Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist, but I would breakdance naked in a McDonald's to own Simon Baker.

1. The Almighty Powers of Windex

"Okay, Patrick. Today's the day. Are you ready?"

"Absolutely. I only hope you will walk away from this with minimal scarring."

"That doesn't sound very positive, Patrick."

"Good. At least we know I'm still in my right mind...so to speak."

"Would you mind giving me your journal now?"

"Certainly. Although...don't take the first few entries too personally. I really didn't like you at all in the beginning."

Patrick Jane looked at his shrink and friend, and smiled his crooked smile, as if challenging her. Helping him just wasn't possible, but he respected her enough to allow her to try.

"I hope you were this honest in your writing." She raised an eyebrow. He mimicked the expression.

"Brutally."

-:-

DAY ONE

He simply could not tolerate it any longer.

That was the reason he gave to his reflection to explain why he was talking to a mirror in the first place.

It hadn't been his idea, mind you. He had better things to do than try to work out his "personal issues" (which weren't that severe...really!) every morning and evening. But weeks after beginning a crushing downward spiral, he'd given in to Grace's insistence that he see the office shrink.

And so he had.

In accordance with every experience he had had of conversing with such a person, the shrink had given him a task to complete before breakfast and dinner each day. This was done in hopes that the shrink themselves wouldn't have to do any actual counseling, and the healing and self-discovery was left entirely up to the patient.

Jane's only discovery so far on Monday were three small lines at the corners of each of his eyes, and a rabbit-shaped spot on his bathroom mirror.

He copied these interesting findings in the journal which the good doctor had insisted Jane purchase.

AUGUST 21ST, 7:30 AM:

Laugh lines. Need to clean mirror.

Feeling pleased with himself, he tucked the pen inside the journal and closed it. Tucking it under his arm, he nodded once at his reflection, said, "Thank you for your helpful insight," and headed to work.

-:-

"So, how'd it go Friday?" Grace asked, almost as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Jane stopped, kept his face very serious, and handed his journal to the eager redhead. "Is this your diary?" She opened it to the first page and grimaced. Rigsby came to stand behind her, shoving half a jelly donut into his mouth at once.

"''Laugh lines. Need to clean mirror,'" she read aloud, sounding greatly disappointed. Rigsby swallowed.

"You should use Windex," he offered, obviously thinking this to be a profound suggestion.

"Thank you, Rigsby!" Jane exclaimed, overcome with gratitude. "A good cleaner is so hard to find these days."

"Jane, I think you need to take this more seriously." Grace closed his journal and returned it to him.

"How much more seriously can I take it, Grace? I spent three dollars and ninety-nine cents on this!" he said, waving the journal.

Grace rolled her eyes and returned to her desk, Rigsby following close behind. Smiling, Jane let himself into Lisbon's office, sank down on the couch and put up his feet. He wedged the journal beneath one of the couch cushions.

"Morning, Jane."

"Morning, Lisbon. How are you today?"

"I'm fine," she asked warily, "and how are you?"

"I could be better. That crazy doctor friend of Grace's has me writing down notes on my appearance and feelings."

"And what have you concluded thus far?"

"I have crow's feet. It makes me feel old." If it weren't for how genuinely distressed he sounded, Lisbon probably wouldn't have giggled. Jane threw her a look over his shoulder.

"Well, you have to admit, you're no spring chicken. And Dr. Owen is trying to help you. Let her."

Jane sat up and turned to face Lisbon, a look of sheer amusement on his face. Lisbon cringed.

"What?"

"Did...you...just say...'spring chicken?'"

Lisbon rolled her eyes and continued filling out paperwork. Jane would not be satisfied, however; he repeated the phrase 'spring chicken' about a thousand times that day, and everyone in the building looked the other way when a stapler strongly resembling Teresa Lisbon's went flying at his head.

AUGUST 21ST, 9:47 PM:

Golf-ball sized growth on forehead, courtesy of Lisbon. Bought a bottle of
Windex during lunch hour. Accompanied assailant to her car this evening,
because I am a nice person. Did not receive an apology.
Going to bed early. Will resemble 'spring chicken' in the morning.

-:-

Things continued in such a manner all week. Jane dutifully awoke every morning and recorded the thoughts that came easiest to him. He knew this wasn't the objective, but he decided if he had to participate, then Dr. Amelia Owen should have to, as well.

Their second meeting was set for Friday afternoon. Jane arrived, clutching his journal. Dr. Owen looked up from her desk as he closed her office door. Tiny glasses were slid to the bridge of her delicate nose, her short brown hair meticulously sprayed to stay in place. Her frame was similar to Lisbon's, only, as Jane was amazed to notice for the second time, she was even smaller. Almost pixie-like.

The word "shrink" seemed appropriate enough.

"Please, Patrick. Have a seat," she greeted him cheerfully. Jane sat obediently, eager to get the meeting over with so that she could sign his "mentally astute" slip and send him back to the real world. He extended his journal to her; she shook her head and pushed it back toward him.

"That's for you, Jane. For the next few months, I'd like you to continue writing down your thoughts twice a day, like we discussed. I'll only read them at the end of our time together." She shuffled some papers around on her desk and raised a cup of coffee to her lips.

"But...how are you going to help me if you don't keep up with my progress?" Jane asked, suspicious. Dr. Owen returned her coffee to her desk.

"Patrick, the words in your journal aren't what is important. It is what you learn from them. When you come in here, read over what you've written in the past and tell me what you think it means."

"Isn't that your job?"

"It's my job to deduce what has led you into your way of thinking, to find out if there is something that can be done to open your eyes to a different view." She smiled crookedly at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds like a PhD talking."

She winked at him.

"You'd better believe it. So what have you learned from yourself this week?" Right down to business, this woman. Jane liked her already. She was very similar to Lisbon.

"Not a thing, I'm sorry to report. I have wrinkles, I have too little furniture, Lisbon is constantly harassing me to the point that I need medical attention five days out of seven...but on the bright side, every reflective surface within a ten-mile radius of this building is now spotless!"

Dr. Owen regarded him with some distaste.

"What, no comment?"

"Your attempt at deflection is completely transparent, Patrick. Tell me what's been bothering you this week, or for however long you've felt so badly that you ultimately ended up in that chair."

Jane stalled. This woman was looking directly through him. Transparent, she'd said. He had a feeling she just might have a talent for reading people, as well.

"Nothing. That's it. Nothing has changed. My routine is the same. I come to work, try to catch Red John, bicker with the team, bicker with Lisbon..."

"And nothing is different, you say?" she probed, leaning forward in her chair. Jane found himself unable to maintain eye contact.

"Nope. It's all work and no play," he said, sounding resigned. Dr. Owen pursed her lips.

"Oh? So how's the wedding planning going?" she asked, relaxing into her chair with the air of someone who had succeeded in striking a nerve, and relishing in that triumph.

Jane looked up.

"I'm not involved," he said quickly, his eyes narrowing on her. What was she up to?

Dr. Owen was nonplussed. She plowed forward, even as Jane shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You mean to tell me that Ms. Lisbon has not requested your participation in one of the biggest events of her life? That's odd. And you two appear to be so close." Dr. Owen spoke fluidly, leaning toward him with every word, sipping her coffee and fighting the compulsion to grin madly. She wasn't doing very well.

"I know Lisbon, very well," Jane quipped, extinguishing the ludicrous idea that he and Lisbon weren't the closest of friends. But then his face fell. "She wouldn't want me to do anything crazy and mess things up for her."

"Why would you want to?"

"I don't," he answered, shrugging, "but that's what I do." Silence.

Then Dr. Owen said, sympathetically, "This is what I think, Patrick...you know deep down what's causing you to feel the way you feel. But because I don't believe in being a crutch for anyone as strong as you are, I'm not going to attempt to tell you what the problem could be. I want you to find that out for yourself. I hear you have a real knack for finding out things," she finished, downing the last of her coffee and pressing her lips together.

"And how do you want me to do that?" Jane asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, do you think writing in your journal is helping?"

"I don't know. Thinking a stranger was going to read it prevented me from getting the most out of it." He ran his thumb along the narrow spine of his personal journal.

"Perhaps, by the end of our time together, by the time I actually read your entries, you'll consider me to be more than a stranger." Her eyes twinkled gently, the barely discernible wrinkles at the corners of her smile only seeming to widen her lips, making her more congenial. "I'll see you next week, Patrick. Same time, okay?"

"We'll see," Jane said, rising from his chair to go. As he closed Dr. Owen's office door behind him, he stood holding his journal, contemplating what she had said.

Write twice a day in his journal, be honest, be sincere; help himself get to the bottom of these troubles that had nothing to do with Red John and nothing to do with his line of work (of that he was certain). Every Friday, visit Dr. Owen, discuss what he'd learned about himself. A friendship between himself and the good doctor was doubtful, but stranger things had happened. One of her predecessors, for instance, had tried to frame Lisbon for murder. Jane chuckled. That was definitely stranger.

During his musings, he had walked toward Lisbon's office. He didn't know why; he certainly wasn't divulging any information about his session with the shrink. Maybe he just needed to ask what he could do to help her in her quest for a dignified and traditional wedding.

He stopped short just outside Lisbon's office. Walter Mashburn had Teresa Lisbon in a comfortable embrace. He kissed her temple and released her. Lisbon's answering smile was one of the widest Jane had ever seen on her. His fingers clenched tightly around the journal.

"Today was wonderful, Teresa. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Don't forget, you're meeting my brothers on Monday, three o'clock?"

"Can't wait." He leaned in one more time to kiss her. "I love you."

Jane didn't wait to hear her return the sentiment. He was already gone.

-:-

AUGUST 25TH, 11:14 PM

Devilishly handsome as always, though looking sort of tired
this evening. Probably because I ran away from the real murderer
as he was trying to shoot me. I tried to tell Lisbon, but...Anyway.
Saw her with Mashburn today. She looked happy. She's introducing
him to her brothers soon, after three months of dating him.

I haven't even met her brothers.

Sleeping in the attic tonight.