Title: Breakdown

Author: Miss Peg
Word Count: 10016
Rating: T (for violence and some language)
Summary: Van Pelt wakes up in a large empty room, when the reason for her
kidnapping comes to light, Lisbon is forced to make a decision that
could affect everybody. Character death and violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, if I did, I would not write this into the series...
Notes: WARNING: Character death!
Thank you to kathiann for the lovely art to go with my fic, I love a good old chapter header and I can't wait to listen to the fanmix!
A massive thank you, as always, to tromana for the support, cheerleading and most importantly, betaing. I couldn't have done it without you!

Thanks to tromana and GraceVanPeltFan4ever for reviewing the last chapter.

Chapter Two: Wayne Rigsby

The van stopped in an alleyway, one not unlike the countless alleys that Wayne Rigsby had chased suspects down. He climbed out, his hands still bound behind his back. The setting sun made it so dark that he couldn't even see the door until it had been opened. A hand pushed him over the threshold. He turned around as the door slammed behind him. Something sharp pressed against the small of his back, he couldn't be sure if it was something simple like a golf umbrella or worse, a knife. Each step he took forward was slow and careful. Rigsby was constantly aware of the potential danger pushing him onward. He squinted in the hope of seeing beyond the dimly lit corridor and into the pitch black room up ahead. For all he knew there could be a hole in the ground ready to pull him to his death. A small, nervous chuckle escaped his lips. As dangerous as his job sometimes was, there was no way it resembled a movie. That much he knew for sure.

'What's so funny?'

He tensed up as the object pressed sharply against the base of his spine and he stopped laughing. The voice was as sharp as the object and equally cold as the building. He wanted to turn to get a glimpse of his captor but fear of what would happen if he did spurred him onwards.

'Nothing, sorry,' he muttered, bowing his head and focusing on the shuffling of his feet across the stone floor.

Eventually the potential blade was removed from his back and footsteps shuffled away. He struggled against the rope tying his hands together and eventually got free. His instincts sent his hands to his hip in search of the gun he usually kept close by, forgetting for a brief moment that it had been snatched away from him before he'd gotten a chance to use it. He stepped forward in the darkness, cautious of where he was going and what he might kick if he moved too fast. He'd never been much of a fan of the dark. As a kid it reminded him of the fights his parents had when his dad rocked up drunk right before landing up back in jail. Despite being a father himself, the only comfort of the dark was knowing that his little boy was asleep nearby and relied on him to comfort him in the way his father never did for him.

The thud of his foot against something soft and the grunt that came from below him made Rigsby fall to his knees, he reached out, his eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. Someone was there and he could only wish that it was the person he'd hoped it would be.

'Grace?' he shouted and the shadow of the body moved about on the floor, moonlight from a small window hitting the whites of the person's eyes.

'Wayne?'

The voice was tiny and weak, so much so that he barely heard her. He knew it was her though, he knew her voice anywhere. Despite all that had happened over the last couple of years, he still held her close to his heart, probably more than she did him. He reached out his hands and cupped her cheeks, which grew moist quickly. His heart sunk. She was always so strong, a tower of strength in even the greatest times. He would never get used to a Grace who cried openly; unless it was in the middle of a romantic comedy, but that was to be expected. This Grace, the broken, crying woman in front of him, made his eyes sting with tears.

'It's okay,' he whispered, pulling her close and wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. She winced, but succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. The way she sank into his body left him thinking of memories he thought were long since gone. She sobbed gently in his arms.

'I didn't want to die alone,' she said, crying freely against his shoulder.

'It's okay now,' he replied, cupping her face again and wiping tears from her cheeks. He rested a hand on her forehead, his fingers shaking as he pulled back a hand covered in blood. He loosened his grip on her momentarily and she clung tightly to the front of his shirt. 'It's going to be okay.'

The truth was that he was as scared as she. He'd never seen so much blood before, except on murder victims. He pushed her hair back from the other side of her forehead and moved his fingers across the edge of her wound, being careful not to hurt her any more. Footsteps shuffled across the ground once more, coming closer until he could see a shadow not too far away. He stared into the darkness in the hope that he would catch a glimpse of their captor's face.

'I need some water and some cloths.' The voice coming from his mouth felt alien, urgency he had little need for on a day to day basis. He imagined it would be how he sounded if his son was ever seriously injured. The person's feet shuffled a little closer, but they said nothing. 'Didn't you hear me? Get me some fucking hot water.'

Anger raged inside, there were few people he truly cared about in his life, but those that he did mattered more than anything. He wasn't one for playing games, Grace was hurt and he needed to help her. It was bad enough that he'd been taken too. They'd spent the whole afternoon searching for clues on her disappearance; he'd taken a drive to the drug store for some aspirin to clear up a headache. Lisbon was expecting him back at the office, but he wouldn't return. He imagined they'd already be hot on the case, Missing Person's would be called in and there'd be a full scale hunt for the both of them.

The footsteps shuffled away, returning a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and a rag. It wasn't quite what he'd asked for but it was better than nothing.

'You'll be okay Grace, this might hurt a little.'

She groaned at first touch of the rag against her head, her teeth rattling loudly. He wrapped himself around her, holding her close in the hope he could help her to warm up. It wasn't very warm in the building; he didn't expect there was any heating, or electricity for that matter. She didn't speak, just hummed and moaned as he cleaned her wound and rocked her gently. Rigsby dropped the rag, soaked in Grace's blood, back into the bowl. He stripped off his shirt and ripped it up, using it to stem the blood flow. She could have already lost too much blood for all he knew; it didn't matter though, he needed to try. He lay back against the floor, holding her close as he whispered songs into her ear. A song that he'd sung to Benjamin the night before. It was of little comfort for the situation they were in. It made himself feel better though and as Grace's moans disappeared, replaced by her gentle breath, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and hoped that by morning she would still be alive.

The room was caked in a soft, pale light as Rigsby arose from his sleep. He stretched, forgetting for a moment where he was, until his hands hit the stone cold floor beside him. He rolled over and glanced at Van Pelt, cautiously watching for a sign that she was merely sleeping and not that his worst nightmare was coming true. She let out a loud gasp for breath and sat upright, her face pale where it was not still covered in blood. Relief surged through Rigsby and he wrapped her up in his embrace like he had done the night before, without a second thought he grazed her lips with his own, seeking something deeper as she responded to his actions.

He pulled away. 'Sorry...sorry.'

Silence fell over them until the shuffling of footsteps alerted them to the presence of a third person, assumedly the same one who kidnapped them in the first place. He wore a white mask over his face and the non-descript suit made it very difficult to gain any information about the perpetrator. Rigsby considered whether that made any difference, if he got out of this alive then he would be happy, catching the perp barely registered on his to do list. When he got home he would hold his son, make him laugh, tell him how much he meant to him. He would make love to Sarah because despite what had happened a moment before, he did love her.

'Breakfast.'

The voice was different, a little higher than it had been the night before. Whoever it was behind the mask, he wasn't the same person who left him with Van Pelt. Something about that both comforted him and left him with a sense of foreboding. If this man wasn't the one who took him, then it could mean that he wouldn't be the last member of the team to turn up here. It wouldn't surprise him if it was some sick game that Red John wanted to play with them; after all, the progress they had made with Lorelei had to have rattled him, at least a little. Usually his cronies were killed within minutes, hours or even days of their capture by the CBI. It had been two weeks, two very long weeks of little more than a few aggressive words shared between Lorelei and the team.

'When are you going to let us go?' Rigsby said, holding Van Pelt closer still, protectively. He ignored the tray of food as the man pushed it forwards with his foot.

With little more than a grunt, the man shuffled off across the large room and through a doorway. Rigsby watched; waiting until he was sure the man had disappeared from earshot. He cupped Van Pelt's pale cheeks with a grin, stroking the dried tear stains until she smiled back at him.

'I'm hungry,' she said, her voice still weak and useless. Rigsby nodded, reaching out for the tray. He fed her a bagel and some water, laughing as it spilled down the front of her shirt. She didn't seem to mind.

After breakfast he took a walk around the room, searching for anything of use. There was only one other door at the opposite end of the room, which was locked. He cursed himself for never learning how to pick locks off Cho and promised that if he ever saw him again, he would buy him a beer and ask for a lesson. He passed a pile of empty cardboard boxes and discovered a couple of couch cushions and a tarp which were abandoned in the corner. He dragged them over and made a bed for Van Pelt.

'Lie with me,' she whispered, resting a hand on his shoulder as he turned away.

He smiled at her and followed her request; he was cold after spending the night with little more than a vest covering his upper body. He held her close, pulled the tarp over them and they lay there quietly. He contemplated his life, his achievements and his failures. He regretted everything that happened with Van Pelt, more so than anything else he'd ever faced. He wanted to tell her, but he knew now wasn't the time. They were trapped, facing the fear of never seeing anyone they loved again, if anything were to happen, it would be more about the situation than feelings they had long since forgotten.

Not that he had ever truly forgotten how much he adored Grace. She had been the first girl he ever seriously loved, the only girl he'd wanted to marry without anything influencing that decision. Had their lives taken a different path, perhaps they would still be together. O'Laughlin wouldn't have been able to hurt her, Sarah would never have become a part of his life and maybe his son would also belong to Grace Van Pelt. Though if that happened, Benjamin wouldn't exist. The only thing he didn't wish different was the little boy that he was so very proud of. If he didn't get to see him grow up, well, if ghosts existed then he promised that he would haunt the mother fuckers who did this.