Summary: A one-shot about Patrick's wedding day. It's the happiest day of his life, and also, somewhere, things are falling into place for the day that will be his worst. Even a man who has convinced the masses that he has psychic abilities cannot overcome the adage, "hindsight is 20/20" and with it, its converse, "foresight is blind".

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or any of its characters or plots. All I have are a few unhealthy obsessions and a love of words. =)

Well, I'm usually not one for writing fanfiction about tv shows, simply because I don't follow that many of them. However, I've fallen in love with The Mentalist (and Simon Baker...) and out of that love has come this one-shot. It's an unusual little plot, I know, and has little to do with the show as we know it. But, I love Patrick Jane as a character and wanted to try to present him as he was before his breakdown, when he was a man in love with his family and life, on top of the world.

There was a full-length mirror in the one person room. It was hung on the closet door, as they usually are in hotels, to save space. This one had a crack near the top that no one had yet bothered to fix, presumably put there by a former patron who had slammed the door shut out of anger…or maybe just kicked it closed on their way to check out, carrying too many bags. However it got there, Patrick Jane chose to ignore it as he stared down his reflection. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, made sure his boutonnière was pinned firmly into place, and ran slightly jittery fingers through his blonde curls for the hundredth time that morning. He tried to make the man in the mirror look calm and composed, not the wreck of nerves it was reflecting. He drew his lips into a smile, which helped a little. He had a beautiful smile; hardly a day went by when someone, usually a complete stranger, didn't remind him of that fact. Even though it made him feel like a bit of a narcissist, Patrick had to admit that they were right. It was probably his best feature and, more importantly, had always served him well. In his childhood, one flash of that bright grin and he usually got what he wanted. As an adult, he'd learned to use the expression to gain trust, quell fears, and generally charm other people. That was his real profession, real life's work... being unbelievably charming. He might write down his occupation as "psychic medium" (much to the amusement of whoever was reviewing the form), but it really should have read "charmer". He was very good at his job. He could charm people into tears, into anger, into a trance, into a confession, or out of their money, in under two hours…guaranteed.

There was just one person he'd never been able to work his magic on, not really anyway. He supposed he'd impressed her with his parlor tricks, endeared her with his smile, strung her along on a joke, but really pull one over on her? Never. The woman just a floor below him, who was no doubt fussing over her own hair and fiddling with an expensive white dress, had never fallen victim to the charm of Patrick Jane. He supposed that had something to do with why he was marrying her. When they'd first met and he'd casually mentioned that he was "gifted with psychic abilities", her response had been to laugh and say "you're funny!". The subject was dropped then and there. He knew she knew he was a fake. She clearly knew that the money they were living so comfortably on was made by telling lies to desperate people. But, she had never once confronted him about it. In fact, she was as disinterested in his "career" as she could possibly be. It was yet another thing that drew him to her, she saw Patrick Jane as Patrick Jane. Not as a psychic, or a genius, or even a lying thief, but as a funny, sweet, occasionally annoying man who liked to turn everything into a game and tended to over-analyze everyday life. She'd slap him when he was being ridiculous, and when he was struck with a bout of egotism she'd roll her eyes and walk away. Another reason he loved her. If it weren't for her, he would probably become the most obnoxious, self-righteous man on the planet. On top of it all, she was beautiful, intelligent, witty, confident, caring…

"Hey! C'mon Patrick, limo's here! Time to get this show on the road!"

…and she was going to marry him.

Genuinely smiling now, Patrick Jane gave his best man a nervous laugh and headed out the open door and to the waiting limousine.

The ride to the ceremony was quick, but not nearly quick enough as Patrick sat, staring out the window, feet tapping and hands fidgeting, looking more anxious than he had allowed himself to in a long time. The analytical part of his brain was trying to figure what in the world he was so nervous for, it was just a wedding! All he had to do was stand at the altar, smile, and repeat after the priest. Simple. However, the emotional part of his brain wasn't listening. It was his wedding. Obviously, the personal aspect of the situation was causing irrational behavior.

The old, ornate church was packed and sweltering when they arrived. Outside, much to the groom's amusement, there were even a few cameras taking snapshots for the local tabloids. He had expected something like this; it only meant that his grand plan for success was moving along wonderfully. It was probably lucky they were getting married now, who knew what kind of publicity he might be getting in a couple months, once the book was published. This was the one thing that worried her as he worked his way towards becoming a "renowned psychic". Would they lose their privacy? Become a rag mag freak show? No, he assured her, with a smile, he could get any of them to back off with a snap of his fingers.

Before he even had time to sort through his thoughts, Patrick had been guided to his place next to the altar and the sanctuary had gone silent as a few notes of piano music began to play. As the bridal party meandered slowly down the aisle, Patrick Jane worked to compose himself into a confident appearance. Internally, he was hopping. For once, he knew what it felt like to have butterflies in his stomach. He looked at the people seated in the congregation, trying to distract himself a bit by reading their emotions. On "his" side of the aisle was his aging aunt with tears in her eyes, mostly because she was thinking her sister should be there to watch her son get married, although she secretly relished the fact that Patrick has become a sort of surrogate child for her. There was his older cousin, still unemployed, trying to look bored and not jealous. Next to him was his father, Patrick's paternal uncle, looking uncomfortable, wishing he didn't have to act as father of the groom. That was the extent of his family, behind them sat a sea of friends, who's attitudes ranged from content to bored. Turning his attention to "her" side, he saw at least three rows of blood relations. There was her mother who was unsuccessfully hiding the fact that she was less than thrilled with her daughter's choice of husband; "crackpot" was one of her favorite nicknames for the blonde charmer. Next were the bride's two sisters, both tearing up, though for different reasons. One was a typical emotional housewife who was thrilled to see her sister settle down at last, the other was a party queen who never held down a relationship for more than two months, and was being hit with a pang of lonely jealousy. Before he could get to review her cousins from out of town, the music changed and the room scrambled to its feet.

Patrick Jane raised his eyes to the back of the church just as the oohs and ahhs began to echo around the room. She was walking, arm and arm with her father (who liked Patrick Jane even less than his wife), the details on her princess-worthy gown catching the light of the stained glass windows, light brown hair arranged under a long white veil, smiling, with her eyes fixed on him. She reached him at last, her father said something that Patrick didn't bother to listen to, she put her hands in his. Something hot was running down his cheek but he didn't want to take his hands away from her to wipe it off.

It's true, what people say about weddings, that you spend months planning and worrying over something that will happen in a flash. Before he knew it, Patrick had said his vows and was walking down the aisle with his wife; that winning smile feeling like it would never come off his face. Next was a limo to the reception, also picture-perfect and beautifully arranged, thanks to her eye for style. The only minor annoyance was a police siren speeding by the villa as the couple's first dance began, but even that couldn't dampen the moment. Everyone agreed they were the most beautiful couple, the most in love, and destined for the most wonderful life. Patrick Jane, looking down at his wife as they cut into their wedding cake, had to agree.

XXX

The rookie officer's squad car squealed to a halt in front of the typical-looking suburban house. He'd been on the beat for two fairly uneventful weeks and wasn't used to driving so fast. There was already an ambulance and a sheriff's car on the scene. He jogged up the steps and through the open front door into a cozy-looking living room, before stopping dead in his tracks. He found himself staring at a giant red smiley face on the wall above the couch. On the couch were a middle-aged woman and a teenaged girl, both mostly covered in the same pigment that had created the face above them. The paramedics stood on the sidelines; there was nothing for them to do here. The rookie felt his throat burn as he resisted the urge to gag. The sheriff was standing by the coffee table, holding a piece of lined notebook paper.

"Red John," he muttered, running a hand over his face as he finished reading the note, "What the hell...Jesus…"

More sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching the quiet neighborhood. The rookie found his feet moving him to stand next to the paramedics seemingly of their own accord. The place would be a zoo in a few minutes. What could he do to help? The way he saw it, not much.