A/N: What we need on the show is a good old fashioned dangerous circumstance that makes our ship come to their senses. That, and I realized that I totes have a bite reflex when I get around my cute boy's throat. Anyone else get bitey around certain anatomy? Holla if you do!

Blast

It all happened so fast.

They'd been paired up. Again. Grace was beginning to wonder if Lisbon found it amusing. The house was empty. Rigsby crept in first, his gun drawn and lowered as he entered the front door. He signaled for Grace to stay back. From the middle of the dark living room, he turned at the sound of her footsteps and held up his hand. Stay, he ordered silently, his eyes slanting with the reprimand of a superior agent. Grace huffed and titled her chin in defiance, but stayed in the door frame. He always did that now. He never let her go first and never let her advance until he was positive there was no immediate danger. She frowned deeply at his order, but obeyed nonetheless. She supposed he never got over her being shot in that ghetto apartment block, because now when they were sent out together, he deliberately took point and stayed there, shielding her from possible harm.

She tapped her foot softly at him. Let me come in and do my job, she silently ordered back.

Gun lowered, he gave her a one second finger before heading over to a box on the dining table. The one that their anonymous caller said would be waiting for them. They weren't told what to expect, so Rigsby was careful not to touch it. Leaning over to peek into its open flaps, he suddenly went rigid. Grace watched as his back went stiff and his muscles froze. Her own hackles rose in response to his posture. Whatever it was, it was bad.

"Graace."

Her name slithered out of his clenched teeth and she froze up in fear. The moaning agony in his single word told her that he wasn't calling for her. He was terrified for her. He was mourning her, as surely as if he'd discovered her still-beating heart on that box.

"Run," he hissed at her, his head still turned away, his gaze glued to the box in front of him. She didn't move an inch and he turned in fury at her stillness. "Run!"

And suddenly he was a blur of motion. Grace barely saw him as he careened towards her, not slowing as he tackled her by the waist and threw them over the patio and across the three steps to the pavement. The air in her lungs whooshed out loudly as her body landed hard between the unforgiving asphalt and his weight.

Suddenly a deafening blast filled her ears. Light and heat exploded all around them as a bomb detonated and blew the house straight to hell. Rigsby roared in pain as wooden shrapnel sliced his calves and lower back, ripping through his suit like butter. Grace squeezed her eyes shut and gave a throaty scream as boiling heat poured over them, stealing their oxygen and leaving them gasping for air, only to inhale more heat, causing them to cough.

Grace fisted her hands into his jacket lapels and buried her face in his collar. She couldn't her own cries as a secondary blast knocked more pieces of the house on and around them. She mindlessly pressed her lips into his shirt and dragged a breath through the filter of the material. Her mouth and nose filled with cleaner air, tinted by the smell of his laundry detergent and aftershave. Smoke pricked her eyes and her tears soaked the light blue fabric underneath them. Greedily she lifted the lapel in her hand and burrowed deeper into his shirt and under his jacket, wanting more clean breaths that smelled like him.

"Oh, my god," she whimpered into him. Her whole body was trembling. She was positive the only reason she wasn't shaking apart was his body pinning her down and absorbing her tremors.

"Are you okay?"

She felt his question in his chest as much as she heard it. "No," she mewled against him, clutching him closer. "No, I'm freaking not okay."

"I'm hurt," he muttered rather clinically. "Shit, it stings like a bitch."

"But it's not bad?" she asked from under his jacket. The blasts had subsided and the house burned merrily behind them, but she still didn't want to leave the dark safety of his clothes.

She felt him inhale before shakily expelling it. He took a quick stock before she felt him shake his head. "No, it's not bad."

She peeked out from his coat. Only his throat was visible from her trapped position underneath him. He was craning his head this way and that, taking in the damage, looking around for help and/or the responsible party. She murmured his name without hearing herself. Without looking down, his fingers filtered into her hair and pet it gently. "S'okay, baby," he whispered distractedly.

His closeness and scent were only furthering her mindless need for his overwhelming presence. After so many months of careful distance between them, he was on top of her, pressing hotly against every inch. Once again, he hadn't been thinking before he acted. And once again, his mindlessness led him straight to her. She hadn't been ready. She hadn't prepared herself for the fantastic memories to flood her as he clothed her like human Kevlar and thought of nothing else except her safety. It smacked her like a bat. She whimpered and his fingers plunged deeper into her mane until he was caressing her nape. Still checking their surroundings, he soothed her. "I'm sorry," he twisted his head back to watch the flames lick their way up the exposed walls. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She was dismayed when the cords in his neck flexed starkly under his skin as he looked behind them. It made her heart leap, beating wildly at his unintentional display of masculine strength. Panic rose swiftly in her chest as his jaw line loomed dangerously close to her mouth. Moaning softly, she gave into the uncontrollable bite reflex she'd always had for it. Leaning forward one tiny inch, she nipped him gently.

Rigsby gasped loudly, letting it slide into a dark, longing groan.

His eyes slammed shut and his body went as hard as a rail spike. He was already operating on adrenaline, now Grace had gone and given him an overdose. He'd forgotten. Sweet Christ in heaven, how could he have forgotten that she liked biting him there?

"Fuck," he hissed, dropping his head lower, giving her teeth better anchorage. She sank them deeper into his flesh, suddenly feeling furiously territorial. When he kissed his girlfriend tonight after work, she wanted her to see the perfect oval of her bite radius just under his ear. She wanted Wayne to stutter over some bad lie about a suspect going mad dog on him. She wanted that girl to squint suspiciously at him, wondering if he'd be stupid enough to cheat on her in the middle of a work day and come home sporting a hickey as proof.

Eventually, she'd believe him. He hadn't done anything wrong, after all.

But Grace wanted this one thing, this tiny wrench thrown into their happy relationship, so she took her pleasure as her lips kissed the skin next to her nibbling teeth. "Wayne."

"Stop," he begged, even as he craned his head back and bared his throat to her. "Grace, please."

"No," she cooed against him, soothing over her mark with her tongue. "Mine." Liquid fear and instinct pulsed through her body. All other daily considerations have vanished and left her with only those two words.

Rigsby growled above her, surrounding her with its feral, inviting vibrations. "I know," he rasped. "But you're not mine."

She let her head fall back to the ground as she looked up at him. His expression was one of terror, suppressed lust, and sad truth. She shook her head angrily. "This was the only way," she shook him gently by the lapels. "The only way I could keep you."

"It's not enough." His blue eyes darkened with angry desire. She met him with the same mirrored in her eyes. "It's better than losing you to San Fran. Better than losing you period."

He cocked his head at her, his body grinding her of its own volition. She arched into it and moaned with consent. "Not enough," he reiterated roughly.

Grace couldn't tell where the blistering heat was coming from anymore. Not caring, she lifted up and latched her lips to his throat again, a feminine growl escaping her as he threw his head back and let her. "Still. Mine."