Wanted

[vanrigsby]

Wanted
Author: vanrigsby
Artist:
casper_san
Link to art: Here
Word Count: 6193
Rating: T
Summary: After a shooting, Grace becomes the wanted one. (Idea kind of taken from the season 3 finale, but no spoilers)
Disclaimer: Yeah, it's not mine. As it's unbetaed, all mistakes are though.
Notes: TRIED not to make it a casefic. I suck at those, so I may have skirted around the details of that a little. Sorry if it ruins your experience, but it was the best I could do.
And, another thing, I have NO idea about California’s geography. Can we pretend that there is a forest or something near where Grace’s dad lives? About an hour’s drive, then a good 30 or 45-minute walk. Suspend disbelief, if you may. You’ll understand why later on.


The afternoon was slightly chilly, so as Grace Van Pelt approached her usual café, she chose a seat inside. The familiar barista behind the counter smiled, asking if she wanted her usual. Grace nodded, already having zeroed in on an isolated-looking chai near the back of the café.

She pulled out the chair, its feet squeaking slightly in the process, and sat down. Her whole body seemed to relax as the warmth and comfort of the café seeped into her pores. She couldn’t help but offer the waitress a warm smile when she placed Grace’s coffee on the table.

The time passed slowly and uneventfully, Grace completely unaware of how many minutes she wasted motionless at the table, simply watching the passers-by. Grace raised the pale blue coffee mug to her lips, sipping the lukewarm liquid slowly. She swirled the cup, before downing the last of the tasteless coffee in one graceless gulp.
“Hello,” a man had approached her table, and was hovering by the chair opposite her. His brown curls were cropped close to his head, and his deep brown eyes were hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. His entire appearance practically screamed non-descript, right down to his plain tee and jeans. “Is this seat taken?”
“No,” Grace absent-mindedly waved her hand in his direction, indicating that he could take the chair.
To her surprise, the stranger pulled the chair away from the table and lowered himself into it. Her eyebrows edged towards her hairline as he placed his elbows delicately on the table.
“Craig really was sorry, you know. He really did develop feelings for you,” the man’s voice matched his appearance, but the words froze Grace from the inside out. Her hands stilled where they’d been fidgeting with her bracelet, and her heart simultaneously dropped somewhere down by her feet and got caught in her throat.
“What?” the word scratched the sides of her throat as it slipped past her lips, sounding raspy and hoarse.
“You heard me,” the man’s apparent nervousness was gone, replaced by arrogance. His features took on the expression she’d seen all too many times in Jane’s face as he leant back in his chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Do you know who I am?”
Her heart thudded in her chest. Words formed a bottleneck at her lips; too many thoughts trying to burst forth at once.
“You’re him,” was all she could make out, and even then it was barely audible.
“Why, yes, I am,” the man’s smug smirk grew.
“Why are you here?” Grace’s mouth seemed to regain some movement as it formed the words.
“I just wanted to see how you are doing, dear Grace,” his tone was laced with faux compassion as his features slid into a mask of worry. “After such an ordeal, one would think you’d be suffering plenty.” His words were innocuous enough, but the gleam in his eyes could not be mistaken.
Grace bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming, glancing around the café to see if anyone had noticed their exchange.
“How are you coping with those nightmares?”
Grace’s gaze snapped back to her table companion. Her green eyes captured his, and he tilted his head slightly, the very beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her heart began to beat faster. She hadn’t even told anyone on the team about her nightmares. Nobody knew but her.
“Wondering how I know?” she was snapped from her thoughts. “It’s all over your face.”
“I don’t care about you,” she ground the words past her lips. “You’ll get what you deserve.”
“You believe that?” his voice tinkled with amusement.
“Yes,” she spat.
“I suppose if that’s what you want to believe.”
“It’s true,” the words came easier now. “You’re going to hell, and one day we’re going to end your life. The right way.”
“Okay then. Well, that’ll be all then, won’t it?” he began, already pushing himself back from the table. “Good day, Miss Van Pelt.” He turned and waltzed out of the café, leaving Grace to stare at his retreating form, her mouth hanging open in shock.
She watched his back disappear from view, and stood up quickly. She was determined to follow him. He was the man behind the madness. The man who’d placed Craig into her life, and forced her to take him out of it. The man who’d murdered Jane’s family. She couldn’t let him get away this easy. She yanked out her purse and tucked a few bills beneath her empty mug, anxious to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

She exited the diner, and stepped out onto the near-deserted footpath. Simultaneously tugging her jumper tighter around her and searching for his head of brown curls, she was relieved when she spotted him turning a corner. She hurried after him, her heart rate increasing with each step.

She could almost feel the alley grime seeping into the soles of her shoes as she rounded the corner after him. She didn’t know what she was doing. Her legs walked her forward of their own accord, taking her further into the alley after the elusive serial killer. He paused a way down, and her steps unconsciously quickened to reach him.
“Ah, Grace,” his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. “I knew you’d follow.” He sounded amused, as if they were having a polite conversation and he wasn’t a psychopathic serial killer who’d led her into a dark alleyway.
Within a nanosecond, he’d rounded on her, and his hand had drawn the gun from his side. Both of his hands reached to clasp it tightly, pointing it towards Grace.
“I’m sorry. Truly. But what else can I do?” he leveled the weapon at her. Her heart tripped over itself in her chest, causing her breath to hitch. Her right hand twitched, instinctively beginning to reach for a gun she knew wasn’t there. She stepped forward, and Red John cocked his head.
“Really, Grace? I am the one with the gun here.”
Grace’s jaw clenched and a shiver of icy fear trickled down her spine.
“You’re not nearly as brave as Mr. Jane, taking on my Timothy in a crowded shopping centre like that,” he continued, as if nothing were out of place. “You weren’t planning on killing me. However, you’ve seen my face, and that really can’t happen. So this is all I can do.”

Grace could not only feel her heart thudding against her ribcage, she could hear its pounding in her ears. She tried, and failed, to swallow. Her foot stretched forwards, sliding noiselessly against the dirty concrete in what she hoped was a subtle attempt to move closer. Red John’s eyes flicked to her legs, then up to meet hers, and she froze. His trigger finger twitched almost imperceptibly.

Grace could still hear her heart’s rhythm like a furious drumbeat, its force in her chest almost painful. She took a deep breath. Between heartbeats, she lunged.

She knew the moment her muscles sprang into action that she had the element of surprise. In the glimpse she caught of Red John’s expression, shock and a brief slice of anger flashed across his face.

She used one hand to push his outstretched arms to the side, throwing her body into his. They collapsed onto the grimy concrete, each wrestling for control and, more importantly, the gun.

For all his non-descript looks, Red John was deceptively strong. His knee flew up to catch her in the stomach, and in response, her fist connected with his cheek. Her lungs burned as they tried desperately to draw in air, her chest heaving as she continued to grapple with Red John.

In a matter of moments, Grace could already feel herself tiring. Red John seemed to know exactly where to throw all the right punches, kicks and knees, and she didn’t know how much more she could take it. The only thing spurring her on was Craig’s constant leer in her mind’s eye, and the chilling montage of dripping red smiley faces.

Throwing her weight against him in one smooth motion, she somehow managed to flip them and slam Red John onto the concrete beneath her. His head bounced slightly against the rough concrete, and she scrambled off him, collecting the gun from where it lay discarded.

Grace stood up, triumphant. Her breath escaped her lips in ragged puffs and her heart was beating harder and faster than before. Now in the position of authority, she aligned the gun with Red John’s heart.
“Oh, Grace, come on. You don’t want to kill me,” if she wasn’t mistaken, she heard a faint note of pleading in his voice. He sounded so much like Craig in that instant. Every moment Craig had been with her flashed before her eyes, like a video on fast-forward. Then, finally, to conclude, it was the image of him right before she shot him.

This pain, the betrayal and the hurt, fueled her inner fire, and as Red John sat up and reached for the gun, she squeezed the trigger. The shot exploded in the narrow alley, its sound ricocheting off the filthy brickwork. Red John slumped to the floor; his body limp as blood poured from his chest like a crimson river.

Grace spun on her heel when the sound of a scream pierced through the echoes in her brain. In the mouth of the alley, shadowed in the remaining rays of daylight, stood a girl of no more than twenty, her bag clutched tightly against her chest as the scream continued to spill from her mouth. Grace dropped the gun, and it fell to the concrete with a clatter.
“I - It’s not -,” Grace stuttered, her mouth struggling to form around the words swirling in her mind.

Grace’s stumbled syllables seemed to edge their way past the girl’s screams to her ears, and she closed her mouth abruptly. Fumbling in her bag, she yanked out her cell phone, and frantically began to dial. Grace began to step towards her, attempting to placate her, but the girl only began to retreat, terrified. The girl began to chatter hurriedly into her phone, eyes wide as saucers.
“Please,” Grace begged, her brain warning her that this situation looked bad, “it’s not what it looks like.”
The girl, her hands trembling, reached into her bag and procured a small can of pepper spray. “Stay away from me,” she cried, her voice shaking as much as her knees. Grace stopped in her tracks, her hands falling uselessly at her sides.
“Okay,” she sighed on an outbreath, her legs folding up under her as she sat on the concrete. “Okay.”

The police were at the scene within a matter of minutes. Grace didn’t recognise any of them, all rough hands and muttered phrases as they bundled her into the back of the car, its lights casting a blue and red glow against the walls of the alley.
“It was self defense,” Grace told them, though her words fell on deaf ears. All cohesiveness had seemed to slide from her mind. “It was.”

X

The heels of Grace’s shoes tapped against the courthouse steps as she rushed to catch up with the blonde consultant-turned-lawyer.
“Jane,” the word came out in a rush as she tried to catch her breath, “it really was self-defence. It was his gun. We just fought and I had to.” Grace’s words were interrupted with sporadic puffs of air. “I’m not crazy, Jane.”
“I know, Grace,” he turned to face her. “I’ve been in a position like this, remember? You’re just lucky I used my wit and charm to - ow!”
He clutched his arm where Lisbon had smacked him. She glared at his petulant look.
“Anyways,” he turned back to Grace, “what I was saying was: I managed to talk your bail down low enough that you’ll be able to afford a few days of freedom.”
“I know, thank you,” Grace’s hands began to fidget with her bracelet.

Cho and Rigsby approached the three of them.
“Good job in there,” Rigsby patted the Jane on the back. Cho just nodded.
“It’s a good thing, right Grace?” Rigsby turned his attention to the redhead. “That you’re out?”
“For now,” Grace’s tone was somber. “All the evidence is completely against me.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jane interrupted. “You’ll get out of it. I did, didn’t I?”
Lisbon smacked his arm again, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Yes but you didn’t do it in self-defence.”
“He was Red John’s man!” Jane defended. “He deserved to die.”

Rigsby attempted to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.
“Will you be coming into work tomorrow?” he asked Grace.
At Grace’s confused expression, Lisbon interrupted, to clarify. “You can’t actually work, but we’d be happy to have you around. Plus, it might be a good distraction.”
Grace nodded slowly. “Okay,” the word was drawn out much longer than it needed to be.
“You don’t have to, of course,” Rigsby was quick to jump in, to appease her. “It’d just be nice is all.”
Grace’s eyes traced over his face, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of worry, anticipation and adoration, one corner of his mouth turned up in a tiny, hopeful smile.
“Sure,” Grace nodded, injecting as much cheerfulness into her voice as she could muster. “I’ll be there.”

X

Rigsby drummed his fingers against the keyboard restlessly. He couldn’t focus properly, not when every minute without Grace set him more on edge. She had said she was coming in, and it was hard to focus on paperwork when she wasn’t yet here, and it was already mid-morning.

“Didn’t Van Pelt say she was coming in today?” Lisbon entered the bullpen as she spoke to her team.
“She did,” Jane piped up from the couch, his eyes remaining closed.
“Yep,” Cho didn't even glance up from his book.
“Yeah,” Rigsby was the only one to acknowledge Lisbon’s presence, spinning in his chair to face her. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed.”
Nobody noticed Jane’s slight snicker at this comment, and if they did, they didn’t comment.
Lisbon approached Rigsby’s desk. “She’s probably just relaxing, but if she doesn’t turn up in a few hours, did you want to drop into her apartment to see if she’s there? She’s been through a lot, and I just want to be sure she’s dealing with it okay.”
Rigsby nodded, struggling to suppress his enthusiasm. “Sure.”

The next couple of hours seemed to drag by. There were no new cases, so the entire team, with the exception of Jane, spent the time slogging through old paperwork. About two and a half hours later, Rigsby finally gave in to his grumbling stomach, and decided he’d stop by Grace’s house on the way to lunch.

“I’m heading to lunch, and then Gr-Van Pelt’s house,” Rigsby announced as he rose from his chair. Scooping up his jacket, he looked over at Jane and Cho. “Anyone want anything while I’m out?”
Cho shook his head, and Jane took the opportunity to ask Rigsby to pick him up some more tea. Rigsby simply rolled his eyes, and agreed.

Twenty-five minutes later, after having spent ten minutes searching for Jane’s particular brand of tea in the supermarket, Rigsby was pulling into Grace’s driveway. He killed the ignition and stepped out of the car. His shoes crunching on the gravel and his stomach rumbling, he approached the house. He rapped firmly three times on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, and received no response.
“Grace?” he called, peering through the window beside the door. There was no sign of movement. “Grace?” louder this time. He pulled out his cell phone again, speed-dialing her number. It went straight to voicemail, her familiar voice asking him brightly to please leave a message. Hanging up, he tucked his phone back into his pants pocket. This was definitely unusual. Something was off.

He bent down, fishing the spare key from where it hid amongst the flowers by her doorstep. He slid it into place, turning the knob and letting the door silently swing open.
“Grace?” he tried again, though her knew his attempts were futile.
Slowly, methodically, he searched the house for any signs of her. He noticed nothing out of place; everything seemed in order. However, when he reached the bedroom, he immediately noticed something wrong. He walked carefully to her chest of drawers, surprised to find a handful of items missing. He glanced around, mentally cataloguing everything that was out of place, or simply not there. Some of her clothes were missing. Her favourite bracelet, one of the most precious things she possessed, was nowhere to be found. He entered the ensuite, and found yet more non-existent items. Her toothbrush, hairbrush and prized perfume were missing from where he knew she kept them on the countertop. Something was definitely amiss. He was hit with a revelation, and rushed to her hall cupboard. He flung open the door, his eyes searching desperately. There was nothing missing, nothing out of place, aside from one empty space in the neatly folded shelves. Rigsby knew immediately what was gone. It was the hiking pack that Grace had shown him once before. Her father used to take her hiking, she’d explained one night. He thought of it as an escape. He’d been so into it that he’d bought her a pack for herself. She still used it occasionally. He remembered how she’d been so amazed by how much it could fit, how deceiving it was.

Rigsby pulled his cell phone out again and rang Lisbon.
“Boss,” he began, once she answered, “Grace isn’t here.”
“Are you sure?” his boss replied.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he tried to hide the annoyance he felt at her words. “Some of her things are gone as well.”
“She might have just gone out somewhere,” Lisbon’s voice of reason stepped in.
“You don’t understand, Boss. She’s gone. Left. Taken off. She took a hiking pack.”
Lisbon paused, contemplating. “Have you tried calling her?”
“Yes,” this time, Rigsby could not keep the exasperation from his voice. “Straight to voicemail.”
Again, the voice on the other end was silent for a moment. “I can see if we can get tech to track it. Since she is on bail, it’s best to know where she is.”
“Okay,” Rigsby agreed, already beginning to feel impatient. “What can I do?”
“For now, either come back here and wait for her, or stay there. Until we have a new case, there’s not much work for you to do.”
“Okay,” Rigsby repeated, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll wait here.”

X

The trek to the cabin was hellish. Grace couldn’t remember it being so overgrown, so long and tough. To be fair though, she was almost certain that nobody had walked these trails in a while.

Grace made her way along the path, though it was almost indistinguishable from the wilderness around it. Branches scratched at her, attacking her limbs with the kind of ferocity that only comes from nature. The only way she didn’t stray from the trail was the ingrained knowledge of the path, the muscle memory that took her legs along the oh-so-familiar track. Exasperated, she pushed away branch after branch, feeling her body beginning to grow weary. With nothing else to occupy it, her mind drifted, her thoughts floating amongst the green leaves and eerie silence. She didn’t know why she was headed to the cabin, as oppose to anywhere else.

It was the serenity, she decided. The peace and the quiet and the feeling that you were so shut off from your old life, back home, when you were out here. The feeling that nothing mattered but being here, in the moment. It was like magic.

After what seemed like an eternity, the familiar wooden exterior loomed into view. With a final shove against a particularly stubborn branch, she broke free of the forest’s grasp and stumbled into the clearing. Her heart swelled, filling with the memories and hope that the old building evoked.

She approached the cabin in no great hurry. Her eyes roved, picking out the small details that hadn’t been present at her last visit. The roof of the cabin carried more dead leaves; its normal colour darkened slightly by a combination of age and shadows. Her father’s old hunting axe was leant against the porch railing, rather than out by the log pile, which had grown slightly. Her father had been here recently.

As she reached the steps, a pang of guilt stabbed at her heart. She hadn’t been able to get the time away to come out to the cabin with her father in what seemed like forever. She’d not wanted to take the time off work; she was determined to show her boss that she was committed, and she didn’t want to miss out on a case.

But it became more obvious of her father’s recent visit the closer she got. Little things, like the fact that the porch wasn’t caked in five inches of dirt, only a slight layer. Things such as the tarp pulled haphazardly over the log pile, the weeds cut back so they didn’t creep four feet up the porch railing.

She turned in a slow circle when she reached the doorway. The surroundings warmed her heart; the forest and the clearing had always held a special place. She placed a hand on the aged knob. The little wooden door swung open, screeching its protests as it did so. She took in the old cabin, so homey even after so long. Its warmth and memories welcomed her as she shrugged off her pack and dropped it on the worn brown couch. The springs creaked softly, the familiar noise making a smile bloom on Grace’s face. She headed to the kitchen for a drink, humming to herself a little as she went.

X

Rigsby felt almost instantly at home in Grace’s kitchen. He found himself automatically reaching into the cupboards and pulling out various sandwich fixings, his mind trying anything to get away from thoughts of Grace.

What if she’s lost? his mind raced. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dying? As he placed the sandwich onto the plate, he noticed his hands shaking slightly. Stop it, he chastised himself. She’s fine. She just needs space. We’ll find her soon enough.

He approached the dining room table, his mind chasing itself in circles.
She’ll be fine.
But what if she’s not?
She is.
But what if?
Shut up. Don’t think of her hurt.
But she could be -
She’s not.
His mind was so clouded with worries and self-reprimands that he almost missed the small device sitting on the table. As he drew closer, it became apparent what it was.

With a clatter, the plate landed safely but noisily on the wooden table, his sandwich sliding to one side and its fillings scattering. But Rigsby didn’t notice. He was too fixated on the metallic object in front of him. Gently, as if it were made of glass, he lifted it from the table and cradled it in his hands.

It was Grace’s phone.

His hand flew to his mouth and he dialed Lisbon as if on autopilot.
“Boss,” Rigsby breathed into the phone. “It’s Grace.”
“Have you heard from her?” Lisbon answered.
“The opposite. Her phone’s here. We have no way of finding her.”
Rigsby heard papers shuffle on the other end of the line. “Crap,” was muttered into the speaker. After a pause, “That’s okay. It just means she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Lisbon…” Rigsby trailed off, his nerves making every part of his body tense.
“Rigsby,” his boss replied in the same tone of voice. “Don’t worry about her. She is an adult and can take care of herself. Are there any signs of struggle?” When Rigsby didn’t answer, Lisbon continued. “Well then don’t worry. She just needs space. Trust me, she’d prefer if you gave it to her.”
Rigsby bit his tongue, literally, to stop from correcting his boss. Though she was a female, and would have connected with Grace in that way, Rigsby had known Grace on a more personal level. And Grace was the kind of girl who ran away just to see who would follow.

X

Rigsby stretched, feeling his tight muscles protest as he awoke. Grace’s couch was definitely not as comfortable as he remembered. He looked around in earnest; maybe she had turned up in the middle of the night. Upon discovering nothing, Rigsby stood up dejectedly and collected the few things he had brought with him.

He rang Lisbon on the way, confirming that she had not heard from Grace either. Rigsby raced inside of his apartment, shoveling down a quick breakfast and managing to squeeze in a short shower. He was desperate to get to work; maybe in the time it took to get there Grace might have turned up.

She hadn’t.

X

Thanks to there being no new cases, the team was stuck with paperwork. Rigsby couldn’t help but wish that Grace was here, as her presence always made time fly for him. He barely noticed Lisbon approaching his desk, as his foot continued to tap against the floor impatiently. His hands flitted over the keys of the computer keyboard, not really typing anything but needing to keep moving.
“Don’t worry about Grace,” Lisbon said, propping her hip against the tired wood.
“I can’t help it,” came his reply, though it seemed directed at his computer screen.
“Rigsby,” though his boss was short, when she used that tone he couldn’t help but feel she was two foot taller. “She will be okay. You know Grace. She just needs space.”
“But it’s not safe!” Rigsby protested. “She’s all alone, and none of us know where she is.”
“Have you checked with her father?” Jane piped up from the couch, his eyes fluttering open before shutting again.
“Jane,” Lisbon muttered, exasperated, at the same time Rigsby exclaimed the same name in revelation.
“Have you?” Rigsby spun on his heel to face Lisbon again.
“No,” Lisbon began, holding up a hand when Rigsby looked like he was going to interrupt. “But we didn’t want to worry him. She just needs to get away, Rigsby. You would too, if all this crap had happened to you.”
“But she’s not safe,” Rigsby repeated, his mind spinning in circles, only one thought echoing in his mind.
“We don’t know where she is. She could be relaxing on a beach for all we know.”
“Grace hates the beach,” Jane interrupted. “Too easily sunburnt.”
“Shut up,” Lisbon’s eyes flung daggers across the bullpen. She turned back to Rigsby. “No matter where she is, she’s okay. She’s a tough girl; she can take care of herself. You know that. Just give her space.”
“She doesn’t need space. She needs support,” Rigsby could feel his case weakening. “We need to be there for her. We need to help her.”
“We are helping her by leaving her alone,” Lisbon placed a gentle hand on Rigsby’s forearm. “Just try and stop worrying about her.”
Lisbon turned, making her way back to her office, as Rigsby turned his eyes dejectedly to the desk.

He wondered if it would do any use to visit Grace’s dad the next day.

X

With each day that passed, Rigsby was getting more stressed. He awoke the next morning with a feeling of sickness in his stomach, and the decision that today, before work, he would drop by and have a conversation with one Mr. Amos Van Pelt.

He rang Lisbon to tell her that he was feeling slightly ill, and would be late, which was in essence the truth. He did have to look up in the phonebook where Grace’s dad lived though, but once that was done, he anxiously got in the car and drove to 15 Barton Street.

He got out of the car and walked up to the door, only barely registering that his hands were trembling slightly. This was an opportunity to find Grace, and every moment that she was gone made his heartache worse. That his boss didn’t approve added in a factor of slight fear.

Rigsby raised a tentative hand and knocked twice. A muffled call of “one moment” answered him. Amos Van Pelt opened the door, a warm smile painted on his face and an open water bottle in his hand.
“Wayne?”
“Hello, Mr. Van Pelt,” Rigsby was nervous, unsure of how the older man regarded him.
“Come in.” The older man seemed at ease with Rigsby. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Rigsby replied. His brain whirred as he contemplated how to start the conversation.

After a pause, “Sir, you’re aware of Grace’s situation, yes?” When Amos nodded, he continued. “What you may not know is that the day after she was granted bail, she disappeared.”
Amos inhaled a sharp breath. “Disappeared? As in, ran away?”
Rigsby nodded slowly. “Everyone thinks she’s just tried to have a break for a while, but I’m worried about her.”
“I can see that.”
“Do you have any idea where she could be? I’ve checked everywhere I could think of.”
“We have a cabin, out in the woods. About an hour’s drive from here. She might have remembered it,” Amos’ tone was contemplative.
“Yes,” Rigsby, on the other hand, was itching with anticipation. “That’s probably it.”
“She probably went to get away from the city, like we used to do all the time. It’s magical out there.”
Rigsby nodded. “Okay. Can you take me there?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Amos replied hesitantly.
“Sir, I mean no disrespect,” Rigsby began, “but you know Grace better than anyone. Did she run away because she wanted to be alone, or because she wanted to be followed?”
Amos paused, his eyes slightly glassy as memories flooded his mind.
“Okay,” the older man sighed. “Just let me get ready. Did you want to go home and change?”
“No,” Rigsby’s voice was not harsh, simply firm and unyielding. “I’ll be fine.”

X

Grace slid her hands into the warm, soapy water, grasping for the cloth. Slowly, she rubbed the plate, cleaning it absentmindedly as she gazed out the window in front of her. The green-tipped branches swayed in the slight breeze, and there was little noise, bar a few chirping birds. It was peaceful. It was a distraction from the horrendous life she knew was waiting for her back in the city.

“Grace?” a familiar voice ripped through her serenity. Though its timbre and warmth set her nerves on end, it also sent a trickle of fear down her spine. He’d found her.

She froze, her hands stilling in the water as her fingers clutched the plate with surprising force. She could hear the floorboards creaking in the lounge room as Rigsby moved across the floor, agonizingly slowly.
“I know you’re in here.”
Grace didn’t know how to respond. As quietly as she could, she slipped the plate back into the water and lifted out her hands. Bubbles braceleted her wrists, cooling quickly in the air.
“Grace, please,” she could hear the note of pleading in his voice, ringing throughout the house as if it was a church bell, and it resonated in her heart. She debated for a moment, wondering whether to go to him or not, before deciding that she would.
“Rigsby?” she rounded the corner cautiously, afraid of what she might find.

For a moment, the two of them were statues, Grace in the doorway, Rigsby in the middle of the room. Rigsby’s hands remained at his sides, though they were clenched tightly, and his body was taut with tension. She could see every nerve in him straining not to leap across the room at her, with anger or love she didn’t know. She realized he must have been wearing a jacket at some point, but it now lay, crumpled, by the door. His shirt was smeared with small streaks, tiny patches of green and brown decorating the white fabric. He looked exhausted and elated simultaneously. His jaw set, he focused his blue eyes firmly on Grace’s.

Her steps were slow and deliberate at first, quickening and lengthening as she approached him. When she was only a foot away, she threw herself at him, every emotion of the last three days crashing over her like a wave. Her hands slipped around his neck, their slight wetness dampening his shirt. His arms clutched her around the waist, almost too tightly, holding her to him. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and breathed him in. He smelt of home, of nature and strength and Rigsby.
“Grace,” he whispered, his breath tickling the skin of her neck as his hands idly brushed her rouge curls. “We didn’t know where you were. We were so worried. I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Grace was so close to him that her lips brushed his collarbone as she spoke. “I just needed to get away.”
They were both quiet for a moment. Grace listened to Rigsby’s strong heartbeat, and he simply held her.
“I’m scared, Wayne,” Grace murmured, and she could feel a slight shiver run through him.
“I know sweetheart,” he replied softly, the term of endearment making her heart beat a little faster. “But we’re gonna be okay. You did nothing wrong. We’ll get through this.”
She bit her lip at his use of pronouns. We, not I.

Something about the magic of the cabin, the serenity and quiet, the isolation and the feeling of being shut off from the world, made Grace feel as though everything that happened here was separate from her normal life. She stretched up; her muscles tense as she rose to her tiptoes, and softly pressed her lips to his. Within a moment, a fraction of one, she found Rigsby kissing her back. It was a chaste kiss, one filled with promise and hope. We’ll get through this, his voice echoed in her mind. She deepened the kiss, feeling him hold her tighter as she did.
“I’m sorry for everything,” she murmured against his lips.
“You said that.”
“Everything with us. I’m sorry. I was scared.”
With one last brush of his lips against hers, Rigsby broke away. His hands fell from around her waist to grip her hands.
“Don’t be. I know you’re scared now, but we can get through it.”
Grace nodded slowly, a small grin creeping across her face.
“I brought someone to see you,” Rigsby smiled down at her. “Come on.”

Rigsby led Grace outside, and they stood on the porch for a moment, Grace’s eyes surveying the area. Across the small field, propped against his favourite tree, stood her father.
“Gracie,” his voice was so compassionate that it made her heart ache.
She ran across the field, bare feet and all, into his arms, and she felt like she was a little girl again. Tears begun to stream down her face in a steady, slow river, and she half-laughed, half-sobbed into his shoulder.
“Dad,” the word pushed itself past her chapped lips.
“You’re gonna be okay,” her father murmured it into her ear. “I’ll help you. Your team will help you. Wayne will help you.”
Grace pulled away and glanced over to where her colleague stood, leaning against the porch railing and smiling at her. “I know, dad.”
“You’ll get through it. You’ve got that whiz-bang consultant on your side. Good will prevail in the end.”
“Thank you,” Grace hugged her father again, reveling in his warmth. His comfort and safety washed over her like a wave, and she felt like she could do anything. She felt like she could get through this. And, looking over at the man she loved on the worn out porch, she knew his strength, and the strength of her family and her team (read: second family) would most definitely see her through whatever the courts were ready to throw at her.