I don't own them…

Psych

"How the hell did they manage to escape," were the first words out of my mouth when I burst into Karen's office. I came close to knocking McNabb over, who had been exiting, the files he had been carrying spilling all over the floor. I stepped over them-yeah, I know I could have helped but this was a crisis-and stopped short of Vick's desk. She didn't even look up from her phone call, flashing me an index finger. I'm not an impatient man; I just don't like to wait for long periods of time. And no, they are not the same thing.

"Look Dr. Reynard, I realize Mr. Spencer needs to stay for observations but these men…" Karen paused, listening to whatever the doctor was saying. She sighed in frustration and said, "Well, can I at least post an officer outside his room?" another small pause. "Good, I'll send one of my officers over soon." She hung up, rubbing her forehead with her hands, and called, "McNabb!"

McNabb looked up from the pile he had managed to collect, his easy going attitude making him apparently A-O-freaking-Kay that I just turned his papers into an avalanche all over the floor. "Yeah, Chief." Always a smile on his face… Happy people bug me sometimes.

"I need you to head over to the hospital, keep an eye on Mr. Spencer."

"Okay, Chief," he said shuffling his haphazard pile. He nodded once, before rushing from the office. He practically tossed his pile onto his desk, most of the pages fluttering from the surface to the floor, and raced out the door.

"Chief…" I finally said turning to her.

"Carlton, as far as I know the two officers responsible for bringing them in were knocked unconscious."

"How could you let two rookies take those guys into custody? Why not McNabb or anyone else qualified to use handcuffs?" Yes, I was being hard on the rookies, but sometimes I wonder if the academy is going soft on them. Especially when they allow two criminals, the same two assholes that had broken into my house, get away. Damn rookies.

"Lassiter…" The chief started exasperated.

"Chief, I could have easily brought those two in. I had minimal if any bruises, nothing is broken… I told you a trip to the hospital was pointless." Before she could yell at me or lecture me or punch me-because the look on her face suggested to me that she wanted to hit me-I quickly changed the subject, "What have you done to stop these guys?"

"You mean besides blocking off all streets remotely close to your place, sending half my officers out looking for these guys, and making sure they don't go after Mr. Spencer who happens to have no memory?" the sarcasm was not missed, nor was it necessary.

"What can I do?" I asked my fingers itching to fire several rounds into the men. Note to self: keep that comment to myself.

"Nothing," Vick replied.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked trying to keep the anger from my voice. I must have gone temporarily deaf because Karen did not tell me to do nothing. No, she couldn't have.

"Look, Lassiter, you are a conflict of interest. They broke into your house, you are biased and I can't have you do something you'll regret." Damn, she knows me too well. That's what I get for working with her for all these years. She's almost as bad as O'Hara…

Speaking of O'Hara, "Does O'Hara know about these guys? She's still at the hospital with Spencer."

"I called her after I called you. She was trying to get Reynard to let Shawn leave early, but she was very insistent that he stay overnight." She was quiet for a moment, finally saying, "How did he lose his memory again?"

I sighed, already going over the story three times. I had told an officer named Paulson when he took my statement, I had told the doctor when she had asked what happened, and, of course, I had told O'Hara. This story was becoming tiresome. I was several seconds away from telling Vick to read my statement, when her phone rang.

"Vick," she answered pressing the phone to her ear. Her face paled as she stood up, turning her back on me. "What do you mean he's missing?" my stomach sank; I knew exactly who she was talking about. I didn't even stick around to listen to the rest of the conversation. I had an amnesiac, 'psychic' dumbass to find.

"Lassiter," I heard Karen call but I ignored her, letting the station doors close behind me.

PSYCH

I started with the area around the hospital, knowing a concussed Spencer probably wouldn't get far. Especially one who had no idea where he was, despite the fact that he grew up here. That sounded really weird, but it was the truth.

Once I was one-hundred percent sure he wasn't in the near vicinity of the hospital, I broadened my search. Twice O'Hara called me, but I let both calls go to voicemail. No doubt she would ask me to call her if, and when, I found him. I had already intended on calling her once I located Spencer, I wasn't so heartless I'd let her worry, and didn't need her to remind me to do what I was already going to do.

I found him two blocks from the hospital sitting on a bench outside a Dunkin Donuts. His eyes were locked on the sidewalk, a cup of coffee held between his hands. Despite being Spencer, he wasn't acting like Spencer. He reminded me of the people in the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He's a carbon copy of Spencer, but not acting anything like him. Shawn Spencer was anything but still and silent, I should know having to put up with him for half a decade.

I cautiously walked up to him, feeling like a hunter attempting to corner an animal without spooking it. I stopped short of the bench, bracing myself if he should try and run, and said, "Spencer?"

At first, he didn't respond, the name taking a moment to click. When it did, he turned cautious eyes on me. I held my hands up, showing him I meant no harm, and continued, "Relax, I'm a friend." It felt weird, telling Spencer I was his friend. Yes, he's a colleague and yes, I did go to several lengths to get him back when he was taken by Longmore, but we're not exactly friends. We're hardly acquaintances, but he had no memory so I decided a little white lie was better than freaking him out more. "My name is Carlton Lassiter." I wasn't sure what kind of reaction I'd get if I told him I was a cop, let alone the head detective of the SBPD, so I kept that tiny tidbit to myself.

"You were that guy from earlier," he said slowly. He was quiet for a moment, studying me, and then he said, "So, we're friends?"

"Sure," I mumbled. That façade was going to be hard to keep up, but if it earned me his trust I will suck it up and live with it.

"You must be upset with me," he started in frustration, "not being able to remember your name. Some friend I am."

"Shawn…" It was hard to say Spencer's first name, his surname a jerk reaction when it came to him. "Shawn, don't worry about it. You have amnesia…"

"Yeah, I know. That blonde… Juliet?" he gave me a questioning look, his eyes burning with confirmation that he had gotten O'Hara's name right. I nodded once, both to verify his question and for him to continue. "She told me. She also told me I was her fiancé, but I don't remember…" he kneaded his forehead with his fist. Most likely because of the headache spiking through his head, Reynard probably didn't have time to give him anything for the pain.

"Hey," I said sitting on the edge of the bench. "You'll remember. Just give it time."

"Easy for you to say, Carlton, you actually have your memory." As strange as it was to call Spencer 'Shawn', to tell him I was his friend, to see him so quiet and still, to be living this night at all… it was completely surreal to hear him use my first name. He has called me nothing but Lassie to my face or, at least, variations of the name, for so long. I had always assumed he had forgotten what my first name was, or, in the very least, convinced himself that Lassie was my real name. I admit, neither one seemed beneath him; his maturity levels never exceeded the age of twelve. Twelve year olds seem to be able to convince themselves of anything. I have a brother, he's younger than me, he was twelve once. Of course, he actually grew up when he was supposed to. 'Peter Pan' Spencer, on the other hand, probably never will.

"Why'd you leave the hospital? A lot of people are worried about you." It was the longest I have gone without yelling at him or berating him or insulting him or him insulting me. We are never this civilized and I had mixed feelings about that. I kept expecting him to change in a matter of seconds, start acting like the old Spencer again.

"I couldn't sit there with Juliet. She kept giving me these hopeful looks, expecting me to miraculously remember her. I just couldn't… I mean, I know they're there, Reynard told me they were, but I can't reach them." It was the first time I had seen him so vulnerable. The one thing I will admit we have in common is the fact that we keep our emotions to ourselves around people. It's easier to face a body when emotionally detached. Sympathizing with the victims makes the investigation so much harder to do. Spencer always had a firm grasp on that, until now apparently.

I have never been the comforting type. I'm not the type of person who gives someone a hug, tells them 'it's going to be okay', and sends them on their merry way. No, I have always been the type to tell someone to suck it up, get back in the game, and do a little ass kicking if I had to. But I realized Spencer didn't need ass kicking right now, he needed someone who could sympathize with him, he needed someone who would be there for him… he needed Guster. Unfortunately, we couldn't get a hold of Guster. He was still out of cell range. And I had a feeling he didn't want to see O'Hara. And his father, someone who could probably handle this almost perfectly, was about as reachable as Guster. The only person he had was me, and I was about as helpful as a legless horse was to a cowboy... Not very helpful at all.

Before I could say anything remotely helpful, which probably wouldn't have been helpful at all, a loud shot rang out and Spencer's cup exploded.