Her delicate hands hold the sponge as it dips into the water and then skims over his torso, over his shoulder blades and around his neck, wetting him where the water can't reach. He smiles blissfully, and lets his head hang back, rolling onto her shoulder.
She's so concentrated on what she's doing, she never notices the loopy grin that forms on his face as he watches her.
The sponge moves over skin, until she hits a sensitive spot and he hisses. She tenses and moves the sponge away.
"I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Are you ok?" she instantly asks. He nods, and looks up into her eyes, with a smile.
"I'm'kay, Grace," he says, making her smile softly.
"Tell me, when it hurts, ok?" He nods obediently.
"It doesn't hurt a lot, I got painkillers." He shrugs.
"I shoulda forced you to stay at the hospital."
"It's nothing." She looks at him in disbelief.
"Wayne you got shot!" He smiles impishly and shrugs.
"I'm okay now." She kisses the closest piece of skin she can find: his nose. She continues with the sponge, covering his skin with water and some bubbles. She notices that he gets bored, and soon enough he starts talking. "I should get shot more often if it means baths like this," he comments lightly, and with a grin.
"Don't even say that," she says, horrified at the sheer prospect of having to go through that anguish again.
They were tracking a lead. Jane had suggested the husband of the dead wife, whose murder they were investigating. They had finally gotten evidence to point to a suspect, being the husband of the deceased. It was hard at first, because he was a high-profile man, and the murder was more so. Lisbon wasn't in the best of moods—Minnelli breathing down her neck probably had something to do with that—and Jane was off his game a little. Cho had been quiet the whole week, no book in sight, and Rigsby was being exceptionally protective of her, which in turn, made her irritated. The case couldn't have come at a worse time.
They had finally found some viable fingerprints, and it had pointed to the husband. Rigsby and Van Pelt had been sent to bring the man in for questioning, yet when they approached the house, the gate had been left open and the guard was dead in his post. The two alerted agents had run into the house, and were met with gunfire.
One of the bullets hit Rigsby in the chest, right where the bulletproof vest didn't cover, and the force of the impact made him fall to the ground. Van Pelt tried to shoot back, but she was soon out of ammo and the quickly forming blood pool was more important at that moment. She hastily called for back-up and an ambulance, and then Lisbon, to inform her.
His pulse was weak, and she had to struggle to keep her emotions in check. At least until she was alone. She couldn't be seen emotional over an injured colleague, and especially now that they were trying to keep their relationship hidden. He held onto her and when his eyes fluttered, she kept encouraging to not lose consciousness.
"Rigsby! Rigsby, Wayne..." she said and waited for him to look at her. "Hold on, ok? I need you to hold on."
"I... can't..." he managed weakly.
"Yes you can. Come on Wayne, just try it... for me," she whispered to him. In all honesty, she didn't think he would, if the pool of blood was any indication. But he had stayed awake, at least until the ambulance arrived.
She reluctantly let him go, knowing she couldn't go with him to the hospital. A few minutes after the ambulance had left, Lisbon, Cho and Jane arrived. She replayed the story three times, and then was permitted to go to the hospital to see how Rigsby was doing.
He remembered a white light. It was so warm, and looked cozy. He slowly drifted to it, until he was sharply pulled back, and was surrounded by blackness. He couldn't open his eyes, but he was ready to kill the idiot who pulled him away from the warmth. It was then that he registered the pain. He groaned. It was everywhere; all over his body. He heard beeping sounds that were annoying the hell outta him and making the throbbing in his head worse.
His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times. The pain was still there, but he felt a weight on his arm that wasn't really pain. He carefully turned to look to the side and saw glinting red. Grace.
He groaned in pain. Her head shifted and she pulled up to look at him, surprise clearly evident at seeing him awake. She was shell-shocked.
"Grace," he tried to say, but no sound came out.
"It's okay," she finally said and smiled. "I'm gonna get the doctor."
Turns out he wasn't hit that bad. The only problem had been during surgery when they were trying to retrieve the bullet and stop the bleeding, that he had flat lined, but they survived him. He was to stay hospitalized for three week, and off work for eight weeks.
She smiles when he shifts against her. She know he's squirming to get comfortable.
"Want to get out?"
"No," he replies quickly. A little too quickly.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He nods.
"Mhm-hmmm. Very."
"Lean forward?" It's really more of a command, but she poses it as a question. He bends forward, and she scrubs his back. "Ok." He leans back, with a sigh. He slips down a little more in the bath, and lays his head on her shoulder. She looks down at him, amusement shining from her eyes.
"Your breasts feel nice," he comments lightly. She laughs, but his smile dissipates. "I'm serious."
"I'm sure you are. Now let's get out of here, it's late and the water's turning cold."
"Okay," he says, drawing out the word like an unpleased child.
"We'll do it again tomorrow, kay?" At this he perks up and nods. She slips out from behind him, dries off and puts on a robe. She helps him up out of the bath, and while he unplugs the drain, she grabs a towel for him.
They both silently go about their routes, her helping him without him even asking.
Finally, they crawl into bed, and scoot to the middle. She lays on her back, and he inches closer to be level with her.
"Hey, don't worry," he says when he looks into her eyes. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face and leans in to kiss her. She stops him when his lips are millimeters from hers.
"Don't get shot again," she says.
"I'll do my best."
"Because I love you." His face breaks out in a slow, deliberate smile. Seconds later he's grinning from ear to ear.
"I love you too, Grace," he says and she smiles slightly. "I'll do my best," he whispers.
He wraps an arm around her and knows he has to fall asleep before she does, or she worries and sleeps fitfully. When she feels the steady rhythm of his breath, she feels calm and secure and follows him into a deep slumber.