4

Red Alert

Patrick was exhausted and shaken. He kept this to himself, however. No one needed to know. No one needed to have any knowledge the thoughts, emotions and memories plaguing him right now.

All they needed to see was the cup of tea in his hand on the forced smile on his face.

"Good morning, all," he grinned, looking around at his coworkers.

Cho gave his usual nod, Rigsby his usual half-wave, Van Pelt her usual nothing and Lisbon a tired smile.

"So, how are our detainees this morning?" He asked, plopping down on his couch and reminding himself that he had to stay awake.

"The one's fine. The other one hasn't shut up all night and he keeps whining about food," Cho said stoically, not looking up from the paperwork he was filling out.

Patrick nodded, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back.

"So, we'll interview them again," Lisbon began. "But if they don't give us anything I'm letting them go. If they didn't kill Paul Bratter, then I have no reason to keep them."

"What about what we found in the trunk?" Rigsby asked.

"It'll end up as a second amendment thing not worth the effort or the man power or the taxpayer's money. So it's not worth it." She turned to Patrick, waiting for him to say something. He remained stationary, eyes still closed. "Jane?"

"Mm?" He looked over at her. "Oh, right, let them go if they don't talk. Pointless to prosecute them for the armory in their car, got it." He stood, finishing his tea. "Well, then, no time like the present." He smiled and walked toward the interrogation rooms, swiping the box of doughnuts off of Rigsby's desk in such a swift and fluid motion that the agent didn't notice for five minutes.

Dean jerked awake from his doze when the door opened. He frowned grumpily when the annoying guy with the questions came in.

"Hello," he smiled. Dean didn't pay attention to him. He was far more interested in the box in his hands. His stomach growled painfully.

Patrick's grin broadened, his mischievous eyes going from Dean's gaze to the box and back again. A light clicked in his eyes as he got an idea. "I'll make you a deal, Dean," he sat down, setting the box in the middle of the table. "You answer a question, honestly of course, and you get a doughnut. You don't, and I get a doughnut. Sound fair?"

He was so hungry it didn't matter what he agreed to.

"And don't lie, now. I'll be able to tell if you are."

"Fine, go ahead," Dean said, still not looking at him.

"Okay, did you or your brother kill Paul Bratter?"

"No." Patrick turned the open box toward him. Dean grabbed the closest pastry to him and bit into it. Patrick turned it away again. "Do you know who did?"

"Yes." Another doughnut.

"Can you tell me who it was?"

"No." Another.

"Why not?"

"You won't believe me." Another.

"Yes, I will."

"That wasn't a question," he smirked.

"What is the worst thing that could happen if you tell me?"

"Prison, asylums, the list goes on." Another.

"What if I were to tell you that you and I would be the only ones in this conversation?"

"I'd say maybe."

"Alright. How about if I said there's be no consequences for what you told me and I'd let you and your brother out of here scot-free?"

Dean pursed his lips, looking at him suspiciously, thinking.

"Think about it, Dean," Patrick said. "That's the best offer you're going to get from anyone here or out of here. What's it gonna be?" Dean sat there still, eyes hard. Patrick smiled, picking up the lid of the box. "Going once…" He started to close it. "Going twice…" Almost shut.

"Okay," Dean said, swallowing and cursing silently. But if it would get him and Sam out of here, what did he have to lose? "Okay, turn off the mike."

"What'd hey say?" Lisbon asked.

"He told me who killed Paul Bratter. Well, more of a what."

"And..?" Lisbon prompted impatiently.

"And he believes it to be a fact with every fiber in his being. So, naturally he's either a complete lunatic or he's actually telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help him whoever," he said, walking into the small bullpen and plopping down heavily on his couch.

"Jane!" Lisbon spat irritably. "Who, er, what did he say killed Paul Bratter?" Patrick sighed, sounding bored and shut his eyes.

"In a word, ghosts."

-- O.O I know it's short. The next one'll be longer, I promise! --