A/N: Hee, I had fun with this. This can be whoever you want it to be, even yourself, but I know who it is in my mind. (-cough-Jisbonlovebaby-cough-) I thought I'd try and kick off the X-Mas Mentalist fics (I think I succeeded...I haven't found any for this year yet). Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, my friends.
Disclaimer: Me no own Psych, Shawn Spencer, Mentalist or Patrick Jane-heck! I don't own Simon Baker. But I think that was obvious. If I did own any of those, now...hehehe. MWHAHAHAHA! -cough-
Warning: Christmas lingerie and the desire to drink eggnog and do a Secret Santa exchange might be ahead.
Spoilers: Just a fun oneshot, no real spoilers.
Pairings: Meh. Only if you want it to be, or you can think of it as a little prank on a newbie or something.
You hold the box in your hands, eyeing the red paper and golden bow. It's Christmas, and you're beginning to regret the Secret Santa exchange. The person who got you this might know nothing about you, or everything, and you're not sure which is worse. The possibility of getting something you'd actually want is slim to none, considering you only told family what you want for the holidays.
You wish you were alone to unwrap the gift, just so nothing happens. As your eye wanders about the room, watching the others unwrap gifts eagerly and then try to decipher who gave it to them, you can't help but smile and think them as childish. Sure, it's Christmas, but none of you are five years old. And yet, there was something about the whole thing that made one wish they were. But you weren't, you wouldn't be. Those days are over and you're not gonna waste time thinking about it.
The Christmas music plays loudly, a little too loudly, and you regret the three glasses of eggnog. You're pretty sure it's adding to your headache.
You sigh, placing your hands at the sides of the box and begin picking at the tape. You glare at the gold card stating your name in large, black letters. It's taunting you, you're sure. Inanimate objects could taunt, and they did—just look at that creepy Santa in the corner, it looks like the one from that Christmas episode of Psych which even Shawn Spencer said was weird—so you didn't think twice about doing it.
Finally, the wrapping paper gone, you rest your hands on the lid of the classic square box and take a deep breath. You pull it off, peeking down, before quickly shoving the lid back on.
Someone calls to you from across the room. "Aw, come on. Presents don't bite." Laughter erupts from every side, and you glare at the cat-who-ate-the-canary smile and wink upon the face of your gift-giver.
Really, only Patrick Jane would give you red and black lingerie.