A/N: Second chapter, yowza. I really didn't expect to do this, those plot bunnies are quite evil. And I needed to test my new beta. Fun. I hope you guys like it, I certainly do. Big thanks to Jillybean (Meatball42) for sticking through the first draft which, now that I think about it, was quite confusing. Without further ado, or breaks for Orangey-Pineapple flavored popsicles(did you know they had those? Yeah, I just found some in the freezer. They really taste good.), I give you the second part of Pineapple Cakes and their Fake Psychic's.


Disclaimer: If I owned the awesomeness of Psych, I wouldn't be standing(sitting?) here, now would I? No, I'd be shooting the awesomeness of the next Psych episode, in which I would make Shawn have a 'vision' and kiss Lassie. (Well now that Goream has me thinking about it...)

Shawn sighed contentedly the next day, smiling as Lassie took out the cake from the microwave. He leaned against the protection bar the crane had, sending a glance at the kid fumbling about the controls. He chuckled, Gus probably would have freaked if he knew that Shawn had coerced the seventeen year old into taking Shawn along as he wiped windows. As he told the young man to take him down, he recalled last night. It was odd, when Shawn admitted to it...he expected many things.

Anger, perhaps. Sadness, joy, anything. Sure, for one single moment he had thought maybe, just maybe, Lassie wouldn't do anything. That thought had been quickly dismissed, a single remembrance of one of the many times the detective growled in anger and firmly announced his belief that Shawn was not psychic doing the trick. He had been out of his mind as he half-ran and half-walked to Lassie's apartment building after talking to Chief Vick about what he saw. Things were fuzzy, real fuzzy. He'd prided himself on always being able to recall the slightest detail, and yet suddenly he couldn't remember what happened. Facial expressions, lights, colors, they all blended into one and made him think his mind's eye needed glasses. And in the end he'd finally done it. Shawn Spencer buried himself in the ashes of the consequences of what he'd become, and admitted to everything.

Guilt had been overwhelming, hate echoed upon his ear and no longer could he take it. He remembered the night he broke into Lassie's house quite clearly, being it about a week before confronting the true murderer. He was supposed to meet his dad for dinner that night, and after several beers he finally discovered there was no way he could go see Henry on such an incredibly terrible day. Lassiter had snapped angrily at him earlier when Shawn had interrupted him during an important meeting with Vick and suddenly the head detective had used him as a scapegoat. At first it didn't bother him, but as Lassiter stayed angry at him for the rest of the day, he realized that perhaps he'd taken it a bit too far. Drowning his sorrows in the alcohol, he thought up ways to make it up to Lassie. He then could hear the music in the bar, he never found out who put it on, but he could recall that somehow it helped him farther than he ever thought. All alone, together, we fight the fear we feel. Everyone has the power, to make us hurt or heal. Tell me where's the hope if we choose to go on carelessly?

Shawn had frozen and quickly looked up the entire song on his iPhone. The lyrics clicked in his mind. Perhaps he'd been going about it too carelessly? Maybe, just maybe, he could bring the head detective around in a way Lassie could identify. There was no hope for him if he continued down the reckless path, but it was the one he'd been fit into from birth. But on the sly, he could do everything for Lassie. Yeah. That might work… but how could he start? Lassie, Lassie, Lassie.... Shuddering as the alcohol burned down his throat, he thought fiercely. Lassiter already had the Despereoux case solved, thanks to him, so that was out of the question. Actually, he had a lot of cases solved due to Shawn. This wasn't going to work. He needed something a bit more solid; he needed to find out more about Lassie. Slapping a few twenties onto the bar, he made a sort of sauntering stumbling movement out of the alcoholic establishment and glanced at his bike. Despite the pleasant buzz ringing in his ears, he knew that there was a sixty-five percent chance of a crash if he dared get onto the vehicle in his present state. Great, now he had to walk.

Picking the detective's lock was surprisingly easy; for one so firm in the law you'd think he'd have better security. Ah, well. Shawn pushed open the door, glancing around the apartment with admiration. Slipping his jacket back up his arm, Shawn began his search. Now, if he were a head detective obsessed with work, where would he put precious cases? Okay, that one was rather easy. Figuring out the lock combination? Eh, slightly harder. Lassie was a firm believer in not using his own birthday as a password or lock combination, what Shawn didn't expect (mostly he found it was this when he was just messing around, he would never have penned Lassie for the Douglas Adams type) was it was forty-two repeated several times.

And left-left, right-right, left-left was just plain lazy.

The only thing in there was a single, five year old case. Shawn memorized it, backwards even, and could probably repeat it cover to cover. The kid was thirteen when placed in jail, sobbing out her heart that she didn't do it. Lassiter, Shawn could tell from his notes, firmly believed something was severely off.

He was right.

About a whole lot of things.

Mostly about Shawn.

Shawn blinked out of his memories, walking down the sidewalk in front of Lassie's building. And of course there was last could he have done that? Kissing Lassie, he meant. In all reality, it just came out of nowhere, in one instant Shawn couldn't control his limbs and he was pressing their lips together. It was odd, and slightly creepy, how good Shawn felt while and after doing it. And the look Lassie gave him, slightly of shock and slightly of pleasure, Shawn couldn't decipher it, just the same as he couldn't decipher Lassie's offer to sleep in his apartment. And the agreeing to watch a Ghostbusters and Back to the Future marathon was just plain weird. Nice, but weird.

Later that day, Shawn was still contemplating the situation as he entered the Santa Barbara Police Department. His eyes firmly attached to the ground, he kept walking until something firm hindered his path. Okay, the hindering was mostly his fault because he ran straight into it, but that's neither here nor there.

"Sorry," he mumbled under his breath, lifting his eyes briefly to see the exact same slightly distracted man he was just thinking about. "Lassie!" He gave out a short squeak, tensing up as he watched Lassiter's eyes dart to him then back to the case he held.

"Spencer," he replied gruffly, moving around him and continuing on his way. Shawn sighed; despite the fact that Lassiter said he didn't hate him, he couldn't help but feel disappointed by the half-hearted greeting. Shawn rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around. "Oh, and, uh," Shawn turned, blinking in confusion as Lassiter stuttered to find the words he was trying so desperately to say. "Th-thanks for the cake." Lassie turned away quickly, shuffling down the hall.

Shawn grinned to himself, nodding in approval as he turned in the opposite direction, only to be met with a thoroughly confused Juliet O'Hara. "Shawn, is Carlton being… nice? All day he's been acting weird, and that was just plain crazy. He's never nice to you."

Shawn shrugged, "Maybe my amazing charm and wit have finally broken through his grumpy barriers. Anyways, gotta go. Bye, Jules!"

Juliet blinked. And blinked again. This was going to be a very weird day.