A/N: First in a series. What if Lisbon actually hadn't killed Dan Hollenbeck when she shot him? What if he was in jail? What if Rigsby couldn't let go of the fact that Dan nearly killed Grace? Another entry from Sesamina. Girl knows good words.

Bane

An entire year had passed and it still jerked him awake some nights. Sweating and gasping with fear, he'd relive that night with the terrifying addition of hindsight, raging against the cuffs that imprisoned him while she ran for her life from a maniac.

Blood drips into his eyes. The scene before him turns red as Grace turns in her car seat, away from his own gun pointed squarely at her head, knowing a tiny change in position won't save her but unable to help herself any other way. In the scene before him, Jane is never there. It's only Grace. Always Grace. Rigsby's terror didn't extend to the man who kinda brought it on himself anyway, so his presence wasn't needed in the mental horror show that threatened to murder his angel for the crime of trusting her killer. Being romantically involved with her killer.

Through the red, he sees Hollenbeck. His slight frame rigid with furious intent. He's aiming into her car. He's going to empty the clip into the front seats. Rigsby sees it all from his nice, safe position in the bathroom where he'd been left. He wasn't even important enough to kill, just unpredictable enough to need a leash.

In his dream, he heard her scream before the shots rang out. He roars with impotent rage and pulls with all his might against his own cuffs as they yoke him to the railing. It won't budge. Tears mix with his blood.

He couldn't save her.

It was that horrifying thought that always woke him up. Grace was dead and he hadn't saved her. He'd huffed and puffed at Hollenbeck, but it was the slim lawyer that had blown Rigsby down like a straw house and came within a hair's breadth of shooting her dead. With Rigsby's gun, no less.

He'd failed her.

For many months afterwards, he'd shot upright in his bed, moaning and trembling as his brain slowly righted itself and remembered that it was just a dream. Grace was unhurt (no thanks to him) and asleep in her bed all warm and safe. He'd resist the overpowering urge to call her in the middle of the night, just so he could hear her voice and know that she was okay.

Nowadays when the dream jolted him awake in the darkness, his arms were curled around the proof of her safety and warmth. Sometimes he woke her up with his nightmare. She'd whisper and soothe until he finally drifted back to sleep. Other times, she simply shifted in his embrace and murmured, ensconced in her own dream world. His hands would rove softly over her body, confirming she was with him. Alive. Safe. Nowadays, he calmed down faster than he had when he'd slept alone.

Still, the dream persisted.

He'd fervently hoped that now that she slept alongside him, the dream would disappear. He hoped it would just…he wasn't sure…maybe just decide to stop torturing him now that he was in a better position to take care of her and make sure she was safe at all times. He watched over her as best he could while at work. Wild horses couldn't drag her away from him while she slept in his arms. He had her on round-the-clock surveillance. He'd paid his penance with suffering from how close he'd come to losing her. He planned to spend the rest of his life atoning by protecting her. So why wouldn't the dream cut him some slack?

The dream woke him up twice more that week and he decided that he'd had enough.

The next morning, he put in a call and drove over to the Sac State Prison.

There was a man he needed to see.