It doesn't register with Grace who is already in the elevator when she enters. It takes a few seconds more than it should for her to realise that Marion from upstairs is smiling, nodding at her and next thing she knows they have already reservedly acknowledged each other's presence. The elevator contains several workers, all more than ready for their work-free evening. There is a good-natured silence between them all which Grace doesn't notice, because despite the relaxed hum of the elevator, Grace's head is buzzing with thoughts and feeling and emotion she doesn't know what to do with. She's not even sure she has a right to feel this way.
There is a chiming 'ding' as the elevator doors slide open, and as the workers uniformly pool out of the elevator, Grace starts as she realises she is standing alone in the elevator before she and her thoughts pool out of the elevator too, through the front foyer and out to the darkening, emptying car park, where the dusky cool air accompanies her to her car. Her car key finds its way out of her handbag and into its slot almost entirely by itself. Grace slides into her car, but its familiarity isn't as comforting as usual. She inhales, exhales. The car park is almost empty now and she feels safe enough to let her guard down. Conflicting thoughts flurry round her head like an untuned radio and make her feel rather dizzy.
Rigsby, a father? Sarah, expecting their baby?
Rigsby's news had hit her hard, had winded her badly. She wasn't sure how she felt. Shock had been the first emotion she had felt; a massive sense of disappointment had come next. She had admonished herself for feeling so almost immediately – it took longer for her to recognize the jealousy and self-loathing.
But wasn't that supposed to be her? Be them? Hadn't he offered her all this and more? And she had been the one to turn him down. But in the time since, she had come to think on Rigsby as, not a consolation prize –though from where she was now she could see it might look that way- but as permanent, solid, and hers. She had always had a strong faith, and, despite everything that had happened – everything – she still had believed she and Wayne were tangled up in each other in a way that would always be. She had so strongly believed their situation would be teased out in to what it was always meant to be, whatever that was. But now? She couldn't be so cruel as to wish or hope for something to come between Wayne and Sarah, not now, when there was a child involved; and especially not when Wayne had been brave and loving enough to try and allow her the happy ending she had been hoping for. When her and Craig's story had played out to the finish, it was Rigsby always there and giving support. At the time she had appreciated his actions, and though she had felt it much, much too soon to be thinking romantically on anybody, she had felt courage and hopeful that she would always have him in her life, hers.
He was someone else's now. He was Sarah's, he was their baby's. He was not hers. Except, somewhere inside her, Grace was already thinking up scenarios, ways in which she could keep the ending she craved, one with her, Wayne and a baby – their baby. She silently scolded herself for trying to imagine Sarah's baby out of existence, but couldn't help the thoughts from building up. As a small child, Grace had been a tomboy: that much was clear to everyone. That didn't mean however that she hadn't listened to stories of Princesses, their Princes and their happy endings, and longed for her own. None of those happy endings consisted of the happy couple co-existing with someone else's child, evidence of a former love; and any that did, Grace realised with a twisted smile, cast her as the wicked step-mother.
Maybe this was as far as Rigsby and her were supposed to go, maybe not. It wasn't a typical happy ending, Grace thought, but it was hers. It was theirs.
Two floors above, Patrick Jane stands over the almost vacant car park, teacup in hand, and looks down through the window of the bull-pen. From a bleary street lamp shining over her car, he can make out Grace hold her head in her hands. He has watched the situation unfold over the last few days, and in truth he feels genuinely sorry for Grace. To say she has been misfortunate this past year is an understatement and just as things have begun to look up for her, he is sure she will feel this deeply but silently. To go by what he can see from the bull-pen window, he is right. He turns when he hears Lisbon's office door open, and, on seeing him, she walks over to join him at the window. They stand together in silence as the headlights of Grace's car light up, and, a few moments later, she begins to pull out of her parking space. Their gaze follows her car as it goes through the security post and turns on to the street and drives slowly away. Jane turns away from the window then, as Lisbon continues to look into the evening as it turns to night. Jane takes the opportunity to enter Lisbon's office unnoticed, and, after collecting her bag and coat, he lifts the mug of coffee he had made her almost an hour earlier which now stands cold and only half drank, forgotten beside an opened folder and stack of unfinished forms which, he realises, had been stealing her attention from it. He turns off the light of her office and closes the door behind him, and as Lisbon's coat and bag sit on the table of the kitchenette, her coffee mug joins his teacup on the board beside the sink. Jane returns to stand behind Lisbon at the window, and she turns to face him. A small smile tumbles from her as she realises what he has done, and taking this as her cue, she briefly, lightly touches his arm and continues to the kitchen. She draws her coat tightly to her, to protect herself from the cool night air, and slings her bag over one shoulder. She spies the coffee mug beside the teacup and nudges one closer to the other. She goes to give a small laugh when she sees him watching her, but she holds up her hand in farewell instead. She exits the bullpen and goes down the stairs, leaving him standing over the window, guarding the night.