A/N: Okay, here we go with more from the Gone series. Remember, Grace is missing. Not preggo. I'd point out that Rigsby is lovesick and deeply concerned in this series, but when is he not? Word props going to Caritas1979 again, for being so freakin' apt.

Bereft

He was lost.

For three agonizing months, Rigsby was absolutely lost. His desperation - which he'd kept at a tenuous distance - closed in on him with every tiny lead that went cold or went nowhere. He'd stopped counting how many of them turned out to be blind alleys. It depressed him. Almost as much as work was starting to depress him. He could tell Lisbon was getting tired of his constant distress. He was keeping his shit together and doing the job, but he was losing weight. He was eyeing the parking lot for Iowa plates every morning. He slowed every time he passed a certain empty desk. He continued to stare at each unit member, accusation flickering in the blue. He'd posted a BOLO with every hospital, local PD and morgue in the state of California: Caucasian female, 27 years old, 5'9", long red hair, hazel eyes. When they ordered Mexican food, he asked the restaurant to hold the cilantro, even though the only person who objected to the herb was no longer with them.

And at night, he hunted.

This is what particularly annoyed Lisbon and Cho and what struck a familiar cord with Jane. Rigsby went through the motions from nine to five, but at 5:01, he was a ghost. God knows where he went. But the next day he was back at his desk, eyes bloodshot and face unshaven, bent over his work as if he hadn't spent the night prowling through the streets like pissed off stray.

The day he came in wearing the same suit from the day before, bedraggled, exhausted and dirty, Lisbon decided she'd been lenient for long enough.

"Get your ass in my office," she muttered as she passed his desk. He simply stood and followed, his haggard face drawn tightly.

He shut the door and she turned swiftly back to him, palming her temples, raking her hair in frustration. "You've gotta stop this, Wayne. Right now. Or I'll suspend you."

"Stop what?" he asked in a detached tone.

"Oh, don't you dare," she snarled up at him impatiently. "Stop looking for Grace. Start going home at night and sleeping for a change. Shower. Change your clothes. Drop the pissy attitude. And let. Her. Go."

He gazed at his boss, barely registering her threat. "No," he said simply.

Lisbon pulled a long, high-pressure breath through her nose, her head pulling back in anger. "Wayne," she warned hotly.

"Boss," he answered quietly. "I'm here. I'm working. I'm doing what needs to be done. What I do after hours," his gaze slanted left, "no offense, is none of your business."

"I can do a lot more than suspend you, agent." Her words were getting harder as her fear for this man pushed her towards more unpleasant threats. "I can recommend you for a psych evaluation."

"You can even fire me. I'm not stopping until I find her."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found," Lisbon posed tersely. "Maybe she made a clean break with us. With you."

Tired pain surfaced in his eyes and tightened his mouth. His voice didn't change. "Then she can tell me so. When I find her."

"Get out," she huffed, waving her hand at the door. "I mean it, Rigsby. I won't warn you again."

He nodded. Lisbon wasn't sure if he was heeding her order, or simply acknowledging that his next inevitable infraction would be his last. He walked out without a word, closing the door behind him.

Jane watched with keen eyes as the younger man made his way back to his desk and got on with their latest case. Raising his brows slightly, he took in the agent's gaunt and tired appearance, noting with empathy the lack of care paid to the body that was searching so desperately for answers. His gaze narrowed, knowing. Rigsby had changed drastically in the past few months. Jane, ever the curious cat, had decided a few weeks ago to start following him at night. He knew Rigsby's hunger. Oh yes, he certainly did. And while his affection for Grace was profound, he doubted he would have taken such a piercing interest in her absence were it not for Rigsby's acute agony. They had that agony in common. Jane despised their sudden affinity.

So he followed him. He watched as Rigsby visited Grace's old haunts, asking again if anyone had seen her. He watched her picture handed over bars and desks, the stack never decreasing in size as her ex lover doled them liberally, his contact information written carefully on each back. And Jane watched as the young man passed out IOUs to various government workers so that he could peek through endless avenues of identification. The electric companies, gas companies, telephone companies, water companies, rental car companies, residency registrars, anything he could think of was triple checked for any variation of the name Grace Van Pelt.

Jane admired the man's dogged fortitude.

He did not, however, share it.

The night following Lisbon balling her agent out, Jane slid into a leather booth at a tavern across town, smiling benignly at a face he'd come to know well over the years. The man showed no emotion at his smile. Indifferent, Jane pulled a photograph from his pocket - a photograph that had thousands of twins - and slid it across the table with two fingers.

The man looked at the smiling redhead on the table, then back up to the smiling blonde on the bench.

"Find her," Jane said. "Thirty grand bonus if you do it the next two days."