a/n: this is going to be a part in my Daughter!Verse, this fic is not connected story-wise to the other Daughter fics. If you didn't know this, Patrick Jane's wife's name is Angela and his daughter's name is Charlotte.

Daughter of My Guilt

Today was theanniversary, today was one of the worst days in Patrick Jane's life. It was one of those days, the one where he was barely able to hold on, the one where he was amazed that he was still here today. Of course, the only reason he knew that was possible was because there was that slight chance that he could get revenge, and guilt that flowed like lard through his mind would simmer and all but leave him. He knew that he may not even by able to hold that long; but Patrick was never going to let Red John win.

Patrick was glad that today the CBI didn't have a case, but then again he didn't have anything to preoccupy his mind. Today was not only the anniversary of his wife and daughter's death—caused by his own doing and completed by the murderer Red John—but was also his daughter's birthday.

Patrick had thought about it daily—especially today—that maybe if he had done things differently that day, he would still have his wife and his little girl.

He sat in the dark in his apartment—the one that had no value to him—with a cup of hot tea in his hands, his eyes blank as he stared at the wall across from him.

March 10th, 2007

It was Saturday morning, six a.m. to be more exact and the con artist had claimed one of the stools that adorned the kitchen island, a fresh cup of hot tea in front of him. He was clad in one of his usual slick suits; a dark navy blue jacket and slacks with a purplish shirt; his tie was silk and the colour of the sky with darker corresponding blue diamonds. It was his daughter's favorite tie, the one that she had gotten him for father's day, and it was just a bonus that it brang out his eyes like his wife liked to tell him.

He took a sip of his tea, setting his cup down just as his daughter came barreling down that the stairs and throwing herself at him. Patrick caught her expertly though, and settled Charlotte in his lap. Charlotte snuggled against her father, her arms wrapped around his neck, his around her waist.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."Patrick told her and she gave him a toothy-smile."How'd my seven year old sleep?"

"Great, daddy!" she chirped.

Patrick smiled down at her. Angela was still asleep, and usually she and Charlotte would stay asleep until at least eight. But today it had always been like this, Charlotte always seemed to wake up at the same time as Patrick. This was there together time, especially on her birthday and his.

Charlotte's light curls were down, not even sleep messing them. Her blue eyes were keen just like her father's, but she had he mother's face. Her feet were bare and she was clad in one of Patrick's old shirts, the piece of clothing big enough to be a gown.

She looked up at her father. "Dou you have to go?" she asked, a slight pout to her lips.

"I won't be gone long," Patrick promised her. "I just have a TV interview and I'll be back just in time."

"Can't you stay?" she begged her father.

"Charlotte," he said quietly.

She cast her eyes downward. "But it's my birthday,"

"I know, honey." Patrick told her, "But remember what we talk about?"

Charlotte nodded her head, her curls bouncing.

"You're gonna spend the day with your mom; and you're going to have a great time." Patrick told her, a smile on his lips. "And when I get back I'm going to give you your present and you'll eat your favorite cake."

Charlotte was grinning at him, happy at the prospect of cake and presents—and her father coming back. "Okay!" she said simply.

"Okay, then." Patrick laughed lightly, kissing her forehead.

"When do you go?" she shot out, "Can I walk you?"

Patrick smiled down at her, in love with his daughter's seemingly obsession to have to always walk him to the car before he left.

"Yes, you can walk me to the car."

"Yay!"

Patrick took one last sip from his cup before setting it down and standing up. Charlotte clung to his neck like a spider-monkey and Patrick supported her with an arm under her butt, she wrapped her legs around his waist just in case. He slowly made his way to the door, grabbing his bag and keys on the way. It was still early but the sun was starting to rise, washing the sky in reds, yellow, oranges and even pink almost purples.

He paused at the door and Charlotte looked up at the sky in delight, her mouth opening as it always did. Patrick smiled at her; he hated to do this on her birthday, and he had even tried to reschedule, but he couldn't make it happen. He unlocked the door and threw his bag in the back seat before closing the door.

"You behave, okay?" he said to her.

She nodded her head, a day with mom was never bad, but it always seemed great with daddy.

"I love you, Charlotte." he told her, the love shinning in his eyes as kissed her on the forehead. Her eyes closed for a second at the lingering kiss.

"I love you too, daddy." she said, giving him a smooch.

She giggled when he gave her a peck on the tip of her nose.

Albeit reluctantly he set her down on the grass, but not before he hugged her tightly and her arms squeezed around his neck. He climbed into the car and turned it on; he waved at her as he pulled from the drive. She waved back, her arm waving broadly in the air; Patrick smiled as he watched her through the rear-view mirror.

That had been the last time he had seen his baby girl, the last time he had seen Charlotte alive. Yes, it had been a happy memory, probably a better one of the last moment than others seemed to have. But it didn't lessen the guilt that he felt. He deserved this guilt; he had caused the death of his wife and of his daughter. If he hadn't been so prideful and cocky, calling out Red John on national TV. Or maybe if he had simply not gone to the interview and stayed home with his daughter on her seventh birthday. But he hadn't, he was a stupid con man back then, one that couldn't seem to be able to stop—but that night, when he had found his wife and daughter, he did quit.

That interview was the one and only biggest mistakes he had ever made in all of his life.

Patrick Jane sat in the dark, alone, heartbroken and guilt ridden. He remembered that day as if it had happened minutes ago, saw his daughter dead as if he were still looking at her. The tea in the cup that he was holding was now cold, but it didn't matter; he wasn't thirsty.

Silent tears ran unbidden down his cheeks; today, Charlotte would have been eleven today.

note: I hoped you liked it even though it was sad. I don't know what Charlotte looked like and I don't think that they ever showed her on the show, but I did want to give her Patrick's eyes. I don't know that date that they were killed, or how old Charlotte was—but I made it so that it was Charlotte's birthday, maybe adding more shock?

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