A/N: Slowly but surely I am getting caught up with my stories only three more stories to go. Please forgive the tardiness of my updates.

Disclaimer: I do not own the MENTALIST

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Jane looked at Schein, the doctor's face full of anticipation, and briefly wondered if he ought to change his mind about telling the shrink anything. The question was what should he tell and how much? He decided to tell the story of his mother, that ought to give him enough angst to leave Jane alone for awhile.

"I suppose you'd like to hear about my childhood."

"Cliché, I know but it's usually a good place to start." Schein tried his best to be nonchalant.

Okay here I go. He suddenly felt nervous, and his pulse began to race his breath quickened. Damn you Jane pull it together. "Well let me begin by saying I didn't have any worse of a childhood than many people, but it was an unusual one. And no I will not elaborate."

Thomas Schein tried to hide his interest and remain as clinically neutral as possible, he wasn't sure he was pulling it off.

Look at him practically salivating. Jane had to work at not laughing. Then he became serious.

"When I was seven years old my mother died. I saw it happen. My father didn't cope very well and was drunk for the next four years. Things between us weren't good before she died, and after— let's just say I didn't enjoy those years. Around the time of my twelfth birthday, my father began going to AA and got sober. It didn't improve things, at least not for me. If my dad was an angry drunk he was even meaner sober. However, something happened that made him realize that I was a good commodity, that I could follow him in his profession and earn him a lot of money. With the change in dynamic our relationship seemed to improve, but when I refused to do something he wanted, something that had the potential to earn him thousands of dollars, he snapped. I was sixteen and not afraid anymore so when he began hitting me with a two by four I grabbed it, yanked it out of his hands, and returned the favor. When he lost consciousness, I ran and never looked back. That's how I ended up hanging out at the truck stop."

The room was quiet. Schein let the sounds of the monitors fill the silence. He waited for a reaction from Jane. One he felt certain would come after dredging up such memories. Jane stared at him with his penetrating gaze designed to make him squirm, it wasn't working. Schein stared back.

He thinks he's rattling me. Ha! He has no clue who he's dealing with. Jane remained stubbornly quiet. He reminds me of him, cool confidence. I wonder if he has the same temper. A memory flashed of a time when his father was patiently teaching him how to play poker, and to count cards. It was one of his best memories. He felt his eyes prick with tears, and he began losing control of his breathing again. Jane didn't know how to deal with a happy memory. He wasn't armored against them.

Schein watched as the man warred with himself. Biding his time until either Jane cracked or he let him in voluntarily. Whatever happened now, unless Jane had a more serious panic attack, he would be going home tomorrow morning, Patrick had kept his end of the bargain. The only problem was Schein was scared to death what would happen to his patient if he went home alone.

While Schein was musing over Jane's fate, Patrick began breathing erratically and his heart rate was on the rise, sweat gleamed off his brow and his palms were slick. Shit. He couldn't get the memories and visions of the past to quit flashing through his brain. Some of them were too horrific to see the light of day, but they were relentless.

Suddenly he felt a hand touch him and he shrank from its touch yelling, "Don't fucking touch me."

The rage he felt was over the top but it did knock him loose from the grasp of the impending panic attack.

"It's okay Patrick. I'm not touching you anymore. I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that without warning you." Schein was surprised by the level of anger burning in the man's eyes. They returned to staring at one another.

Patrick began to regain his composure. It galled him to no end the way this man could shake his ironclad shield of cool. He concentrated on his breathing and imagined himself returning to equanimity. Soon he was the picture of unflappable serenity.

"Okay, well thank you for sharing that Patrick. I'll see you tomorrow to discharge you."

"See you tomorrow." Jane replied with no emotion.

Schein walked out of his patient's room and took a deep breath. This case was getting to him. He would have to pull it together and find away to reach this man before he ended up much worse.

Thank God. That man is so tedious. He sits there caring at me so loudly I can feel his concern coming off him in waves. It is damn annoying. He's the one who needs help. I can't wait to get the hell out of here and get back to the CBI.

Jane relaxed and soon he was asleep.

Thomas Schein drove home through the rain replaying the day's events over in his mind. He tried to dissect Jane's every word for clues, there weren't many to go on. He assumed that Jane had an abusive parent and that was why he ran away. He hadn't counted on the young Patrick seeing his mother die. The story was vague enough to tell him nothing but the barest of facts. However Jane didn't seem to mind describing his father's alcoholism and subsequent abusive of him. Again, it was emotionless, and seemed to cost him nothing. Patrick Jane was going to be hard to reach, much harder than Thomas had anticipated.

Several hours later, Jane awoke with a start. The nightmare returned once again, but this time he wouldn't let it overcome him. He slowed his respirations and grew calm.

I have had it with this crap. I'm out of here. He reached into the drawer and pulled his cell phone out.

"Hello." An irritated voice said.

"Cho, this is Jane. Come get me."

Dammit Jane! "I was asleep you know. Aren't you getting out in the morning?"

"It is the morning. I'll be out front."