Fic: After Hours
Title: After Hours
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing/Character: Rigsby/Van Pelt
Disclaimer: You must be joking if you think I own these characters. All hail Bruno Heller and Warner Brothers!
Rating: PG
Warnings: teeny bit of bad language
Spoilers: Russet Potatoes
Summary: Episode tag to 1x18, in which Rigsby finds some clarity and Van Pelt gets an unexpected apology. A companion piece of sorts to Aftermath, part of the "after"-verse.
Friday, 5:30 p.m.
Wayne Rigsby slumped into the soft brown leather couch in the CBI's offices that was usually occupied by one Mr. Patrick Jane. His boss, Teresa Lisbon, had sent the rest of the team home for the weekend early; he'd purposely stayed behind, claiming that he had two days of paperwork to catch up on from when the Professional Standards Unit was investigating his involvement in the team's most recent case. In reality, he was still trying to wrap his head around everything he'd been told that he'd done while under hypnosis, and a few things that were still a little fuzzy, nagging at the tip of his brain, that he was certain the team was hiding from him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing furiously at his temples in an effort to force the memories into his consciousness. He was so focused he didn't even notice Grace Van Pelt gingerly settle herself into the couch by his side.
"Rigsby? Wayne? Hey, are you okay?" She jumped slightly at his startled reaction to her prodding.
"Grace, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still here. Hang on a second - why are you still here? Lisbon sent everyone home an hour ago."
"You've been a little out of it all day, I just wanted to make sure you were okay … see if you remembered anything else."
Rigsby leaned back, and closed his eyes before choosing his words carefully. "It's coming back, in bits and pieces. I think I've blocked out most of what happened on the roof. I can't believe I almost threw Jane off an eight story building." He covered his face with his hands and exhaled slowly and deliberately, in a nearly futile effort to assuage his guilt over nearly killing one of his colleagues.
Van Pelt shifted to her side, leaned over and gently pried his hands away from his eyes. "Rigsby, please look at me." He complied, reluctantly. "Jane doesn't blame you for what happened on the roof; none of it was your fault. Lindsay took advantage of your desire to help her and she used it for her own ends. You weren't responsible for it and you couldn't have prevented it either."
"Your support means a lot to me, Van Pelt." He gave her a wan smile.
"That's what partners are for, right?" They lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment; he could tell Van Pelt wanted to talk about something else, but was hesitant about bringing it up. Please tell me it's not what I think it is ...
"Rigsby, do you remember you, me and Jane going to the park? When Jane was trying to snap you out of the hypnosis and dropped the tracking device in your pocket?" He nodded, a little confused. This is definitely not where I thought this conversation was going to go.
"You scared the hell out of me there. It's like you were there ... but not, not really ... and whatever suggestion she had triggered in you, it frightened you to the point that wouldn't trust either of us. Then you just up and ran out into the street - you nearly got yourself killed, running out into that intersection."
Rigsby turned and looked Van Pelt straight in the eyes. "I did what?" "You ran out into the intersection at the park and nearly got sandwiched between an SUV and a sedan. Almost gave me a heart attack. Jane wouldn't let me go after you - he said you were so far gone that if I managed to catch up to you, things might get ... violent." She saw his face fall at her words and if she knew Wayne Rigsby at all, she guessed that his heart was in the pit of his stomach knowing that Jane had been worried that he might hurt her.
Rigsby's response was resolute and firm. "Van Pelt, if you can trust me on any one thing, it's this: I would never, EVER knowingly hurt you. I would rather die than let that happen. I am so, so sorry, for all of this."
She saw the sincerity in his expression and knew that she trusted him. "I don't doubt you for a second. Anyway, things are back to normal, more or less, right?" She climbed off of the couch and strode over to her desk to gather up her things. "I should be heading home. You sure you're going to be okay?"
Rigsby nodded almost imperceptibly. As she turned to pick up her keys and head out the door, Rigsby hesitated. Now or never, man, now or never. You need to know if this really happened, or if you're just making this up.
"Van Pelt, can I ask you something? There's this thing that's been nagging at me all day and I need to know if it really happened." Van Pelt turned and quirked an eyebrow, sensing where this might be leading.
"Sure, fire away."
Rigsby shoved his hands into his pockets, looked squarely at the floor and started shifting from foot to foot, nervously. "God, this is awkward. Did we - was there - oh, out with it, Rigsby - Did I kiss you in the middle of the bullpen? With the entire team watching? And was Jane more or less cheering me on?" He dared to shift his gaze upward and saw what he thought might have been a laugh coming from Van Pelt. Oh shit, oh shit, she's gonna kill me.
"Yes. Yes you did."
Rigsby stared up at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere except directly at Van Pelt. "Oh shit, just shoot me now."
"Rigsby, language!" "Sorry."
"You were sitting at your desk, and Jane was trying to test you, see if you were really hypnotized. He made you relax, told you to envision the one thing you really wanted to do at that moment, then get up and do it. As soon as you got out of your chair, I knew what was coming."
Rigsby pondered her explanation for a moment, then a realization hit him. "You kissed me back, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did." she replied, quite matter-of-factly.
Oh lord, if anything, that makes me feel worse. We kissed and I wasn't even conscious that I was doing it! Is it possible to screw this up any further?
Van Pelt stood, stock-still, for a moment, waiting for Rigsby to make the next move.
"Grace, I want you to know, I'm sorry for everything that happened that afternoon. I know that a relationship between us would be against the rules, and I want you to know that I respect that fact, even if I don't agree with the policy. And I respect your desire to play by those rules. I would never try to pressure you to do anything you weren't comfortable with. You know that, right?"
She nodded shyly. "I do know that. And I appreciate it. Thank you."
Rigsby quirked a very mischievous smile. "Don't get me wrong, though - the next time I kiss you, and there will be a next time, it will be under the right circumstances and we're both gonna be fully aware of what we're doing."
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
"Is that a promise?" Grace asked as she spun on her heel and headed towards the door.
"That's a guarantee."
Grace smiled as she approached the door, and touched her fingertips to her lips, burning the feeling of their first kiss into her memory. Not everyone gets a do-over on their first kiss, she mused; could be a good thing.
"Good night, Rigsby."
Reviews are love!
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing/Character: Rigsby/Van Pelt
Disclaimer: You must be joking if you think I own these characters. All hail Bruno Heller and Warner Brothers!
Rating: PG
Warnings: teeny bit of bad language
Spoilers: Russet Potatoes
Summary: Episode tag to 1x18, in which Rigsby finds some clarity and Van Pelt gets an unexpected apology. A companion piece of sorts to Aftermath, part of the "after"-verse.
Friday, 5:30 p.m.
Wayne Rigsby slumped into the soft brown leather couch in the CBI's offices that was usually occupied by one Mr. Patrick Jane. His boss, Teresa Lisbon, had sent the rest of the team home for the weekend early; he'd purposely stayed behind, claiming that he had two days of paperwork to catch up on from when the Professional Standards Unit was investigating his involvement in the team's most recent case. In reality, he was still trying to wrap his head around everything he'd been told that he'd done while under hypnosis, and a few things that were still a little fuzzy, nagging at the tip of his brain, that he was certain the team was hiding from him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing furiously at his temples in an effort to force the memories into his consciousness. He was so focused he didn't even notice Grace Van Pelt gingerly settle herself into the couch by his side.
"Rigsby? Wayne? Hey, are you okay?" She jumped slightly at his startled reaction to her prodding.
"Grace, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still here. Hang on a second - why are you still here? Lisbon sent everyone home an hour ago."
"You've been a little out of it all day, I just wanted to make sure you were okay … see if you remembered anything else."
Rigsby leaned back, and closed his eyes before choosing his words carefully. "It's coming back, in bits and pieces. I think I've blocked out most of what happened on the roof. I can't believe I almost threw Jane off an eight story building." He covered his face with his hands and exhaled slowly and deliberately, in a nearly futile effort to assuage his guilt over nearly killing one of his colleagues.
Van Pelt shifted to her side, leaned over and gently pried his hands away from his eyes. "Rigsby, please look at me." He complied, reluctantly. "Jane doesn't blame you for what happened on the roof; none of it was your fault. Lindsay took advantage of your desire to help her and she used it for her own ends. You weren't responsible for it and you couldn't have prevented it either."
"Your support means a lot to me, Van Pelt." He gave her a wan smile.
"That's what partners are for, right?" They lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment; he could tell Van Pelt wanted to talk about something else, but was hesitant about bringing it up. Please tell me it's not what I think it is ...
"Rigsby, do you remember you, me and Jane going to the park? When Jane was trying to snap you out of the hypnosis and dropped the tracking device in your pocket?" He nodded, a little confused. This is definitely not where I thought this conversation was going to go.
"You scared the hell out of me there. It's like you were there ... but not, not really ... and whatever suggestion she had triggered in you, it frightened you to the point that wouldn't trust either of us. Then you just up and ran out into the street - you nearly got yourself killed, running out into that intersection."
Rigsby turned and looked Van Pelt straight in the eyes. "I did what?" "You ran out into the intersection at the park and nearly got sandwiched between an SUV and a sedan. Almost gave me a heart attack. Jane wouldn't let me go after you - he said you were so far gone that if I managed to catch up to you, things might get ... violent." She saw his face fall at her words and if she knew Wayne Rigsby at all, she guessed that his heart was in the pit of his stomach knowing that Jane had been worried that he might hurt her.
Rigsby's response was resolute and firm. "Van Pelt, if you can trust me on any one thing, it's this: I would never, EVER knowingly hurt you. I would rather die than let that happen. I am so, so sorry, for all of this."
She saw the sincerity in his expression and knew that she trusted him. "I don't doubt you for a second. Anyway, things are back to normal, more or less, right?" She climbed off of the couch and strode over to her desk to gather up her things. "I should be heading home. You sure you're going to be okay?"
Rigsby nodded almost imperceptibly. As she turned to pick up her keys and head out the door, Rigsby hesitated. Now or never, man, now or never. You need to know if this really happened, or if you're just making this up.
"Van Pelt, can I ask you something? There's this thing that's been nagging at me all day and I need to know if it really happened." Van Pelt turned and quirked an eyebrow, sensing where this might be leading.
"Sure, fire away."
Rigsby shoved his hands into his pockets, looked squarely at the floor and started shifting from foot to foot, nervously. "God, this is awkward. Did we - was there - oh, out with it, Rigsby - Did I kiss you in the middle of the bullpen? With the entire team watching? And was Jane more or less cheering me on?" He dared to shift his gaze upward and saw what he thought might have been a laugh coming from Van Pelt. Oh shit, oh shit, she's gonna kill me.
"Yes. Yes you did."
Rigsby stared up at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere except directly at Van Pelt. "Oh shit, just shoot me now."
"Rigsby, language!" "Sorry."
"You were sitting at your desk, and Jane was trying to test you, see if you were really hypnotized. He made you relax, told you to envision the one thing you really wanted to do at that moment, then get up and do it. As soon as you got out of your chair, I knew what was coming."
Rigsby pondered her explanation for a moment, then a realization hit him. "You kissed me back, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did." she replied, quite matter-of-factly.
Oh lord, if anything, that makes me feel worse. We kissed and I wasn't even conscious that I was doing it! Is it possible to screw this up any further?
Van Pelt stood, stock-still, for a moment, waiting for Rigsby to make the next move.
"Grace, I want you to know, I'm sorry for everything that happened that afternoon. I know that a relationship between us would be against the rules, and I want you to know that I respect that fact, even if I don't agree with the policy. And I respect your desire to play by those rules. I would never try to pressure you to do anything you weren't comfortable with. You know that, right?"
She nodded shyly. "I do know that. And I appreciate it. Thank you."
Rigsby quirked a very mischievous smile. "Don't get me wrong, though - the next time I kiss you, and there will be a next time, it will be under the right circumstances and we're both gonna be fully aware of what we're doing."
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
"Is that a promise?" Grace asked as she spun on her heel and headed towards the door.
"That's a guarantee."
Grace smiled as she approached the door, and touched her fingertips to her lips, burning the feeling of their first kiss into her memory. Not everyone gets a do-over on their first kiss, she mused; could be a good thing.
"Good night, Rigsby."
Reviews are love!