Diclaimer: Have you noticed that as people become more and more veterans of FF, their disclaimers get increasingly random, e.g. "I like starfish." (no, not a real example, but close enough!). Oh, and me no own Mentalist. Otherwise it would be Jisbon by now, if not by personal choice because Tiva4evaxxx had kidnapped me, pretended to be me, written it and made it so. Also don't own Take That.

A/N: For YouGottaSingAlong, because she needs to relax (nothing like a little bit of angst for that) and FadeIntoTheBackground, because she's the biggest VanRigsby/Rigspelt shipper I know, and cause it'll be okay. :)

A/N2: This basically sprang from I listened to the song "Ain't No Sense In Love" and thought Beautiful Trouble would make a great title, that's really it. It isn't so much a songfic as some parts of the song that I thought worked are woven in.

I'm afraid of the morning,
I'm afraid of the light,
You should come with a warning,
You should be wearing a sign.
That says you're beautiful trouble,
And you better beware,
One look and I was in right over my head.

-----

A curtain of bright red hair swept downward, covering Grace Van Pelt's gentle blush. Suddenly he felt furious at Jane for making her red like that, even though he knew there was nothing behind it. She looked up through the strands and caught his eye for just a second. Her gentle laughter died on her lips, the blood seeped out of her cheeks and she quickly glanced away back to her computer screen. He knew convention dictated he should also have broken the eye contact, but even now he doesn't stop staring at her. Sometimes he thought he looked at her more than he worked these days.

He would have chosen her. Over the team in the job he loves, he would have chosen her. He still would, if she'd only give him half a chance. Lisbon supported the choice and more and more frequently paired Grace or him with Cho, and the other with her and Jane – and he didn't blame her for wanting to keep the team together, even though it meant Grace and he spent more time apart. He guessed it should have been a blessing, as any time they were with each other it was unbelievably tense and awkward, Grace avoided looking at him and he never stopped looking at her. But at least the awkward silences reminded him that everything had been real, not just in his head as he sometimes began to suspect.

Of course he'd expected Hightower's ultimatum – just he'd expected it from Lisbon. When she didn't give it, he'd allowed himself hope that it meant that was it, but of course it didn't stop with her.

-----

I try to stop myself,
So many times,
But I keep fallin' over,
Yeah, I keep crossing the lines.

-----

Grace stood, slowly, cautiously. She walked the few steps to his desk in a composed manner, but he could tell she was nervous. Out of the corner of his eye, Rigsby watched Jane and Cho exchange wary looks and leave the bullpen as quickly as they could. She cleared her throat, standing expectantly beside his chair and he stood to face her directly, waiting for her to speak.

"Can't we even be in a room together?" she asked, and he thought she'd never sounded so vulnerable. He'd never thought that it must be killing her too, to be so close and know it was so impossible. But it had been her choice, and she's chosen this for herself and him too.

He couldn't talk, so reached up and trailed his fingers down her jaw. Unthinkingly, she leant toward him, sighing at the familiar but long-absent touch. Then, hating herself, she took a step back.

"Don't you see it's better this way?" Her voice was angry, upset.

"No," he said simply, "I don't."

She looked down, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I."

With one last pleading look, she turned and left, leaving him to stare after her again.

-----

Oh the heart of a gypsy,
And the soul of a stone,
It's just a matter of time,
Before you leave me alone.

First even semi-song-fic, what's the verdict?