a/n So this is a series of crack shots and drabbles involving my favorite characters, and kids games. *grin* Don't blame me, blame my friends who decided we weren't too old to play night games. *evil giggles* I will be posting each independently, since they are each set in a different tv show.

Playing Games 7: Psych

Shawn came hurtling around the corner, plowed into Lassiter, and shouted, "You're It!" Before Lassie could respond, Shawn jumped backwards and sprinted away.

Which left Lassiter standing there, trying to decide if this was a new way for the psychic to annoy him, or if Shawn had finally lost his mind.

In the end, Lassiter chose to ignore it, continuing on his interrupted walk toward the file room. It was on his way back, a scumbag criminal's record in hand, that he noticed everyone was watching him. And staying out of arm's reach.

Finally, he angrily asked the room, "What?"

Shawn and Gus's heads popped out from behind a column. "You're It, Lassie!"

"What?"

"You have played Tag before, haven't you, Lassiter?"

"Tag?" Lassiter was dumbfounded, staring around wide-eyed. "Why the hell would we waste serious work time playing Tag?"

"Oh, come on, Carlton!" Juliet called from the stairs. "It's a fun game, and it builds the skills needed for if you ever have to chase a suspect on foot."

Lassiter glared at his double-crossing partner. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard, O'Hara."

"There's a pineapple smoothie in it for whoever goes the longest without being It," Shawn offered.

Lassiter scoffed, unmoved. "I'm not you, Spencer. I don't have an unnatural obsession with any kind of tropical fruit."

"Bite your tongue, Lassie! It's not an obsession, it's an appreciation. After all the pineapple is absurdly delicious, and deceptively nutritious. And does your statement mean that you are obsessed with some other kind of fruit?"

Gus started, "Y'know, Shawn, you do have a tendency to-"

"Gus, don't be the fifth link on my Where's Waldo keychain. Pineapple is God's gift to the world. It's tangy and sweet and-"

"Spencer!" Lassiter broke in, patience shot. "That's not the point! Tag? Why, if the Chief knew what fools you were making of the entire damn precinct-"

"Carlton!" came the yell from Chief Vick's office.

He spun and hurried in. "Yes, Chief?"

She stood behind her desk, arms crossed. "I authorized this use of time."

"What? But, Chief-!"

"Mr. Spencer was quite clear that the spirits felt we all needed some down time. And when Mr. Guster suggested Tag, I decided they could owe me a favor."

"Chief!"

"Go play Tag, Carlton."

In complete shock, the lanky policeman stood there, chin and shoulders dropped, mouth open.

Eventually, he snarled, and stomped back into the hall. His gaze shot daggers at everyone. Then Buzz came walking in the front doors, and an evil gleam appeared in Lassie's eyes. "McNabb!"

Buzz rushed over, eager to help, and didn't register the hisses of "No, Buzz! Stop!" until after Lassiter had clapped him bruisingly on the shoulder. "Good news, McNabb, you're It."

"Huh?"

Shawn peeked out again to explain, and Lassiter turned and headed back down the precinct stairs. When he passed Juliet, she caught his arm. "Where are you going, Carlton?"

"To lock myself in the holding cell until those two psychic idiots are gone."

Apparently, Shawn heard, as he shouted loudly, "That's not very nice, Lassie!"

"Shut up, Spencer!"

A minute later, Lassiter finished closing the cell door and laying out the files he had carried down in his hand. He took a moment to close his eyes and rub at his temples, then focused on the documents.

the SBPD's head detective Carlton Lassiter spent the next two hours trying -and failing- to ignore the yelps, giggles, exclamations and sounds of pounding feet coming from the floor above him.