Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate the feedback. I'm a little surprised at the number of readers I have for this; I didn't realize 'Psych' had such a big following.

Paintball Tourney

Lassiter was just retrieving his jacket at the end of the shift when Buzz McNab and Sgt. Hanson blew into the precinct locker room, laughing and slapping each other on the back. Both were dressed strangely, even for a Saturday. McNab wore hunting camouflage from head to toe, to include a duckbill cap, although the 'camouflage' component of the outfit was currently marred by multiple splashes of orange, yellow, green and blue paint which had been partially wiped off. Hanson's black fatigues were likewise paint-spattered, and he had two round, visible bruises blossoming on his right upper arm.

Carlton smirked at the appearance of the two men as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. "Looks like the California Highway Patrol won the tournament this year." He shook his head in mock resignation. "I knew you guys couldn't do it without me."

The annual SBPD vs. CHP paintball tournament was a longstanding tradition, and one of the few 'fun' activities Carlton allowed himself to participate in. However, someone had to be on duty at the station even during friendly competitions, and this year he had drawn the short straw. It was a shame, too, because he really was quite a good marksman, and managed to adjust to almost any weapon within just a few shots. That made him almost indispensable as a 'sniper' in the game.

Buzz's eyes lit up at the sight of his hero. "Detective Lassiter! No, sir, actually we won!" Seeing Carlton's sudden frown, he hurriedly added, "But we sure could have used you out there."

Lassiter nodded, somewhat appeased. "Well, you know my motto: 'One shot, one kill'."

Hanson chortled, "Well, that psychic's motto ought to be 'Five shots, five kills'. If those were real bullets he'd be a mass-murderer."

Lassiter's eyebrows climbed in disbelief as he stood up straight again. "Who, Spencer?"

McNab piped up, missing Carlton's mirthless expression. "You should have seen him, sir! He'd sort of…look at the field for a minute, real intense like, then pop, pop, pop, pop - four CHPs were on the ground." Buzz enthusiastically mimed a weapon firing with his hands.

"Huh," grunted the detective thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. Something nagged the edges of his awareness…something about Buzz's description… It slipped away from him, and he shook his head irritably before commenting, "Spencer always struck me like the type to blast through two hoppers of balls in the first five minutes because he's spraying everything in sight - you know, 'Greater accuracy through volume'."

"That's pretty much what we all expected," commented Hanson as he began to strip for the showers. "We even set aside an extra case just for him. Didn't need it, though; he was surprisingly low-key. I mean, he didn't even want to be the 'President' when we got to that round."

Lassiter snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the rules. "That's the game where each side has to try to get their 'President' to the other team's base, while simultaneously trying to shoot down the other team's 'President' trying to get to their base, right?" His lower lip curled derisively as he continued, "Please don't tell me he played one of the 'Secret Service Men'; I really don't see him as the type to throw himself in front of a bullet to save his 'Commander-in-Chief'."

Buzz shook his head good-naturedly. "No, he didn't. Made a heck of a 'sniper', though. The CHP 'President' didn't stand a chance. Shawn always seemed to know which path they were skulking through the woods and managed to take out the target before the guards even knew he was there. It was the most amazing thing. I guess being psychic has its benefits."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, "He's not…" he began, then decided that he didn't want to waste his breath arguing whether Spencer was actually psychic. After all, he was unsure as to what the consultant actually was, other than extraordinarily successful. Nodding once in acquiescence, he stated condescendingly, "Of, course. You're right. Yes, yes it does have…its benefits." The last was forced out through gritted teeth and a frozen smile.

McNab once again didn't notice. "Well, gotta shower before shift change!" he announced, disappearing into the adjacent bathroom. "I can't wait for next year! You and Shawn ought to team up!" floated back to the detective as he heard the shower turn on.

Having no answer to that suggestion that didn't involve 'creative' language use, Lassiter just scowled and slammed his locker shut before stalking out the door.

TBC…

Author's Note: I actually have played paintball on a number of occasions, and find it to be a blast! In the 'President' game, I'm always 'secret service' - I'm great at throwing myself in the line of fire to save the target. My shooting style is, unfortunately, the "Better Accuracy Through Volume", though - I just blast everything that moves. My husband actually had a T-shirt made for me with that slogan!