Author: Miss Peg/RedFi (we are the same person! haha)

Title: Right Kind of Wrong

Rating: T

Character(s): Wayne Rigsby, Grace Van Pelt

Disclaimer: I wish I could make money from fanfiction, but I don't own it, so I can't.

Summary: It's wrong, they know it's wrong and yet they can't help it. It feels right.

Spoilers: Season 4 spoilers, for practically the whole season.

Notes: Written for the Paint It Red June Monthly Challenge, the aim was to create your own prompt using 3 words and mine are the first line of the story.

Fic:

'This is wrong.'

Wayne Rigsby stared into her eyes, her beautiful, perfect, hazel eyes. He'd always liked them the most.

'I know,' he said, kissing her quickly, their lips joined in the briefest of moments before she pulled back again.

'We should stop.'

He nodded, closing the gap once more. 'I know.'

'But…'

His heart beat in his chest like when Ben played with the toy drum him and Sarah had bought him for his first birthday. Rigsby tangled his fingers around Grace Van Pelt's hair and looked her square in the eyes, every doubt, every worry that what they were doing was wrong dissipated as he nibbled on the edge of her lip.

'I know,' he muttered into her mouth as she opened it, inviting him closer, regardless of everything they both knew wasn't right.

The phone rang in the distance, on the periphery of Rigsby's hearing. He placed his hands gently on Van Pelt's shoulders, putting space between them as he reached for his cell phone. He glanced at her one final time as he realised who was calling, then pressed the answer button.

'Sarah, what's up?'

He nodded his head, mumbled a few things into the phone, his eyes warily watching Van Pelt who had busied herself at her computer.

'I love you too, give him a big kiss from me,' he said, hanging up the phone and collapsing into his desk chair. Van Pelt watched him. He wanted to look up, to stare into her eyes and pull her back into his embrace. But reality had kicked him hard in the groin.

'Do you have to go?' she asked, barely looking up from the computer.

'Ben misses me,' he muttered, trying hard not to smile as he talked about his son. The betrayal hitting hard for the first time since he'd told Van Pelt how he felt. 'I should go.'

X

Rigsby slipped off his shoes by the door and tiptoed into the nursery. In the crib, his son slept. When he got home late, usually in the middle of a case, he liked to watch Ben sleeping; if only to feel as though he'd sent him off to sleep, like he should have done a couple of hours earlier. He hated missing such important moments - bathing Ben, reading him a bedtime story, kissing him and wishing him sweet dreams. It hurt the most when he got to witness the beautiful moment when Sarah wished him goodnight and he held a hand up, whilst his other wrapped around his bottle.

In the darkness, as his son breathed heavily, Rigsby jerked at the feel of arms wrapping around his waist. He knew he should at least act cordial, but the physical touch sent a wave of guilt spreading through his mind. He couldn't do this. He couldn't play happy families with Sarah knowing that hours before he'd been in the arms of another woman. She wasn't 'the other woman' though, as much as he wished it was as simple as that. Van Pelt - Grace - had always meant more to him than that. He loved and respected her above all else and the mere thought of her being 'the other woman' left a sickness in the pit of his stomach.

If anyone was 'the other woman', it was Sarah.

Rigsby made little sense to himself, he knew that if he attempted to vocalise his worries, they would only be mixed up into something they weren't. He loved Sarah, of course he did, she was the mother of his child. A child he loved more than he knew possible. But was he in love with her? They hadn't exactly got to that point before they discovered the pregnancy. When Sarah turned down his proposal he was not only relieved but thankful. He'd known then that he didn't love her the way she needed, that his feelings were conflicted because of the boy growing inside of her. Their little boy, who slept in his crib, inches from where he stood wishing that Ben's mother would take her hands away from his body.

'Shh,' he whispered, using it as an excuse to unravel her arms from his waist. She frowned but did as he requested, kissing him briefly on the cheek before leaving him in peace. The baby's mouth opened and closed, his lips slapping together as he moved about in his sleep. He did everything he could not to let out a small laugh, which escaped his lips anyway.

What was he doing to his child?

What was he doing to Sarah?

What was he doing to himself?

The possibility of pleasing everyone was very slim; he knew that more than most. His father had never done so much as show any sense of understanding or love. He understood what it was like to have a parent not care about what was happening in your life. When Sarah had discovered she was pregnant and they knew their child was a boy, he made a promise to himself that he would never treat Ben the way his father had treated him all those years ago.

Ben deserved more than that. He deserved a family made up of both mother and father, a solid family life, perhaps a little brother or sister to fawn over.

Then the inevitable hit him; how could this end up any other way? They were headed for a break up whether he liked it or not. The question was, did he want to do it before Ben could remember what had happened, or did he want to wait until he was old enough to hear the fighting, to remember the day that his daddy left?

Ben deserved more than that, too.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, stroking his soft cheek with the back of his finger. Whatever happened, whether him and Sarah stayed together, or he left voluntarily, he would always do right by his little boy.

That was the thing that mattered, that separated him from his father. Not the act of leaving, but the act of saving him the pain of his departure.

x

Van Pelt greeted him with a kiss, her lips pressed roughly against the corner of his mouth until he responded with passion pushed so deep he wasn't sure he could handle it. The first time he'd been with her there was a semblance of reality, of grounding. They knew it was wrong and yet they continued to fall for each other, slowly, carefully, behind closed doors.

Now the doors were no more open than they had been in the past, but the careful, slow start was thrown out of the window in favour of passion and need. He no longer wanted her, he needed her, he couldn't live without her.

They'd met in a small coffee shop on the far edge of town, as close to the CBI they could get without being too close to arouse suspicion. They sat down at a small table in the corner as they had every day that week. Van Pelt's fingers laced quickly with Rigsby's and he reached up to her hair, wrapping his fingers around the tendrils until he knew they were at the edge of being pulled too tight. Being on the precipice of something more made it exciting and though he feared the future, walking the tightrope with Van Pelt in his arms, he craved the danger.

'How's Ben?'

The ground separated beneath them, opening up a chasm he was sure would swallow him whole. Rigsby wished she hadn't brought up the boy. She showed an interest in his life, in his son and that made him happier than he could have possibly explained. Except that it also reminded him, on a regular basis, that he was tearing apart the perfect life he'd envisaged for Benjamin.

They sat side by side, matching coffees and pastries, their lives running in sync. The harmonious similarities they'd always shared made his relationship with Van Pelt all the more significant.

Isn't that what he wanted for his son? A life where he could be himself, good or bad, where he could share breakfast with the girl – or boy – that he loved without fear of retribution? He'd always thought so, until he realised just how miserable he was without Van Pelt.

He would never, ever, wish for his son to be out of the picture. He loved him in immeasurable ways. But a small part of Rigsby's conscious reminded him that without Benjamin, he was free to love Van Pelt as he saw fit. CBI rules aside, the only thing stopping him from committing his whole heart to her, was his child.

x

'Is everything okay, Wayne?'

Rigsby looked up at Sarah across the dinner table, her furrowed brow worrisome to say the least. He attempted a smile but it fell flat. He couldn't lie to her, not in the most basic way. She could tell something was wrong, that much was obvious, but it didn't stop him hoping that he could escape her queries.

'Yes,' he muttered, spooning another mouthful of soup into his mouth and chewing on a lump of bread. Anything to avoid the conversation she was hoping to have.

'How's work?'

'Fine.'

'And your colleagues?'

'They're good.'

He didn't question her back, he wasn't even sure he knew anything about any of her current projects. Sarah had been back at work just a couple of months and though Rigsby knew he should have attempted to understand her life, he realised that he'd failed miserably. In the same period of time he'd rediscovered the feelings for Van Pelt he'd pushed aside when Benjamin was born.

'Are you sure?' she asked.

'Yes, everything's fine.'

It wasn't fine. He knew that and he knew Sarah's knew that too. In fact, it was far from fine but they continued to eat in silence. They'd gotten rather good at ignoring the important things, aside from their son. If it was about Ben then they made it a priority, if it was about them, they pushed it to one side and tried to imagine it didn't exist.

It still existed.

That didn't mean Rigsby wanted to talk about it though, in fact he was relatively happy ignoring it. Even if that meant continuing his relationship with Van Pelt in secret.

And then he came back to the guilt, to the reminder of the promise he'd made to keep his son happy and safe.

Rigsby's mind went round in circles like the spinning top Sarah's dad had made for Ben, it span faster at first until it slowed, making the most of each moment. If only his relationship troubles were as simple as a wooden spinning top decorated with primary colours.

x

The bedcovers fell around them, tangled up in arms and legs as Rigsby held Van Pelt close. He wanted to regret what had just happened, for his family's sake. Then he saw her smile, felt her body resting in his arms and he knew that nothing was more right. Regardless of the issues surrounding their affair, he couldn't help but believe it was the only option in that moment.

Of course, he knew he was finding excuses, reasons for it to feel acceptable when in reality it was anything but. He'd cheated on the mother of his son, had sex with someone hours before he would go home to his near-marital bed. They didn't have a marriage by law, but in every other aspect they were a married couple.

'When do you have to go?' Van Pelt asked, running a finger along the side of his arm, tracing circles across his skin. He smiled, allowing her soft touch to consume him for a moment before he faced reality.

'I have another half hour.'

He didn't want it to end, he didn't want to have to go back to his life and pretend that he was in love with Sarah. They'd been drifting for some time now, only he couldn't be sure if she knew that too. They never talked about their relationship, it was always about Ben or their jobs. The most important things stayed hidden, pushed down by weeks of brief questions and bare answers. He sighed, pushing his face into Van Pelt's hair and closing his eyes.

'That's plenty of time,' she said, straddling him and kissing him deeply. She rested her cool fingers against his cheeks and he looked up into her eyes, conscious of the fact he stared at her with a look of sadness and guilt. She frowned and lowered herself back against his chest, her ear resting somewhere near his heart. He wondered if she could hear it beating, thumping inside his chest as he tried not to think about Sarah. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, I am,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't have put you in this position.'

'You didn't.'

'We're in it though.'

'I chose to be here.' She ran a finger along his lips. 'I mean, I hate what we're doing. But I love you Wayne.'

'I know you do,' he replied, pausing as he considered their options. 'We shouldn't do this again, not until I know what's going to happen with Sarah.'

'Okay.'

She didn't look upset, or angry, merely understanding. One of the reasons he loved her so much.

'We can still have breakfast though.' He spoke softly into her ear, feeling the curve of her lips against his palm as they sunk back into a passionate embrace.

x

The case involved a private detective from San Francisco who tailed a woman hoping to discover whether the man she was meeting every week was her lover so that her rich husband could keep his fortune. It appeared clear cut and yet, of course, the most simple of cases often ended up the most complex.

Rigsby and Cho knelt behind their car, guns at the ready, as the private detective shot at them from across the street. A couple rounded a corner, arm in arm, staring into each other's eyes as though the world around them barely mattered. Cho was firing at the detective over the hood. Rigsby spotted the couple, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding before them. He glanced from Cho, to the detective, to the couple. Cho shook his head and he knew that there was little else he could do but hope and pray that they would survive the incident.

Then they saw the detective, they heard the gunshot and before he could think about what he was doing, Rigsby was on his feet, running along the sidewalk. He heard the gunshot increasing as he pushed the couple back down the path. They ran off around the corner, the woman's face covered in tears. He took another step forward, his gun falling from his fingers as he fell to the ground.

The blue sky and bright sun blurred in and out of his field of vision, he winced and held his side, red seeping out of a wound he hadn't noticed at first. Adreneline still pumped through his body but he couldn't move.

'Rigsby,' Cho shouted across the road and within minutes sirens sounded all around them. Back up had arrived, followed by an ambulance and though help had arrived, Rigsby allowed the darkness to take over.

He woke up to a baby crying, the distant fussing of an infant. In his semi-conscious stupor, Rigsby couldn't decide if it was Benjamin or someone else's child. He squinted at the bright lights overhead, at the figure standing over him and groaned. Moving made his side hurt, which made his head hurt and his whole body ached as though he'd been battered and bruised. The wound was patched up with padding and he wondered how much blood he'd actually lost.

'Did we get to keep the bullet, Grace?'

The other person in the room sniffed briefly, clearing their throat before disappearing out of the door. In a state of delirium, Rigsby couldn't decide whether they were merely a doctor or nurse come to check up on him, or someone more important. For a moment, as the drugs pushed through the pain and his mind swam, the state of delirium the only thing he could focus on.

Sarah fluffed up a pillow and rested it behind Rigsby's back, he smiled at her gratefully. She handed him a mug of tea and a bowl of soup, for which he thanked her. He'd been out of hospital for barely an hour, the last few days had been a mixture of semi-consciousness and excruciating pain. The wound was healing nicely, or so the nurse said when he'd changed the dressing before he'd been discharged. That was the important thing, that he was healing well.

'Where's Ben?' Rigsby asked, wincing a little as he placed the mug of tea onto the coffee table. 'What is this crap?'

'He's at Mum's and Patrick brought it over, said it had healing properties, or that tea is good for healing, I don't remember.'

Rigsby rolled his eyes. 'Should have known, he swears by this stuff.'

'Would you like me to get you something else?'

He frowned as Sarah stared down at her feet, the last hour had been nothing but awkward. From the moment she'd arrived at the hospital, Rigsby had been unable to escape the coldness encasing her usually steady voice. He tried to remember when that had begun, whether it was that morning or previously. The last few days were still rather hazy after the cocktail of medication he'd been on to quell the pain.

'No, it's okay, sit down.'

Sarah hovered beside him, looking doubtful, before cautiously sitting down on the sofa. Rigsby breathed through the pain as he sat himself up, knowing he was doing too much, contrary to the nurse's advice. Some things were more important than his health.

'What is it, Wayne?'

'Did I do something wrong?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She glanced away, doing everything possible to avoid his gaze. Rigsby rested a hand on her upper arm to turn her, but she pushed him away abruptly, tears hovering on the edge of her eyes.

'Is this because I ran out in front of a bullet? I'm sorry I scared you, but this is my job.'

The words fell on deaf ears. Sarah shook her head and sat back against the couch, the tears strolling down her cheeks, taking with them dark smudges of mascara. Something was wrong and he didn't understand what was going on. Then everything before flooded his mind, did she know about Grace? How? Had Grace told her? He hadn't seen her in days, at least he didn't think he had. He couldn't be too sure.

'I can't do this anymore, Wayne.'

'Do what?'

'This. Us. We were never going to work out, we tried, for Benjie and I'm so thankful for that, for him. But we can't keep pretending like everything is fine, when you're clearly in love with your ex.'

'What?'

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking a moment to compose herself. 'Don't, just don't try to deny it, Wayne. You love Grace, you always have, I'm not stupid. I just thought that loving Ben would be enough, but it's not.'

'Where is this coming from?' He sat up, holding his side, regretting the sudden movements. 'Why are you bringing this up now?'

'Does it matter?'

'Yes.'

'You love Grace,' she said, resting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back against the couch.

'I love Ben,' he said, attempting to sit up, but her hand stayed firm.

'I know you do.'

'I want to make him happy.'

'And the only way you can do that,' she said, choking on tears. 'Is by making us happy first.'

'Us.'

'You and me, Wayne, separately.'

Tears pricked the back of his eyes. After everything, he should have been relieved. Sarah was giving him a free pass, he had the permission to move on. Most importantly, move on with Grace. An overwhelming sense of sadness washed over him. He was faced with the future, the reality of what he had done by giving in to his feelings for Van Pelt. Not only was he taking steps away from Sarah but he was also taking steps away from Benjamin.

Whether he liked it or not, Rigsby knew that this meant his whole life was about to change once more - only not for the better. No longer would he be kissing Ben goodnight every evening, or watching him go through all of the firsts in his life. Sure, he'd get to see some of them, maybe he'd even be the only one to see them. But that didn't mean he'd get to bear witness to all of the things he'd seen from his son over the last twelve months and that saddened him.

Rigsby didn't want to be the absent father and though he knew they could try their hardest to make Ben happy, to ensure he had two very visible parents, that didn't meant that their imminent separation wouldn't cause problems.

There was no turning back, no changing his mind. He hadn't chosen to end things with Sarah and yet he'd instigated the whole thing.

Now that he had it, he wasn't sure he wanted it anymore. Not because he didn't love Van Pelt, but because he loved Ben more and he always would.

The first day back at work after the shooting fell on a Friday, Sarah had insisted that he take one more day ahead of the weekend in order to recouperate, but he was growing tired of her fussing around him. Officially, they had separated, but nothing had really changed. He slept in the spare room and Sarah fed him soup and tea, regardless of how much he disliked the blend that Jane brought over. They ate dinner together at the table, he helped Sarah washing and put Ben to bed and he was more present in their lives now than he had been some weeks following their son's birth.

'Wayne.'

He slid into the seat in the corner of the cafe as far away from the CBI as they could get, the usual spot, where they drank their usual drinks and ate their usual pastries. The only difference was, Rigsby hadn't seen Van Pelt in over a week. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing him deeply. He responded quickly, sinking into her embrace. He breathed in the scent of her perfume mixing with her shampoo, two smells that reminded him of the beautiful girl sitting in his arms.

'I missed you,' he smiled, kissing her again, ignoring the waiting coffee as he drank in as much of Van Pelt's existence as he possibly could.

'I missed you too,' she said and he knew that neither of them meant the last week.

The End