into law enforcement?" Rigsby laughed for the first time all day, then winced. "Ow." He reached around to the back of his neck, having felt something warm and oozy running towards his collar, and realized that he'd busted open the cut on his head. "Son of a – the EMTs swore I wouldn't need stitches!"
Van Pelt swiftly turned him around in the direction of one of the stools at the kitchen's breakfast bar and forcibly sat him down. "Sit. Let me take a look and patch you up." Turning around, she realized he wasn't bleeding profusely and let out a sigh of relief. "Looks like you could use a butterfly bandage or two, and the EMTs did a lousy job of cleaning you up. Do you have hydrogen peroxide around here?"
"It's with the first aid kit and my aspirin under the sink in the bathroom. First door on the right." She returned not thirty seconds later with her hands completely full. Setting the peroxide, first aid kit and bottle of aspirin down on the counter, she reached for the antiseptic and a bunch of cotton balls first. "This is going to sting a little," she informed him as she started swiping along the back of his neck, cleaning all the dried blood first, before gently and carefully swiping at the cut along his hairline. To his credit, Rigsby didn't flinch once. He's lucky, she thought; this could have been a lot worse. She switched to a clean cotton ball to soak up any remaining blood, and fixed two small bandages to his head. "There, all better."
Rigsby thought for a fleeting second about asking her to kiss the spot and make it even better, but realized he would really be pushing his luck. Asking her to come in had been a very risky proposition in the first place, and even though he felt much better, all he really wanted now was a good night's sleep. Van Pelt gathered up all the medical supplies and headed back to the bathroom; he took the respite to pour himself a glass of water and down three aspirin. Van Pelt reappeared, and before he could stop her, reached for his shirt. "Van Pelt, you really don't have to do that; it's fine, seriously, I'll just get another shirt."
"Rigsby, just please humor me one more time and let me try to get this out. Since all of this was my fault, I owe you this one. And if I can't get it out, I'll buy you a new shirt, okay?" He saw the pleading look on her face, and his resistance crumpled. "This wasn't your fault, and you know it." Her reaction was inscrutable; Rigsby doubted that he'd managed to convince her.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Rigsby. Good night." He followed her towards the door, and kept an eye on her until she was safely buckled into the car and drove away. He then turned around and collapsed, face down, into his couch, where he promptly fell asleep.
Monday, 8:30 AM
Rigsby strode into the CBI's offices; he was in earlier than usual, especially after a weekend, and wasn't sure why exactly, but he'd woken up an hour ago with a vague sense of anticipation. Rather than fight it and try to sneak in another half-hour of sleep, he caved and headed in to the office. Normally, he would make a beeline directly for the break room to fix a cup of coffee before settling in, but a package sitting on his desk caught his eye. Looking around, he didn't see any of his colleagues milling about; Jane wasn't even curled up on his couch, which was very unusual. As he got closer to his desk, he realized the package was actually a box; upon prying it open, he discovered the shirt that Van Pelt had taken from him. It looked good as new – lightly pressed, neatly folded and with just a touch of starch in the collar, exactly the way he liked it. Damn, she even managed to get out the lipstick print Jackie left on it, he mused. Oh God, I hope she didn't actually see that. He put that thought in the back of his mind, and smiled. He'd have to thank her later – maybe buy dinner on their next stakeout. This is going to be a good day, he thought as he headed for the locker room to hang the shirt with his spare set of clothes.
Van Pelt leaned against the doorway to the break room, just out of Rigsby's line of vision, and watched as he walked in the direction of the locker room. She saw the pleased look on his face, and smiled, like the cat that ate the canary.
"Gotcha, Rigsby."