A/N: Because I'm getting so darn sick of how supposedly awesome Eric Effing Winter is. You know what's awesome? Not coming off like a douche bag. You know who does that perfectly? Rigsby. Because he's not some ninja Bruce Wayne wannabe. I don't care how square your magnificently chiseled jaw is. You suck, O'Laughlin!
Flawed
The argument is Lisbon's office started out so quietly that the bullpen wasn't fully aware of it until there was suddenly a knock-down, drag-out shouting match happening in that tiny glass cubicle. Jane became aware of it first, sliding his head along the sofa's armrest, craning back to watch from his indolent perch. Cho noticed second, his ears perking at the increase in volume, but didn't turn around. It had been awhile, but this argument had happened before. His eyes slanted fractionally. It could only mean one thing. His braced his already toughened heart, knowing that this fight was about their next case. More specifically, this fight illuminated what kind of case it was. Cho grimaced. Fuck, he hated these cases. He lowered his head and took a swandive into his paperwork. This fight always ended the same way. He didn't want to watch.
Grace was the last to tune into the voices getting louder and louder until Lisbon's voice pierced her concentration and made her look up from her computer in surprise.
"I'm getting sick and tired of this, Wanye! I'm too young to be your damn mom, so quit acting like a sullen brat. I said you're out, so you're out!"
"You can't just sideline me every time we get one like this, boss! You're not the only one sick and tired of making your point!"
"My points override your points, Agent. This isn't up for debate and you know it. I say when you're ready to work on them, and today isn't that day!"
"Goddammit, boss!"
"Enough!"
The thwack of her door opening sent eavesdroppers scattering as Lisbon flung it wide and jammed her finger into the bullpen. "Get out. Talk a walk. Clear your head. When you come back, I want you on board with my decision and I don't want to hear another word. You got me?"
Grace peeked over the top of her monitor, hiding all but her eyes, as she watched Wayne glare at their pint-sized leader with simmering indignation as he sat in one of her chairs. Without taking his eyes off her, he stood up and stalked out.
"Fine," he hissed so quietly that were it not for the silence of the usually bustling pen, no one would have heard it. He stormed off to the elevators, his furious expression not seeing the gawking people around him. He threw himself in once the metal doors slid open, punching the button for the lobby and swearing angrily as they slid closed again.
Grace stared after him, appalled.
She turned to Cho as he continued to study his desk like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"What was that all about?" she whispered over the aisle.
Cho didn't look up. "Kids," he answered stoically. "Our next case is a dead kid."
Grace inhaled sharply, her gaze snapping back to the elevators before coming back to Cho. "How do you know that? And why is Rigsby off the case?"
He shrugged, still not looking up. "Lisbon always takes him off when it's an abuse case. This kid must have been beaten to death. She never trusts him with cases like that."
"Oh, dear God." Grace's eyes were wide as she leaned closer to him. "Why not?"
At her question, Cho finally raised his head. His stony expression gauged her impassively, as if trying to decide what she knew. Jane, however, felt no discomfort in supplying an answer.
"You can't expect a former abuse case to act rationally in an abused child's murder investigation, now can you, Grace?" he smiled with no humor.
Grace gasped and Cho tossed his pencil down in annoyance. "Can it, Jane," he said tersely. "It's not our business."
"Former abuse case?" Grace's voice trembled slightly.
Heedless of Cho, Jane nodded. "It's in his file. So are his complete medical records. Late night ER visits, broken bones, chronic black eyes, multiple lacer-"
"I said shut up, man," Cho cut him off forcefully. "Don't drag his personal shit out like this."
"Just sayin'" Jane shrugged indifferently before turning to Grace. "I'm surprised you didn't know already. I'm sure he's mentioned something of his rather ugly past to you of all people."
"Jane," Cho warned darkly. "I'm not gonna say it again."
Jane threw his hands up. "Fine."
But Grace was still blinking at the two them in utter shock. She lowered her eyes to her desk, her mind reeling, before she eyed Cho. "But," she began softly, "none of us had great childhoods. Lisbon and you had problems with your dads. Jane," she looked at the man himself and shook her head slightly. "I don't know exactly, but it was bad. I can tell." She looked back at her tough friend. "Why Wayne? Why take him off every single abuse case before they even start?"
Cho pursed his lips, conflicted. "Daddy issues and beatings aren't the same thing," he said finally. "And Rigsby..." he paused, disliking the disloyal taste that filled his mouth. "Rigsby worked one of these before. When he found the dad responsible for the kid's death, he nearly beat him into a coma. He just lost it. Lisbon won't risk him again. Not until she's sure he'll keep his shit together and not punch every suspect we haul in."
Jane watched Grace with a fascinated air as she processed. She threw him a glance and sighed sadly. "I didn't know," she answered his morbid curiosity. "I knew he was an emancipated minor. I knew he hated his parents, but," she put her hands in her lap and stared at them. "I didn't know."
The three sat in silence for a moment until a temp poked his head about the glass partition. "Van Pelt? O'Laughlin's on Line Four."
Grace looked up quickly. "Thanks. Um," she looked at her phone. "Actually, can you take a message? We're just about to have a meeting."
"Sure," the guy said, disappearing.
Grace continued to stare at her hands as Jane tsked her loudly. "Never a good idea to ignore phone calls from the boyfriend," he chided rather meanly. "Especially now that you have one free of so much emotional baggage. Surely Craig would be happy to cheer you up if you let-"
"Cho's right, Jane," Grace clipped icily as she got up and walked away angrily. "Shut up."
She didn't know if Lisbon was about to call them in to discuss the case in question, but right now she didn't really care. She had her cell phone on her if they needed her. She took the stairs to the basement, her heels clicking loudly over the cement steps and she descended. She went straight to the employee stacks and walked through the rows, almost through the entire alphabet, until she came to R. She skimmed until she found the box that contained Rigsby's name and pulled it down, no longer feeling that this was a gross violation of her team's privacy. That had been her initial reason for never reading anyone's personal file. Cho and Jane might have done so for job or control-related reasons, but at the time, she'd felt it was only a selfish curiosity that would lead someone to poke into a friend's private life.
That was a long time ago.
She thumbed through Rafferty, Rains, Rathborn, Reese, Reisler and Rhioletti before reaching his name. She pulled his file and opened it on a nearby carol, flipping through his application and employment record until she got to his personal stuff.
She read quickly at first. Date of birth. Place of birth. Parents' names. Fitness reports (she smiled at his high scores). Mental acuity tests. Vision tests. Hearing tests. All above average and devoid of problems. She flipped the page and found what she'd been looking for.
Notable Medical History - Rigsby, Wayne B.
Previous Injuries
Brakes or Fractures: Right tibia (healed), left scapula (healed), left ulna (healed)
Shatters: Left zygomatic bone (healed, eyesight unaffected)
Concussions: 12/10/86 (healed), 08/04/89 (healed)
Replacement Prostheses: Cartilaginous joint in right ankle (stomped), right lateral bicuspid (knocked out)
Notes: Subject freely admits to being the victim of violent and repeated abuse during the whole of his childhood by close family members, namely his father. Subject has voluntarily submitted to three separate psychological evaluations and has agreed to weekly therapy sessions with a CBI psychiatrist for the first year of duty. Bi-yearly sessions will follow. All superiors are to be made aware of his pre-existing injuries and copies of his psychiatric session notes.
Her gaze tapered along the last sentence before glazing over, not reading further. The file was suddenly a dry husk in her hands, lifeless.
Instead, she pictured the living, breathing body it was describing. Brakes. Fractures. Shatters. Concussions. She didn't know how to reconcile those words to the smooth, unbroken texture of the man she'd felt under her hands. There had been no signs. No signs at all. The man she knew so viscerally was as healthy as a horse and half as strong. None of these bizarre-sounding descriptions made any sense.
She flipped the next page and looked at the Xerox of a skeleton sketch, covered in messy writing and arrows, indicating each affliction. There were lots of them. Some pointed to his legs. One or two to his arms. Too many pointed to his head. A half-smile/half sneer marred her lips. Her baby and his blessed, thick skull. Thank God he hadn't been born a weaker man or these arrows would have illustrated crushed bone instead of dented.
She read each date, catalogging his hurts and how old he was when he got them. It took longer than it should have.
She wanted to know more, but shut the file nonetheless. She had enough. And what she had hadn't come from the man himself, so it was already too much. Shaking slightly, she picked it up and returned it to its proper place in that dusty box before shelving it and walking back slowly towards A. She cleared the aisles and took the elevator to the lobby, her legs leading the way.
Her phone rang as she stepped outside and she answered it without looking. "Van Pelt."
"Hey, babe. I was thinking Vietnamese tonight. Pick you up at the usual time?"
Craig's voice caught her off guard. She slowed her pace. "Umm...hi. Yeah, uh. That's fine. Guess I'll see you then."
"Great," he replied brightly. "I know an awesome place. See you soon."
He hung up before she could say goodbye. She pulled her phone back and looked at it. She immediately recalled the way Wayne used to end a call. Unless he was surrounded by people, he'd tell her he loved her. Even when he was, he said goodbye and waited to hear it back. Strange, how the little things stick in your mind. Not that she wanted Craig to say he loved her. It was too soon for that. Too a lot of things for that. But the fact that he didn't...
Didn't... Wasn't...
Hmmm.
Grace derailed that train of thought. It didn't matter if Craig was economical with his conversations. He'd gladly talk about anything she liked, if she asked. Nor did it matter how he talked. Hellos, goodbyes and love yous weren't required all the time.
She put her phone in her pocket and crossed the street. She passed the few other buildings adjacent to the CBI and stepped into the park. She'd only been here once before, but it was easy enough to find.
He was there, just like she figured, sitting in the exact same spot, staring off at nothing while children played on the jungle gym in front of him.
Jane was right. When Rigsby felt threatened or in need of comfort, he went to the park. A sudden wave of unwanted knowledge rose up inside her, reminding her that when he'd been with her, his comfort had been hers to give whenever he needed it. It had usually been in the form him padding up behind her and without a word, hugging her tightly, his arms around her waist, his front fused against her back. His face would sink in her hair and she'd feel him inhale deeply, pulling the scent of her shampoo all the way down to his toes. She'd feel something leave him, a tenseness that she hadn't even noticed, and he'd become heavier against her, peace making him more solid. By standing still and covering his hands with hers, she salved his soul.
She'd dispensed those hugs gladly. They seemed like such a little thing to her, but they made all the difference in the world to him. In those months, she'd never seem him slip away to be by himself like he was now. He'd come to her.
She took a steadying breath and walked over to his bench, sitting near the opposite edge, facing the children as they shrieked and pinwheeled before them.
"Hey," she greeted softly.
He grunted, his chin lifting slightly. His eyes didn't lose their glassiness as he continued to stare far away.
Grace looked at the ground, at a loss for what to say. There was an embargo on every topic. His childhood. Lisbon's ballout. His dramatic exit. The upcoming case. And of course, the pre-existing elephant of their uncertain relationship. She didn't have any idea what words she could offer that would help him. She looked up at him, his impressive profile looking especially vulnerable and sad.
She scooted closer. Without thinking, she offered what she knew had helped in the past. She didn't even look at him as she slid her arm passed his, under his coat, and around his back until she cupped the other side of his ribcage. Her fingers gripped the soft fabric of his shirt, locking tight. She rested her forehead against his shoulder, holding herself to him firmly. Dark blue filled her vision, his sport jacket blocking everything else.
He stiffened, but didn't pull away.
She expected him to say something, to tell her that he was fine and just leave him alone for awhile. He must have been hurting a great deal because he put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. Having better access, she nestled her cheek over his heart, listening to it beat steadily underneath the layers of dense tissue.
She wanted to say she was sorry, but knew he'd misinterpret it. He didn't want pity and wouldn't understand that she wasn't offering any. Luckily, he didn't need words at all. Her warm, pliant body was medicating him, dulling the pain as only she knew how. He turned towards her and brought his other arm around her, completing his hold on her.
She pulled back a bit a looked him in the eyes, smiling weakly. "Hi."
His smile was even weaker. "Hi."
Gently, she reached up and brushed the delicate curve of his outer eye socket.
Shattered: Left zygomatic bone (healed, eyesight unaffected).
His skin was so soft there. She rimmed it softly, from just under his lashes to the end of his dark brow. Such a thin, graceful bone. So very...breakable.
He watched her as she touched him. He saw the indignation flash briefly in her eyes as she explored a decades-old injury. And he knew.
His hand trapped hers at his temple. Without breaking eye contact, he shook his head. "Don't look for it."
She bit her lip. "This isn't charity, Wayne."
"No, but it's sadness. I never wanted you to be sad when you looked at me."
She nibbled her lip harder, unaware of how bad he wanted to stop her nibbling with kisses. "If it were me, wouldn't you want to know?"
He went hard in an instant, his muscles going rigid at the thought. His gaze went flinty, frost filling his blue eyes. He lowered his head like an attack dog and tightened his hold. "It's not you. It'll never be you, so help me God."
His protectiveness only served to relax her further into his arms. Some things never change. "Couldn't we just look at it as sharing your sadness? You trusting me to share it with you?"
His weak smile returned. "Well. I guess it's academic now, huh?"
Grace shook her head, her patented cute pout in place. "I thought we were going to try to be friends. Don't friends help each other? Comfort each other?"
Still smiling softly, he gently traced the arch of her temple. The sculpted, feminine arch, so much more fragile than his own, filled him with awe as his thick index finger followed its curvature. "We are trying. But this..." he paused, uncertain, "...The way I feel...What I want from you. It's inappropriate now."
Grace didn't respond. She couldn't. Every fibre in her being said he was wrong. Nothing he could ask for was inappropriate. He could ask for the moon. For a kiss. For a fuck. For a hug like this everyday for the rest of their lives. It would be perfectly natural. And, aside from the moon thing, perfectly doable. She'd gladly give him anything he asked for, just to banish his ghosts and his lonely solace.
Because she knew he wouldn't ask.
Fingers still caressing each other, they seemed to come back to the situation at the same time.
"Lisbon's probably looking for you," he gruffed quietly, pulling back.
Grace followed, not letting him get away. "She can call," she rebuffed, stubbornly holding onto him.
He chuckled. "Don't you have lunch plans with O'Laughlin or something?"
She frowned. That name didn't fit this moment. It was distinctly unpleasant. It made her hugging him feel disloyal and sour. "No," she replied. "I don't. Are you trying to get rid of me?"
His eyes widened and he stopped laughing. His arms had dropped from around her, but he put his hands on her knees as they touched his own. "No. God, no. I...I just thought you might, you know. Want to get back."
Feeling a little rebuffed, she stood and brushed non-existent wrinkles out of her clothes.
"Hey," he soothed quickly, reaching for her hand.
She caught it deftly and held it away, bringing her other hand to cup his temple once again, her thumb brushing just next to his (healed, eyesight unaffected) baby blue. Her expression was hard. Her voice soft. "I ache for you," she told him before letting her fingers fall away.
"You'll never know how much."
She walked away.