Chapter Ten

Rigsby now had firsthand knowledge about what it felt like to be in a twenty-car pileup if he had happened to be driving every single car involved in the crash. Every bone, every muscle, every tiny little capillary had been crushed. Twenty times over. And strangely? In a good way.

Sitting at his desk the next morning, he ruefully remembered that he'd sworn to Hope that he was going to wreck her last night.

As he tried to drag air into his metaphorically flattened ribcage, he had to force a chuckle. From the carnage of his body, it was very clear who had wrecked whom.

Lisbon poked her head about from her office and called into the bullpen. "Rigsby. Jane. The Wilson widow says she knows who's responsible for our double homicide. Go talk to her and find out what she knows." She eyed Jane as his head surfaced from his couch and turned towards her. "Don't set any fires you're not going to tend, Jane."

He tossed his hands up in innocence, not bothering to rise further off the couch as Lisbon disappeared back into the glass cube. His head craned farther as he turned his gaze to Rigsby. "Go for a ride in the car, big dog?"

Rigsby chuckled despite himself and grabbed his jacket as he rose from his chair. "I'm not a Great Dane, you jerk."

Jane grinned as he rose from his couch and pulled his keys from his pocket, jingling them enticingly. "Aw, good boy. Who'sa good boy? Go for a ride? Huh? Wanna go for a ride in the car?"

Rigsby punched the smaller man none too gently in the shoulder as they made their way downstairs. He didn't look at Grace as he passed her desk and she didn't look up. They were still feeling happy, but were still processing last night's encounter. Jane recorded their downturned heads without thinking and filed it away.

Rigsby drove despite Jane's offer. As they took off down the highway towards the widow's home an hour away, Jane leaned back into the plush seat and closed his eyes, thoroughly set on a nap. The sun was warm on his face and the pull of the engine and the presence of another person lulled him into the first shallow stages of sleep.

But his companion, an open book easily read, surprised him with a question.

"So what was the suggestion you gave me, Jane?"

Jane's eyes opened slightly. There was no real hesitation in Rigsby's question, nor did he detect any embarrassment. Interesting.

He was intrigued enough to answer without the requisite teasing. "I told you that whatever scenario Grace created was real. I told you to let yourself respond to that scenario. No indecision. No fear."

Rigsby looked over briefly. "That's it? Grace didn't…" he cleared his throat. "She didn't give you more details than that?"

Jane's eyes fluttered shut again and he smiled. "She only said that she wanted you to respond to an upsetting situation without any restraint. She said that she was going to tell you something about her, and that she wanted you to believe it and react. Period." He cracked one eye open and glanced at the younger man. "What did she tell you?"

Fuck off, nearly jumped off Rigsby's tongue. Instead, the truth slipped out before it had the chance. "She told me she was a hooker and tried to sell herself to me."

Jane's second eye opened. Rigsby glanced over and saw that familiar amusement dancing in the blue. "And what did you do?"

Fuck off, tried to make a break for it again. Again, it was beaten to the punch. "I threatened to arrest her unless she fucked me."

A deep chuckle was startled out of the physic at his unblushing honesty. "My goodness. You kids today."

"Did I do wrong?" Rigsby's question clipped into Jane's laugh and silenced him with the worry he heard in it.

He shifted in his seat, sighing and shaking his head. "I think you did exactly what you wanted to do and exactly what Grace hoped for. I explained to her several times that your reaction to a red flag might be frightening. She understood perfectly, Rigsby. Whatever passed between the two of you, she was a willing participant."

He paused as he watched the agent chew on his words. "Was she frightened?"

Rigsby blew out a breath. "Yee-ep."

"Did she at any point try to stop you? Did she call you by name to try and reach you?" He paused again. "Did she use the trigger to bring you out of it?"

Rigsby felt blood rush to his cheeks. He felt beyond embarrassed having this conversation. He'd been the one telling Grace that they didn't need Jane's involvement, after all. But sitting in a car with him, knowing what they both knew, and wanting an unbiased opinion about his actions drew the questions from him against his privacy-loving inclinations. Jane was already involved anyway, he reasoned. Might as well make the most of him.

He cleared his throat again. "No, she didn't try and stop me. She never used my name. Not knowingly, anyway." He blushed again as he remembered Grace screaming his given name as he pushed her up and over two bone-melting orgasms. Jane smirked, reading his mind. "And no, she didn't use the trigger. She only did so when I asked her to afterwards."

Jane reached out and patted his shoulder affectionately. "Then you did nothing wrong. On the contrary, I think you've given something to Grace that she would never dared look for in another man."

Rigsby cocked his head. "How do you mean?"

"Weeell," Jane drawled. "Not to describe your own woman to you, but Grace is a very watchful creature when it comes to men. Skittish, I'd venture. I won't anger you with any guesses as to why she's so gun shy with the opposite sex, but I'd certainly say that there's never been a man in her life that she trusts as implicitly as you. For the first time, she's letting her bolder, more adventurous sides show because she knows she's with someone who loves her without question, won't judge her and certainly won't hurt her." Jane looked over, gauging Rigsby's reaction. "She's unusually concerned about getting hurt."

Still watching the road, Rigsby's eyes clouded. "I could have hurt her last night. Jesus, Jane, I was furious. Part of me wanted to beat the shit out of her for hurting me so bad."

"Exactly," Jane nodded wisely. "And you didn't. So what does that tell you? You had no control, but you didn't hurt her. Instead you're both glowing this morning. You both enjoyed it. Doesn't that justify her trust?"

Rigsby sighed heavily and said nothing. Jane nodded again, certain that Rigsby got the point. He settled back and closed his eyes again, not realizing the conversation wasn't over.

"So what do I do now?"

Jane groaned in mild irritation. "About what?"

Rigsby shrugged. "I dunno. I just feel like…like Grace has been showing her bold, adventurous side to me for awhile now and I…oh, I don't know." He waved off his own question and went back to watching to road without blinking. "Never mind."

Jane watched him, his gaze making the agent uncomfortable, as he worked out what the shy man was trying to say. Then, just like with Grace, his expression became one of insight. "Tit for tat."

Rigsby glanced over. "What?"

Jane smiled wider, understanding perfectly. "This woman has been driving you crazy sexually. She's pushing all your buttons. She experimenting on you like a chimp. She keeps calling the shots and you love where she takes you, but you want the reigns for a change."

Rigsby cringed. Damn the man and his big, stupid brain. Why did he even bother trying to hide stuff from him? Rigsby huffed. The analogy of a chimp chaffed him especially. Once again, he was a lower primate caught willingly in a trap. He clucked his tongue in annoyance. "I had the reigns last night," he defended lamely, immediately ashamed that he was engaging in bragging rights about his sex life with Grace.

"Did you?"

Rigsby rolled his eyes. Patronizing fuck. "Didn't I?"

Jane put his hands up, much as he'd done to Lisbon earlier. "Not spoiling for a fight, big man. Merely pointing out that while you had power, Grace was in control. She set it all up and had the ability to stop it at any time. You didn't."

A derisive snort issued from the driver's seat. "And so, what? You're saying that now I want to get even? I want to push Grace's buttons and drive her crazy?"

"Don't you?"

"Ugh," Rigsby moaned. "God, you're insufferable."

"Please," Jane retorted. "You love the idea so much that you're already thinking up ways to drive her absolutely insane. For once, she won't have clue what's going on and you're going to eat it up. You've never felt confident enough in your relationship to push at her, but after last night, you feel you've earned the right. Lie to me and say otherwise. Dare ya."

Rigsby snorted again and chose annoyed retreat. Jane harrumphed and chose smirking victory.

Silence owned the rest of the ride.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby questioned the widow while on autopilot. After their little conversation, he was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. His mind kept drifting back to the psychic's observation. Tit for tat. It was interfering with his ability to focus on this woman's bullshit story. Thank God Jane was there to poke and prod with bizarre accusations and impertinent guess work. Turns out she merely had a grudge against a former lover and was hoping to pin their double homicide on him.

Jane sussed it in less than seven minutes.

Leaving her crying and asking for forgiveness for her deception, the two men saddled back up and drove back to the CBI. All in all, Rigsby spent nearly all of the three hours to get there, question her and get back thinking about something else.

Tit for tat.

It was true. It had never really occurred to him to push at Grace the way that she'd been pushing at him. Jane had called it, he did love where she took him. In the most delightful sense of the metaphor, she was experimenting with him. She was introducing new stimuli. Forming hypotheses and testing them carefully. She was asking questions. She was examining him carefully. She wanted to learn where their edges were. What got her excited? What made him tick? What made them tick?

His sexy little geek. She was analyzing.

It made him wonder. After all, he mused, experiments have baselines. They have control groups. And—most of all—they had variables. He chewed on that as the elevator doors opened and they found Lisbon waiting impatiently for them on the other side.

"Tell me she gave you the killers wrapped in fancy paper and a big pretty bow."

Jane smiled pleasantly. "She gave us a line of jealous crap leading nowhere. Rigsby, did that crap come in fancy paper and a big pretty bow?"

Rigsby smirked and shook his head. "I believe it came wrapped in crumpled gasoline and fast food receipts." He held them up. "Nice to know we spent $32.17 for a goose chase, don't you think, boss?"

Lisbon snapped them up irritably. "I'll send them over to Finance. Damn it all to hell. We're back to Square One."

Jane shushed her and took her by the hand, leading her back to her office with vague platitudes about how useful geese and squares can be. Lisbon huffed and allowed herself to be led physically, but continued to argue with his nonsense as they walked away.

Rigsby saw Grace walk into the kitchen. She was wearing her hair in what he liked to think of as her Sexy Librarian Bun. She was also wearing that black V-neck that accentuated her lovely throat and elegant collarbone.

Variables.

He didn't think.

He strode right over to her and took her by the hand. She started and looked up from her coffee cup. She didn't have time to say hello or tsk him for touching her at work. He pulled her swiftly one of the observation rooms and locked the door behind them.

"Wayne!" she hissed. "What are you—?"

He pressed her up against the door, lowered his lips to her throat and bit down, sucking and nibbling as she gasped and pressed her palms into his arms.

"Stop," she moaned softly. "Baby, stop. People will see."

He sucked harder, marking her flawless skin with a prominent love bite that would be visible in a matter of minutes. He fought hard to disobey her. His immediate instinct was to mind her request. But he had his own little experiment that needed exploring, so he ravaged her neck until he was sure his bite would show.

She was sagging into him when he finally released her. Her eyes were already dark and heady when he pulled back to look at them. He saw so much desire in them, which soothed him considerably. He hadn't crossed too big a line. Her hand went to her neck, over his mark. She knew. He held her gaze, wordlessly confirming that yes, he'd bitten her for the express purpose of leaving a vibrant bruise. Her breathing was soft, but heavy.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

He smirked. "Wear a skirt tomorrow."

He reached behind her and unlocked the door, setting her aside gently and leaving quickly. He didn't explain himself. He didn't suggest she take her hair down to hide his bite. He didn't whisper that he loved her.

Variables, baby.