Empty Glamour-Walter
DISCLAIMER: The Mentalist does not belong to me. It is the creation of Bruno Heller. I'm writing this fiction to express my love for the series and maybe vent a little.
Walter didn't want to get out of bed. He could still smell Teresa on the sheets and if he closed his eyes he could see her wry smile as she bade him goodbye.
He wished he had a photo, something tangible to prove to himself that she had truly been there. After all, just the day before Teresa Lisbon had shattered all his hopes for ever being in a relationship with her.
And Walter had been hopeful, especially when she came to his house the day after his party.
"Teresa, pleasure."
He'd been downright delighted. Still basking in the after-glow of their almost kiss, he'd thought that the chemistry might have finally warmed her to him.
"Hey, I would have been happy to come to your office. Could have watched you work." He had meant it too. Everything about her fascinated him.
"That would have been awkward," she had said stiffly. And he remembered the reason they hadn't kissed was that his ex-girlfriend tried to kill her.
"Listen, if this is about last night," he started, wanting to apologize.
"It would have been awkward because I was investigating you," she said. She must have seen confusion on his face because she explained further. "I know about you and Drucker."
Ahh, now he understood. She found out he was working with the victim's bodyguard.
"Oh look that was industrial espionage pure and simple," he told her.
"Did you kill Yuri?" she asked earnestly, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"Hang on we're back to that?" he had asked, bemused. "You think I did it?" He'd already told her he hadn't and thought she had excluded him.
"If you did, I gotta hand it to you it was smart. You sure fooled me," she revealed, her green eyes dark with melancholy, her voice self depreciating.
She was upset, and Walter couldn't stand being the cause of her distress, even inadvertently.
"You're wrong," he said, looking intently into her eyes, willing her to believe him. "Look Teresa, I know you have trust issues-" but she had interrupted him before he could continue.
"You don't know anything about me," she stated, eyes flashing, defenses back in place.
"Sure I do. You were raised in Chicago, your mom was a nurse, your dad was a fireman, you have three brothers Thomas, James-"
"You checked me out," she said, and it sounded like an accusation. Walter thought she would have been flattered. Instead it seemed like he just made her more suspicious.
He didn't think it was possible.
"Listen to me, I am this close, this close to arresting you for murder," she had said, gesturing with her fingers.
Mashburn was as thick skinned as any man; had to be to live through three divorces. But her unwillingness to believe him was cutting him deeply. Even her damaged intensity (on full blast now, making her more alluring than ever) couldn't make up for it.
Were her wounds so profound that she couldn't see his affection was genuine? Was it really easier for her to believe his interest was part of a devious plot to subvert her? That he was a criminal?
Did she really think so little of him?
"You know what, I'm gonna go inside, I'm gonna make myself a stiff drink," he had said, walking away trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, "And I really hope you'll join me so we can talk about this," he added, hoping to salvage the situation, willing her to give him, give them a shot.
But she had been unaffected.
"If you did this thing, we'll find the proof, you know we will, and it'll just be a matter of time before I put you away," she had threatened,
And Walter felt his patched up heart give apart at the seams. And despite being a business mogul skilled at controlling his reactions, he could barely temper the sorrow in his voice when he answered her.
"I expect nothing less Teresa." Feeling hollow inside, he walked into the house; his big, empty, lonely house.
He just couldn't win. It was a good thing he was in the privacy of his home, he might've actually cried this time.
Patrick entered shortly afterwards. Walter had been glad to see him. Maybe the mentalist could talk some sense into Teresa.
Only he found out Patrick had been the one to set him up; as a ruse to lure Marie whom he suspected was involved.
And the hits just keep coming.
Needless to say, when Jane asked him to make a scene before taking off, Walter had been more than happy to punch him in the nose.
Before checking into the Minster Haywood Hotel, he stopped by his office to pick up his briefcase. He was going to Europe in two days and had some documents to review. If he was going to be stuck hiding, he thought he might as well get some work done.
In reality though, he just wanted a distraction.
He lasted until evening, before his mind started to wander.
Not only did Teresa think he was a killer, Patrick (whom he thought was a friend) was the one who had her convinced of his guilt.
Could life get any worse?
Well, I could be poor too.
But this was one of those times his money offered absolutely no comfort. What good was being rich? He attracted all the wrong sorts of women, and repelled the right kind of woman; one with long dark hair, and eyes as green as heavenly pastures.
Smirking mirthlessly, he thought he must have really been smitten if he was making such awful metaphors about a woman he never even slept with.
But he couldn't help himself. He had known Teresa was special the day he met her; had thought she would be different from the others.
Yeah, she was different all right.
Giving up on his reports, Walter headed to the hotel bar.
He had just gotten his first drink when his phone rang. He contemplated ignoring it when he saw the caller, but that wasn't his style.
"Patrick."
"Hey Walter, just wanted to let you're in the clear."
"You don't say," Walter said in monotone.
"Yeah, if you want I can come over, explain the facts to you. I know you like that."
Mashburn knew Jane was trying to make amends, but he was inconsolable tonight.
"Thanks, Patrick, but actually, it's been a long day. I think I'm just gonna call it a night. Thanks for letting me know."
He hung up, fully intent on drowning his sorrows in an alcoholic stupor and maybe female companionship. He couldn't help it. Whenever he felt hurt or lonely he had to sleep with a woman, any woman. The intimacy of sex made him feel like he actually had someone in the world that cared about him.
Oh, it was for his money, was always for his money, but it was a temporary fix anyway so who cared.
He was only halfway through his second drink when an attractive woman had smiled at him. But even as he led her to his room, he doubted he'd be able to go through with it. Teresa's rejection had him physically aching.
His companion had just started unbuttoning his shirt when someone knocked on his suite. Telling her to wait inside he went to open the door, thinking it was probably room service with a gift from the bar.
It was Patrick, and Walter realized that the man had probably already been on his way over when he had called him.
They had talked, Patrick filling him on the particulars of the case, and Walter, seeing as Jane was already there, decided he might as well get some answers of his own.
Mostly however, he was just waiting for Jane to leave so he can go back to trying to forget Teresa via, what was her name- the woman currently waiting impatiently for him in his bed.
But just as Jane was about to leave, Walter couldn't help but stop him.
"Patrick hang on. One question, do you think Teresa believed it? That I was the killer?"
"Yeah, she did, for a minute there. But I wouldn't think anything of it. "
Was that encouragement?
Walter looked back towards his room where an attractive woman was waiting for him. Then he remembered a green eyed agent with hurt practically wafting from her pores. A woman who had occupied so many of his thoughts since he'd met her about a year ago.
Sure she had her issues, but he had been certain given enough time he could help her deal with them, show her the advantage of letting go a bit.
Sighing, he went inside to tell his companion he'd had a change of heart.
Afterwards he dialed Lisbon's number.
He never did know when to give up, not when it came to women anyway. He just wished it would one day pay off.
"Teresa, it's Walter. I think you owe me a drink."
Stretching languidly on his hotel bed, feeling happier than he could remember, Walter thought that it had definitely paid off.
He'd have to remember to thank Patrick for his advice.
Author's note: Not sure how I feel about this. I've got some more stuff written for this triangle, but I don't know if I should include it here. This was supposed to be the last chapter. On the other hand, I've got a new story that practically wrote itself and I'm tempted to play with that for a while. What do you guys think? Any other perspectives you want, or more of the same? I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed including the non-members of the site whom I was unable to respond to. You're the best.