YAY! I hope to keep updating regularly through Christmas break, and then every weekend when school starts, if this story progresses for that long. I know where I want to end but how I get there and how quickly is all up to the characters to decide. Anyway... You will find out who my Psych OTP is in this chapter. Like I said before, I have only seen seasons one and two, so I have no idea about canon relationships for these two characters. *No spoilers, please* And also, I know he is getting married. I am ignoring that for the sake of the fact that this is my first fanfic and I DON'T CARE about staying canon at this point. Also-I promise this is the last thing-this will be my last author's note. YAY, YOU!

Buzz McNab was the rookie cop. Even when a greener policeman then he came in, it was always Buzz that got the rookie treatment. One detective in particular gave him a very rough time. That detective happened to be Carlton Lassiter. Buzz would never say anything, he WAS the Head Detective. It also did not help that whenever the man was around and got all bossy-

But that was neither here nor there. The poor uniform never let his thoughts venture too far down that road. The Head Detective had been particularly feral the past few months since his old partner had left. It had been a God-send when the new detective, Juliet O'Hara, had been assigned to the man. Buzz could practically feel the oppression lift off his shoulders. Lassiter's attention was elsewhere engaged.

All good things come to an end, however. The peace had seemed so short.

McNab had put in the call for some detectives to be sent to the scene. Not long after Lassiter and O'Hara arrived, the Psychic Detective Shawn Spencer showed himself. His partner Gus was hot on his heels. The way Lassiter's all business attitude changed to one of pure hatred and annoyance was enough to make anyone's head spin. Even the McNab, who was not as dull as most thought, could see the change in outlook. The police officer knew what was coming.

"McNab! Get me some coffee!"

And so he did. McNab had the other officer's coffee order memorized and as ready as his own. Black coffee, three creams, and four sugars. At first, the uniform had tried to cut down on the sweetness, but the detective could always tell. McNab's mother had always said that you could tell a lot about a man from his coffee order. McNab himself always had hot chocolate. He hated coffee.

Another day, at another crime scene, the officer was about to head off to get the detective's coffee ready. He had been about to take the long journey to the coffee shop when a certain psychic made an appearance.

"McNab! Nabby!"

"Shawn, my man!"

"What have we got here?"

"Looks like suicide. A guy from the phone company found the victim in his apartment. Been up there for a few days already."

"Few days? You mind if we head up? Take a look. Poke around a little?"

"Oh, I don't know. Lassiter's up there and he's in a mood."

"Yeah, we just, uh, got his coffee. Wanted to bring it by, make it right."

"Oh, that's nice of you. He asked me to get it, but this is perfect."

The very grateful man turned back to the street, but just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that gave him reason to pause. He really could not believe his eyes.

"Hey, did you just sip that?"

The psychic responded in a confused tone, "You don't taste Lassiter's coffee before you give it to him? That surprises me, Buzz. He's so particular. No cream, no sugar…"

"It's three creams, four sugars," McNab interjected, perplexed.

"Yeah, it is."

Oh, thought the policeman. He was just testing me. Funny guy. The officer chuckled. At least he would not have to brave the wrath of the irritated head detective to give him his coffee. Buzz leaned against the apartment complex's doorframe and prepared himself for a long, boring watch. Someone had to make sure that no one that was not supposed to be in the building got in. Honestly, it had been the most important job given to McNab in a long while. That was saying something. About an hour later, the officer was startled out of a day dream by a very pissed looking head detective.

"McNab! What the HELL are you doing? Are you just gazing off into your own personal La-La Land of incompetency? Not only did you not bring me my coffee, you let that idiot Spencer up to the crime scene without any clearance from me! Now he is on MY case! Do you understand!"

The uniform had no chance to respond.

"Of COURSE you don't! You wouldn't know the Book if it bit you in the ass. Mark my words, I'll see you on desk duty for a month!"

McNab was aghast. His poor head was reeling from the sudden and scathing calling out. That and the fact that Lassiter had gotten way too far into the officer's personal space for rational thought to occur. The detective's new partner walked up to Buzz.

"Hey, McNab. A word?"

"Sure."

O'Hara looked up at him with kind eyes, "Don't blame him. Shawn gets under his skin like nobody else. I guess he has to vent his anger somewhere. Maybe you should stand up for yourself a little more. I have a feeling that he really is a softie under all that by-the-Book nonsense. Except I love the Book. I mean-not like LOVE it but you know-oh, whatever. Just make sure Shawn is hired before he gets near a crime scene next time. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll try. I just don't get him."

"Oh, Shawn is a crazy one. The way he just struts around and waves his arms; his tanned, smooth arms..."

Buzz looked into the female detective's glazed eyes, "I meant Detective Lassiter."

"Oh, yeah, him too," she said quickly, blushing. "He really is a piece of work, but I'll see about working on him. Anyway, just think about what I said. A little backbone goes a long way."

"I will, Detective O'Hara."

"Juliet, please. Lassiter is the only one who calls me O'Hara."

"Alright, Juliet. I'm Buzz."

"Cool nickname! Is it because of a haircut or something?"

"No... That's actually my name. Buzz McNab."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I just... Oh, sorry-"

"It's fine. I get that a lot."

"Well, Carlton is waiting on me. Bye!"

The uniform waved at the retreating figure as O'Hara-no-JULIET climbed into Lassiter's car. The head detective was already in the driver's seat and gunned the gas before the passenger had even closed her door. It was only as he watched the unmarked car disappear around the corner that a question came to his mind.

Who the hell was Carlton?