A/N- Because I am heartbroken.
I mean, I just get over Bones' massive shock, and then this...
Major spoilers for Aingevite Baa, though i am too depressed to care if i ruin the surprise for you. Misery loves company, baby.
Disclaimer- If i owned them, my heart wouldn't feel so bad.
She was going to kill him.
This really wasn't her area of expertise.
Growing up with older brothers didn't exactly prepare one for this kind of situation. And then there was her choice in career… Give her a gun, a suspect to tackle and a criminal to handcuff and Lisbon was in her element. But Jane had bailed, leaving her to deal with this... Grace... Alone.
They didn't teach girl talk at the academy. Grief counseling was limited to the uniformly non-committal 'I'm sorry for your loss', followed by a more enthusiastic 'but we have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind.'
Most of the time Lisbon was sorry for their loss. This time, however, she had a feeling that the usual lines wouldn't get the job done.
They both stood still, the awkward silence punctuated by poorly contained wracking sobs from Grace Van Pelt. Grace Van Pelt, the nice young girl from a small town who was always so determined to prove that she was none of those things. She was always early and went home late. She worked hard, she played by the rules, and she never did anything that would compromise her reputation as a diligent Agent of the California Bureau of Investigation.
Except fall in love with Rigsby.
But everyone was allowed one mistake, weren't they? She hoped so, for her own sake.
Lisbon struggled for words, anything to say to console the unusually distressed Van Pelt dehydrating all over the CBI elevator. The floors counted down in time with her mouth as it opened and closed, silent and pathetic. Her generally useful brain wasn't coming up with anything. At all. The two Agents never moved, Grace, arms crossed, trying to pretend that she wasn't sobbing desperately, and Lisbon, eyes wide, trying to pretend that she wasn't at a complete loss as to what to do.
The ping of the elevator broke the awkward silence as they reached the bottom floor. The doors opened.
Saved by the bell.
Taking a good look at her face for the first time, Lisbon winced. Grace was a mess. A shiny red mess. She was trying hard to reign the overwhelming sadness in, but her eyes were puffy, and her entire face was as red as her flaming hair. The tears pouring down her face could break a drought, and her soaked sleeve wouldn't absorb any more moisture. Even without the meeting with Hightower that morning, Lisbon could guess what the problem was. There was only one thing that could make Van Pelt lose composure at work. There was only one thing that could make Van Pelt look so broken.
She rifled through her purse for the car keys. Putting a gentle arm on the fragile girl's back, Lisbon spoke for the first time.
"Come on. Let's take you home."
Lisbon was wrong. Grace wasn't allowed her mistake.
As she sat on her couch, holding an exhausted Van Pelt after she had cried herself to sleep, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of loss. It wasn't just the stream of almost incomprehensible words that Van Pelt had been whimpering right up until her voice gave out, but the extreme injustice of it all that made her insides ache, disappointed once again that she had been right all along.
No one got their break. Jane didn't, Her parents didn't, all the husbands and wives and girlfriends and lovers they had to break bad news to every single day didn't. And now Rigsby and Van Pelt…
In her job, she handled death and hatred. She dealt with murder and greed, and the justice she found at the end of the day only masked the deep wounds that grief left in her soul. Love was the only thing that gave her hope in humanity. The only thing that healed the ugly sores, and sweetened the bitter taste of evil in her mouth. But that was a joke.
Grace hadn't lost anyone. Death didn't swoop down with thick black wings and take a loved one away from her.
In many ways it was far worse.
She'd had to give her loved one away.
So even though it was like throwing a napkin to break a concrete fortress Lisbon cradled the sleeping Van Pelt, stroking her hair and whispering the only words she knew to the darkened living room with as much meaning as she could.
"I'm sorry for your loss."