So though in most cases this story will be put in Shawn's point of view, I'm going to let Lassiter's own views slip in here and there without giving him his own "POV" chapter, it's just...saves on having to make a whole chapter trying to make it from his view, and let's face it. It does get annoying after awhile doesn't it? There will of course still be Lassiter Chapters through out. You can't NOT go through this entire thing without hearing from the man who's actually going through all this. What fun would that be?

Anyways, hopefully I'll finally be able to update on a regular basis with the story finally taking off. Here's hoping.

Chapter 6:

Their Morning routine

Shawn was whistling a tune, standing at the stove as he tended to a frying pan. Juliet had already come and gone, followed out by the doctor. He didn't want to push it, but he had been dying to know what had been talked about between them. However, Juliet had seemed reluctant to verify as she tired to make haste towards the door. It didn't take a psychic to know what most likely went down. What was to come.

"What in the hell are you doing, Spencer?!"

Shawn blinked as he turned to find Lassiter standing in the doorway, the detective had finally gotten out of bed. Though the man was still in his nightwear, a pair of silk pajamas that Shawn had gotten him for Christmas last year, and a bathrobe that was draped over them. His hair was tussled, his eyes were still red and his stubble made him look like he had aged 10 years in the past night. Which with what he was dealing with, he probably had. Shawn just wanted to hug him. Which...probably wouldn't exactly go over well at the moment. At the least he'd most likely drop the cup in his hand, the one that Shawn recognized as the mug of milk he'd usually have before bed. The "Psych" logo printed on the side. Shawn didn't exactly have any interest in losing his favorite mug.

Shawn finally tore his eyes away from his mug to meet Lassiter's eyes, giving the other a giant grin. "The chief called and said you could have the day off. So I decided to make breakfast."

He could see the look of annoyance that flashed across Lassiter's face. "I don't need you to make breakfast."

"But...I always make breakfast." Shawn let out a small laugh.

"Not in my house."

"Um, our house Lassie." Shawn corrected him with a small roll of his eyes, as he let out another soft chuckle.

"No, Spencer, my house."

Shawn gave him a look of confusion for a moment before it seemed to all click together. "Oh..." He muttered, his mood suddenly seemed to fall. He knew it, or...should have known it, but was it so hard to hold onto the notion that just maybe- "So, I..."

"I want you out by the end of the week." Lassiter growled. "I'm fine now, I don't need your help anymore."

"Right..." Shawn let the spatula fall for a moment as he looked around the kitchen, something he would soon probably never see again.

So this really was it...

"Is this yours?" Lassiter broke the silence as he finally held up the mug in his hands, narrowing his eyes on Spencer.

Shawn shook off the panic that was starting to creep in as he turned to look at the other then down towards the mug in his hands. "Hey, thanks. I needed that!" Shawn stated happily with a smile, quickly moving to snatch the cup out from Lassiter's grasp. "I can't start the day without my morning cup of "Psych"." Shawn wagged his eyebrows as his smile widened, trying to make the other laugh at his own joke.

Lassiter however just ignored him, his face still stone serious. "We don't drink in my room, Spencer."

The notion of "we" sent a flutter through Shawn's chest, before it quickly died, remembering that "we" was still at it's end. "But it helps my "Psychicness", Lassie." He pouted.

"That's not a word, Spencer." Lassiter grumbled as he turned to examine his kitchen, as the fake Psychic turned to wash out the mug. "Spencer! This place is a mess!" Shawn finally turned around from the sink with the clean mug to find Lassiter pulling at his hair as he eyed the counter. Which yes...okay, so maybe Shawn had gone a little overboard with the mess. There was a bowl sitting in the center, in which he had mixed the pancake batter in, the ingredients still cluttered the counter, a baking soda trail from the box to the bowl, the sugar was knocked over and the empty cracked egg shells sat in a mess a little too close to the counter's edge. And Shawn agreed, okay...maybe the flour hand print on the counter was a bit much but...his hand had been covered and in his defense he made a nice happy face beneath it to show that it was all in good fun.

"Usually your more then happy to clean it, Carlton, it's like our morning ritual." Shawn bit at his bottom lip, turning back towards his pancakes.

"Don't call me Carlton." Even without seeing him he could feel the glare that was boring a hole into his back. "And I am not cleaning that."

"Well fine, but you're at least eating." Shawn turned around with a smile a plate of pancakes in hand as he reached over the island to set the plate down in front of a stool, the butter and syrup already out and awaiting him. Lassiter opened his mouth like he wanted to object but Shawn quickly turned back to the stove to grab his own plate, his smile widened as he heard a sigh followed by the scrapping of a stool being pulled away from the island so a disgruntled Lassiter could take a seat.

Shawn hummed to himself as he moved with his own plate, flicking off the stove, as he made his way around the kitchen and plopped himself down next to Lassiter, who had already adorned his own pancakes, though had yet to actually take a bite out of them. "Their not poisonous, Lassie. Well...at least not to you. I mean unless your diabetic or lactose intolerant or maybe have a gluten allergy...but you don't..." Shawn finally summed up as Lassiter turned a glare onto him.

"Just eat." Lassiter glared at him as he turned to stuff a bite into his own mouth, to make his point, but his glare suddenly faltered. Turning down to stare at the pancakes like they were some new exotic food. "These are...actually good." He mused as he took another bite, a small smile pulling at the usually gruff detective's lips.

"See." Shawn smiled. "Without me here you wouldn't have such amazing breakfast every morning."

The smile fell of the older male's face as he turned a glare onto the other. "The end of the week, Spencer." Was his final response before returning to eating, all out ignoring the other now.

Damn. Well, 5 days to convince Lassiter to let him stay.

|Psych|

"Spencer!" Lassiter's enraged shout echoed throughout the house. Shawn tensed up as he paused in washing the morning dishes, having managed to actually clean up the counter mess and was now in a hurry to finish the rest. What had he done now? Surely he had remembered to remove most of the obvious in the house of the past year and a half. The photo's, memento's, surely he hadn't forgotten anything. Regardless, Shawn dropped the dishes back into the sink before flying through the house in a panic, only to find Lassiter glaring at himself in mirror of the master bathroom. Shaving cream covering his chin as he held the razor blade awkwardly with his right hand, a part of his chin already "shaved". but Lassiter had obviously failed at the attempt as a small stream of red cascaded down his chin from a cut. "Spencer, what is wrong with this blade?"

Was that all this was? God, Lassiter had given him a heart attack. "It's not the blade, Lassie." Shawn let out a sigh of both relief and frustration, rolling his eyes as he reached up, grabbing onto the razor. "You're left handed now."

"I'm what?!" Lassiter spun around to glare at Shawn, as if the other was lying to him, Shawn managing to pull the razor from his grasp.

"Here, just..." Shawn forced the other to turn back around. "Your left hand." He muttered, grabbing onto Lassiter's hand, placing the razor into it before holding it up towards the others chin. He paused a moment and allowed him to adjust his hand around the razor, the other fidgeting awkwardly. The psychic detective ignored him as he guided the others hand to move the blade upwards, coming back with a clean someone bare strip of skin. "Now see, isn't that so much easier?"

Lassiter was surprised to find how easily his hand moved on it's own accord, like he'd always done it this way. Sure, it seemed odd to him, but his body seemed to have the movement memorized, giving little resistance as he tried the movement on his own. Shawn's hand hovering over his for support. Wait-

"Get the hell away from me." Lassiter huffed as he paused to shoo the other away.

"Right, sorry, Mr. Touchy." Shawn held up his hands in surrender as he took a step back. The new found pride that Lassiter now held of course making him smile none the less, as the detective acted like shaving was some grand feat now that he was using his left hand. "What are you ever going to do without me?" Shawn mused, causing the smile to drop off of Lassiter's face as he turned to glare at the others reflection.

"I'll live." Right.

Shawn suddenly found himself being shoved out of the bathroom and the door slammed in his face.

He sighed.

Him and his big mouth.