AN: I started this one shot after the end of S06 but never finished it. So in keeping with my New Year's Resolution to either complete or delete my unfinished stories I pick this one up again this morning and finished it in about an hour.
It is pure Lisbon/Jane fluff told from Lisbon's point of view. Hopefully it makes sense.
Don't own The Mentalist or it's characters.
A Life Reflected.
I watch my husband as he putters around our garden pulling weeds and pointing out the different flowers both to the delight of our one year old daughter. Pondering how different this man is to the emotionally broken one that entered my life so many years ago. How he has blossomed into the perfect husband and perfect father. And yet there is a sameness about Patrick Jane that let's me know it is still him.
He still wears those brown shoes almost every day although I have talked him into a pair of work boots for the odd chore. But off they come as soon as the work is done.
We will never own one of those fancy tea making machines. No proper tea requires water to be taken to a full boil in a kettle then poured gently over the infuser or in a pinch a tea bag. Milk is always put in the cup first.
The proper attire for any occasions is a suit. Sometimes with a vest sometimes with out but always a dress shirt, even an old island print one. I recall the horror in our neighbors eyes when we arrived at our first community barbeque, everyone thinking they had missed the dress code memo. By the end of the day, as usual, Jane had beguiled the entire neighborhood, especially the children. After insulting the performing clown hired for the day, Patrick took over the entertainment much to the delight of children and adults alike.
He has a way with children, seemingly relating to them on their own level. Never talking down to them and letting them know what they have to say is just important as any grown up conversation. I think they bring out the little boy in him, remind him of a time when life was carefree.
Our daughter can't wait to see him every morning, arms outstretched, followed by a chorus of Daddy, or what passes for Daddy these days. Seems like her day can't start until she is picked up by him and gets covered in Daddy kisses. Kind of hurts my feelings sometimes. But then I chose to go back to work and he chose to stay home with Lyric. He's the stabilizing force in her life, her primary source of comfort and companionship. I envy her that Daddy/daughter bond and wish her to never lose it.
My daughter loves me, I know that but she is Daddy's little girl from top to toe. Her eyes the color of the aquamarine seas and her hair a mass of honey blond curls. She is just a year old and can already charm the birds out of the trees, with her innocent looks and the beginnings of a what I'm sure will be a dazzling smile. I have a miniature Patrick Jane on my hands all wrapped up in ribbons and bows. Go ahead laugh now Daddy, but wait until the boys start coming around she'll be glad Mommy taught her how to take down a perp. But we have years yet for that right now Lyric Alice Jane is a happy little girl surrounded by love.
My life is pretty perfect. I got a promotion at work and have my own team again. Sort of a team within a team all under the direction of Kimball Cho. My time is divided between fieldwork and training, a compromise Patrick could handle. Although I suspect my boss and my husband are in cahoots to keep me closer to my desk than a crime scene. I grumble but I don't mind really, I never want to leave our daughter motherless because of take down gone bad. After all I helped rid the world of a notorious serial killer and a corrupt law enforcement network not to mention putting Tommy Volker behind bars. Debt to society paid!
And Patrick, I never knew that I could love anyone that much. What can I say every day with him is a pleasure and a gift. He fills my heart with joy. There is a peace around him now, like the sunshine being let into a musty room. It's hard to picture the man who spent his days locked in an attic obsessing over his revenge while the world went on without him. Now he is a man living and loving each moment of his life and bringing us all along for the ride. Yet when I see him stretched out on the coach catching a nap all the worries of the world absent from his face, I still see the old Jane. The Jane that gave me headaches and paperwork along with origami frogs and strawberries and I acknowledge, if only to myself, that I have loved him since the moment I meet him and will continue to do so until the end of time.