Chapter Text
Elias received a call from Lisbon. Patrick had been in an accident and was hospitalized.
From what he understood, he was fine physically, but there was a complication, and she needed Elias to come right away.
Elias was caught off guard by her call. They didn’t know each other personally, and he and Patrick hadn't officially revealed their relationship to anyone yet. But that didn't matter now; Elias quickly left work and rushed to the hospital.
Patrick had been working on a case—Elias wasn’t sure which one, as he had a new one every week. Lisbon later explained that after they apprehended the suspect, Patrick slipped and hit his head against a pole. It was an injury entirely unrelated to the high-risk nature of police work, but the blow had been brutal. He had been knocked out cold and was rushed to the emergency room.
When Elias arrived, he found Lisbon waiting at Patrick’s bedside. The man in question was sleeping peacefully, his head wrapped in bandages.
“Agent Lisbon?” Elias called out to get her attention.
Lisbon looked up. “Agent Vale, it’s good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Yes, I certainly echo that sentiment,” Elias said as he fought the urge to rush to Patrick’s side. He knew Lisbon was a close friend of Patrick's, but he wasn’t sure if she knew about them. "How is Mr. Jane doing?”
Lisbon offered a soft laugh. “I know about you and Jane. There is no need for the formality.”
“Ah, that makes this easier,” Elias breathed a sigh of relief. “Though, if you don't mind my asking, how did you find out?”
“Please. I’m a detective, and I’ve known Jane for a long time. He is a master liar, but his infatuation with you is obvious. He visits your office to bother you at least once a week. I’ve known for a few months now.”
“Did Jane know that you knew?”
Lisbon shrugged. “Probably, but if he did, he never let on. He was likely going to tell me eventually. But regardless, that wasn’t the reason I called you.”
But before she could say another word, Patrick began stirring awake. Elias quickly rushed to the other side of the bed and took his hand.
“Patrick?” Elias called softly, gently stroking the back of his hand. “Hey, love, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, five more minutes,” Patrick muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
Elias smiled faintly at his behavior. “Hey, sleepyhead. You need to wake up.”
“Um, Agent,” Lisbon interrupted. Elias turned to find a complicated, strained expression on her face. “I’m sorry, but I think it might be best if you let go of his hand.”
Elias blinked at her, confused. “What do you mean—?”
Suddenly, Patrick’s eyes fluttered wide open. Seems he would have to worry about Lisbon’s bizarre behavior later.
“Hey, love, how are you feeling?” Elias asked, reaching out to cradle his lover’s face, careful to avoid the bandages. “How is your head?”
But instead of the warm, familiar smile Patrick usually reserved for him, those large, green eyes held nothing but unfamiliarity.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Patrick said hesitantly, pulling back slightly. “Do we know each other?”
Elias froze, removing his hands as if burned. He looked up at Lisbon. “Is he—?”
“I’m afraid so,” she nodded grimly. “He didn’t even recognize me. But don’t worry, the doctors said it’s most likely temporary.”
“Do they know how long it will last?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Lisbon answered with an apologetic look. “But last time, it took a few days for him to regain his memory.”
“The last time?”
“Yeah, this has happened before, which is why I called you. Last time, he proved to be extremely problematic. It seems he doesn't remember anything from his time as a consultant. He still thinks he’s a psychic.”
Elias felt a wave of worry. He glanced anxiously down at Patrick, then back up at Lisbon. “Does that mean he doesn't remember anything about…”
“Yes. I think he only remembers his life from before or is vaguely aware of who he is with no specific memories. At least that what the doctor—”
“Um, excuse me,” Patrick interrupted, clearing his throat. “But I feel a bit ignored here. What exactly is going on? And Miss Police Lady, could you tell me who this man is?”
Elias sadly stepped back to put some distance between them. He desperately wanted to be close to him, but he knew this must be confusing for Patrick.
“Well,” Elias began, completely unsure of how to handle this situation. He shot a desperate look at Lisbon for guidance.
“I’d like to tell the truth,” Lisbon said, “But the doctors say he has to remember on his own. It’s better for his recovery.”
Elias nodded in understanding. “Very well then.”
Patrick watched them, his gaze darting between the two with suspicion. “What are you talking about? The truth about what? I know you’ve told me I work for the FBI, Miss Police Lady—”
“Teresa Lisbon,” she said, reminding him.
“Ah, yes,” Patrick nodded. “Miss Lisbon. You’ve said that we are friends, though I sincerely doubt that. I mean, there is undeniable chemistry between us.” He winked at her as Lisbon shot him a look. “But anyway. Is this another one of my friends? He seems really…affectionate with me for some reason.”
Elias shifted in place awkwardly. Was his amnesiac boyfriend currently flirting with a woman—who also happened to be his boss—right in front of him? This was definitely not how he expected his day to go. But just what was he supposed to say? Patrick hadn’t even considered kissing a man before they met.
Elias steeled himself, looking closely at Patrick. It was jarring to realize that the man in front of him wasn't the one he had fallen in love with. But he couldn’t deny that this Patrick felt entirely different. His eyes lacked that soft melancholy and warmth. Elias wasn’t sure how to explain it, but this Patrick felt detached and cold somehow.
“You're good at reading people,” Elias finally said, testing the waters. “What do you think our relationship is?”
Patrick studied him, running his eyes across Elias’s face, down his body, and finally settling on his hand. Elias noticed the trajectory of his gaze and suppressed a smile.
The scar again, huh?
When they had first met, that scar was one of the very first things Patrick had fixated on. It seemed this version of the man wasn’t entirely different from the one he knew.
“I sense there are many spirits around you.” Patrick began, theatrically closing his eyes, “They’re dark and heavy, clinging to you. But there is something else, not a spirit but a feeling,” he said with a furrow in his brows. “It’s lighter, joyous, something that eases the strain from your past. The feeling…it’s…it’s speaking to me now…”
“Oh, is it?” Elias fought back an amused smile. He had heard stories about Patrick’s old psychic dramatics, but he had never seen them in action. He could easily see how Patrick had been such a successful con man.
Suddenly, Patrick snapped his eyes open. “Love,” he answered. “You're in love with me.”
“Yes,” Elias confirmed honestly.
“Well, I must say I’m flattered, Mister…?”
“Vale. Elias Vale.”
“Yes, thank you,” he said with a wide smile. “I’m deeply flattered, Mr. Vale. This is certainly a massive ego boost. I mean, objectively speaking, you are a gorgeous man. Isn’t that right, Miss Lisbon?”
“Huh?” Lisbon choked out, caught entirely off guard.
“Well, I’m a straight man, so I need your professional opinion on Mr. Elias. On a scale of one to ten, how handsome would you say he is? I need to judge my own attractiveness accordingly.”
Elias finally let out a genuine laugh amidst the worrying circumstances.
With or without memory, this man was absolutely ridiculous.
“Hey!” Lisbon protested, her cheeks flushing. “This isn’t funny. Control your man, Agent Vale.”
“Ah, wait,” Patrick said, his flashing smile faltering. “What do you mean by ‘your man’? You don’t mean me, right?”
Elias looked down at the floor guiltily before meeting Patrick’s eyes again. Patrick looked too confused. It was probably better to hide the truth here. Dropping the reality of their romantic relationship onto a past version of Patrick—who still thought he was straight—might be too much to swallow at once.
“It’s just a joke Lisbon makes,” Elias lied smoothly. “We're roommates; we live together. You actually knew about my feelings for me before you lost your memory. You're perceptive like that, but we still get along great. It’s just become a running joke in your department that we're a couple.”
What Elias said wasn’t a complete lie; it held a shred of truth. Patrick had indeed moved in with him a few months ago after finally deciding to sell his old house and stop living out of hotel rooms.
“So... we live together?” Patrick still didn’t look entirely convinced, but seemed to be accepting the information.
“Yeah, we have for a few months now. The rent was cheaper that way,” Elias explained, leaning into the lie.
“Am I broke? That doesn’t sound right. A man with my extraordinary gifts?”
“A few bad investments in a stagnating economy—just some bad luck, really. It wasn't your fault,” Elias explained. “That was actually one of the main reasons you moved into my apartment.”
Patrick, confused, tilted his head, looking like a lost puppy. “I moved into your apartment?”
Elias nodded.
Patrick slowly turned his head to look at Lisbon for confirmation.
“Yeah,” Lisbon jumped in, catching onto the ruse. “You see why we joke about you two now? I mean, you live like an old married couple.”
“Huh,” Patrick muttered in apparent comprehension, but Elias could tell he was still unconvinced. “Anyway, when do I get out of here?”
Elias didn’t know the answer to that; he hadn’t been present for the doctor's briefing. “Agent Lisbon?”
She sighed. “He can be discharged today.”
Patrick clapped his hands together, delighted. “Perfect! Oh, and when can I get back to that policing work you mentioned?”
Lisbon shook her head at him. “Not until you get your memory back. Anyway, I’ll go speak with the doctor to finalize your discharge papers. Agent Vale, could you step outside with me for a moment?”
Elias nodded and followed her out into the quiet hospital corridor. Lisbon closed the door firmly behind them, turning to give him a heavy, complicated look. “I’m not entirely sure how to say this, Agent, but… be very careful with Jane.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know he looks all cute and innocent in there, but this isn’t the Jane you know,” she explained seriously. “You know about his past as a con man, right?” Elias nodded. “Well, the last time he lost his memory like this, he went so far as to steal cash from an active crime scene. All this Jane cares about is money—well, that and flirting with pretty women. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Should I take some time off work? Keep a closer eye on him?” Elias asked, concerned.
“Oh, no,” Lisbon said backtracked quickly. “I would love to ask you to do that, but I know you're currently dealing with that massive corruption case. Just... be careful, alright?”
Elias nodded, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry. I can handle him.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Lisbon said, staring at the closed door with worry. “But this is Jane we’re talking about.”
Elias brought Patrick back to the apartment a few days ago, hoping the familiar space would help him recover, but so far, there had been no improvement in his memory.
Patrick was staying in the guest room; Elias had lied and told him it was his own. He didn’t quite trust that Patrick actually believed the excuse, but the man didn’t argue. Everything had been calm these past few days.
Sure, Patrick still attempted his spiritual act on him from time to time, but besides that, life was peaceful. Elias was even starting to think Lisbon might have exaggerated the trouble an amnesic Patrick could create. At most, he was just a bit insensitive and intrusive.
But then he realized things were disappearing from around the apartment while Patrick was somehow acquiring cash. The fewer items Elias had, the more money he noticed Patrick possessed.
“Patrick,” Elias asked, hoping he was wrong, “have you been stealing my stuff?”
“Stealing?” Patrick blinked, his features twisting into the very definition of innocence. “Elias, please, that is such a harsh word!”
Elias crossed his arms, unimpressed at the excuse. “Patrick. Most of my watches are gone. I can’t find my good coat, and two pairs of my shoes are missing. You took the silver cufflinks from my dresser, the espresso machine from the kitchen—for God’s sake, you even sold my lamp!
“Well, yes, I had to borrow them because I needed to make rent,” Patrick explained, lounging casually on the couch. “I haven't been able to go back to work yet, and I didn't want to fall behind on my half. My conscience couldn't take it if I put all the financial weight on you, my dear friend. Especially in this dreadful economy!”
Elias rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. There were so many things wrong with that explanation he didn’t know where to start.
“It’s been three days, Patrick. You don't need to make rent; it’s due at the end of the month.” Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but Elias immediately held up a hand. “Don’t even try it—no. Even if it were the end of the month, I’d cover for you until you're back to being yourself. Just... stop selling my things.”
Patrick flashed him a bright, sweet smile. “Okay, then I’ll be in your care. Sorry for the misunderstanding,” he said and went back to reading his book.
Elias let out a breath, trying to remind himself that while this man looked like his adorable and understanding boyfriend, he was currently living with a scammer. No matter how sweet the smile, he should not trust this man.
Maybe he had been staring a little too hard because Patrick, noticing he hadn’t left yet, glanced back at him and gave him a little wink. It was enough to make Elias’s heart beat erratically, nearly making him blush.
Fuck, why does he have to be so charming?
The second time Patrick pulled one of his tricks was when he decided it was time to find a part-time job.
Since he still wasn’t allowed back to work, Patrick wanted to do something else to earn some cash. Elias agreed, reasoning that it would at least keep him occupied and perhaps stop him from pawning his belongings, which he was still doing, although on a much smaller scale.
That didn’t mean he trusted him fully, so on the day of the interview, Elias went along. It was a small local bar—a legit place. Elias even met the owner. Patrick was set to start the next day. And shortly after he started, Elias noticed his own things stopped going missing. So, he felt quite satisfied with the new arrangement.
But then he found out what Patrick was actually doing.
Having finished work early one afternoon, Elias decided to drop by the bar to surprise him. But when he arrived, the owner told him something unexpected: Patrick had quit on his very first day.
“What do you mean he quit?” Elias asked, completely blindsided. “He’s been leaving the house every single morning for two weeks.”
“Well, he’s been going somewhere, I suppose,” the owner replied, leaning against the counter. “Just not here. Check the church around the corner.” Elias shot him a questioning look, but the man just shrugged. “It’s better if you see it for yourself, mister.”
Elias immediately went to check it out. It was a small church just a couple of blocks over from the bar, nice but clearly run-down. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. The scene before him was baffling, something he could never have imagined.
There he was: Patrick Jane standing proudly behind the wooden pulpit, hands raised dramatically toward the sky. With the stained-glass windows at his back, he looked like a holy figure, a prophet sent from God delivering a reverent sermon.
“And so, my dear brothers and sisters,” Patrick’s voice boomed throughout the chapel, “we must remember that the path of righteousness is not paved with arrogance nor false grandeur, but with the quiet humility of the spirit! We must be willing to strip away our gold, even the heirloom jewelry gathering dust in our drawers, to fund the ultimate salvation! Can I get an amen?”
“Amen!” the crowd chanted back in unison.
“Think of the great Saint Francis, my friends!” Patrick cried. “A man of wealth who stripped himself of his fine robes to walk among the poor. He didn’t look back and say, 'Oh, I should have sold those robes on eBay or pawned them for quick cash.’ No! He gave it all away! Can I get an amen?”
“Amen!”
Elias closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; he couldn’t look at this mess. It was unbelievable. He could barely process what he had witnessed. Patrick Jane, his amnesic boyfriend, had somehow conned his way into getting a job as a preacher.
It was utterly ridiculous.
Elias knew there wasn't a single religious bone in that man’s body; no matter how many theological discussions they had shared in the past, Patrick had always been a firm non-believer.
“Now, for our special afternoon segment,” Patrick announced, his voice dripping with false, saintly piety. “I will tap into the profound gifts God has bestowed upon me. I shall speak to the souls of the deceased, as is His divine will.”
Elias’s eyes snapped wide open. Oh, absolutely not. He has to be kidding.
Patrick stepped down from the altar. He paced along the row of pews with his hands outstretched, as if sensing an invisible energy, before locking eyes with an elderly woman in the front row who was clutching a damp tissue.
It seemed he had found his mark.
He stopped right in front of her, gently taking her frail hands in his. “Our God has deemed you worthy and has sent a loved one to visit. I feel a presence near you, Martha,” Patrick whispered, loud enough for the entire chapel to hear. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “A man. I feel him. He’s standing right behind you, touching your left shoulder. He’s smiling... oh, he has such a wide, joyful smile. He’s telling me about... a silver teapot? Yes, a teapot you thought you lost.”
The old woman gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Arthur’s favorite teapot! Oh, Lord, it’s him!” She grasped, turning around to try and see the supposed spirit of her husband. “My love, are you there?”
“He is there, Martha, but only someone with my gifts can see him. That is why the Lord sent him down today; Arthur wanted to speak with you. He wants you to know he loves the new garden,” Patrick said smoothly, squeezing her hands. “And he says you shouldn't worry about him. He has made it to his heavenly home. He is at absolute peace.”
Within minutes, the entire crowd was in floods of tears. Soft sniffing echoed through the chapel as the elderly woman nodded in thanks, blowing into her pitiful tissues.
Elias stood at the back, shaking his head in disbelief. The charm and audacity of this man were precisely what made him such a skilled conman. If he had to guess how he did it, Elias deduced Patrick had probably noticed dirt under the woman’s fingernails or overheard some gossip from the crowd, using the information to trick her.
But Patrick wasn't done yet. Stepping back from the woman, he pulled out a large, empty velvet bag and held it up high with a solemn expression.
“God works in mysterious ways, my friends,” Patrick announced. “Today, He allowed one of His reverent followers to reunite with a loved one. And while He asks for nothing but your reverence and love, the physical house of the Lord requires maintenance. We are now accepting donations for the emergency church restoration fund. Whatever your heart guides you to give.”
He began passing the velvet bag down the front row, and the people couldn't open their purses fast enough, each one shoving no less than twenty-dollar bills inside. From across the chapel, Patrick’s green eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto Elias, who was standing by the back doors.
Elias had expected him to flee, panicked at having been caught, but instead, Patrick simply winked at him and kept collecting the cash.
Watching Patrick chatter good-naturedly with the churchgoers, all smiles and charm, Elias was absolutely confident that none of that money would, in fact, be invested in renovations.
It was a good thing he had finished work early. He would also have to speak with the church administration to have Patrick removed from his position and, hopefully, get him to return the money he had stolen up until now.
Today had taught him an important lesson about Patrick: he couldn’t trust him right now, under any circumstances. Unfortunately, that meant that despite the pressing public corruption case he was working on, he would have to take some time off just to keep an eye on Patrick until his memories returned.
Lisbon had been right; this wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.
The third time Patrick caused trouble, he tried to scam Elias out of his own money by trying to convince him that he could channel the spirits of his deceased parents.
Now, this didn’t work because while Elias believed in God and a spiritual world, he had absolutely no faith in mediums. And even if he did, he had zero interest in speaking to his parents, and he knew they wouldn't want to speak to him either.
Elias hadn’t even attended their funeral.
It wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. No matter how estranged they had been, he had at least wanted to show them respect as a son by attending the service. But he hadn’t been allowed anywhere near it. It was only later that he learned his parents had left explicit instructions in their will, banning him from their gravesites.
After that, any love he had left for them died. There was no hate anymore. Just absolute indifference to their memory.
So, Elias wouldn’t have minded if Patrick wasted his breath arguing that his parents’ spirits wanted to make amends and all that. He could easily tune out all that nonsense. But then, Patrick decided to claim he was in contact with the spirit of Elias’s ex-boyfriend.
“The man who gave you that scar… a lover,” Patrick murmured, slipping into his psychic persona. “I feel his presence clinging to you. There is anger there, betrayal, love… but there is also another emotion. I can’t quite grasp it yet.”
“Patrick,” Elias said, his voice tight. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear it.”
But Patrick pressed on with his performance. “The spirit... a lover, a soldier. He is telling me you served together. I sense pain from him, but also—”
“Patrick… don't go there,” Elias warned, his patience running thin. He had been sitting peacefully on the couch, enjoying a rare day off with a book, right up until Patrick decided to launch into this theater act.
Elias refused to deal with this.
He hadn’t even told his own Patrick about the true origins of the scar. It was a painful part of his past, and he had been waiting for the right moment to share it. But to see this person with his lover's features, but not his memory, just carelessly jabbing at that wound in his heart, was getting on his nerves.
“…guilt. He is trying to tell me that he is sorry. That he never meant to—”
Elias tried to ignore it. He tried to shut Patrick's voice out, but it was getting unbearable.
I can’t take it anymore. Shut up. Shut up. Please just…
“PATRICK, SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
The coffee table shook as Elias slammed his fist down, the loud thud echoing through the apartment along with his furious voice.
Finally, Patrick stopped talking, but it was only for a moment. “Ah, damn it. You severed the connection,” he said, his voice devoid of any sense of guilt at what he had been doing. “I understand this must be difficult, but he really wants to speak with you. For a small fee, I can even—“
Elias tuned the rest out. It was at this moment that he missed his own Patrick more than ever. The man who loved him held him with genuine love and warmth; this couldn't be him. This version of the man had no heart.
Elias set his book down on the coffee table. He looked up at Patrick, his expression completely blank, though his heart was hammering painfully against his ribs. “Let me make one thing clear. I will not fall for your tricks. Want to know why? Because I know exactly how your tricks work. Let me tell you which ‘spirit’ really spoke to you, Patrick,” Elias said, his tone calm. “Two nights ago, you broke into the locked cabinet in my home office. You found my military discharge papers. You saw my medical history—and you found out how I got this scar.”
Patrick’s smile didn’t falter, nor did his calm demeanor waver for a single second at the accusation. “Elias, the spirits often use physical objects to—”
“And as for my ex-boyfriend?” Elias interrupted, leaning forward on the couch. “You found a silver ring hidden in that cabinet with an engraving dated ten years ago. You did the math, assumed it belonged to a man, and then rummaged through my files again to find out that my ex was involved in the knife incident. An incident that ended in his death. You’re looking for a vulnerability so you can bleed my bank account dry. But tell me, do you think a man who killed his lover is the type of person who wants to contact their spirit?”
Patrick stared at him with that same empty smile. Elias saw no genuine emotion. It was like talking to a wall. “I hadn’t learned that part from him yet," Patrick said. "But no wonder his spirit seemed so angry with you, despite his guilt. Tell me, what happened exactly? I’m sure you didn’t mean it. I’ll talk to him.”
Elias let out a tired breath. He wanted this to end. “I know you don't remember me. And I know you don't remember the man you became. But the Patrick Jane I fell in love with would never use my past to hustle me for money. He cared about other people’s feelings—about mine.”
The silence in the living room became suffocating. Patrick blinked, looking down at Elias’s scarred hand, the deep, jagged wound that sliced up his arm. But he didn't say anything, didn't even offer an apology.
Elias stood up from the couch and gently cupped the face of this man who had become a stranger. “Do you really not remember anything at all?” he asked. Then, he placed a short kiss on his lips.
Patrick didn't move, and when Elias let go, there was still that same look from a man who didn't remember him at all.
His lover still hadn’t returned, and Elias feared it would be too late when he did.