"Some one's got to go to jail, Ben."

---

Prison wasn't agreeing with Ian Howe. It wasn't as though he'd never been here before-it was the simple fact that he'd rather be in more sophisticated company.

He was a man of some considerable means, used to gourmet food prepared by a private chef, hand tailored suits from Saville row, and intelligent dining companions.

To put it delicately, this was a step down. A major step. And to put it frankly, the prison psychologist was not happy. The prisoner Ian Howe, ID number 42168, was showing signs of depression. He wasn't fraternizing with other prisoners while given leisure time, he sat alone and didn't talk to anyone at meals, and he was increasingly bad tempered. He spent most of his time reading. Having already exhausted the small prison library, he now spent most of his time on the prison's computers, reading news articles and stories on the internet.

It was two years after his original incarceration that Ian began to have dreams. That was when he asked for the sketch book.

It was an original request-most prisoners asked for chocolates, cigarettes, their mother's butter cookies…but the review board could find nothing wrong with his request, and so Ian got his sketch book.

The psychologist had thought it a good idea if Ian was able to put some of his thoughts on paper, and so reviewed the drawings, notes and small paragraphs every week. And she was confused. She hadn't had too many patients who were…well, artistic, and there was no denying these were good-but she couldn't understand why.

Which is what found Ian back in her office, staring, bored, at the degree from Harvard on the wall behind her desk. Emily VanDenenn, Magna Cum Laude.

"Mr. Howe, due to your…present state of mind, the prison review board and I have agreed that you have need of a special kind of therapy in which I am not certified. Therefore, it has been arranged that you will stay at a hospital about fifty miles from here and have sessions with one of the experts in the field, Dr. Chrysler. I think she may be able to understand your dreams and the reason for them much better than I can." Emily looked across her desk-Ian sat up a little and nodded, not exactly thrilled.

"Your first appointment is today, and I shall be going with you. Dr. Chrysler is also a history minor, so….you may feel more comfortable talking to her." Emily said, wanting to fill the silence that so often surrounded her in this prison. Ian's lips curved into what could be taken as a smile, and Emily nodded once more and buzzed for the guards.

She grabbed her coat and followed behind the two burly security personnel, getting into the front seat of the armored Cadillac.

The heavy gates at the front of Twin Willows Hospital told Ian two things. One, he wasn't being set free-he was being transferred. The other was that this was not a hospital-It was a loony bin.

"So now I'm crazy…" he muttered to himself. His sketch book was tucked safely under his arm. It went everywhere with him, it seemed, and that was part of what worried Dr. Vendenenn. These pictures bordered on obsession.

The marbled hallways and carpeting were a far cry from the stark whiteness of a government prison. Dr. Vandenenn seemed happy to be out of the whiteness, and Ian could say that he was, too. This was almost too happy, though.

The doctor flashed her laminated card at the secretary at the front desk. "Mr. Howe to see Dr. Chrysler, Ivy?" She asked the gray haired secretary, who nodded, checking her lists.

"Yes, Em, she's in her office. You know how to get there."

Dr. Vandenenn nodded and strode purposefully on. Watching the patients, Ian was glad they'd let him wear his street clothes today-the orange jumpsuit would just add to the effect. Dr. Chrysler already saw enough lunatics, and she didn't need a criminally insane one too.

"Ah, Dr. Chrysler. Good to see you." Dr. Vandenenn said, putting out her hand to shake with the woman behind the door. Ian was shuffled forward through the door, sat down in a chair and made to wait while the two doctors conferred outside in the hall. Presently, Dr. Chrysler came back, sitting down at her desk and looking at the guards standing imposingly behind her new patient.

"You can leave, gentlemen. I assure you, I'll be fine. I have a black belt in karate. Oh, and please take the handcuffs before you leave."

The guards shrugged, taking the handcuffs off and silently exiting, taking up posts right outside the door.

"So, Mr. Howe. Nice to meet you." The doctor said, holding out a hand so he could shake. Hesitantly, he did. "Now, my colleague Dr. Vandenenn has told me you've been having some dreams." Ian nodded, holding the sketchbook closer. The doctor noted something down on a legal pad and looked back at him. Her eyes, he noted, were a curious shade of brown, almost hazel. She wore glasses, simple black wire oval frames.

"Tell me about them." She asked, leaning back in her chair. Her face was passive.

Ian looked down at the sketchbook in his hands. "I don't want to." He said. The Doctor raised her eyebrows and stood, sitting on the corner of her desk, arms crossed.

"May I see your sketchbook?" she asked, politely. Ian held out the pad, and she flipped through it. "These are very good." She said, pausing at a few pages.

"Thank you." Ian muttered.

"I take it, then, that you've been dreaming about her?" Dr. Chrysler said, opening the pad and showing him a portrait of a woman. Ian nodded. "She's very beautiful." The doctor said. "Do you know her?"

Ian shook his head. "No…I've never seen her before." The doctor nodded, noted something down on her pad, and moved to another chair, across from him. Ian turned so he could see her.

"Now, Dr. Vandenenn tells me you don't fraternize with the other prisoners much. Are you lonely?" she asked, looking at him with –could that be sympathy?- in her eyes.

Ian sighed. "I'm not the type to want to associate with petty thieves, doctor."

The doctor raised her eyebrows. "I guess attempting to steal the Declaration of Independence and nearly succeeding puts you a step above them." She said, nodding in agreement. "This will seem a strange question, Mr. Howe, but…did you have any imaginary friends as a child?"

Ian looked affronted she would even ask such a question. "No." he said flatly. The doctor nodded, thinking hard about something.

"This woman-does she have a name?"

"Not one she's told me." Ian remarked offhandedly. The doctor cracked a smile.

"Ah. So…what happens in these dreams?"

Ian looked at his shoes and blushed. It wasn't exactly something he was going to tell her…

"Mr. Howe-ah, may I call you Ian?- Good. Ian, I've had entire sexual fantasies with everyone from rock stars to the neighbor's dog recounted to me-I've gotten used to it, believe me." The Doctor reassured him. Ian shook his head.

"It's all in my sketchbook."

The doctor looked-there it was, sketch after sketch of a woman, clothed, unclothed, reclining, kneeling, and staring off into space. Some of the pictures had notes next to them, almost as though he kept a diary.

"She came again today-it's starting to scare me…I'm not thinking of anything else. My book is nearly half full, and I've only had it three months."

Another entry. "I've decided I love her lips. They're perfect- smooth, soft, warm…why am I thinking about this? She's not even real!"

The doctor read another entry, and her eyebrows shot up. "Interesting." was all she said. Ian watched her, waiting for the schizophrenia diagnosis.

"Well, Ian…I don't think you have any mental disorder, I just think you're lonely. Dreams, the medical community have found, are either recycled thoughts or an expression of subconscious desire, for acceptance, love…" she shrugged and paused. "Sex. I find your case to be a combination of the two. Now, I'm not going to prescribe anything, because you really don't need it, but I am going to advise Dr. Vandenenn to continue with your sketches. Write more-write all of your dreams down. That may help you. I see that Emily has you coming back in a week- are you staying here?"

"No." Ian said, almost disappointed to leave this place. He didn't want to go back to the orange jumpsuits and the people who didn't know what on earth he was talking about when he quoted Shakespeare over dinner. The doctor nodded knowledgeably and rapped on the door, calling the guards back in.

"Well Ian, I'll see you next week then. And remember-write all of your dreams down."

Emily watched her patient walk back to the Cadillac, and turned to her colleague. "So…what does he have, Meredith?"

"I believe Mr. Howe is lonely for an intelligent conversation, Em. I think talking with me may be of help to him. Bring him back next week-I'll arrange a bigger time slot."

"And his dreams? What about them?"

Dr. Meredith Chrysler shrugged. "I think he needs a girlfriend. Which, unfortunately, is not one of our options. See you next week, Em. And tell me if anything strange happens in regards to his condition."

Ian sat in his cell, annoyed. He wasn't insane…was he? Being in a little box all the time did things to the mind, it was said. He knew Dr. Chrysler knew he wasn't going mad. She had seemed to like him.

He turned to the small table in the corner, laying his pad down and opening it to a new page. Then he began sketching the doctor. He recalled the fine lines in her face, the wisp of dark hair that curled over her ear, the necklace she wore at her throat.

Then he began to write. "Visited Dr. Meredith Chrysler today-I think she's actually quite nice. I'm looking forward to going back next week-her office is a welcome change from Dr. Vandenenn's…

On his next visit to Dr. Chrysler's office, she was on the phone. She looked over at him, waved, motioned for him to sit, and wrote something down, never breaking her conversation.

"Yes….Yes…No, I don't….Yes, that's right, the one in the papers. Yes, Gabe, he's here right now, I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Thank you. See you in Chicago. Tata, Darling." The doctor hung up the phone.

"Who were you talking to?" Ian asked, just a little curious. Dr. Chrysler smiled.

"A friend of mine who lives in Chicago. I was talking to her about a few things, and she and I have devised an excellent treatment for you."

Ian must have looked either suspicious or very confused, because the psychologist laughed. "Don't worry, I expect you'll like it very much. After reviewing some of my notes, it occurs to me that you are in an obviously foreign environment, and because of this lack of some comforts you're accustomed to you are feeling a little depressed. I have arranged with your case worker, Dr. VanDenenn and the Federal Review board that you are to spend several weeks in Chicago with one of my friends, who happens to be a patron of the Art Institute. You will spend several hours there every day to relax, and de stress by using your sketchbook. How does this sound?"

Ian thought it sounded extremely stupid, but if it were a chance to get out of prison and the mental hospital, he'd take his only option. "Sounds lovely." He said, trying to hide a bit of sarcasm. Dr. Chrysler's business face flickered for a moment, and he thought he heard her chuckle, but it passed quickly.

The next day found Ian Howe, Prisoner number 42168 on a plane en route to Chicago, quite pleased that he was out.

---

HAH! The National Treasure Category finally got added! So-as a new Years Present to you all- My NEW FANFIC!

Lots of love to Terreis, who gave me my new muse, Ian, who's very pleased to be starring in his own fanfic.

Ian blushes Isn't he just the cutest?

Also lots of love to everyone who's commented on me in the last year, especially those folks who came and read every single thing I posted. Huggles to you all!

(And don't worry-Ian's not going crazy)