Jane scanned the puzzle rapidly, moving from square to square to square. 

Six of the fours were missing, seven of the eights, and only four of the nines. He sighed in frustration. Experience said that if most of the nines were already filled in, the game would be too easy and he’d finish under ten minutes. So much for that. Killer Sudoku was supposed to be killer, wasn’t it? It was hardly ‘killer’ if each puzzle took just a few minutes to solve.

He sighed again and started to write in a ‘9’ in the topmost center square, just to be brash, then thought better of it. He wrote it in the margin above.

Thirty minutes later, he’d filled the perimeter with miniature guesses but no actual answers. Normally, he wouldn’t have to guess. Normally, he’d zip through, filling in one square after another, almost without thinking.

Not today. Today he was making a hash of it.

It would help, of course, if he could concentrate. He’d been at it for almost two hours, lying on his couch per usual, and he hadn’t completed a single puzzle.

Maybe he should go for a walk. The sun would feel good and it would clear his head—exercise always got the brain going. But, no, if he left now, he might miss out on the clandestine drama taking place not eight feet away. 

Of course, he could take a quick jaunt around the building, just a few minutes to see what was going on in the other departments. The gang unit was probably busy—they always were. He could wander over and check it out.

‘Spying’ was what Cho called it just last week when he caught Jane sneaking out of Bosco’s office.

On the contrary, Jane had retorted, he was just making sure everything was as it should be, just a little quality control.

He’d expected a sigh or at least one of the looks that Cho was so fond of giving, but surprisingly, he’d just turned on his heel. Too late, Jane realized how he’d taken the off-hand comment—that if they’d been on their game, they would’ve known what was going on underneath their very noses, and would’ve been able to stop what needed to be stopped. And four Federal agents would still be alive, Sam Bosco would still be alive.

But Rebecca, that sly minx, had pulled a fast one.

Jane scowled at the page and wrote in a careless four between the five and the two on the bottom left row.

She’d been an unpleasant surprise, one even he hadn’t seen coming. 

And he’d love to think it had been sheer incompetence on Bosco’s part, the fact that Red John had slipped a spy into their midst so damn easily, but the truth of the matter was, Bosco had simply been no match for Red John’s reach and wiles; he’d had some measure of intelligence, and couldn’t be blamed for being out maneuvered.

“Stuck?”

Jane looked up to find Lisbon standing before him, arms crossed over her breasts. She smelled of gunpowder, which meant she’d just come from the firing range or whatever they called it. Shooting gallery was the term at carnivals, but that was for fun and she didn’t look like she’d been having fun. A big loop of hair was caught on her hair band, and she still had the marks from her safety glasses around her eyes. It made her look like a raccoon. A cute raccoon with messy hair.

He took a breath to answer her, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Cho pick up his cell and begin to text.

“Well?” she asked, comically exasperated, when he didn’t answer fast enough. 

He smiled up at her. “Just gathering my thoughts. Any new cases?”

“If there were, do you think we’d be here?” She waved her arm sarcastically.

He didn’t take offense—she hated to be still, hated to be office-bound.  The same as he, of course, but at least he wasn’t stuck indoors. He had the freedom to get up and go for a walk, get out and get some sun. 

Unless there was a very good reason to sit on the couch and wait. “I can drum up business if you want.”

She half-snorted, half-smiled. “And how would you do that? Go out and murder someone?”

Cho set his phone down and went back to whatever report he was working on. “Hmm? Oh, of course not. I just meant I could go over the cold case files and see if anything hits.”

She smiled, this time genuinely. “No, that’s okay. Something will come in.” She turned and walked away, calling out, “It always does.”

“Hmm,” Jane repeated thoughtfully. Yes it did, a sad fact of life. Still, it meant for job security, not a bad thing these days. And if he said that, no doubt everyone in the room would stop working and stare in shock. 

He sighed again and went back to working on the puzzle. Or rather, his pretense of working on the puzzle.

Because he was—and had been for the last two hours—spying. This time for real.

On someone who, if he knew he was being spied upon, would be furious. So furious, he’d probably take some bizarre retribution out on Jane. Like refuse to talk to him for the next month, or possibly even withhold sex.

Of course, if that happened, Jane would have proof positive that his suspicions were correct because, normally, a guilty man would react so strenuously to such a minor infraction like spying.

Of course, he was forgetting one important fact: Cho’s reactions were never, ever, normal. The man could be the picture of enigmatic when he chose and since he mostly chose, well…

Jane’s attention was diverted again. He’d been waiting and there it was—Cho glanced at his cell, then picked it up and began to text.

It had been going on all morning.

Starting at nine-eighteen, give or take a few seconds.

Cho would get a call, read the message, not smile the tiniest of smiles, type something in, then go back to work.

Seven times so far, every twenty minutes or so. It was driving Jane nuts.

Because they were suppose to share things, weren’t they? Things other than bodily fluids, hair care products, and clothes when Jane could get away with it. Things like information and details and plans.

Apparently not. 

It could be something innocent. Cho was due for a Bureau review in a week—the confirmation letter had been on the refrigerator for a month. And one of his sisters had left a message on his answering machine about a party taking place the following weekend. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jane and no doubt wasn’t planning on it.

Then there was golf game that Michaels had set up. How he persuaded Cho to take part, Jane didn’t know and he really didn’t care, even though he planned on crashing it. But it wasn’t the type of event that required secrecy and besides, Cho had already mentioned it a few times.

So all in all, it was a normal week. No official events that would require constant communication. No family emergencies. Just call after call after call.

“Are you okay?”

Jane looked over. Van Pelt, was staring at him with a small frown. “I’m fine.”

“Because you—” She shrugged and made a gesture.

“Because I what?” 

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again, her eyes shifting back and forth. “You sort of growled?”

Jane snorted—of course he hadn’t. “Of course I didn’t.” He went back to the puzzle, cutting the conversation short, hoping that Cho hadn’t heard. It was important, at this stage, that Cho not suspect a thing. Everything was fine and normal, Jane was fine and normal.

But the damage was done; his quarry had stopped working and was peering around his monitor.

Jane froze, eyes firmly trained on the puzzle as Cho retreated behind his computer once more and announced casually, “I’m going to get a sandwich. Anyone want anything? Jane?” 

Jane hesitated. There were a couple responses on the tip of his tongue, the first being, ‘You made your lunch this morning. I watched you do it.’ The second was, ‘Sure. I’m always up for an excursion,’ even if it was just a mediocre meal at the rather mediocre shop down the street.

But if his instincts had been whispering before, they were screaming now. So he just recrossed his legs and glanced over with a pleasant, “Not for me, thanks. I’ve got things to do.”

“What things?”

“Just things.”

Cho shrugged and turned. “Rigsby?”

Rigsby was already up and reaching for his coat. “I’m so there. I want to stop by drugstore. My allergies are killing me.”

“Okay, but I’ve got to be back in thirty.” Cho stood up and slung his jacket over his shoulder.

He was wearing a shirt Jane had never seen until that morning. A grey-blue Oxford with long sleeves that he’d rolled up past his elbows. It suited him. Of course, that would hardly be a difficulty and Jane imagined saying that. Saying, ‘You look lovely,’ or, ‘I can’t wait to take that off you. Can I come over tonight?’ 

But no—Cho would either have a stroke or he’d close up so tight it would take a crowbar to get him open again, maybe for a very long time, and that was something Jane wouldn’t risk. 

Even though it would be fun, pushing his buttons like that.

“You sure you don’t want anything, Jane?” Cho asked, not very enthusiastically.

Jane waved his book. “Yeah, I’m not really hungry.”

Cho raised his eyebrow and Jane wondered if he’d overplayed his hand. He was generally not not hungry and Cho knew this. But all he said was a mechanical, “Okay,” and jerked his head to Rigsby. “C’mon.”

Jane smiled sunnily and watched Rigsby try not to touch Van Pelt’s shoulder as he passed behind her. Watched Cho not watching him as they strode down the hall.

As soon as they were out of sight, he jumped up and trotted to the old copy room. It was one of the spots that had been left as-is when the building had been updated. It was small and only had room for a tiny desk, a battered, putty-colored filing cabinet, and several stacks of cardboard storage boxes. It did, however, have a window, and that window looked out over the guard shack.

He squeezed between the desk and the boxes and peered out. Sure enough, within a few minutes, Cho and Rigsby appeared. They waved to the guard, and walked through the gates, turning left. 

He smiled. He had maybe ten or fifteen minutes, because if he knew his Cho—and he fancied he did—the half hour was a ruse and he’d return in twenty. 

When he got back to the bullpen, he was pleased to find that the place had thinned out. Lisbon was gone, as was Michaels and Johnson. Only Van Pelt was still there, engrossed in something on her computer, absently eating a yogurt.

He hurried to Cho’s desk and sat down. No cell, but he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, so he looked under folders, scanning for anything unusual. 

Nothing there. And nothing in the top drawer—it was the same as always, everything neat and in its place. He opened the side drawer, aware that Van Pelt had stopped eating and was staring at him—he could feel her gaze on the top of his head. 

Without looking up, he said, “Yes, Grace?”

“Does Cho know you’re spying on him?”

“If I was really spying on him, I’d hardly tell him. And in any case,” he said as he pulled out a notepad and flipped through it. Nothing. “This isn’t spying. Not really.” Even though it was.

“What are you looking for?”

Jane settled for, “Things,” because he really didn’t know. A name, an address, a date? Something, anything, that would explain Cho’s cagey behavior.

“I’m going to tell him.”

Jane looked up. Her cheeks were flushed and she was frowning. Kind of like an angry kitten and he smiled at the thought. He returned the notepad to its place and pulled out a date book. “No you won’t.” 

“Why not?”

“Because then I’ll tell Lisbon about a certain someone and another certain someone.” The date book was blank. Someone, probably his mother given the ornate cover, had given it to Cho and he hadn’t wanted to throw it away. He was a good son, something Jane thought endlessly charming.

“What does that mean?”

He straightened up and closed the drawer. How frustrating. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” she hissed.

“Yes.”

“That’s childish.”

She was angry now, but it was muted by embarrassment and fear. “No, I’m just calling your bluff.”

She leaned over and whispered harshly, “By threatening me?”

“Yes.”

“Jane—”

Jane sighed. And gave up. 

He rose and sat on the corner of Van Pelt’s desk. Her cheeks were a bright pink and she looked as if she might burst into furious tears at any moment. He took her hand and said calmly, “Grace, if you’re going to keep secrets, people will use them against you.”

“So you’re saying that I should tell Lisbon about Rigsby and me so I can then tell Cho about you spying on him?”

He wanted to smile at her indignation. “Of course not. You can tell Cho whatever you want. I don’t care. You can tell Lisbon whatever you want. I don’t care about that, either. But I know you won’t.”

“Why?”

He raised his hand and counted off on his fingers. “A? Because you’re a nice person and you wouldn’t want to hurt Cho. And B, because if you told Lisbon, you’d hurt Rigsby and you’d never want that. Besides,” he added, just to see her blush more, “you like being a bad girl.” 

She flushed a brighter pink, but she also cracked a smile. He grinned and squeezed her hand firmly. “See? It’s fun. Rules are for sycophants and ladder-climbers.”

“No, they’re not. They’re—”

“Meh.” Jane shrugged her words away. He didn’t want to have that conversation with her. They’d had it enough times and it bored him.

He was getting up when the elevator chimed and Lisbon came around the corner followed by Cho and Rigsby. They were all carrying matching white paper bags.

He waited until they were at the office door and then let go of Van Pelt’s hand, deliberately slow. 

Rigsby reacted predictably—he frowned and looked back and forth between them, stopping short of putting his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”

“Just chatting.”

“Yeah, well…” Rigsby trailed off and stomped to his desk. 

Lisbon muttered, “I don’t want to know,” and hurried to her office.

Cho raised one eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“Depends,” Jane said cheerfully.

“On what?”

“Oh…” He patted Van Pelt’s hand and stood up. “This. And that.” He went back to his couch and lay down with a certain sense of satisfaction. Let Cho stew on that. Let him see how much fun secrets were. 

He smiled to himself, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

***

 

He knew the minute he woke up that he’d slept too long. He sat up quickly, thinking ‘Damnit,’ because he’d just meant to doze and by the long shadows, it was late afternoon. Almost too late, but not quite, he realized as he looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to five and Cho rarely left before the official time, even with the reduced budget and reduced hours.

He craned his neck. Lisbon was in her office, on the phone. Rigsby was sitting at the conference table with Van Pelt. Cho was at his desk, hands laced behind his head, talking to Michaels. 

Jane stretched, then stretched again when he saw he’d caught Cho’s eye. He got up and sauntered over to stand next to Michaels. “Boys.” 

“Jane,” Michaels sneered. Or tried to. He’d gotten a little nicer in the last few months. Jane would have to look into that, look into what was making him almost human these days. But later, when he had time.

“Anything going on?”

Cho shook his head. “Lisbon just said we could leave early if we want. To make up for the hours last week.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Michaels said, turning his back on Jane. “How’d it go?”

“Anderson confessed,” Jane answered happily for Cho, walking around to stand at Cho’s shoulder. “He’d hidden the notes in an old boathouse and was planning on selling them the next time he flew to New York.”

“Good job,” Michaels said, still speaking to Cho.

“Tell him,” Cho dropped his hands and nodded to Jane. “He’s the one that figured out the reference to ‘note’ didn’t refer to a letter, but money. We’d still be searching the house and questioning Anderson’s parents if it wasn’t for Jane.” He tapped his desk, like he did when he was nervous or angry.

Michaels scowled and Jane preened. He glanced down at Cho, wanting to catch his eye, even if it was impossible at this odd angle, and his heart jerked in his chest. 

Because Cho had his calm face on. Flat, impenetrable, no expression whatsoever. He was only ever that still and calm when there was something he was trying to hide, something he absolutely did not want the other person to know.

Jane scanned the desk quickly, trying to see what Cho didn’t want him to see. The only thing on his desk, other than the file for the O’Neill case, was his cell phone. And, as Jane watched, Cho’s little finger, twitched, just barely.

Hmm. Jane stuck his hands in his pockets and backed away, saying carelessly, “Well, if there’s nothing going on, I might as well go run some errands.” He smiled benignly. Camouflage, throwing the hunter off the scent. Or the quarry, as the case may be.

He turned to the room and said, just as casually, “What’s everyone doing tonight?”

“I’m going over my notes on the Anderson case,” Van Pelt said.

Rigsby rolled his eyes. “Not me. The game is on and I’ve got beer and chips, so I’ll be on my couch.”

Jane didn’t ask who was playing—he didn’t care. He turned. “And you, Agent Cho?”

Cho shrugged. “Nothing. Maybe laundry.”

“Yeah? That sounds fun.”

Michaels snorted and Cho said nothing.

Jane nodded, not bothering to ask Michaels what he was doing. “Well, it seems as if everyone has their evening planned out. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave a general wave and left, picking up his Sudoku book on the way out.

He kept up the pretense as he strolled down the hall, whistling Mary Had a Little Lamb, knowing that Cho was watching his every step.

 

***

 

It took him eight minutes to get to his car, exit the lot, make a circuitous route around two blocks, only to end up pretty much where he started.

It was the perfect location—across from the office, but far enough away that there was no chance of discovery. Plus, a row of six-foot high bushes edged the building—he could use them for cover if worse came to worse. 

All because Cho might also knew about the third floor copy room and was watching.

Jane got out and scurried up to the building, then crept along the perimeter until he reached the corner. He peered around. 

Through the fencing, he could just make out Cho’s Ford, parked where it usually was these days.

Jane grinned and leaned against the building. For the last three weeks, Cho’d been parking in the front because the spaces were wider and he figured he’d get less dings. He was like a mother hen with that new car.

He smiled again, remembering the day Cho had called and told him to come down and look at the present he’d bought himself. 

Jane’s first words, ‘It’s the same blue as mine,’ were a mistake. Cho’s face fell and he put his hands on his hips, looking the car over as if wondering what the hell he’d been thinking. Jane, of course, tried to rectify his faux pas, saying that the blues weren’t similar, not even close, and besides, it was obvious the two cars were a league apart, the one so new and beautiful, the other so old and beat-up.

Cho had finally told him to shut up. Then asked if he wanted to go for a drive. Jane said, ‘Of course. As long as it’s to lover’s lane.’

After his initial embarrassment, the light returned to Cho’s eyes and by the time they hit the highway, his good mood had returned. They didn’t go to lover’s lane, but the next best thing. They drove to Folsom Lake and found a lonely spot to park. Jane tried to talk him into christening the back seat, but Cho rolled his eyes and said dryly, ‘I don’t think so.’ 

Instead they talked about everyday things, something they hardly ever did. Jane found out that Cho preferred his mother’s cooking to any other, which wasn’t a surprise. That he’d played the clarinet in grade school, which was. 

It was romantic. Cho had even let Jane hold his hand.

He was trying to remember Cho’s schedule, thinking it might be nice to take a longer drive sometime, when people began exiting the building. And then more and more as the workday ended. Rigsby and Van Pelt came out about five-fifteen. Then Michaels and Jameson and a few others that Jane didn’t know so well: the two Heathers, the guy from H.R. who’d just broken his foot.

Finally, just when he was getting worried that he’d miscalculated, out Cho came with Lisbon by his side. They spoke for a moment, then went their separate ways. On his way to his car, Cho got out his phone and dialed. The conversation was brief, but he laughed at whatever the other person said; Jane could clearly see it. 

Cho never laughed. 

Well, hardly ever, and Jane’s curiosity and frustration tripled. “Laundry, my ass,” he muttered as he hurried back to his own car and got in.

Now came the test—if Cho turned west he’d probably be heading home. If he turned east, well, then, he was a liar because he never turned left to go home.

Jane wasn’t sure which he wanted. The former, yes, because that meant that Cho hadn’t been lying to him. But the latter was more exciting; he was bored, and it would be fun doing some private eye stuff.

Even so, when Cho passed a couple hundred feet away going east, Jane’s stomach twisted with a spark of unexpected irritation. He pulled out of his space, thinking, ‘Here we go.’

The drive was short. Cho drove steadily, not speeding, even though that would’ve been hard in rush-hour traffic. He headed almost due east, then jogged over one block, then east again.

Jane had to work at keeping a few cars between them, work at staying out of his line of vision. It was a lot harder than it looked on TV. At one point, when the Subaru in front of him ducked into a parking spot unexpectedly, he was sure he was done for, but a man in a black Jeep cut him off, giving him cover. 

Jane laughed out loud, picturing pulling up next to the Volvo and shouting out a heartfelt ‘thank you!’ 

They went another few blocks and finally Cho slowed down. He seemed to be looking for an open parking spot and sure enough, right in front of a bar on the corner of 28th and S Street, his reverse lights went on. Then off again when he realized that the space was a loading zone only. He continued on, around the corner.

Jane released his pent-up breath with a long sigh. There was no way Cho wouldn’t have seen him if he’d parked on the street—he had those cop instincts for looking at the right place at the wrong time.

He didn’t turn the corner. He slowed down as he drove through the intersection, craning his neck to see where Cho had parked, then kept going.

He found a space a block away in front of a garage whose windows advertised, ‘Same Day Service: Any Make, Any Model!’ in bright day-glo letters. By the looks of things the sign wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do—the only vehicle being serviced was a brown Ford Fiesta.

Jane shrugged, stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned west. 

He’d only been to this part of Sacramento a few times. There didn’t seem much to distinguish it from the other parts of the city—the usual mid-70s office buildings, a Starbucks halfway down the street. Same old, same old. 

When he got to the corner, he had to wait for the light to turn green and he looked around. The sun was dipping low, sending long planes of gold light over the streets, the buildings. It was pretty. 

Two girls came to stand beside him and He nodded at the one nearest and waved, saying, “Lovely, isn’t it?”

Her skin was dark, but he could see her faint blush as she followed his gesture. She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, it is.” 

Her friend leaned around, no doubt checking out the nut that dared talk to them, but when Jane smiled at her, her frown faded. 

The light changed. As he crossed to the other side, he could hear the girls murmur to each other and he wasn’t surprised when they caught up with him as he hopped up on the curb. The first one said, “Hey. Are you going to the Monkey Bar?”

Jane looked up at the sign. In all the rush, he’d completely missed the name on the sign. Monkey Bar. And unusual name–maybe the owner was fond of jungles. Hopefully the interior wasn’t decorated with vines and bright flowers. “I think so. I’m meeting someone.” The entrance was crowded with young business types, but no Cho.

“Well, this is the only Monkey Bar in town, so you’re in the right place.”

Which was the wrong supposition, but Jane didn’t correct her. “I guess I am.”

“Would you and your friend like to have a drink with us?” The girl asked hesitantly, then added in a rush, “Sorry. My name is Alicia. And my friend’s name is Callie. With an ‘ie’.” She held out her hand.

She was pretty and would probably be a charming companion if he didn’t have another engagement. “Well, Alicia and Callie with an ‘ie’…” He smiled at them both. “As much as I would love to join you for a drink, I’m not sure my associate will be in the mood.” He leaned closer and they did the same, their eyes widening. “You see, this isn’t for pleasure. It’s for a case I’m working on.”

Callie looked skeptical but Alicia’s mouth dropped open and she whispered in return, “Are you a private eye?”

“I am. And I’m a little busy, sad to say.”

“Well…” She straightened up and so did her friend. “Maybe some other time?”

“Maybe.” 

Jane turned to go in, but she stopped him. “Can I get your business card? In case I ever need an investigator?”

“Alicia!” Callie said quietly. Her face was beet red. No doubt they’d been in this situation before—the one, bold and direct, the other, reserved and cautious.

He smiled and got two cards out of his inside pocket. He handed one to Alicia, the other to Callie. They looked at the cards at the same time.

“The CBI?” Callie said doubtfully. She exchanged a sidelong glance with Alicia. “Is that like the FBI?”

“Exactly like.” Not exactly, but he didn’t have time to explain the ins and outs of the state vs. federal justice system.

“Oh.”

“Hmm.” Jane craned his neck, searching the bar. The crowd had grown and it was hard to see inside. And harder to hear the girls—the mishmash of the music, traffic, and conversation made a wall of sound that would be irritating if one wasn’t used to it and he remembered the way it had been, all those years ago, traveling with his father and the carnival. They’d arrive at a new stop and the noise that greeted him had always made his stomach and heart jump with excitement.

“Mr. Jane?” Alicia was leaning forward, peering up at him.

“Yes, sorry, I—” 

He was about to make his excuses for zoning out on them when someone shoved him from behind. 

He turned to find a thirty-something man and a much younger woman pass by. The girl was average: thin, tall, blond. But the man was something else: short, bulky, and ugly, bordering on Neanderthal. His hair was cut close to his head in a way that said military or law enforcement. Probably ex-, by the amount of weight he was carrying. He glared at Jane accusingly, as if it was Jane’s fault that he’d been shoved.

Jane smiled and tipped a non-existent hat. The man growled and pushed the girl to the front door, giving Jane one last look before he was lost from sight.

Bingo.

Because he didn’t know how, but he was positive the Neanderthal was here for Cho.

He turned to the girls and said apologetically, “Sorry, ladies. I’ve got to run.”

Callie jerked her head and whispered, “Is he someone you’re tailing?” 

“I’m not sure. It’s a strong possibility.”

“If you get done early, we’ll be at the bar,” Alicia called out.

He waved without looking around, then let himself be swallowed up by the crowd.

***

 

Like it had to be, the inside was busier and noisier than the outside. Jane wound his way past the bar, then stepped to the side to get his bearings. 

There was no jungle theme, thankfully. Like so many bars, the walls were painted red, the decor, dark. Meant to encourage too much eating and enhance a feeling of camaraderie. It would be an easy place to share confidences, to make stupid mistakes that only proved to be stupid the morning after.

As he’d seen outside, the crowd was mostly in their twenties—a bit young for the bars that the CBI frequented, but maybe it hadn’t been Cho’s decision—he hated what he called fern bars, whether they held ferns or no.

And speaking of…

Jane stood on his tiptoes, searching, but all he saw were strangers.

“Sir?”

He looked over his shoulder. A waiter with an armful of menus was standing right behind him. “Can I help you?”

“I’m not sure. I was supposed to meet a friend here. A few friends, actually. One is about your height, Korean, dark haired, and wearing a dark blue suit.”

The waiter was already nodding. “He’s in the back. I’ll show you the way.”

He turned on his heel, but Jane touched his arm. “That’s okay. This is supposed to be a surprise. If you can just…?” He trailed off and smiled. The waiter smiled back.

“Sure. Go around the bar. They’re in the far left corner.”

Jane patted his arm, murmured his thanks and headed towards the back. When he got to the broad doorway that separated one room from the other, he paused because he saw them immediately. In the far left corner, as the waiter had said, gathered around a large round table. Only it wasn’t a few. There were seven—six men and the woman that had trailed the Neanderthal. 

They were a mix of races. Besides Cho, two were white, two were black, and one was Korean. Or maybe he was Japanese or Chinese—Jane could only see the side of his face. They wore similar dark suits and had similar haircuts. If he had to guess, he’d say they were all in law enforcement—they had that look. Well, except for the Neanderthal—he had bouncer or low-rent bodyguard written all over him. 

It was an interesting sight. It was obvious they knew each other and he felt as if he were watching a family restaurant or a credit card commercial, so relaxed and heedless they were to their surroundings.

Even Cho. His back was to the main room and he was lounging with the same ease as the other men, his body language open and carefree. He made some gesture with this right hand, then looked towards the man on his left and even from the distance, Jane could tell he was smiling.

Jane leaned against the doorjamb and frowned.

Familiarity, so they said, bred contempt. Jane had always thought that particular axiom to be ridiculous. He’d never felt anything like that for the people closest to him. Of course, he could count on one hand, with four fingers, the people he’d given access to the important things like his true thoughts, his heart.

He’d never felt contempt for his wife, even though he’d known all her little ins and outs, the quirks that made her uniquely her. The way she’d insist that the toilet paper hang just so, the sheet falling from the top, not the bottom. Her nervous habit of straightening pictures that didn’t need straightening, of repositioning the bric-a-brac that didn’t repositioning. And he’d loved those idiosyncrasies, even though at first they’d driven him crazy.

The same for Cho, he realized with a jolt. He felt no contempt for Cho and his habits. Like that thing he did with his fingers when he was impatient or nervous, almost a nervous twitch but so quick and slight it was unnoticeable. That little smile he couldn’t hide when he’d gotten one over on someone. His never-ending penny-pinching. Or the one that had driven Jane really nuts—the way he had to hold the remote whenever they watched TV. Territorial, possessive.

When Jane had first noticed the habit, he spent a week casually placing the remote in different locations. Further away each time, just to see how long it took Cho to notice it was missing, how long he would search before giving up. Between the cushions, under the mail, even between the pages of the newspaper in the kitchen. 

And he’d thought his little experiment had gone unnoticed until one morning. Cho had a breakfast meeting, but he was sleeping in, just because he could. He’d listened lazily to the distant thrum of the shower, then of clothes being pulled on, all the while waiting for his goodbye kiss.

Which he got and then some. As Cho was leaning down, smelling of soap and shampoo, he whispered softly against Jane’s lips, ‘I’ll see you at work. And I better not find the remote in the refrigerator when I get home.’ 

Startled, Jane laughed without opening his eyes and answered, ‘You won’t.’

Cho snorted, then kissed him once more and left. It was funny. And a good lesson; a reminder that Cho was smart and knew him, maybe almost as well as he knew Cho.

Well, obviously not, he thought a little sourly as he watched one of the men raise his arm and signal for the waitress. Obviously, there were still some things he needed to investigate.

He was pondering his strategy, idly watching the waitress hurry up to the table, when the Neanderthal turned and looked straight at him. His expression hardened and he jerked his head in Jane’s direction.

Everyone turned. Even Cho, though he had to twist to do it. Jane had been right—he was grinning like he hardly ever did. Well, he smiled like that with Jane, but that was different.

The smile didn’t last long—just as the Neanderthal’s face had changed, so did Cho’s.

In an instant, all ease and good humor vanished. Gone, from open to shut, just like that. He stared, irritation clear in the downturn of his mouth.

It was an unusual feeling, being skewered by Cho’s gaze and Jane wondered for the first time what he thought he was doing, but he really had only one choice—he pushed away from the doorjamb and sauntered towards the table.

He worked the room like he always did. Smiling at the diners as he passed by, the wait staff as he got out of their way.

When he got to the table, he stopped next to Cho, making sure to stand too close, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Hello, gentlemen,” he said, then added to the girl with a slight bow, “And the sole lady. Can’t forget you.” He smiled into her eyes and she blushed. The Neanderthal scowled, but Jane cheerfully ignored him. His attention was on Cho even though he wasn’t looking at Cho, even though Cho wasn’t looking at him.

He was staring down at the table, one hand rubbing his mouth, the other tapping restlessly on the table.

Jane bumped his shoulder with his hip. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Cho sighed and straightened up. “Guys, this is Patrick Jane, a consultant for the CBI. And these,” he turned and glanced up, too quickly for Jane to read his expression, “are my buddies. From the army.”

“Ah-ha.” Jane studied the men. He’d wondered about Cho’s time with the military but he’d never gotten him to speak much about it, no matter how hard he’d tried. All Cho would ever say was that he’d had a job to do, he’d done it, and now it was over. “A reunion? For old times sake?”

“Something like that.”

“A once-in-a-lifetime thing?”

Cho took a breath, but the man to his left got there first. “No. We get together about once a month.”

Jane rocked on his heels, his hands clenching into fists. He and Cho had been sleeping together for what, seven months now, and this was the first he’d heard about it? He told himself not to be angry, that Cho had a right to his privacy, and yet—

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Jane?” The man on Cho’s left said with a brief gesture. He was in his early forties, his skin almost blue-black and his hair graying at the temples. A new scar ran across the back of his hand, from side to side—it was still a ruddy pink.

“I’d love to,” Jane said, ignoring Cho’s audible sigh. The only free chair was next to the Neanderthal, but that was okay—it would mean he’d have a clear line of sight across the table and would be able to see Cho. He sat down with a smile that felt forced and probably was. “And you can leave off the ‘mister.’ It’s just ‘Jane.’”

“Like a girl?” the Neanderthal said with a sneer.

Jane made his smile extra brilliant. “Exactly like.” Before the Neanderthal could respond, he waved to the table and said, “And you all are?”

Cho pointed to the Neanderthal. “That’s Henry Sweetwater and his wife, Melinda. Robert Kim, Mike Letourneau, Andy Walker, and Steve Johnson.”

Jane nodded, following Cho’s finger as he said each name. 

Nodding to the man who’d invited him to sit, Letourneau, he asked, “You get that scar on a mission?”

Letourneau smiled. “No. My youngest gave it to me by accident. She was trying to help me put together a swing set and accidentally cut me with the edge of a screwdriver.”

“I imagine she felt horrible.”

“She did. She cried for an hour.”

“Still, something as relatively dull as a screwdriver wouldn’t have caused a cut bad enough to scar like that.” Jane nodded at Letourneau’s hand. “So I’m thinking steroids or a medical condition that led to thinning skin? Yes?”

“Jane,” Cho muttered. He’d picked up a coaster and was bending it to and fro.

“What?” Jane asked mildly. “I’m just making chit-chat.” The Neanderthal—Sweetwater—snorted. Jane didn’t look at him.

“This isn’t the—”

“No,” Letourneau said as he waved away Cho’s objections, “It’s all right. Yes, Mr. Jane. I was stupid, as a lot of us are, when I was younger. And I’m paying for it now. Thin skin was just one of the side effects. Would you like the list?”

Copying Letourneau’s gesture, Jane waved away his question. “No. I’m certain you’ve learned your lesson. And as to the rest of you…” He glanced at Cho’s friends, one by one, not surprised to find that they were staring at him with active suspicion. Typically, they’d closed ranks and there’d be no getting anything more from them, more’s the pity. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. “You,” he pointed to the man to the right of Letourneau. “Kim, is it?” His voice was too sharp and he softened it with a smile.

Kim was younger than Cho by a year or two. He was a thin and not carrying it well. By Jane’s estimation he’d lost ten pounds, probably in the past month judging by the paper-like quality of his skin.

Kim raised his eyebrow calmly. “What about me?”

“You’re experiencing a great deal of stress, probably your marriage even though you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

Kim raised his eyebrow, this time in surprise. “No, I’m not. My marriage is fine.”

“Liar.” And when Cho cleared his throat loudly, Jane pointed and repeated, “Well, he is. Look at the way his shirt hangs on him. No one would buy a shirt two sizes too big. And the way he keeps touching his third finger? My guess,” he said, pretending to ruminate as he turned back to Kim, “is that your wife found out you were cheating and kicked you out.”

By the time he finished, Kim was no longer calm. He sat there, face dark with anger. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I know that.” Jane wriggled his fingers to emphasize his point. “I just wanted—”

“Jane,” Cho said softly.

The man next to him shifted, leaning into his personal space. “And what do you do for the CBI, Mr. Jane?” 

Jane smiled broadly. It was a good effort, but it would take a lot more than that to make him toe the line. “Well, Steven, I do a little bit of this and a whole lot of that.”

“Which means?”

“Meh.” Jane made a face. “I’m so boring. I’d much rather talk about Cho and how you all got to know each other.”

Cho tossed the coaster down. “I’ll tell you some other time.” 

“Why not now? I’ve got all night. Apparently.”

As one, the men shifted in their seats and exchanged glances. Cho clenched his jaw. And then crossed his arms. “No, some other time.”

“Why not?” Jane asked with a smile he didn’t bother making genuine. “Are you gentlemen hiding deep dark secrets?” And when no one answered, he leaned forward and lowered his voice as he looked around the table. “Maybe a little black ops, a secret mission or two? Something you don’t want anyone to know about?” His chest and face felt hot—maybe the air conditioning wasn’t working.

No one answered and he cocked his head. “But maybe the secrets aren’t about the military. Maybe they’re ‘civilian,’ as it were. Melinda,” he switched gears, reaching for her hand, saying confidingly, “you must have something to—”

Cho stood up abruptly. “Can I see you outside?”

Jane straightened and looked up. He even blinked innocently. “Now? We were just getting to the good part.”

Cho clenched his jaw and pushed his chair back so hard it let out a loud squeal. Without waiting, he turned and walked away.

Jane bounced up, saying with false cheer, “Gentlemen. Mrs. Sweetwater.” Letourneau was the only one to nod a goodbye. Not that Jane cared—the only object of his interest was already gone, vanished from sight.

 

***

 

By the time he got outside, he was sweating. He hadn’t realized how warm it was and the air felt wonderfully cool. He breathed deep and went looking for Cho.

He finally found him around the corner, leaning back against a tree. He looked like a junkie waiting for his dealer, but Jane knew what would happen if he mentioned that, so he just walked slowly on. The ache in his chest was fading. Like a real fire, the crisp air had eased the burn and he wondered if he should apologize right away or wait. 

When he got closer, Cho looked up. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Cho made an abrupt chopping gesture and said in a rush, “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Crashing a party you weren’t invited to? Making fun of my friends?”

“I wasn’t making fun. How was I making fun?”

Cho shook his head and his voice dropped to a hushed bass. “Don’t. You know what you were doing.”

Jane waved his words away. “Yeah, okay. But it’s something I do with everyone.”

Cho turned away and kicked the tree. “Yeah, it’s just that thing you do.”

His voice was sharp, bitter, and Jane frowned. The ache had returned, and he told himself that he needed to be an adult about this, that it was important he stay cool. He reached out with a soft, “Hey—” 

Cho batted his hand away, saying, “I know this is hard for you to understand, Jane, but I like these guys. I’ve known them a long time, longer than I’ve known you and I don’t want to piss them off.”

“How would you piss them off?”

“Don’t be stupid. You know how.”

“No,” Jane shook his head, because he didn’t know what the hell Cho was talking about.

“They’re in there, thinking… Thinking,” Cho made an aborted gesture again shrugged his shoulders.

“They’re thinking I’m an ass, but that has nothing to do with you.”

“Jane—”

“Just go back in there and smooth things over. Tell them that I’m a fake ex-psychic. Tell them that I was in show business and being an ass comes with the territory. They’ll understand that.” And when Cho didn’t answer, he shrugged and added, “Unless of course you’ve told them that I’m a real psychic, but that’s not my—”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“How am I an idiot?” 

“They don’t know about you.”

Said so quietly and it took him a minute to hear the double meaning. He nodded slowly. Cho hadn’t told any of his friends about the two of them, and it shouldn’t come as such a big shock—he really didn’t have a right to be so upset because he hadn’t told anyone either. Not that there was anyone to tell.  “So now they know that we’re lovers. That we have sex together.”

Cho looked all around, then muttered, “Yes.”

Jane shrugged. “We’ve never talked about it, but I assumed—”

“You know my private life is private.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry—”

“And that I don’t like to talk about these things. Not even to Rigsby.”

“Yes, I know. You—”

“And in five minutes you change all that. Without asking me or warning me.”

“I’m sorry, I should have just —”

“You can be such a jerk sometimes. Secrets are secret for a reason.”

Jane didn't bother with a calming breath—the rush of anger had already bubbled up, filling his chest, his mouth. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, silky smooth, “Something you know all about.” 

Cho stopped and turned around. “What do I know all about?”

Jane stepped close. “Secrets. All your little secrets. Were you ever going to tell me about your once-a-month meetings?”

Cho swallowed. “I never lied to you.”

“No, you just never brought it up and please don’t pretend that you don’t know what lying by omission is. You’re far too smart for that.”

“I know what it is and, yes, I would have told you.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

Jane chuckled mirthlessly. “You’ll have to do better than, ‘eventually.’”

Cho’s hand twitched. “I needed time.”

“Why? What the hell were you waiting for? It’s not like I haven’t been—”

“I know how you are.”

Jane cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t want to say it.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Jane said grimly, “not now, so just say it.”

“You embarrass me.”

The words were out, quick and quiet, but so clear they almost had physical form and Jane thought if he’d been paying closer attention, he would’ve seen them slip from Cho’s lips. Slip and fall to the ground with a crash because they cut like glass, sharp and deep.

They stared at each other, both frozen, and Jane remembered an incident, years ago, when his daughter was just past the toddler stage. She’d just gotten home with her mother and was running up the cement stairs, excited because he’d come home early from an out-of-town consult and she was happy to see him. She wasn’t paying attention and she’d tripped on a step and gone flying. He lunged to catch her, but it was too late—as he picked her up, he could only murmur helplessly, watching as her face went from shock to fear to tears, her mind struggling to make sense of the fierce pain. 

It was just like that, he thought. Just like, and some of the numbness already wearing off because the pain wasn’t quite there, but it was coming. He touched the center of his chest and pressed, trying to locate the source of the dull ache, trying to figure out what he was feeling.

His movement broke Cho’s paralysis. His eyes widened and he held out his hand to Jane, palm down, like you would to a dog you’d accidentally kicked. 

“Jane— I didn’t mean—”

Jane laughed, rusty weak, but it was a laugh. “Oh, yes you did.” Cho’s expression became stricken and Jane thought, ‘Good.’

“No. I mean, yes, but I didn’t—”

“You know…” He made a show of patting his stomach. “I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat.” He needed to get away, mostly to make Cho stop looking at him like that. He stepped out into the street, saying over his shoulder, “I’m fine. I’m just hungry.”

“Jane?”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Jane!”

He waved without turning around, walking faster as he reached the opposite side. He knew Cho wouldn’t follow, but was foolishly surprised when he didn’t.

***

 

He ended up—without meaning to, without wanting to—at Cho’s place, in Cho’s elevator. When the doors opened to the fifth floor, he stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. He was strangely exhausted, almost enervated, and he thought of the long drive back to his house. It was unimaginable.

As was the idea of unlocking Cho’s door, using the key Cho had given him.

‘You embarrassed me.’

Not the most horrible thing anyone had ever said to him, and he’d never much cared if he embarrassed people or not. But this, this was different and he felt it again, that sick wrench, like his stomach was being turned inside out.

When the elevator doors began to close, his arm shot out, as if on its own accord, and he stepped out.

So much for that.

The loft was dark and quiet. It smelled faintly of the coffee Cho had made that morning, of the Earth First cleaner Jane had picked up the other day because he didn’t like the stuff Cho used. Earth First was supposedly environmentally friendly, but who knew if it actually was? It was probably just a clever marketing campaign, designed to snag clueless shoppers.

He tossed his keys on what he’d come to think of as his section of the side table and came to a dead stop in the middle of the loft.

‘You embarrassed—’

He clenched his fists, then closed his eyes and told himself to relax. That it was over. He went to the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator, trying to decide if he was truly hungry. He touched the door handle, then shook his head and let go.

He turned off the kitchen light, locked the door, and went to bed.

He was staring up at the ceiling, thinking that it was much too early for sleep, when he remembered his thought from earlier in the day, how tailing Cho would be fun, even exciting. 

He was such a fool.

He turned on his side and restlessly punched the pillow, telling himself to just sleep.

***

He sensed before he felt—a presence just feet from the bed. Then the mattress dipping as a heavy weight pressed against his back.

Cho smelled of beer and cigarette smoke and Jane had a sudden image of how he must’ve been when he was younger—tough and dangerous, more than a little wild. He didn’t turn over. He said to the open window, to the moonless sky, “I assumed you were going to be out all night.”

No reply. Which was odd, because Cho was always polite, even when he didn’t want to be, even when he was angry.

Jane shrugged free and turned over. Cho was a mix of grays in the dark, and Jane, by habit, reached to turn on the lamp. 

Cho grabbed his arm, stopping him mid-reach, and Jane’s heart jumped. They were back to where they’d been outside the bar, each frozen in place, each waiting for the next move. It was…

…Unpleasant. Exciting. More than a little maddening, because he was still angry and it would be so easy to just give in to the anger and the—

“Did you have fun with your friends?” he murmured, sugar sweet. “After I left, I mean. I know you weren’t having fun while I was there.” 

So much for not giving in, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words. “I imagine they had a few things to say about me. Did that make you feel good, make you feel like a —”

Cho fell on him, pushing him back to the bed, already thrusting against his hip, mouth open on his own, wet and tasting of beer. He was still dressed and his ankle holster scraped Jane’s shin as he struggled to cover as much of Jane as possible. 

Jane wasn’t fond of mixing sex and pain, but this? He’d never seen Cho like this and it sent a line of lust straight to the heart of his anger, his dick. He grappled Cho to him, suddenly burning with the need to have it out, in whatever way Cho wanted.

He spread his legs as far as the sheets allowed. Cho pulled out of his arms only to rip the sheets out of the way, off the foot of the bed even as he pushed Jane’s pajama top up, his pants and shorts off. 

He spoke for the first time, voice husky, “What do you want?”

‘Whatever you want, however you want it.’ “That’s an odd question, considering the circumstances.” Jane punctuating his point by arching up and rubbing his dick against Cho’s groin.

But Cho wasn’t listening. He’d buried his face in Jane’s neck and was lying there, too still. And that wasn’t right, either. Cho was never much of a talker, in bed or out—they both left that up to Jane. But he was never afraid and when he got going, nothing stopped him.

Jane ran a hand over Cho’s head, wishing his hair were longer so he could get a good fistful. “Isn’t this what you want? What’s going on?”  When Cho didn’t answer, Jane's residual anger faded, leaving his body strangely empty. “C’mon, talk to me.”

Cho finally lifted his head. It didn’t help, the room being so dark—Jane could barely make out his expression. He wished he had some light, even a little. He thought of turning on the lamp, but no, there was something going on here and for some reason Cho needed the anonymity of the night.

What the hell had happened after he’d left?

He brushed Cho’s lower lip with his thumb, then again, because the simple gesture made Cho closed his eyes in pleasure. “What is it? What did they say to you?”

Cho didn’t answer. Instead he clasped Jane close and rolled until Jane was on top. 

And then he did something that was completely unexpected. Still silent, never once taking his gaze from Jane’s, he slowly raised his arms above his head, like he was a criminal, giving in to the law. 

Jane drew a quick breath. He knew what this was. He’d have to be an idiot not to, and contrary to Cho's words of earlier, he was no idiot. But still, after the night they’d had, he needed to ask, “Are you sure?” 

A warning and a genuine desire for an answer because not once had Cho indicated that he wanted Jane to make love to him. Not once, and this better not be some ritualized power game—it was late, he was tired, and power games didn’t belong in his bed, even though it wasn’t really his bed.

Cho nodded. Then he whispered, “Fuck me, Patrick.”

A thrill went up Jane’s spine, and his entire body drew taut. It was always such a turn on, hearing his given name on Cho’s lips. He bent low to give Cho a brief kiss, then yanked his top off and began to strip Cho.

First shoes and socks, taking his time, needing to go slow because his hands were shaking and he didn’t want Cho to know how much he wanted this. 

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Cho murmured when Jane got his jacket off and tossed it somewhere on the floor.

“I don’t mean to.” Next, the tie.

“Now who’s the liar?”

Jane shrugged—it was nothing but the truth. He unzipped Cho’s pants and got them off, sending them the way of the jacket.

“I know you can’t help it.”

“I do try, you know," he said absently as he unbuttoned Cho’s shirt, then pushed up his t-shirt, exposing his belly. He breathed deep; even in the dark, even though he couldn’t really see, Cho was so lovely. “Especially with you.”

Cho closed his eyes. “Yeah, but the stupid thing is…” 

He hesitated, and Jane gave up on the rest—Cho was mostly naked and that was enough for now. He stroked his stomach then the curve of his hip. “What? What’s stupid?”

“The stupid thing is,” Cho repeated, his voice deepening to a rough whisper, “is that even though you make me crazy, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Jane stilled, hearing the words behind the words. It was a big admission, coming from someone who lived for control and authority. He started to say that, started to say that he appreciated the sentiment, but the time for words was over. 

He leaned over and kissed the center of Cho’s breast, then reached for the drawer where they kept the lubricant.

***

“So what happened?”

“You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, right?”

Jane pushed back into Cho’s arms and tried to kick his shin, only to miss. “What happened?” he repeated, this time more firmly.

Cho had finally let him turn on the lamp and the pale yellow light cast a comforting pool of light over the bed. It was past midnight and even with Cho acting as a living blanket, he was getting cold—probably because making love had proved to be strenuous and he’d worked up a sweat. 

He couldn’t wait to do it again. 

Cho was silent for a long moment, then he mumbled, “I told them about us. I mean,” he rubbed his cheek against Jane’s back, “they’d already figured it out, but I just told them, flat out.”

That must’ve been a shock. “How’d they take it?”

“All right, I guess. Harry choked on his beer.”

Jane smiled. “Wish I’d been there.” Right as Cho was coming, he’d arched up and bitten Jane’s shoulder. Not hard, but hard enough to still be hurting. He touched the spot, hoping that the mark would be there in the morning—he was too tired to get up and examine it.

Cho tightened his grip. “I’m glad you weren’t. You would’ve said something insulting and Harry would’ve hit you and then I would’ve had to hit Harry and we’d all end up in the emergency room.”

“Because you’d protect me.”

“I suppose.”

Jane’s smile softened. No supposes about it—Cho would never have allowed Sweetwater to hit him a second time—it was what he did.

“Mike said to bring you next month.”

Jane craned his head in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, he said you’d probably come anyway so we might as well make it official.”

“Huh.”

“He also said to tell you, no more games.”

“Huh,” Jane said again.

“He means it, too.”

“Okay.”

Cho pinched his arm. “You mean it?”

“Ow.” Jane pinched him back. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

It was the best he could do and after a moment Cho settled back. “Okay.”

They were quiet for a long time, then Cho murmured, “Are you asleep?” 

“Yes?”

Cho ignored the wisecrack. “I was thinking,” 

“Of?” 

“My sister, Melinda, is giving a party next week and I was wondering if you’d go. With me.”

Jane twisted in Cho’s arms, completely surprised. "What?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it."

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Really, really sure?” This was a big step, maybe bigger than the sex.

“Ask me again and I’ll take it back.”

Jane smiled. "Don't do that. I'd love to go. And,” he said before Cho could speak, “I’ll be good, no digging into her psyche. I promise.”

“And her family and guests?”

He waved expansively. “Them as well.”

“Okay.”

“Are your parents going to be there?” And as soon as the words were out, he realized he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. He couldn’t imagine what he’d say to them, couldn’t imagine how they’d react to the idea that their only son was sleeping with a fake male psychic. A fake, White, male psychic.

“No, they’re on a trip to Boston.”

“Hmm.”

“I figured I should ease you into the family, one person at a time.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll see how you do with Missy. If you survive each other, I’ll introduce you to Lucy and Connie.”

“And after that, your parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cho—”

“I just need to take this one step at a time, all right?”

Jane settled on his back and drew Cho over him. “Yeah, all right.” 

Cho was silent for another long moment, then he whispered, “Hey, Jane?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. About earlier.”

Jane hesitated, not sure what to say.

Cho kissed his temple, then his cheek. He avoided Jane’s eyes when he added, “I shouldn’t have called you a jerk. And said you embarrassed me. It was mean.”

“Even though it’s true?”

Cho shrugged. His light beard scraped Jane’s cheek. “Even though it was true.”

Jane smiled, hearing the change in tense.

Cho stroked his arm, from shoulder to elbow, carefully, as if he were touching him for the first time. “I know you have trust issues. I should have remembered that.”

Jane tried to laugh it off. “I wouldn’t say I have trust issues. They’re just—” He stuttered to a halt at the steady look in Cho’s eyes.

“Jane, you have trust issues and that’s not a bad thing. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

Jane wanted to say, ‘Don’t worry about it,’ or, ‘I’m a big boy, I’ll get over it,’ but he couldn’t seem to make the words come out. His wife had said something similar, the second time they’d met—something about the fact that he didn’t always have to work so hard at being perfect, that letting others in wasn’t a weakness. “Yeah, okay,” was all he was able to manage.

Cho kissed him again.

“Cho?”

“Yeah?”

He ran his fingers through Cho’s hair, combing it so it stuck up in little tufts. “Why now?”  

He gestured to the bed, thinking he’d have to explain, but Cho just shrugged again and said evenly, “It was time.”

Jane frowned and opened his mouth to ask what that meant, then he got it. Acceptance, even of your own nature, was a progression and something that happened on its own. It was another big step and his throat was tight when he asked, “Are you hungry?”

Cho didn’t hesitate. “I could eat.”

“Then…” Jane sat up and said with a broad smile, “I’ll make whatever you want.” He was feeling light, as if he’d just shed a couple hundred pounds.

“Anything I want?” Cho asked doubtfully.

“Well, within reason. We need to go to the store, but I’m sure I can come up with some culinary delight.”

“Okay, Julia, you’re on.”

Cho sat up with a wince and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The muscles of his back and shoulders slipped against each other and Jane’s recently sated lust perked up. He scooted across the bed and wrapped his legs around Cho’s hips, his arms around Cho’s shoulders.

Cho gave a breath of a laugh and turned his head. “I though you were hungry?”

Jane ignored him and pressed his cheek against Cho’s back, remembering how it felt, moving inside, opening them both up. “Did you like it?” he whispered.

Cho curled back and clasped Jane's arms to his chest, like he was never going to let go. “If I say no will you still make me something to eat?”

Jane grinned. “Do you want to take that chance?”

“No. And yes,” Cho said softly. “I thought it would hurt more, but yes, I liked it.”

Jane nodded again and when he tried to pull away, Cho held on and they sat there, saying nothing, until Jane grew cold and he had to move.

fin.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Story notes:
Patrick Jane/Kimball Cho
The Mentalist
11,000+ words
Episodes referenced: None, really -- this is just an expansion on the bits of Cho's and Jane's background. Set before the entrance of the new boss.
All characters belong to people and organizations that are not me.
Thanks to dlasta for taking a peek:)