Well, I am a perfectionist and some errors were pointed out that I had to fix. This is the same as the original Chapter 2, except for some typos fixed.

Thanks for the reviews everyone. I have really been enjoying writing this story. The characters in the show are already great and provide so much diversity that manipulating them is fun. And yes, I know the case mentioned in this chapter is ridiculous, but I am not a crime writer, I am an angst writer. ;-)

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

I do not own the rights to any of the characters of Psych.

Chapter 2: Lassiter

A week later...

A call had come in and Psych was needed. After a brutal stabbing the victim's dying words were, "The answer is my daughter's bird." The problem was he had no daughter, and thus no daughter's bird. The detectives were at a standstill and needed psychic help. Lassiter hated saying it but sometimes, just sometimes, Spencer was able to help solve their cases.

So there they all sat in the Chief's office: Lassiter, Juliet, Chief Vick, and Gus, but no Spencer. Everyone was getting impatient.

"Mr. Guster," the Chief sternly addressed, "Where is your associate, Mr. Spencer?"

Gus checked his phone again. "I'm not sure, ma'am. He hasn't texted or called so let me try him again." Gus excused himself and stepped into the hall. Just as he put the phone to his ear he heard a familiar ring tone behind him. He turned and down the corridor saw his friend sauntering in his direction.

Visibly upset, he hurried toward Shawn and grabbed his arm. "Where have you been?! Everyone's waiting!" Gus didn't wait for an answer and just pulled his friend into the office.

"Mr. Spencer," said Chief Vick, "you better have a good reason for making us wait for you."

The room was quiet as they waited for Shawn to spin some elaborate story, one which, as always, would confuse them so much that they would have to either forgive him or simply move on to the matter at hand. Instead Shawn's simple reply was, "Sorry, I needed food," and he slumped into a chair as the reactions passed.

To this Lassiter rolled his eyes, Juliet's jaw dropped, Gus scolded Shawn's name, and the Chief replied, "You had us all waiting here because you needed food?"

Shawn paused, picking at his nails and not making eye contact with anyone. "Yup."

"Mr. Spencer, next time you get a call from any – ANY – of us you better drop whatever you are doing, answer the damn phone, and do as you're told or you will no longer be employed by the SBPD. Is that understood?"

"Uh-huh," still no eye contact and this time it was Juliet to scold his name.

The Chief was getting truly mad now. "Look. At. Me."

Shawn lifted his eyes.

"Is that understood, Mr. Spencer?"

Clenching his jaw Shawn replied, "Yes."

Chief Vick kept her eyes on the psychic for a moment longer before saying, "Good. Now onto the case...."

As the Chief explained the specifics, facts Lassiter had already heard and memorized, the detective examined Spencer. Something was wrong. The "psychic" looked disheveled. Sure, he never looked professional, but today was worse. His hair was obviously unwashed, his eyes bloodshot, and his clothes looked a couple days old and at least a size too big. Spencer had lost weight recently, and a good amount. Something was definitely going on in this man's life. It just better not interfere with the case.

Once the Chief finished discussing the details, she handed the case file to Spencer who read it and within a minute said, "His ex-wife's step-daughter's boyfriend is an ex-con and had a bad deal with this guy. Oh and they both were using false names." He handed the file back, stood and started to leave.

"Wait just a second," exclaimed the Chief. "Where is your proof?"

Shawn turned back and rested his hand on the back of the chair he had just vacated. "I'm a psychic. I don't need proof."

"Okay, and just what should we do now?" The Chief watched him closely.

But all Shawn did was screw up his face and reply, "I'm just the psychic. You are the detectives. That is your job, not mine. Now, if you don't mind I have to be somewhere," and he walked out.

Everyone in the room was stunned. They couldn't explain what had just happened. After a moment of silence Lassiter walked out and stormed after Spencer. Luckily the psychic was taking his time to leave the station and the detective hardly had to run to catch up.

"Hey!" Lassiter yelled from the top of the front steps. "Spencer, get back here!" He rushed down the steps and grabbed Shawn's shoulder, spinning the younger man around.

Shawn brushed him off and replied with bite, "What?"

"You know what! What the hell was that in there?"

Throwing up his hands in confusion Shawn said, "I came here and I did what you asked for. It's your job to find the guy and catch him. I'm not the cop, you are. What more can I do?"

"For one you can explain what the hell is going on with you? What, no games today? No theatrics? Forget to eat your Wheaties? Did you not get enough beauty sleep – ?" Lassiter stopped mid-word.

Shawn rolled his head on his neck with annoyance, "What now?"

Lassiter squinted, "Have you been drinking?" Shawn smirked and scoffed, and started walking away, but again Lassiter grabbed his arm and spun him around. "I can smell the alcohol on you, so tell me. Have you been drinking?" The detective searched Spencer's face, looking for any sign of … anything really. Nervousness, deception, guilty.

As the psychic's smirk disappeared he too searched the other man's face to get a read on him. Licking his lips Shawn responded, "I went out last night. That's probably what you are smelling. Leftovers. Wanna breathalyze me?"

"Yeah, I do. Come on." But Spencer shrugged Lassiter's hand off.

"Ha. Yeah right, Lassie." Shawn took a step back. "You're kidding."

Lassiter grabbed his arm again, hard this time, and said, "You offered," as he pulled the younger man back into the station. Walking through the building, Lassiter grabbed a Breathalyzer he saw laying out in the open on McNab's desk, making a mental note to yell at the officer for leaving that in the open. Not wanting to make a scene, Lassiter closed the blinds to an empty interrogation room and pushed Shawn into a chair. The detective shoved the Breathalyzer in front of Shawn's face and simple said, "Blow."

Shawn looked at the device then back up at Lassiter. "Is this some kind of bet you have with my father?"

Lassiter sat across from the psychic. "I distinctly smell alcohol on your breath. Now blow."

Again Shawn paused before saying, "Okay, okay. I learned my lesson I won't come into the station hungover anymore. Happy?"

"Do I need to bring the Chief in here?" Lassiter's hand still held out the Breathalyzer.

Shawn sighed. "Fine." He took the device, blew into it, and handed it back.

Lassiter waited for the numbers to stop. "Point zero three seven."

"Well within the legal limits to walk home I think," Shawn sarcastically remarked. He wanted to leave but yet he didn't want to make the first move.

"Normally people with that blood alcohol content are elated and talkative, but not you." Lassiter waited for an explanation.

"Well, Detective, I am normally elated and talkative so maybe I react differently at that level. Like I said, I had a couple drinks last night. But don't worry. Although I'm devilishly young and handsome, I'm well above the legal age. I went out with some friends. No biggie."

"So Guster was with you?"

Shawn paused, trying to figure out what was going on. "No..."

"Okay. So, Spencer," Lassiter leaned back and crossed his arms and legs, anticipating a game, "when did this start?"

Smiling, Shawn looked around the room, as though searching for someone to laugh with him. "What? Drinking? When I was seventeen. But if my father asks tell him twenty-one." He smiled a little wider and winked but got no response out of Lassiter. "Come on, Lassie! Don't tell me you've never had a long night and woken up with some booze still hanging on to your breath!" He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood of the room.

Lassiter held a straight face. "When did the drinking alone start?"

Shawn was getting nervous and he knew it was obvious to the detective. "I told you I was with some friends."

"You don't have any friends but Gus," Lassiter challenged.

The psychic glanced down at the table and back up, slightly squinting at his accuser. "What are you getting at Carlton?"

"You're losing weight."

Shawn cocked his head slightly, "I've been working out."

"Your demeanor has changed."

Shawn's smile slowly faded, "I'm tired."

"I think you have a drinking problem."

Shaking his head, Shawn replied, "I don't. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Something is going on, Spencer, and I am going to find out for the sake of the department."

Now Shawn's voice was strong and level. "Stay out of it. Everything's fine."

The men stared at each other for another couple minutes, yet it seemed like an eternity. Shawn knew that Lassiter was a good detective, and Lassiter knew that although Shawn wasn't a detective, he could make a brilliant one. Without another word Shawn stood and walked out the door. But as he crossed the thresh hold he saw that they were not alone after all. Although not able to see past the closed blinds, Gus had his finger on the intercom button. As Shawn walked away without a word, Lassiter stepped out and saw Gus.

All the friend could say was, "He's just tired," and he too left.