A/N: Well, I told myself after I finished Conventioneers that I was gonna take some time off from writing, but my brain was still stuck on Vegas, and this is the result. This is going to be sort of a story collection, rather than a linear progression of one story, focusing on special moments in Wayne and Grace's lives together, as already established in Conventioneers, His Girls and Her Diamonds. If you haven't read any of those stories, you won't necessarily be totally lost, but you won't get many of the references to Conventioneers in this chapter. I hope you all enjoy. - aml
Wednesday, 7P.M.
Wayne Rigsby arrived home after a very long day at the CBI, and was quite surprised to find his house mostly dark and his wife nowhere to be found, despite the fact that she'd been working from home that day and her car was in the driveway.
"Grace?" he called. He heard footsteps tramping up the stairs from their basement, and quickly realized that she'd been doing laundry. Sure enough, she poked through the door with a basket of freshly-folded clothes in her hands. "Are you packing already? We're not leaving until Friday morning."
She paused on the top step, and instead of greeting him with her customary peck on the cheek, she scowled. "That, mister, is a fine way to greet your wife four days before your anniversary."
Rigsby was suitably chastened. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Let me start over, okay?" She gestured for him to continue. "Hi honey, how was your day? Here, let me take the laundry upstairs for you." He pried the basket out of her hands and settled it on his side. He noticed that the vast majority of the clothes in the basket were her lingerie, and a big grin settled on his face at the notion that she would be bringing it with her on their upcoming anniversary trip. As he set the basket down on their bed, he felt her arms wrap around his waist and he turned to draw in her into a deep kiss, tumbling backwards onto the bed as he did so.
"Hey," he whispered huskily, as he leaned in for another kiss. "How are you feeling? Any better today?"
She settled into his lap and smiled. "Much better, actually. The doctors said I'm no longer contagious, but I still have three days of antibiotics to take. But it's fine, I'm good to go for this weekend. You're lucky you haven't gotten sick yourself, you know."
"I had strep three times when I was a kid, I think I'll take my chances."
She leaned in and kissed him on the nose. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you," she warned, moving to put away her laundry. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite fast enough as Rigsby hooked his arm around her, tossing her back onto the bed and pinning her underneath him.
"I love you, Grace," he murmured as he eased down on top of her.
Thursday, 10P.M.
"Grace?" Rigsby called from inside their bedroom closet.
"What do you need, honey?" she yelled back as she tossed her pajamas into her suitcase, confident that she had everything she needed and zipping up the bag.
Rigsby's head poked out of the closet, a very frustrated look on his face. "I can't find my black suit!"
"As I told you when you walked in the door tonight, your black suit is hanging in the front hall closet with the rest of the dry cleaning, including your black shirt and the silver striped tie you love so much." She turned back to her packing and realized she hadn't included her silver pumps. Exasperated, she tugged open the suitcase and pondered how she was going to be able to re-arrange her clothes to make the shoes fit. She heard her husband running back up the stairs and swatted his hands as he tried to remove her pajamas from the bag.
"You won't be needing those this weekend," he growled as he started nibbling a path from her shoulder up to her neck.
Her head lolled back onto his shoulder. "Oh really? And what, exactly, am I supposed to wear to bed, then?"
Rigsby continued nibbling, swiping a particularly ticklish spot behind her ear before responding.
"Nothing."
Friday, 11A.M.
As their cab sat in traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard, Van Pelt brought Rigsby's hand to her lips and gently kissed the inside of his wrist. "I can't believe you talked me into coming back here for our trip."
He turned to her and smiled mischievously. "This is, after all, where it all started. How could I not? Plus, I still owe you that tour of Hoover Dam, remember?"
She smiled broadly. "That's on our agenda for tomorrow, right?" He nodded, loving the childlike glee on her face at finally getting to check another historical site off her "places to visit" list.
The cab pulled up to the front drive of the MGM Grand and a concierge approached to open Grace's door. "Welcome to the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. Is this your first visit with us, ma'am?"
Grace climbed out of the car, flooded by fond memories of their prior visit to the city. "No, actually. My husband and I were here two years ago. We're celebrating our anniversary this weekend."
"Congratulations to both of you. If you need anything during your stay, my name is Chris. The concierge staff is at your service."
Van Pelt turned back to the cab, where Rigsby was unloading their suitcases and settling up with the cabbie. "Wayne? I'm going to head inside and see if we can check in. We're a little early."
"Okay, I'll catch up with you in a minute."
Grace was very surprised to discover that there was no line at the check-in desk; she was certain that since they arrived so early in the day, their room wouldn't be ready and they'd have some time to kill. She approached the desk apprehensively. "Hello, my husband and I are here to check in; I know we're a little early. The reservation should be under Wayne and Grace Rigsby?" Grace Rigsby. Even after a year, she still got tiny butterflies at the sound of her "new" name.
The reservations agent clacked away at her computer and swiftly assembled a packet with a spa brochure, grounds map, and two computer-programmed room keys. "Mrs. Rigsby, your suite is all ready for you. You've been upgraded to one of our lovely Glamour Suites on the 15th floor. The 15th and 16th floors are our VIP level; just insert your room key into the slot in the elevators and they'll take you straight to your floor."
Grace was dumbfounded as the young woman handed over the documents and keys. "I'm sorry, I don't understand … we've been upgraded?"
"Yes ma'am, that's what the computer says. There's a note on the reservation … happy anniversary from an anonymous benefactor?" She was truly puzzled, even more so when Grace relaxed and grinned broadly.
"Thank you - Angela, is it? I think I know who is responsible for this." She motioned to Rigsby, who was headed for the elevators along with the concierge and their luggage.
"What's that big grin on your face for? I've seen that smile only a couple of times, and every time, it's because Patrick Jane has pulled some kind of crazy stunt."
She tapped him on the nose. "Bingo. Matchmaker extraordinaire has struck again. We've been upgraded to a suite on the 15th floor. VIP and everything."
Rigsby whistled. "Nice. Let's check it out, shall we?" They practically raced to the elevators, leaving their poor bellhop in their dust.
Saturday, 9A.M.
Rigsby was up unusually early for a Saturday morning. They had plans to visit Hoover Dam that day, and he wanted to get Grace out of the hotel by 10AM so they'd have plenty of time to tour the site, poke around and get back to Vegas with time to spare before their 8PM dinner reservations. He was showered and fully dressed before Grace was even awake. He leaned down and started to gently tug at the sheets and blankets covering her naked body. She fought back, but not before the linens slipped down to her waist, exposing her breasts. She instinctively covered up with one arm, causing Rigsby to burst into laughter.
"Baby, you do realize that I've seen those before, right? I happen to like them quite a bit, actually. However, if we want to get to the Dam before lunchtime, you need to get moving."
She rolled out of bed and sauntered off to the bathroom, totally naked. "Fine. Too bad you've already showered; I was going to ask you to join me." She disappeared into the bathroom.
"I have to head downstairs to pick up our rental car; I'll be back in a half-hour. Make sure you're ready to go, okay?" he called after her. Hearing nothing but the shower running, he assumed that she heard him and walked out the door.
He returned promptly thirty minutes later, to find Grace tossing items in her purse – sunglasses, sunscreen, camera. Satisfied that she had everything she needed, she turned and graced him with a huge smile and a kiss. "Can we stop for coffee and breakfast on our way out?"
10:30A.M.
They pulled into the parking deck at the Visitor Center nearly an hour later. As they approached the massive complex, Rigsby realized that there was a lot more to do here than he'd originally anticipated and that they probably wouldn't get it all done that afternoon. Some negotiating was going to be in order.
"It looks like there are two options for tours – the Powerplant Tour and the Dam Tour. Which one do you want to go on, babe?"
She perused the brochures and pondered the options. "The Powerplant Tour looks like fun. Why don't we do that one?"
Rigsby walked up to the ticket window and purchased two tickets for the 11AM tour. As they made their way through the complex, Grace took copious notes for her dad, grabbing every map and brochure she could get her hands on, and taking tons of pictures of the dam and Lake Mead. Rigsby had to admit, some areas of the site were pretty picturesque. They stopped at the Visitor Center Observation Deck before heading back to the car, as Grace wanted to rest her feet for a minute and check the pictures on her camera. Rigsby decided to head outside, get some fresh air and have a look at the lake. After a couple of minutes, he heard the telltale "click" of Grace's camera, and turned around to see her grinning. She waved over one of the Visitor Center employees, asking the young woman if she would mind taking a picture of them in front of the lake. They posed cheerfully, arms wrapped around each other and huge smiles on their faces.
3:30P.M.
They arrived back at the hotel after stopping for a quick lunch on the way home. Rigsby almost tripped over a small red envelope on the floor in the foyer, with their names written in silver ink. He flopped onto the couch as Van Pelt settled at the desk to download her pictures onto her laptop.
"What's in the envelope, honey?"
"An anniversary gift from Jane, looks like Cirque du Soleil tickets again."
She didn't even look up from her computer. "Which show? O again? Ooh, maybe Love, that's the Beatles show, that would be fun."
He squinted at the tickets again, deciphering the lettering. "Nope, looks like Zumanity? It's the one at New York, New York. I'm not familiar with this one, though."
"Well, let's go ahead and check it out online, shall we?" She clacked away at her computer, then lapsed into total silence. Rigsby craned his neck to see what she'd found, and discovered a very bizarre look on his wife's face – a mix of surprise, shock, a tiny bit of embarrassment, and was that lust? Confused, he got up to look over her shoulder.
"Oh my God, .God. Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" he asked, dumbfounded.
Grace laughed. "Apparently they call this the 'sensual' side of Cirque du Soleil?"
"You know, we don't have to go, if you don't want to."
She thought about it for a minute. "I'm not going to give Patrick Jane the satisfaction of finding out that we chickened out on this show just because it's a little racy. Besides," she murmured as she stood up and leaned to whisper directly in his ear, "who knows? It could be … inspirational."
All the color drained from Rigsby's face as he considered the implications of her statement. "Are you sure you aren't … inspired right now?" he asked hopefully.
She smiled devilishly. "I think a nap is in order first. You can wait a few more hours, right?"
7:30P.M.
Rigsby was sitting on the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. He was dressed and itching to head out for their 8 o'clock dinner reservation at Gallagher's, but Grace hadn't emerged from the bathroom yet. "Grace? Honey, we need to get going, our reservation is in a half hour, are you ready to go?"
She appeared in the doorway and all the blood in his body went straight to his groin. "I am now." She was wearing the red dress – he'd only seen it on her once during their botched sting at the restaurant in Napa, but once was enough. It was cut to reveal a considerable amount of cleavage and still fit her like a glove. Accentuating the deep V-neckline was a delicate diamond pendant that her parents had given her as a wedding gift. She kept her makeup and hair simple, but the overall effect was stunning.
Rigsby whistled sharply. "Baby, you look amazing. Are you sure we can't just stay in tonight?"
Van Pelt smiled seductively, walking over to the couch, grabbing the end of Rigsby's tie, and gently tugging him to his feet. She leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his lips, then pulled his tie over her shoulder and all but dragged him out of the room.
10P.M.
Rigsby and Van Pelt emerged from Gallagher's restaurant at New York New York after finishing a leisurely dinner and a bottle of white wine. Realizing that they had a little time to kill before heading to the theater, they decided to wander around the New York streetscape, checking out the various shops and restaurants.
When they arrived at the theater, they were escorted all the way down to the front row and directed to one of several two-person couches situated near the stage. Rigsby groaned to himself as they settled into their seats; he'd managed to keep himself together during dinner by focusing on the food, a difficult proposition given that Grace had been playing footsie with him the entire time. Now he had to sit on a comfortable couch less than twenty feet from a group of renowned acrobats simulating sex on a stage with his extremely beautiful wife at his side and he was expected to behave himself for another two hours? No way, no how was that gonna happen. He relaxed as the house lights dimmed and the show started.
About halfway through the performance, he became painfully aware of Grace's hand slowly but surely inching from his knee towards his crotch. As her fingertips stroked him lightly, he tried every trick on the book to ward off his arousal – counting to ten, counting to fifty, counting to a hundred; hell, he even attempted some of the yoga breathing exercises Grace had tried to teach him – but none of it was working. He had to go for the drastic measure. Grabbing Grace's hand sharply, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, carefully avoiding looking down the front of her dress.
"Baby, if you don't stop that RIGHT NOW, we are not going to make it through the rest of this show, and I promise you, everyone in this theater will know exactly why we left early."
Grace smiled and rested her hand on his knee for the rest of the performance.
As soon as the house lights came back up, Rigsby grabbed Grace's hand and pulled her in the direction of the nearest exit, which spit them back out onto Village Street. Given the late hour, they were both surprised to see a ton of people still roaming the main floor and populating several of the restaurants, and they had to dodge numerous groups in their haste to get to the walkway that would take them back to the MGM. By the time they arrived at the MGM's elevators, they were both out of breath and panting. The doors opened, and Rigsby shoved their card key into the slot on the panel, ensuring that they would be the only two people in the car on the way up to the 15th floor. The doors had barely closed when Rigsby, a predatory glare pasted on his face, pinned Van Pelt against the back wall and attacked her with a bruising kiss.
"That is part of your punishment for torturing me during the show," he growled into her ear. Suddenly, the elevator doors opened and she swiped their hotel room key from his hand as she ran out the door. She turned briefly and grinned deviously.
"Punishment? Is that all you got?" And then she took off for their suite.
Rigsby caught up to her just before the door closed and saw her silver heels carelessly tossed off in the foyer. He kicked off his own shoes, dropped his jacket on the couch and reached up to loosen his tie. He stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that Grace was already in the bedroom, red dress hanging over the desk chair, totally naked save for a red lace g-string that could barely qualify as undergarments. She'd tossed all the pillows off the bed and was kneeling at the edge of the mattress, a come-hither look on her face.
"You have two minutes to divest yourself of those clothes, or you're not getting any sex tonight, mister."
Rigsby had never disrobed faster in his life. Tie, dress shirt, pants, socks, boxers – all of it came flying off in record time, haphazardly discarded on the floor wherever each piece landed. He reached for her panties and got both hands smacked for his troubles.
"Not so fast, sweetie. Not until I have you where I really want you."
"And where, pray tell, would that be, my love?" He got his answer quickly, as she grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him up against the headboard, back to the wall. Now I understand why she dumped all the pillows off the bed, he thought to himself. She climbed into his lap, pressing her breasts into his chest and peppering his face with kisses, successfully distracting him from the knowledge that her hands were snaking down his chest, reaching for his erection.
"You've been hard since before we left for dinner, haven't you?" she asked as she slowly stroked her fingernails up and down his cock.
"Yes, oh God, yes. You playing footsie with me under the table didn't help at all."
More stroking, slowly becoming firmer and more rhythmic. "Did you spend the whole night wondering what was under my dress?" He nodded, and bent down to leave trail of kisses and bite marks all around her neck. "I bet you were hoping that I wasn't wearing anything at all, weren't you?"
"All I wanted to do was find a secluded dark spot somewhere I could fuck you without anyone noticing." His breathing was becoming more and more ragged and uneven, and Grace knew that if she didn't take pity on him soon, she was going have what little control of this encounter she had left taken away from her. She reared up onto her knees, reached for his hands, and they pulled off her panties together. Reaching for the edge of the headboard right above his shoulders, she slowly sank down onto his erection, and smiled at the mixture of relief and ecstasy on his face. She immediately felt his hand grip her shoulder blades and his knees pin her into place. He used that leverage to start thrusting impossibly hard into her; she used her leverage with the headboard to counter his attacks, trying to fuse their hips together.
They needed mere minutes to get so close to climaxing that they simultaneously started mumbling semi-coherently.
"Oh God, Wayne, so good. Love it when you fuck me like this. Harder, please. Need all of you, now!"
"Love it when you talk dirty like that, Grace. Keep riding me, just like that. Baby, open your eyes and look at me, please," he pleaded.
She did as asked, pressing their foreheads together. The intensity of the love in Rigsby's eyes flooded her, and she felt her orgasm steadily rippling through her body, until it crashed over her in a massive wave and her muscles started to spasm of their own accord. Rigsby's arms clamped around her back, holding her in place like a vise as his thrusts became more and more erratic and he spilled into her with a roar that would have been deafening, if he'd had enough breath to scream in the first place. They sat like that for several minutes, coming down from the high of having had amazing sex. Rigsby's hold on her lessened just enough for her to climb off his lap, and settle on her side on the bed, resting her head on his arm. They lay like that, arms and legs entwined, drifting off to sleep, until Rigsby broke the silence.
"Baby, it's Sunday. You know what that means, right?"
She smiled sleepily. She knew, but she was going to let him have this one.
"It's the 25th. One year ago today, you made me the luckiest man alive. I love you so much. Happy anniversary."
She drew him down to her and poured every ounce of love she possessed into their kiss. "If you're the luckiest man alive, then I must be the luckiest woman alive. I love you too, sweetheart."
Sunday, 10A.M.
Van Pelt awoke the next morning to the smell of … waffles? Sunday morning breakfast typically meant pancakes, but they weren't at home, so that was out. As she blinked the confusion out of her eyes, she saw her husband moving platters and silverware from a room service tray onto the dining table in their room. She sat up, reaching for the bathrobe that had been placed at the foot of the bed (he was wearing the other one) and wrapped the warm, fluffy terrycloth around her.
"Good morning," she said as she eased gingerly onto one of the chairs and surveyed the food. He'd ordered her favorites – Belgian Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. "This looks delicious. How did I manage to find a husband who knows all my favorite things?" she asked with a wink.
"Good luck, I guess," he responded with a smile. "What time is your spa appointment?" he asked in between huge bites of waffle.
"My massage is at 11:30, then I'm having a manicure and pedicure done, so I should be gone about two hours. Are you gonna be able to entertain yourself while I'm gone?"
"I'm sure I'll find something to do. Am I allowed to gamble on this trip?"
"As long as you use your own money, and nothing out of our joint account, you can do whatever you like." She downed the last of her orange juice. "I'm getting in the shower. You're welcome to join me, if you like."
Rigsby almost choked on his last bite of waffle, but didn't need to be asked twice as he leapt up from the table and followed her into the bathroom.
2P.M.
Grace returned to the suite after her spa appointment and immediately made a beeline for the couch. No amount of yoga or relaxation techniques could override the fact that the massage she'd chosen made her feel like she'd gone ten rounds with a mixed martial artist. Never again, she thought to herself. Next time, I'm choosing a nice, normal massage, not a one-hour torture session. She flipped on the TV to see if her Cubs were playing that afternoon, and noticed a note from her husband on the coffee table.
Grace -
Went downstairs to try my luck at the slots. Only took out $50, I promise! Have a couple of errands to run this afternoon; meet me at 5:30 at our spot in front of the Bellagio. Dinner will be waiting for you.
Love you.
-Wayne
It took her a minute to process what he meant by "their spot," until she remembered their first "real" kiss, on a bench facing the hotel's famous fountains. Smiling at his heretofore well-hidden sentimentality, she relaxed into the couch and settled in to watch some baseball.
5P.M.
Rigsby tapped his foot somewhat impatiently as he waited at the counter at In-N-Out for his order to be called. He'd told Grace to meet him at the Bellagio at 5:30, and knowing her, she'd probably show up a little early, so he needed to get moving. Just then, his number was called; he grabbed the bag of food and hoofed it out the door.
5:30
As Grace approached the lake and saw the little picnic he'd set up for them on "their" bench – cheeseburgers and fries from In-N-Out; a chocolate milkshake for her, and a Cherry Coke for him – she laughed at the extent of his sentimentality. Placing a wet smack on his lips, she sat down and dove into her burger; she'd skipped lunch and was therefore starving.
"How was your massage?"
"I'm still feeling it. Next time I even think about booking another one of those, remind me that every muscle in my body was still screaming at me nearly four hours later."
"Will do. Hey, save some room for dessert, there, I brought along some treats you might like." He reached down into a shopping bag sitting at his feet and extracted a small brown box with a pink bow.
"Ethel's! You remembered," exclaimed as she extracted a candy from the box.
"Of course I remembered. I'm your husband, it's my job to remember these things."
"Doesn't mean you necessarily have to be good at it," she smirked. She ate her last bite of cheeseburger and tossed the wrappers in the bag. She climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Got any more surprises for me?"
"One more, but you'll have to wait until we get back to the hotel for that. In the meantime, the show is starting."
"I'm more interested in what's right in front of me," she murmured as she leaned in to kiss him.
7P.M.
As they arrived back at the hotel, Rigsby steered Van Pelt straight to the couch. "Wait here, honey, I have to check real quick and make sure that your last surprise is ready."
"Do you want me to close my eyes?"
"Only if you want to."
She decided to close her eyes and determine if she could figure out what her surprise was just from the sounds. She heard some rustling coming from the bedroom, then water rushing out of the faucet in the enormous jacuzzi tub and the telltale pop of a cork. Champagne and a bubble bath, if she had to guess. More rustling; clothes this time? "Wayne? Honey, can I come in now? I need to grab your gift out of my bag."
"Yes, babe, everything's ready," he called back.
She rummaged through her suitcase and retrieved the small black box containing his gift. Since she knew she was going to be hopping in the tub, she decided to strip out of her clothes and threw on the bathrobe. Peeking her head around the door of the bathroom, she saw her husband already fully submerged under a mountain of bubbles, two champagne flutes next to his hand, the edge of the tub ringed with peach-scented candles of varying sizes. She couldn't help but giggle.
Rigsby looked up and realized that she'd been staring. "What's so funny, missy? Can't a man enjoy a nice bubble bath every now and again?"
She set her black box down next to a very similar one that she assumed contained her gift, and dropped the robe to the floor. She knew right then and there that she would never get tired of seeing her husband's reaction to seeing her naked. She eased down into the steaming tub, grateful for the heat easing her sore muscles and joints. "Of course a man can enjoy a bubble bath. Oh, this feels heavenly."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and started placing tiny kisses in a trail down from one ear and back up to the other.
Rigsby reached for the champagne flutes and handed one to her. "To many, many more years of married bliss." Their glasses clinked together softly.
"I'll drink to that." She set the glass down on the edge of the tub and turned to settle her back against his chest, loving the heat from the water and the warmth of her husband's love. Rigsby let them soak for a few minutes before he started slowly rubbing his hands up and down her arms – one of his telltale "I have a question but I don't know how to ask it" fidgets. Grace titled her head back into his shoulder and looked up to see a very hesitant look on his face.
"Out with it, Rigsby, what do you want to ask me?"
He sighed; he had never been good at hiding from her when he wanted to talk about difficult subjects. He turned her around and pulled her back onto his lap, so they could have the conversation face-to-face.
"Grace, how do you feel about the idea of having a baby? I know we agreed last year that we'd wait until we were married at least a year, but … it's been a year. I see you with those kids you work with at the after-school program, and I just know you'd be the most amazing mother. We're young, we have great jobs, we're financially stable … I think we're ready for a baby."
Grace was almost reduced to tears at the hopefulness and love in her husband's eyes. She reached up to stroke his face, pausing to collect her thoughts. "I've been thinking about it too. And I have to be honest with you, honey, the idea scares the hell out of me. What if something happens to one of us? Are we really ready? And then I realize that if we waited until we were truly ready, we'd be waiting forever. Soooooo, I guess I'm saying that yes, I want to try to have a baby." Water splashed all over the edges of the tub as Rigsby shot up into a sitting position and started kissing his wife frantically.
"Can we start tonight?" he pleaded.
Grace giggled at his eagerness. She pulled his head back away from her neck and dove for his mouth, matching his eagerness with her own. "No, honey, we can't start trying tonight. I'm still on the pill for another month. I have an appointment with my doctor in a few weeks, I'll discuss it with her then, and maybe we can start trying in July?"
"But we can practice in the meantime, right?"
"Well, you know what they say. Practice does make perfect."
Rigsby stood up out of the tub and reached for their bathrobes, wrapping them both in dry, fuzzy terrycloth.
"I love the way you think."