Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.

[Chapter 10]

"Rigsby!" Jane exclaimed in a hushed tone.

Jane removed the tape that bound Rigsby to the chair. The agent groaned, his eyes still closed.

"Rigsby can you hear me?" Jane undid the rest of the tape and flung the chair into the corner. He left the bigger man laying flat on the floor. "Hey you still with me?"

"Oww..."

"Open your eyes."

Rigsby opened one eye and when his vision finally came back into focus he saw Jane hovering over him, a worried look on his face.

"You okay?"

"Owww..." He tried to sit up but every way he moved hurt. Rigsby decided that staying on the ground was good at least for the next few minutes. "If you're going to punch, tackle or scream on how I ruined your plans, it can it wait a few minutes. At this moment, I really don't care."

"You've ruined it!" Jane yelled at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the chair and headed towards Rigsby.

Rigsby forced himself up and scurried away from the consultant with his arms up ready to defend himself. He wished he didn't do that. The world spun, and he grunted in pain.

"Easy there. Watch out," Jane whispered.

Rigsby ducked, placing his arms over his head as Jane flung the chair. It flew no where near him and sailed against the heavy wooden door, shattering into a few pieces.

"Hey blondie, don't kill him, or I will kill you," Humpty yelled through the door.

"Fine! I won't kill him," the consultant yelled back. Jane then continued in a quiet tone"Are you okay? Did falling down the stairs make your concussion worse? Your head is bleeding. How many fingers am I holding up? Are you hurt? Well, more hurt?"

Rigsby looked at him from the corner he backed himself into, confused. "You're not going to hit me?"

"No. Sorry for that whole thing upstairs. I got blood on you." Jane pointed to the hand print on Rigsby's undershirt.

Rigsby continued to stare at Jane, unsure exactly what happened.

Jane ripped a piece of his shirt off and bandaged his hand and flexed it a little making sure it would hold.

"What happen between you two? I'm getting that your uncle isn't the only reason Troy's is here," Jane asked.

"I really don't want to get into that," Rigsby eyed him cautiously. "You're not going to hit me are you?"

"No. I tried this plan once when I got kidnapped with Lisbon. It didn't work quite right, but I wanted to see if it would work here."

"That's not very comforting."

"Humpty's not that bright. He's wavering a bit. I'm betting they met in jail and he owes Troy for something, he doesn't really want to be a part of this." Jane shrugged. "What did you do to Troy? He's very angry, and I don't think it has anything to do with your uncle."

"Stop interrogating me," Rigsby began a mental check of his injuries. Nothing felt broken, he just felt bruise and battered. His wrist and fingers on his left hand hurt but he could still move it, probably sprained. He rolled his shoulders. They hurt, but didn't feel dislocated. His legs worked fine, when he moved away from Jane.

"It isn't an interrogation, my intention is not to make you feel like a suspect. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here, then find a way out of it. "

"Still feeling the effects of the drugs?" Rigsby asked trying to change the subject. Rigsby took a deep breath. One of his ribs felt cracked. The chair slid most of the way down the steps on its back. Rigsby tried his best to ride it out and keep his head from smacking the steps. He knew from experience that it could have been a lot worse.

"Yeah, somewhat. I now can tell I'm rambling and my thoughts are still jumping from thought to though but not as quick. I think I can keep up with them now, well mostly," Jane said. "You have some unresolved, repressed, issues with your past..."

"Don't we all."

"Putting them out in the open might help. Troy also thinks you have the information he needs."

"I don't know what he's talking about."

"I think you do."

"No clue." Rigsby wiggled his left molar with his tongue. He was loose and he sighed. "You've never has an issue in your past that you wanted to keep hidden?"

"Plenty, but none of them are an issue at this juncture."

"And you probably wouldn't volunteer any information either. "

"Probably not. I get it. I really do. No one likes it when their skeleton come falling out of the closet. To add to the fact that this is a stressful situation, being pushed down the steps, and all you've eaten today is a donut, which makes you cranky..."

"I'm not cranky."

"You are. Yell, like I hit you."

"What?"

"Yell like I hit you," Jane repeated. "Take that! I'm going to tell Lisbon you fought bravely against our captors."

"No...? Uh don't?" Rigsby yelled.

"Yell like you mean it," Jane shook his head. "I'd be cranky if someone shoved me into a trunk. I'm kind of cranky. I'm tired. My hand hurts. I'm really thirsty. I have a splinter in my finger, and other things. You're still buying the ice teas and ice creams later."

Rigsby shook his head.

"Don't renege on our bet. It's only about four, five o'clock or so. I still have plenty of time before sunrise."

"At this point I need something a little stronger than that."

"Long Island ice tea then? A nice cup of Lapsan Souchong. Michener once wrote it '...better than whiskey.'"

"I'd settle for a glass of ice water, some aspirin and a nap," Rigsby said. "I don't want to get you involved in this."

"It's too late, I'm already involved."

"Sorry about that."

"It isn't your fault. It's just the way things went. Roll of the dice, flip of the coin and all that. Would it help if I promise not to tell anyone else?" Jane picked up the leg of the chair and launched it against the adjacent wall.

"You promise?" Rigsby looked at him skeptically.

"What? I can use discretion."

"Right. You promise."

"Not a soul."

"Yeah."

"I just need a bit more information. I can get us out of this. I have a plan in motion." Jane picked up the chair's arm rest and flung it towards the door. It veered wide and hit the concrete floor with a thud. He then headed towards one of the windows that lined the basement. They were too small to escape through, and stared out them before continuing. "I'm just missing a bit of the picture. Do you have an ideas out of this? I'm all ears. "

"We can always jump Humpty and make a run for it."

"Okay, do you have a plan that won't get us shot?" Jane looked back towards Rigsby.

Rigsby shook his head no.

"What did Troy mean by, 'You think you can change, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'"

"We're not talking about that."

"Work with me here. Remember trying not to get shot."

Rigsby nodded. He didn't want to tell Jane about this, but he did seem to have a knack for getting himself out of trouble. He also had a knack for causing the trouble in the first place. Their options were running thin and they needed out. Plus he wanted to see what Jane had in mind.

"All right, fine." Rigsby ran a hand through this hair. "When I was younger, I use to sell drugs."

"Okay and...?"

"What no criticism? No exclamations of shock."

"No. It's not my place to judge," Jane nonchalantly answered. "I'm not surprised given your upbringing. Mother wasn't there. Abusive father. The Iron Gods. You did it for acceptance. I'm going to venture to say you were young when you fired your first gun? Stole your first car?"

"I was eight."

"For which?"

"Both. Stole my father's gun and was shooting cans in the yard. My shoulder and arms hurt more from the recoil, than the beating me for taking my dad's gun. Well, he hit me hard enough to knock me out. I don't remember, woke up on the kitchen floor. I stole my Uncle Lee's car a week later in an attempt to run away. He caught me down the block. I couldn't quite reach the pedals almost smashed into a tree."

"When I was young I would hustle people out of their money in a traveling carnival, and Cho was in a gang. We've all done things in the past."

"Carnival act? Oh, I thought it was all TV."

"No, started in carnival. Boy wonder," Jane shared. "Why did you stop?"

"I came to a crossroad. I was a kid, and I hate to admit it, was kinda fun. It got me money I never had, money we needed."

"I know that feeling," Jane mused. "Mad scientist?"

"Grand chef. I've always liked cooking, been doing it since I was seven. Had to feed myself somehow," Rigsby shrugged. "Mom tried, she really did. When I was younger dad would take me to peoples houses. Learned by watching and asking random questions. I was always better at watching and doing, than reading on how to do things. I remember sitting in the kitchen when I was little while my dad cooked it."

"It was meth."

"I cooked it. Dad sold it when he wasn't on the road. Troy sold it. My mom didn't have to work the three crappy jobs she was working just to pay the rent and put food on the table cause Dad was no help. Whatever money he had went to liquor and various vices, and for once I wasn't a self righteous little bastard..."

"Yeah, I understand..." Jane nodded.

Rigsby stared down at the floor, continuing his story. "Everyone thought he cooked it. People would tell him that it was good, and he was so proud of me. He gave me a cut, I don't know what he did with the rest. I spent some of it, but gave most of it to my mom, thought it was from odd jobs. Some days I would just stick it in her purse or the tip jar at the biker bar. She worked those jobs for little pay, and at the bar they treated her like meat. Only four people knew it was me cooking it up. My dad, Troy, Uncle Lee, and my mom. She was pissed when she found out. The look on her face, I think I hurt her more with that than anything my dad did to us..."

"It was meth, and you cooked it." Jane picked up the back of the chair, flung it to the floor then went back to staring out the window.

"I didn't like the way it felt. The first rush was cool and all, but after that..." Rigsby sighed. "I didn't think I was hurting anyone. Mom took me to a drug treatment center and showed me the aftermath of what I was doing and made me promise not to do it anymore. That led to one of the worse fights I've ever seen them have. I remember getting between them trying to stop it, and nothing else. Woke up in the emergency room with my mom telling me I walked into a door. I was apparently pretty clumsy when I was younger."

"How long were you doing it?"

"A year or so. I claimed the money was from mowing lawns, cleaning gutters, helping old ladies. Was doing that too on top of cooking it. Troy was selling it on the side. He was not happy when I stopped. Kept trying to convince me to go back to doing it. Even told me he knew people who could move it on a bigger scale. They just wanted us to cook it. We had a falling out, and we stopped speaking. Last I heard, he was dealing and supplying, got caught and was doing eight to ten."

"Hmmm," Jane nodded.

"Was any of that helpful to your plan?"

"Yes."

"What's the plan? Going to convince him your psychic and get us out of this."

"Something like that."

"So, how do we get out of this?"

"Like this." Jane turned back around with a cellphone in his hand.

"Where did you get that? You had that the whole time? What the hell?" Rigsby fumed.

"Yell louder," Jane motioned for him to project his voice.

"What the hell!" Rigsby was now pissed.

"Like that, now your getting it. I got it from Humpty's pocket when he pulled me off you. You're okay. Your whole story was coherent and your memory's fine. Can you stand?"

"Why didn't you use it sooner?" Rigsby forced himself up. It was a bit of an effort, he pitched forward, but caught himself before he fell. "Why did I have to tell you all that?"

"I was waiting for Troy to drive off, then I was trying to get service. Plus you needed to get that off your chest."

"No, I really didn't. Besides Troy drove off a minutes ago."

"And your story took a few minutes. Do you feel better?"

"No, right now I'm hot, annoyed, and angry."

"I'd call you cranky."

"Just use the damn phone."

"Easy there," Jane teased. "Humpty is upstairs. He was by himself in his car. No, yes I got a bar. Do you want to call? Should we call Van Pelt or Lisbon."

"Just get on with it!" Rigsby picked up the arm of the chair, ready to use it as a weapon if he needed to.

"See like that," Jane grinned. "Now your selling it. Hey Grace, you're still in the office right? Can you trace this phone call?"

"Jane, just tell her where we are."

"Rigsby's cranky and the mildew in the basement is horrible..."

"Jane."

"We're in the basement of a house just outside of Grayson. The man who kidnapped us is named Troy..."

"Hillard."

"Troy Hillard. Oh."

"What is she saying."

"She knew that all ready," Jane told Rigsby, then continued his conversation. "Good. She said they got the Marshals, CHP and Agents looking for us. Why the Marshals? Okay."

"What?"

"They've been a step or two behind us the whole time and Lisbon and Cho are fairly close."

"Great. Then we can finally get the hell-"

The door unlatched. In came Humpty with the shotgun. He took aim towards Jane and fired.

TBC