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Rigsby felt sorry for the man, he really did. Pitied him even, though he hoped it wasn’t too obvious. The boss had to know what she was getting into by allowing him to tag along on investigations, a civilian, even, unstable. He had no formal training when it came to fieldwork.
He had taken over the second shelf - middle cabinet in the breakroom with his bags of tea, establishing he wasn’t about to go anywhere anytime soon. He’d left a sizeable indent on the worn brown couch too, leaving Rigsby to wonder if he got any sleep at all – one Tuesday he’d slept the whole of their drive back from Sonoma county, and the boss pretended not to notice (she would’ve). Of course, Rigsby knew the real reason he was consulting was because of Red John. Justice for the murder of his wife and daughter, was the given response. As time went on, they suspected it was a similar motive. And yet, as they all knew, revenge wasn’t easily justifiable under the law.
One day he puffed up his chest, standing upright from his desk. “Jane,” Rigsby stepped over the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets. “Could I ask you something?”
“How I knew Sherman was bluffing? Or…” He squinted slightly, “Or, why I haven’t left yet?” Rigsby tried to hide his reaction by clearing his throat, but had the idea that he failed.
“About…why you haven’t left yet. You’re good at closing cases, and we appreciate your help…but people have been trying to nail Red John for what, over a decade?”
“It’s only a matter of time, Rigsby.” Jane met his eyes.
“You mean…he’s bound to slip up right?”
“Something like that,”
“I know you’re the Red John expert but…this is dangerous work; wouldn’t it be better to leave it to the professionals?” The second that the words left his mouth, Rigsby knew he should’ve taken the conversation another route. Obviously, the Mentalist knew what he had been thinking all along, he had to know what people in the Bureau thought of his presence (as a civilian).
“I was always intrigued by Red John,” Jane spoke, “but when he murdered my family, there was no question of whether I’d be involved.” He willed the man to understand, knowing it was futile, no matter how hard the well-intended man tried, mostly, he was glad they couldn’t emphasize, though a small part of him resented their ignorance.
“Rigsby, I need you to find out what’s holding Sherman’s lawyer up, it’s been nearly an hour,” Lisbon spoke from just out of view. He didn’t need to see her to know the woman had her hands on her hips, and that she had chosen to intervene before things became ugly. Or; uglier than they were. Later, Rigsby tried his hand at apologizing for bringing it up, and Jane waved a hand. The subject matter was too much an unknown to breach, and too much a media sensation for him to wrap his head around. Cases involving Red John always became priority – Lisbon and Jane both took lead, seldom letting the team in on when discoveries were made.
“He should trust us by now,” Once groused Cho.
“I think he does…just not with this,” He bit his lip trying not to say more. They all got along remarkably well as it was, no reason to stir up trouble. As the years went by, the team became closer, not without the consequence of watching Jane spiral. He took risks that left Lisbon fuming. Pissed off superiors without a second thought. Rigsby secretly thought that Jane enjoyed the job as a consultant more than he let on. Sure, he pretended to be at ease, but the joy they received from saving a life or the satisfaction derived from catching a criminal hit home. And that became a problem. How could a man seek revenge and stay on task with the cases that came through? It seemed demanding, relentless, this hunt for Red John, drawing lines and leaving shadows on Jane, keeping him awake for days at a time. The years passed on, their list of suspects (Jane’s list, he’d argue) narrowed and one warm day he took off, leaving the four of them behind to be detained by the FBI. Rigsby found himself tightly wedged between colleagues, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The boss had given Jane her keys before he’d run off with a wild look in his eye, and it didn’t take a genius to understand what it was he was doing.
It was on the news, all over the country. The serial killer known as Red John had been identified and killed in McKinley Park, Sacramento, further details to come. Rigsby lost his lunch seeing the coverage, covered Van Pelt’s small hand with his own.
When the FBI finalized their investigation on the members of the Serious Crimes Unit, the couple decided together to move to San Francisco. Grace’s skills as a hacker gave them means to start a business where they could still help people and he found he had never been more grateful for her loyalty to him, for her ingenuity. He was a lucky man.
“It’s cute, really.” Brushing her hair out of her face, Grace met his eyes. The gray townhouse they were looking to purchase sat on a steep hill, no yard for Ben – but there was a park just down the street.
“Yeah, if you like it.” He only nodded. Moving in was a nightmare, considering the heat of the summer. Carrying a medium sized box up the narrow staircase, Grace suddenly stopped to cover her mouth,
“Babe, you don’t want to fall backwards, try and get it to the top first and I’ll take it from there.”
“It’s not that, Wayne.” She suddenly sat against the step, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Could be the change in altitude?” It was not. Eight months later, he was a dad again and this time to a perfect little girl. Life had never been better. They even received word that Jane was back in the states working alongside Lisbon and the Cho, the former of which they had managed to stay in close contact with. It came as no surprise when Lisbon called several weeks later, asking if the two would help out Ardiles, an old contact who suspected he was being watched through his phone. However, nothing prepared him for finding Ardiles’ body in an abandoned warehouse. Wayne’s heart seemed to stop beating in his chest for a few solid seconds.
It looked as if someone was targeting former CBI agents, inadvertently having the effect of pulling back together the team. Lisbon had called J.J. to ask for his help, and he reluctantly agreed to meet up with him in the Sacramento area. “Gang’s back together again,” Rigsby couldn’t help but smile, despite the circumstance that brought them together. He was confident things would work in their favor as he bickered with LaRoche during the short ride, more than ready to do his fair share of detecting even if J.J refused him the chance. Sure, he’d wait in the car for a moment. And then, suddenly the man yelled out his name from within, this one had been rigged, designed to kill, and Wayne Rigsby found himself front and center to LaRoche’s final words and final breath. He didn’t know how quickly things would begin to unravel.
Upon their arrival in Austin, he got the chance to see Cho in a full on Men In Black suit, which was a plus, and there was definitely something going on with Jane and Lisbon – why else would he have returned from exile? If he were honest, Wayne welcomed the chance to tease his friends, a reprieve from the sinking feeling things could worsen. The three of them guys even went for drinks that first night.
"You know, Grace and I…uh we always thought that you and Lisbon would, you know, get together,"
He said, summoning the courage to breach the subject, and knowing well enough Jane avoided giving an answer. Interesting. Making an effort to leave at a reasonable hour, he drove back to the hotel with Cho, missing his wife only after just a few short hours. From his vantage in the passenger seat, he could see the motel door half open, a blackened room barely visible. He had her, that much was evident. Whoever was responsible for the death of Ardiles and LaRoche, who had been targeting members of the CBI had taken his wife. Suddenly, he'd do anything to ensure Grace's safety. Their suspect walked into the bullpen of his own accord, claiming his innocence and reviling in their outrage, and it took all of Rigsby's restraint to keep from throttling him where he stood, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Jane insisted she was still alive, and Rigsby drew up the courage to ask for his help, knowing it would involve going behind Cho's back, even working outside of the law. He knew it might damage his chances at working for the Bureau but nothing was of greater value than the chance to fight for his family.
Wayne Rigsby didn’t know what it felt like to lose your whole world. Your wife, your baby girl. To hold them close and still feel powerless. Rigsby was a simple man, focused on family. Grace was his everything, then (they had wasted too much time). When Maddy was born, his little family was complete. You don’t know the weight of these until they’re pulled away, out of sight, out of earshot, out of your hands.
“We’re okay, Wayne.” She had grasped his arms, tucking her head into chest. “We’re okay.” But he couldn’t be certain until he had his baby girl back in his arms, and his son by his side, the four of them complete. With a jolt, he understood completely what had driven Jane to revenge. The way he had lied, broken their trust, his six month absence. The manner in which he killed Red John a decade after the murders, with his bare hands. Rigsby could kill someone that way easily, and he’d do it willingly if he found himself in the man’s shoes.