Patrick had been in more life
and death situations with the CBI than ever in his life. He wasn't used to it
per se, but it didn't floor him quite as much as the first time it had
happened. When
By the time he'd stopped Boscoe's morphine drip, he'd convinced himself the man would die anyhow. It had been the only way to work himself into the right frame of mind to do so and he'd needed to know what Boscoe did. Even so, the man's death had come as a body blow to him. Finding out that Red John had had Vanessa kill to get him back on the case still made him nauseas.
Not that it was stopping him from going through the file Boscoe had left for him.
"Jane."
Startling a bit at Cho's soft call of his name, Patrick looked over to find the man standing in the doorway. His face had the faintest hint of disapproval, which made Patrick want to squirm, though he showed neither that nor his startling. "Yes?"
"I'm driving you home."
Cho was the one person he could seldom read and that moment proved no exception.
Patrick frowned and said, "I have to…"
"Go home now," Cho interrupted.
His voice maintained the same
steady, even tone that it always did, but Patrick sensed something dangerous in
the man's posture. Patrick gazed at him for a long moment and then carefully
closed the file and boxed it back up, taking the box with him back to their
office area. He set it in
Cho waited just outside, arms folded over his chest. What little expression he had said, "Don't mess with me right now."
Patrick simply walked quietly by him towards the hall and the main exit. It wasn't often that this side of Cho came out, but he knew better than to test the other man in a real mood. Still waters, and all that. He walked with Cho to the SUV outside and got in without a single word, not wanting to agitate him.
Cho pulled into the garage of Patrick's apartment building, which surprised him. He looked at the other man and asked, "You're really driving me home?"
He'd thought it was code for, "Let's go back to my place and have a lot of sex, I need to work out some anger issues."
"I'm really driving you home," Cho agreed. "And you're going to invite me in and we're going to talk."
Patrick's lips pursed as he thought that over. Cho's face was still unreadable, so `talking' could mean talking about feelings, work, or Boscoe's death, or any number of things that Patrick really didn't want to talk about. Like their pseudo-relationship.
"That wasn't a request."
Patrick restrained a sigh as he climbed out of the SUV and walked to the elevator. It was a secured garage to which Cho had the access number, so they didn't see anyone on the way up, the elevator just went right up to his floor. Cho remained silent beside him on the trip up and it began to make Patrick really nervous.
They were at his apartment only a few minutes later and, once inside, Patrick walked to the kitchen just to put off the inevitable. The very lack of communication meant that Cho wanted to talk about their relationship, such as it was, and he wasn't ready for things to change. No strings or emotional entanglements suited him just fine. He didn't want someone who counted on him, didn't want to need to `be there' for another human being. Life was short and cruel and in the end you too often died in pain and alone.
When he returned to the living room, Cho stood in the middle of the room as if he owned it, no sign of discomfort at the wait. It began to irritate Patrick and he snapped, "Well? What do you want to talk about?"
It lacked his usual finesse, but the whole situation was daunting. Cho was challenging under normal circumstances, but when he had his teeth in something, it was impossible to shake him loose.
A faint smile quirked briefly across Cho's mouth and he said, as if reading Patrick's mind, "You don't want anyone who cares about you in your life. You're happy with no strings."
"I am," Patrick agreed cautiously. "You aren't?”
Dark eyes so different from his looked back at him for a long moment before Cho told him, "You're not really happy with no strings, Patrick. You're a deeply loving person whose heart got shattered in a horrific way and never wants to experience that pain again."
He drew back as if Cho had punched him, hand going to his stomach. Cho stepped forward as Patrick moved away from him. He kept walking closer, inexorable, until Patrick's back hit the wall.
Standing directly in front of him, not actually touching him but close enough so that his body heat warmed Patrick, Cho continued, "You're going to love me one day, Patrick. You're going to realize that no one gets you like I do and then you're going to want me in your bed again, but permanently."
Patrick swallowed against a dry throat and managed to say, "You're in my bed now, on a semi-irregular basis."
"Not anymore."
Patrick's eyes widened and he demanded, "You're breaking up with me because you think I'm going to love you one nebulous day in the future?"
That crooked smile returned and Cho corrected, "I'm giving you room to realize that you love me right now, Patrick."
Putting a hand on Cho's chest, Patrick forced as natural a smile as he could as he said, "Why give me room? I can…"
Cho stopped his words with a kiss. It was soft and slow, gentle, and set Patrick's heart to beating in a near-panic with the unsaid emotion it conveyed. Cho wasn't a talker, he was a doer and Patrick had never been so convinced of that as just at that moment.
When Cho pulled back, he said firmly, "No sex until you figure out that you're in love with me. It just clouds the issue."
"Cho…Kimball, come on," Patrick protested. "You can't really be serious about this!"
He was, though, and left Patrick there, walking to the door. Cho stopped there to look back and tell him, "Three simple words, Patrick. I'll start. I love you. Not difficult to say because they're true. Good night. Sleep well. I'll be back in the morning to pick you up."
Patrick's mouth was still hanging open in shock when the door closed behind Cho. It took a few minutes to shake off the stupor in which the other man had left him. Patrick finally walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured a stiff drink, bringing it back to the sofa with him. Staring into the golden liquid, Patrick wondered when his life had gotten so complicated and how to simplify things.
It wasn't until Patrick realized that he didn't want to simplify his life again because that meant really breaking up with Cho. Once that hit him, he groaned and downed the drink. Flopping back on the sofa, he stared up at the ceiling and muttered, "Just not fair."
Then again, life seldom was.