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The bar was upscale, done in somber gray scale and black granite, very understated. Even the music was muted enough for conversation. Definitely not the usual dance club with lights and sirens. Not that conversation was what the people here were looking for. Patrick noted each flick of eye, each hungry gaze, each clenched hand around a drink, and each hunched shoulder that gave away their hopes, desires, and desperation. He'd seen it all before.
The guy across the bar from him wasn't that different. But the puzzle pieces didn't quite add up.
He just didn't fit into the landscape of the bar, but he didn't seem uncomfortable with the fact. That said he was comfortable within his own skin, even in an alien environment. Intriguing, yes, but not what he'd expected to find here.
Older, with short gray hair, military maybe. He was solid looking, wide shoulders and a deep chest. And good looking. Exceptionally so.
His taste in clothes left something to be desired. He'd put a cheap sports coat over a dark polo shirt. While it was serviceable and no doubt comfortable, it lacked any sophistication or style. Or maybe that was his style. Either way, he was definitely not the corporate type. Maybe law enforcement, but old school. Not even close to the shirts, ties, and suits Cho or Rigsby wore.
Patrick couldn't see his body well enough to see if he was armed, but something about his bearing said he was.
If the guy were looking to get laid, he'd already missed several prime opportunities. In the forty or so minutes since Patrick had started watching him, he'd been approached twice. Each time by a much younger man who was clearly looking for action -- the tight thin t-shirt with tighter jeans being the first clue. But instead of taking them up on their offers, he'd given each of them a smile and a quick negative shake of his head. Which led to the question of why he was in this particular bar?
Maybe he was from out of town, and hadn't realized what kind of bar this was. But if that were true, then the first or certainly the second twink should have given him a clue. Why hadn't he gone screaming into the night? If he were here for the same reason as everyone else, why hadn't he acted on it?
All good and reasonable questions. Patrick took another sip from his soda. He didn't drink alcohol when he was out alone. Even in high end bars, there was always the potential for problems. Besides, drinking lowered his defenses and that was the last thing he needed.
When he looked across the bar again, the guy was gone. A stab of something like disappointment coiled in his gut. That was irrational. He hadn't even spoken to the man.
"Is there some reason you've been staring at me for the last hour?" A deep and slightly amused voice asked.
He somehow managed not to jump. "It's only been about forty-five minutes," Patrick said, smiling and looking up into very nice blue eyes.
That got a smile in return. "Has it?"
"Yes, it has. And I am wondering why you're here?" A quick inventory confirmed the weapon and that the man had a very nice body. As much as he didn't care that much for guns, he wasn't concerned with the idea this guy was armed. His instincts said he was safe.
Damn, and he was good looking. Handsome in a way that said he'd been breath-taking when he'd been younger. Not that he was anything other than gorgeous now.
"Why would anyone be here?" he asked as his smile widened.
Patrick wanted to touch him, to see if he felt as good as he looked."Normally, I'd say to get lucky, but you've turned down two young men already."
"Emphasis on young,"
"True enough." Patrick inclined his head towards the empty seat beside him. "So, if you don't want a young man, what do you want?"
"Oh, I like a little age on my companions," the man said and sat down.
"Can I get you a drink?" Patrick asked. A hundred other questions came to mind, everything from what his favorite color was, and what he liked to do with his time, to where he was staying for the night. But it was too soon for any of that.
"Got one," he said, tilting his glass in a half-salute. His hands looked hard and square: working man's hands. Ringless, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
His mind bubbled with more questions and he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking. Still the basics were required to move on. "I'm Patrick."
The man just nodded.
"And do you have a name?" He usually didn't have this much trouble with a pick-up. A drink and a smile was usually all it took to start them on their way. Did this guy even want to go there?
"Yes." And of course, he said nothing else for a count or two. He just took a sip of his drink. "Jethro."
Patrick's first thought was to ask really, but no one chose that name for an alias. If someone were going to lie, it followed that they would use a less memorable name. Jethro's eyes were amused as if his name were some kind of joke or test; Patrick was even more curious.
Silence followed. Patrick was content to let it linger. Most people eventually filled the silence with chatter, saying anything to fill the void and telling him all kinds of interesting tidbits of information. Not Jethro. He seemed quite comfortable sipping his drink and occasionally glancing at Patrick from underneath his lashes.
There was something about Jethro, something that Patrick couldn't quite put his finger on, but it wasn't bad nor did it set off his alarm bells, and just the opposite in fact, it made Patrick think of comfort and safety. Two things that were not in his life. As he held up his hand to signal the bartender for another soda, Jethro caught it and ran a thumb over his wedding ring.
"Sorry," Jethro said, dropping his hand and standing. "My mistake."
"I'm not --" But he was. Or even if he technically wasn't, he still felt more married than not. God, how many times had he told someone that he was married to avoid the opposite situation?
Jethro tilted his head slightly and studied him in a way that made Patrick's heart pound in recognition. It was as if he were looking through him to some point Patrick knew he shouldn't be able to see.
"Aren't you?" Jethro asked.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. What could he say? That it was just that he needed a little human contact now and again. Not even that often.
The way Jethro was looking at him changed. Understanding and compassion crept onto his face and into his eyes. Too much understanding. How had he picked that up so quickly?
"Easier with men?" It wasn't quite a question. "Doesn't feel as much like cheating?"
Patrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "How did you --" He stopped and ran a hand over his mouth. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
But Jethro went on, "How did I know?"
"Most people would think I was lying." Most people weren't observant enough to pick up the truth, even with his momentary lapse.
"Not me." Jethro looked down at his own ringless finger and a flash of grief passed quickly over his face. It was older than Patrick's, but it was the same look.
He took a breath and as much as he didn't want to give anything more away, he had to ask, "How long does it take?" It wasn't something he could ask anyone he knew.
Jethro looked right at him, into his eyes. "Never. You learn to live with it and you move on."
That was what Patrick was afraid of. That he'd catch Red John and kill him and it wouldn't make him feel any better. There would be no release. He'd have to live with it being like this for the rest of his life. "I'm not sure --"
Jethro put a hand on his arm and squeezed. "Yeah. You can. You've made it this far."
Only because he hadn't found Red John yet. Otherwise he'd have killed himself long ago. "I have a reason..." He didn't need to tell Jethro what it was.
"When that's done, there will be another one." He sounded very sure of that.
Much more so than Patrick felt. "How can you know that?"
There was that half-smile on Jethro's face when he looked at Patrick again. Maybe, it had been that way for Jethro. He didn't know how Jethro's wife had died, but he could see the guilt and some kind of acceptance. Jethro had found a reason to go on.
"Helping other people, helps," Jethro said a minute or two later.
"How very philanthropic of you," Patrick quipped. But he was right. Working for CBI was giving him back something he hadn't even known he'd been missing. It was also a way to make amends for some of the injury that he'd caused.
"If you like." Jethro picked up his drink and finished it. "I've got an early flight tomorrow."
"Right," Patrick said. He stood. "I'll walk you out." He felt a pull towards Jethro that didn't have much to do with how good looking he was.
Jethro nodded.
They walked to the street in silence. And then stood staring at each other. It was rare that Patrick couldn't find the right words to say. "Where are you staying?"
Jethro nodded his head in the direction of Market Street. "Couple of blocks."
"Shall I walk you over?"
"That'd be nice," he said and he held out his hand towards the other side of the street.
The night was filled with the sound of sirens and cable cars and people on the streets. They didn't speak as they walked.
Once through the heavy glass doors of the hotel, Jethro nodded towards the elevator and Patrick followed him up. Nothing else really needed to be said.
In his room, Jethro took off his jacket and pulled his weapon and holster from the back of his pants, and then locked it in the safe. He turned to Patrick. "Do you want a drink?"
"No. Thanks." Patrick moved to stand in front of Jethro, leaning up to kiss him. A hand at his waist pulled him against Jethro's body. It was as hard and solid as it looked. And as comforting.
Patrick shut his eyes and leaned into the embrace. Jethro tasted of bourbon and even that was good. His hand slid under Jethro's shirt and undershirt, running it along his back. There were a surprising amount of ridges and notches, confirming that he'd seen some kind of intense action over a long time. He traced the longest with a finger and pulled back to look into Jethro's eyes.
His eyes were closed, but Jethro said, "Marine."
"Still active?"
"No." And then he kissed Patrick again, silencing him for a time as he pushed his tongue slowly into Patrick's mouth, sliding it over his lips, and then along his teeth to touch Patrick's tongue. He cradled the back of Patrick's head in his wide hand and deepened the kiss, pressing farther into his mouth. Patrick groaned.
When Jethro finally released his mouth, Patrick asked, "Law enforcement, then?"
Jethro didn't respond in any way, which in itself made Patrick sure that he was. Probably federal service, too since most California Law Enforcement agencies had some kind of anti-discrimination policy on the books at least, but federal laws --
Jethro's hand closed on the front of his pants. "Pay attention," he said.
"If only you knew," Patrick said, laughing into his mouth.
"Oh, I know." Jethro kissed him again, lips hard against Patrick's.
What did he know or think he knew? At the moment, Patrick didn't care that much. Not with Jethro kissing him like that. God, it had been too damned long since someone had kissed him like they meant it. His mind was starting to shut down in favor of reeling from the pleasure of Jethro's hands on his body.
The world went hazy as Jethro stripped him and nudged him towards the bed. He went down willingly. Jethro's hands slid along his skin, soothing and enticing. His mouth moved slowly down Patrick's body with a kind of precision that made promises Patrick could only hope he'd keep.
Finally, when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, Jethro closed his mouth over him. Patrick bucked up, unable to keep back the whine of pleasure. God, it felt so amazingly good. He needed this so badly. White hot sensations seared through him, and he came embarrassingly quickly. He barely had time to signal that he was coming.
It took a second or two for Patrick to catch his breath. He rolled over and kissed Jethro, his tongue sliding deep into his mouth, his hands moving over Jethro's hard body. He felt good, solid, under Patrick's hands.
He moved down to Jethro's belly, slowly, taking his time. Jethro made little gasping sounds every time Patrick hit the right spot. He couldn't help cataloging them, even if he'd never need them again. No knowledge was ever wasted.
He nuzzled his nose into the course hair above Jethro's thick cock, breathing in the earthy male smell. Nothing else smelled like this. Desire flared again. He slid Jethro's cock into his mouth, taking it as deep as he could. He got a little better at this each time he did it. And by the sounds Jethro was making, he wasn't doing too badly.
Jethro thrust into his mouth, clearly holding himself back. After a short while, he put a hand on Patrick's head. He pulled back as Jethro had done and used his hands to finish things.
He lay down beside Jethro as he was catching his breath. He'd be ready for another round in a bit. If Jethro was. "Do you want me to go?"
"Not done with you yet," Jethro said, pulling him into his arms. "Sleep for a bit."
"That sounds like a plan." Patrick hated to sleep alone after sex.
In the morning, Patrick woke late, and knew before he opened his eyes that Jethro was gone. Back to DC, no doubt. He'd woken in the night and gone into the bathroom. Jethro's wallet and ID had been on the sink. He hadn't been able to resist. Nice to know he was right about the law enforcement.
He got up, tossing the sheets off. His clothes were neatly folded on the desk and his wallet was on the top. He wasn't carrying his CBI ID, even though he was supposed to. Jethro had his name and if he wanted to know anything else, all it would take was a Google search.
Patrick sighed, and started to get dressed. Last night had been good. Very good. It was too bad that Jethro lived across the country. Or maybe it wasn't. He wasn't ready for more than a night of sex yet. But he was starting to think, in time, he might be.
--finis
10/30/2010