A/N: Hello again! Geez, I'm just getting tons of ideas over here, it's great. You guys leave such nice reviews! TheLonerAlto13, yes, indeed there IS a Doctor Who magazine! I'm sure you can find it at your local comic book store, Barnes & Noble, or online.

Disclaimer: The only reason I had 'Heather' in this section of the chapter drink a vodka neat with four olives is because Britta on another show I absolutely love, Community, drinks it and I have no knowledge of alcoholic drinks whatsoever. Other than that...I also do not know what the inside of the In-N-Out Burger looks like nor do I know if that's even the correct name! I kind of just grab things and hope they work out!

Also - I'm thinking of bringing Ryan and Sarah back? What do you think, should I pair them up?

Shawn is immensely grateful for In-N-Out Burger. So very, very grateful. It felt like his poor stomach was eating itself, that's how long it had been since he'd eaten. He and Gus were planning on just going to the joint, ridiculous costumes be damned, but Juliet had wanted to tag along – there was unfinished business to talk about – so they went back to the Psych office, changed into 'regular' clothes, and went back to the station to get Jules.

Now they're sitting down at the restaurant, waters, sodas, and beers topping the table, and reminiscing about past cases. Juliet's laughing so hard her cheeks are flushed scarlet and Gus is choking on his fancy Heineken beer. Shawn rubs a tear from his eye, remembering that faithful day he paraded around with a 'boy' cat and pretended he could talk to it.

He's still a little apprehensive about owning up to all these cases he was basically lying through his teeth though (and they were, all the cases) because it's Jules and he loves her and he doesn't want to risk losing her over something so…foolish. But honestly, she's taking it quite well, if he does think so himself. She's smiling and cracking jokes and genuinely happy, so maybe it really didn't matter all that time. But Shawn is definitely not going to take that for granted.

Of course…that doesn't mean he can't enjoy a nice handful of salty, delicious fries. He grabs someone and almost winces at the hot temperature, but he manages past it and smiles. Ahh. There's nothing better.

"So, are you two going to continue the Psych-Man and Mr. Lexicon? Or is the jumpsuit duo done?" Juliet asks with a smirk, taking a bite of her double cheeseburger. She wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin and then laughs. "You two looked so ridiculous. I swear, Chief Vick blew a gasket."

Shawn's brows furrow together. "Come to think of it, Gus, they were pretty uncomfortable in the, er, bottom area."

Juliet raises an eyebrow.

"Wedgies," Gus clarifies knowingly.

"But it wasn't that bad," Shawn admits. "I felt pretty cool going down those stairs."

"Of course you did, you were wearing a cape." Gus says.

"Which you refused to wear!"

"I refuse to get sucked into airplane turbines, Shawn!"

"Airplane turbines?" Juliet asks in confusion.

"It's from The Incredibles," Gus explains.

Juliet shrugs.

"Hey, do you think Chief Vick's pissed we never gave our statements?" Shawn asks Juliet.

"I'd say so," Juliet swirls her straw through her glass. "I had to sneak out. It was pretty tough, considering."

"Considering…?"

"Lassiter went off on a date."

"A date?" Shawn asks in disbelief. "Aw, Jules, why didn't you tell us? I could have made fifty jokes by lunch! Not including the ones about his hair. Like the fact that he looks like a very long-lost distant cousin of a Keebler elf."

Juliet, smiling, shakes her head. "I don't know, he was all mysterious about it."

Suddenly, Lassiter came through the door of the In-N-Out Burger, a brunette woman hanging on his arm.

"Oh, no way," Shawn's eyes widen with glee.

Gus, eyes not wavering from Lassiter, reaches across the table for his drink, grabs Juliet's by accident, and then makes a face at the fruity cocktail.

Juliet grabs it back with a face, pushing it away from her.

"We've got to investigate this." Shawn slides out of the leather booth.

"And he doesn't even wait for dessert," Gus grumbles under his breath, dutifully following behind. He quickly strides back, grabs a fry, and then sprints away again. He catches up with Shawn, who's already holding court behind the hostess stand.

"Excuse me," he says to the waiter. "Gimme your vest."

The bored early-twenties waiter just stares at him.

Hastily, Shawn withdraws his wallet, pulls out a coupon for a free Krispy Kreme donut, and then dismisses the boy with an annoyed, "Look, man, I never carry cash and I seriously love Krispy Kreme so you'd better value that."

The kid tosses him his vest with an agitated sigh and then stomps off.

Shawn quickly ducks down behind the stand, pulling his arms through the vest holes.

"Shawn, what are we doing exactly?" Gus asks, genuinely confused.

Shawn's in one of his zones, where he gets exasperated if anyone else questions his intentions. "The way I see it, Gus, we only have a few minutes to mess with Lassiter because his date is going to inevitably pretend she's got to powder her nose in the ladies room and then disappear out the back door. And that's not something I need to see in a vision to figure out." He checks to make sure he's got the vest on properly, peeks up above the stand to see Lassiter and his beautiful date approaching, and then mumbles, "Wish me luck."

Gus, squatted down beneath a hostess stand on a Friday night, staring at a pair of scoffed Reeboks, almost wants to laugh at himself.

"Ah, hello, table for one, correct?" Shawn's standing, facing Lassiter and wearing his trademark grin that's gotten him out of heated situations with guns and physical altercations with pissed-off women.

"Spencer," Lassiter grumbles. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, odds and ends," he says airily. "Sometimes the Psych office can be a bit empty, you know, and I need something to pay the bills. Did you ever look at the amount of money the SBPD pays consultants? It's insulting, is what it is."

Gus, still squatting on the floor, shoves Shawn's leg.

Shawn quickly recovers from the wobble and smiles innocently at the brunette woman still holding Lassiter's suit-covered arm.

"You're a consultant for the police department?" she asks curiously.

"Well, more of a psychic detective, really." Shawn confesses. "But yeah, I do help your little friend here with some cases."

"Really?" the brunette puts a hand on her hip. "Tell me: what am I thinking?"

Shawn, sliding into the usual character attitude he takes on when impersonating a psychic sleuth, puts two fingers to his temple. "Hmm." But this time, he actually concentrates. Legitimately, honestly, concentrates. And my God, there's a slew of thoughts running through this woman's mind. She's thinking about how good the place smells, she wants that guy's drink two tables over, Lassiter smells too strongly of Old Spice…and she hopes she didn't forget to DVR Breaking Bad before she left her apartment.

"You need to be a little less heavy-handed with your cologne," Shawn advises Lassiter, giving him a pitying look.

Lassiter looks to the woman, who sheepishly smiles an apology.

"Unbelievable," the woman claps her hands over her chest. "What color am I thinking of?"

"Pink."

"Number?"

"Five."

"Movie?"

"Road Trip – really?"

"Drink?"

"Voda, neat. Four olives."

"Truly amazing!" the woman gushes.

Behind the hostess stand, Gus rolls his eyes.

"You two work together?" the woman turns to Lassiter to confirm this. Begrudgingly, he does. "I bet you two have a pretty good time, huh?"

"You could say that." Lassiter grits through his teeth.

"So, uh, table for one?" Shawn grabs a menu from the stand, looking directly at Lassiter.

"Actually, Heather here is my date," Lassiter snarls.

Shawn chuckles. "Of course." He grabs another menu, and then gestures for the two to follow him. 'Stealthily', Gus grabs a menu himself and follows the trio, hiding his face in the pages.

Shawn leads Lassiter and Heather to a vacant booth. "Here you are. Now, can I start you off with anything to drink?"

Heather smiles. "I'll just take a Coke, for now." She looks to Lassiter, sitting across from her, but he doesn't smile.

"Water. No ice." He demands with a bored tone.

Shawn nods, and then walks with Gus to the drink station, heading right for the cups. Gus doesn't question his best friend's knowledge of the location of such items – he's long since stopped being surprised by his eccentricity.

"So, what are we doing, exactly?" Gus asks, setting the menu down.

Shawn looks up to the ceiling. "Well…I figured I'd mess with Lassie until he figures out that his date is an undercover cop." His blasé tone makes the conversation seem casual, but Gus's reaction is anything but.

"What? Are you serious?" Gus's eyes widen like marbles. "Why would an undercover cop be interested in Lassiter?"

Shawn shrugs. "All's I know is I saw"-he emphasizes the word so Gus will know the difference between clairvoyance and his eidetic memory-"a badge and a police academy test. A chief telling her the cover. You know recruitment stuff. Why would Lassiter be with an undercover cop?"

Gus shrugs. "Maybe he knows."

"No, no chance, they're sworn to secrecy." Shawn fills a glass with Coke. "Maybe Lassiter's done something wrong again."

"Again?"

"Oh, Gus, don't be Mark Harmon's hair in Weather Girl." Shawn chides. "You remember that time he was framed for that guy's murder."

"Of course I remember, Shawn, you never got us back those cashews."

"Really and that's what you remember? Not me getting knocked in the head and almost getting shot. Again?" Shawn asks incredulously.

Gus waves his hand airily. "Oh, semantics."

"That is most certainly not semantics, quit sounding like me!" Shawn grabs the water jug and pours some into another cup.

"So what are you going to do to figure it out, then?" Gus asks curiously.

"Oh you know the wild speculations, random dancing"-Shawn quickly does a Michael Jackson-esque spin-"and quite possibly Jules. She always does come in at the perfect time."

Gus confirms this with a nod.

"Anyways. Gotta get to it!" Shawn salutes his friend before running off.