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Watching Patrick get dressed on the mornings they were together was one of Walter's secret pleasures. Pants, shirt, vest, jacket, each piece carefully arranged, uniform and costume and armour all in one, just like the expensive, showy suits Walter had seen Patrick wearing in the television clips that he had once tracked down (well, had his staff track down) on a whim. Not entirely unlike Walter's own clothing, for that matter, every piece chosen for the impression it would give.
Patrick flashed a knowing smile in Walter's direction as he fastened the last buttons on his shirt. He didn't make a show of it--at least not more than he did with anything else--but he clearly knew he was being watched. Probably knew better than Walter himself what Walter was getting out of it. That was part of the appeal of being intimately involved with Patrick Jane: it was impossible to hide anything. Walter suspected that the pleasure of that might pale in time, that he might eventually start to chafe at the imbalance in their relationship, but for now it was different. Stimulating. A new experience.
Walter adored new experiences.
It wasn't just that, of course, he assured himself as Patrick slipped on his vest. Oh, in the beginning maybe. Patrick's arrogant certainty had been a big draw at first, had intrigued Walter as he was rarely intrigued these days. (The blond good looks and the smile hadn't hurt either.) But it was more than that now. He'd developed real affection for Patrick. More than he'd expected. More than...well, more than he'd felt for anyone in a while. He didn't dare use the word love even in his own head--he was sure Patrick would know if he did and that wasn't a conversation he wanted to have just now, for all sorts of reasons--but there was definite fondness.
Patrick reached for his jacket, and for a moment Walter contemplated trying to persuade him to reverse the whole process and come back to bed. Watching Patrick undress was almost as much fun as watching him dress, and the payoff was much more satisfying. But then he abandoned the thought with a sigh. He had a busy morning ahead, including a couple of meetings he really shouldn't miss.
"Wouldn't have worked anyway," Patrick said, tugging on his sleeves.
"What wouldn't have worked?" Walter asked innocently.
Patrick gave him an amused look before turning to check his appearance in the mirror. The early morning sun lit his profile in a way that made Walter wish he had tried to lure Patrick back into bed.
Too late now. He pushed himself up a little higher against the headboard. "Dinner tonight?"
Patrick shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Tomorrow night, then," Walter persisted. "We can stay in."
The stayed in most nights--when they saw each other at all--in deference to Patrick's paranoia. Not that he was entirely unjustified, of course. Walter had read the Red John files. He knew that to court Patrick Jane was to court death, even if one did have the best security system money could buy. Patrick was clearly bothered by the risk. Walter...Walter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill just a little.
Patrick kept his gaze on the mirror and fiddled with his suit, clearly torn between wanting to say yes and feeling like he ought to say no. Walter savoured the moment; it rarely happened, and was the only real sign he ever got that Patrick was with him for more than...well, Walter had never quite figured out why Patrick was with him. The obvious, of course, but sex was easy to come by, especially for someone like Patrick. He could have taken care of that particular need in a dozen less risky ways. And it wasn't money or power, because Patrick didn't care about either of those things. If he had, he could have acquired them on his own. No, there was something else in play. Something that had led him to show up on Walter's doorstep with a bottle of Scotch and an unexpected invitation the night after Walter accepted that Teresa was never going to acquiesce. A thing that led him to tolerate Walter calling him Patrick when everyone else called him Jane, and that led him to contact Walter on particularly good and particularly bad days, texting hotel room numbers from burner phones like a character in a modern spy novel.
And Walter came running. Nearly always. Because what else were private jets for?
"Tomorrow night," Patrick said at last. "Somewhere else."
"All right," Walter said agreeably. He wondered if he could sneak in a gourmet meal for two somehow. Sacramento had a few decent restaurants, and he had all the best chefs on speed dial.
***
Patrick was waiting for him when Walter got to the hotel room. He'd stripped off his jacket and vest, depriving Walter of the pleasure of watching him remove them, but that didn't matter because he jumped Walter almost as soon as he entered the room, backing him against the wall and kissing him with a fierceness that was almost painful.
Bad day, Walter interpreted as he relaxed into the kiss, lips parting before Patrick's questing tongue. But not a worst day. Worst days meant Patrick texted a cancellation. Or simply didn't show up at all, although he'd only done that once, and Walter thought that his reaction to that particular event had probably been enough to prevent a repeat occurrence.
He waited until they were twined together in bed, sweat still evaporating from their cooling skin, before asking what had happened. Careful experimentation had revealed this to be the most effective approach, although his track record on getting an actual answer was still no better than fifty-fifty.
Today, it seemed, was not an answer day. Instead, Patrick twisted onto his side at the question and tucked one arm under his head, the position forcing the two of them apart. "This can't go on."
"I think it's going pretty well," Walter replied reasonably, heroically refraining from pointing out that this wasn't even close to what he had asked.
"You're going to get hurt."
"Have you ever thought that maybe you're misjudging the nature of Red John's interest in you?" He propped himself up on his elbows so he could see Patrick's face. "I mean, he clearly wants you chasing him, but does he really care what you do in your off-hours?"
"That's not what I mean." Patrick angled his head so he could look up at Walter, eyes steady and serious. "One of these days, I'm going to catch Red John."
"I don't doubt it."
"And when I do, I'm going to kill him." Natural tone, as if it were obvious. As if death...as if murder were the only possible conclusion to the long chase.
Maybe it was. "Okay."
A glimmer of impatience flickered across Patrick's face. "Lisbon has sworn she'll arrest me if I do."
"Then I guess you'd better not get caught." Tone just as natural as Patrick's. Two could play at the matter-of-fact murder game.
"But you see, that's the thing. I don't care if I get caught. I don't care if I spend the rest of my life in prison. All I care about is seeing Red John dead."
"Sure," Walter said and tried not to feel hurt. He told himself he would have felt the same way if someone had done to Marie what Red John had done to Patrick's wife and daughter. Back when he'd still had Marie. Back when Marie had been someone else entirely. "But are you really going to make that your first plan? I mean, Red John's a serial killer who has it in for you. Couldn't you just make it look like self-defence or something?"
"Not if it means there's the slightest chance Red John will get away. I won't risk that."
"I see." Walter lay down again, sliding over until he was flush against Patrick's side again. He could feel Patrick force himself to relax, to not pull away. Payment and apology for what he'd just said.
They'd probably be tired of each other by then anyway. Walter's relationships rarely lasted long. He imagined the arguments leading up to the break-up would be sarcastic on Patrick's part and loud on his, and then finally there would be anger and tears and relief. And then Patrick could get himself locked up if he liked.
Sure.
No one got into as many failed marriages as Walter had without a penchant for self-deception.
He slid his head a little closer, buried his face in blond curls and breathed deep. "I'd lie, you know," he said.
"What?"
"If you needed an alibi. If you managed to kill Red John without witnesses, I'd lie for you." It was an exciting thought, lying to the police. Seeing how good he was. What he could get away with. And if it failed, well, he could afford a good lawyer. Or a couple of good law firms.
Patrick was silent next to him for so long Walter started to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. He lifted his head just a little to check, and Patrick stirred in response, chest rising and falling as he drew in a deep breath and released it in a rush that was half sigh, like a man who'd come to a decision.
His words, when they came, were barely audible. "I'll try."
"Try?"
"Not to get caught," he clarified. "I'll try not to get caught, as long as it doesn't endanger my chances of getting Red John."
"I'd appreciate that," Walter said lightly. He slid a cautious arm around Patrick, then slowly tightened the embrace when Patrick didn't pull away. "Trials are tedious, and I'd feel compelled to attend yours if we were still dating." A daring word. They've never labelled this thing before. They haven't really needed to, when they hardly ever venture forth from their various hotel rooms.
"Really?"
"Well, I'd be paying for your attorneys. I'd want to make sure I was getting my money's worth."
"Naturally," Patrick agreed. "But you know, I could pay for my own defence. That would spare you the need to attend."
"But imagine what the tabloids would say then. People would think I was a heartless bastard if I didn't show up for your trial."
"That could be to your advantage. Ruthlessness is an asset in business."
"I like it better when they underestimate me. I find their shock when they realize they were wrong very gratifying."
"Of course you do," Patrick murmured sleepily. Probably faking to end the conversation, but that was okay. Walter had gotten what he wanted.
More than he'd hoped for, actually. He'd thought Patrick would balk at the word dating, but he hadn't. It hadn't even drawn a comment. That made Walter consider other possibilities, possibilities that he rarely allowed himself the luxury of entertaining. Like going on actual dates, in public. Taking Patrick places. Getting his opinion on some of Walter's business associates.
Of course, the only way Patrick would agree to any of that was if Red John were gone. That was a problem. A problem that might perhaps be solved with more resources. (Walter had yet to encounter the problem whose solution couldn't be helped along by money.) He wondered idly who the best people to bring in on this were, and how to do it without upsetting Patrick. There had to be a way.
He'd look into it tomorrow.