Chapter 6

If there was anyone who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was not psychic, it was Shawn. He understood this in the same way that magicians knew there was no such thing as magic and con artists knew that the deal was always too good to be true. Shawn knew. On the other hand, his only other explanation was that he had gone insane.

Lassiter dropped Shawn off at the Psych office. Shawn thanked him absently for the ride and didn't even notice Lassiter's startled expression, though he felt his concern boring into his back as he left the car. Gus wasn't back yet, which was just as well because Shawn had enough difficulties inside his own head without adding to the drama. Besides, Shawn wanted to figure this out himself. Either his pretending to be a psychic had gotten so good that he was fooling himself, he had actually developed psychic powers, or he was going insane. After contemplating his options for a few minutes, he suddenly leaped up and got his white board.

He made three lines and labeled each with an option, but in code because there was no way he was going to get caught contemplating his own sanity. Option one he labeled with a magician because it stood for his psychic-ness being a self-deluding trick. Option two he wavered between it being a pineapple (because even he could see how sweet it would be to really be psychic; on the other hand it was freaking him out enough to not really feel it was a pineapple occasion) and being a Gus (because Gus was the one who believed in curses and ghosts and he would totally get on board the psychic theory, at least if Shawn could convince him this wasn't another joke). For insanity, he drew little stick figure of the evil police men (with a cup of coffee pouring over their heads, so the stick figures wouldn't get confused with Lassiter or Jules, which was a bit silly really because the only one who needed to interpret the board was Shawn, and he knew what he meant.) In the end, the pictures probably served more as a distraction because he could just as easily have written T (for trick), P (for psychic), and I (for insane), and still no one would have known what he meant. Realizing this, he suddenly decided the middle column should definitely be pineapple, because it started with P.

Finally, with his pictures completed, he couldn't put off the purpose of the exercise any longer. The first column was easy. If it was true, then he had seen the woman's picture somewhere; either on Gus's computer or a website or he had just seen her around. On the other hand, his memory was good enough that he should remember seeing such a picture. Under the first column he drew one smiley face and one frowny face. Then there were the colors to consider, and the emotions coming off people. The colors and emotions were connected, but not dependent upon one another; he wasn't really sure what was up with that. He considered eye problems and that his ability to read people had simply improved. That gained more smiley faces, and then another frowny face because the colors only showed up around people and that just didn't point towards eye problems. Then the coffee covered policemen got a smiley face because if it was just part of his observation skills then he was deluding himself. And another because seeing things was a bit weird.

He contemplated the middle column for a long time. He had to add smiley faces for having real daydream/visions and for observations that he didn't remember actually observing. He couldn't think of a reason to add a frowny face but added one anyway because for some reason it made him feel better. He looked over his board for a good two minutes, before finally dropping the pen in defeat. The board was useless. The only way he could be sure whether he really was a psychic or not was to experiment. He knew that from the beginning, of course. But drawing faces and pictures and making up codes was much more fun and less frightening than admitting everything he thought he knew about himself was wrong. Might be wrong.

He sat back, tossed a ball up and caught it a few times, then leaped up and went back to the board. With one bold line he crossed out the insanity column. The daydream woman had been real, no matter what other tricks his mind was playing on him. He'd like to say beyond a shadow of a doubt that the colors and emotions were real too, but he had no way to check. But there were moments, little moments that he had dismissed at the time, when he had said something or made an observation that he shouldn't have been able to. A guy had threatened him because he came up with 'dolphins', and the word had just popped out without any observation to back it. And even before that, there were little things. Grabbing for the phone a second before it rang, guessing with better than usual accuracy over who was on the line or at the door. They were all little things until it added up to a daydream that wasn't a daydream. And it couldn't be insanity if it was real. So take that, psycho cops.

An hour later, Gus burst through the door, a feeling rolling off him in waves that Shawn couldn't quite identify. He seemed upset, at least until he got into the office and had a chance to look around. Then he abruptly changed to confused, maybe concerned.

"Have you gone insane?" he demanded, looking at the various charts Shawn had drawn up and hung around the office.

"Nope, ruled that out ages ago," Shawn answered as he contemplated his latest chart, one made up of colors. Red so far had a stick figure of Lassiter, an angry face, and a concerned face. Orange and yellow were together. They had a stick figure of Gus and Jules. Then below that was pure yellow, which he had an exclamation mark and a question mark next to. Brown was next, with a sleeping face and a frowny face. Green had another Lassiter stick figure. Blue had a Jules stick figure. White had a question mark.

"Shawn," Gus demanded, "What are you doing? Is this related to the case?" He walked around the room, taking in the white board and pieces of paper covered in cryptic lists like 'daydream w., dolphin, sick J. At the bottom and underlined was 'Not Suicide'.

"Yes," Shawn answered, and then, "No. I don't know, I'm just…trying to figure it out."

"By turning our office into a scene from 'Beautiful Mind'?" Gus demanded, staring at his friend. He knew how Shawn worked on cases, and while it occasionally helped to see things outside of his head, that usually didn't involve papering the office with cryptic notes. On the other hand, he knew Shawn well enough to take just about anything he did in stride. "Whatever, Shawn," Gus finally said, remembering that he was upset with his friend, "I want to know what you and Lassiter were doing at Pharmucorpus."

"You know what we were doing," Shawn answered, "Looking for Dr. Evil to prove he killed that guy."

"And you had to do this while I was there?" Gus demanded, "You and your new buddy couldn't have waited until I left? You could have cost me a deal!"

"Oh don't be…new buddy?" Shawn answered, finally looking up from his color chart.

"Don't change the subject," Gus said with a glare, "And what was up with how you treated Lisa?"

"Who?" Shawn asked, confused, while he contemplated the colors that he was slowly noticing even when he looked at his friend dead on. The usual orange yellow was interlaced with a dull, swamp green.

"Dr. Heathers," Gus answered, still sounding annoyed, except his colors didn't match. Most people who got annoyed with Shawn tended to turn a stormy red.

"Dadydream lady," Shawn said out loud when he finally placed who he was talking about, earning a weird look from Gus.

"Whatever Shawn," he said at last, "I still have work to do." And he pointedly sat at his desk behind his computer with every intention of ignoring his friend. Shawn didn't even notice the cold treatment, too entranced with figuring out the color mystery. A moment later, Gus jumped up again, suddenly remembering yet another grievance.

"And what was with that stunt you pulled this morning?" he demanded, "Jumping out of a moving car? I'm not going to drive you around if you're going to be doing that."

"The car wasn't moving," Shawn reminded him, "And you're the one who wouldn't let me ride my motorcycle."

"Because you left your helmet at home!" Gus cried, his tone carrying all the fury of their argument earlier that morning.

"No I didn't," Shawn answered absently, still absorbed in his charts, "I just hid it so you'd come with me for tacos." As Gus's colors changed yet again, definitely leaning towards red, it occurred to Shawn he probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Gus had been adamant about staying to prepare for his meeting, Shawn recalled, though to be fair he hadn't put up much of a fight once Shawn started wheedling him to come along. The hidden helmet was only to quicken the deal. Totally worth it, even if Gus did lecture him half the ride. At least it had been worth it at the time. Now, Gus sat in brooding silence. Shawn considered saying something to break the silence, but his developing headache welcomed the quiet. He put his chart aside and closed his eyes. Let Gus brood. Let the charts and the psychic-ness sort itself out. He was going to take a nap.

If he had known what he was about to dream, he might have reconsidered.

Author's Note: While I actually know where this story is going (for once) it might be a while until I update as I am moving to South Korea and so might be a bit busy in the following weeks to write. I'll try not to leave you waiting too long.