Hi, so um…I live in England so I won't get to see the finale just yet, but I can already imagine that it won't be very happy. When I read the part of him 'hitting rock bottom' my instant though was: if Patrick Jane hits rock bottom, then the only way is up right?
Hopefully this reflects that. Although it more than likely won't so apologies in advance.
Hope you like this. I wrote it quite early in the morning when I couldn't sleep
P:S: 'shoots one of his own' - seriously? He shot someone last year! It better not be Lisbon! My Jane/Lisbon 'anything but hating each other!' Heart wouldn't be able to take it. Besides, she got shot last year, give the girl a break…
Disclaimer: I do not own the mentalist
Dedicated to anyone who believes that if you've gone through as much as Patrick Jane, you deserve a proper happy ending. Also to those who have read/reviewed my stories before- thank you!
His eyes are green, not blue.
His hair looks more golden when the light hits it.
He wears blue and grey suits more than he does black.
He usually has a cup of tea each hour.
I keep thinking this over and over. Random facts about the person that I have gotten close to over the years. It's the only thing I can do right now as I hold him tight. Our relationship is hard to define. I know I love him. I can't help but love him. But I'm not sure what kind of love it is that I feel. Maternal? Definitely not. Sisterly love? Sometimes. Friendship? I love him more as a friend than I do if he was my brother. Do I love him as in ' you're gorgeous, you're amazing, I love you' ? Depends what day it is…
Three hours ago, Patrick Jane walked into the bull pen. He made himself a cup of tea. He took off his jacket. He unbuttoned his waistcoat. He sat on the sofa.
He then began to cry.
He is still crying now. Hear in my arms. I'm rocking him like I would a child. Gently stroking his curls and making soothing sounds. Going over facts that I definitely knew about my crying friend because I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if I should say anything at all. Let Patrick be the first to talk. The cup of tea near to him is stone cold, not a drop has been consumed. It was though he never wanted it in the first place. He came to work on auto-pilot and made the tea like he would normally.
I don't know if I am helping, but I pray that I am. That my presence is making some difference to him. Some reassurance that he is not alone. No matter what he has done in the last few days, there is someone here to hold him as he breaks. I will always be here for him. I know this is only the beginning, but I will be there till the end. The others are not here. They know it is best for them not to be here. It isn't that they don't care for him, or that he doesn't care for them.
It's just for the best.
Patrick Jane is broken. He was broken the day his wife and daughter were taken from him. If Patrick Jane was a window, Red John made the first splinter. He threw the rock that first cracked the window. The kind of crack that wouldn't get smaller, just bigger and bigger until the whole window smashed into tiny pieces and there would be nothing left to repair. Patrick once said that Sophie Miller saved him. She fixed him. I don't believe that. She didn't fix the crack Red John made, she just put masking tape over it. She covered the crack Red John made. She didn't fill it in. she didn't make him good as new. He was still a fragile object, vulnerable to more cracks and splinters over the years.
Time and time again, Red John has waltzed back into Patrick's life. Like a school bully that taunts you through every year of your academic life. Red John is an invisible threat that hurts innocent people but is never found. He is the cause of Patrick's problems. The sole reason he is crying in my arms right now. He taunts Patrick over and over. Mocks him. Works him up into an emotional ball of rage and hurt and heartache. There is nothing we can do or say to help him. To let him know we are here for him. We dread each Red John case we get, because we know what will happen.
Patrick deserves to be happy again. Truly happy. I know he misses them. Not just them but what they represented. Patrick Jane had a family. A happy loving family. Once they were taken from him, he was all alone. A house made for a family, now only home to a broken father and the memories of what used to be. Every case involving a young family, a young child, he has the same look in his eyes. The look of heart ache. A flash of hurt and sorrow. A look as if to say 'that used to be mine'. Patrick Jane no longer has a family, but millions of others do.
At least when the case is over, we can bid goodbye to the families we help. He can be back in the bullpen where there is nothing to taunt him of his loss. That is until this year. Until Rigsby told us of his news. Until Rigsby started forming a family of his own. A little baby of his own. Not a girl like Patrick had, but still a child. A reminder to Patrick of what he once had. Of what he still could have had now if it hadn't been taken from him. Rigsby was a father. He will watch his pride and joy grow up to be like him. A mixture of his mother and father. Rigsby should get the next 50, maybe 60 years of his child's life. Patrick got 6.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I just hope he understands that I am here for him. He came into work so he must feel safe here. Safe with me. This time yesterday, Patrick was in the arms of another. A woman he met at a bar. A woman willing to hold him and love him and give him the kind of attention he hadn't been given since his wife was alive. He was a mixture of emotions. He needed some form of release. Someone to be there for him. He felt so alone and lost and scared. He wanted the feeling of being loved. The feeling of being wanted. 8 years is a long time, but Patrick still wasn't ready. Not like this anyway. Not with someone he didn't know. That wasn't the Patrick Jane I know. This isn't what he needs right now. Affection and attention yes, but from those who know him. Those who know his story. This woman may have liked him, I don't know. But I do know that she didn't do him any good. She reminded him of what he used to have.
He told me he was sorry. He told me that he knew he had screwed up. The phone call had lasted just under 3 minutes. He told me that he was alone. There was nobody around but him and his thoughts. He told me about the woman. How at that moment he felt like a different person. He told me that he felt empty. There were so many emotions yet he still felt empty. Like a shell of a human being. So lost and alone. So out of touch with everyone and anything. He told me how much he hated Red John. How much pain he felt. How he had no idea what he was doing with his life. He told me that he resented Rigsby, then how guilty he felt for saying that. He told me that he needed me, but he wasn't sure why. He just knew he needed me. He knew he wanted to be around me, that my presence meant things seemed to make more sense. He bade me goodnight and said he'd see me in the morning. I wanted to tell him that it couldn't wait till morning. I would go to him now. I didn't want him to be alone. Before I could ask him where he was he had put the phone down. He was left alone with his thoughts. He brain processing everything that had gone in his life since Red John ruined his happiness.
His wife and Child murdered.
Alone in a hospital room
Red John's constant taunts
Families needing our help
Past clients and friends and family members returning
Accusations that he is a disciple of Red John
8 years of memories and self loathing
So there is it, my angst filled little break-down story with a caring Lisbon. Pretty please let me know what you think and thank you for reading my story.