"Remind me your address?"

Shawn shook his head. "Just take me to Psych, it's fine."

The drive back from Melanie's had taken well over an hour, and it consisted of him being told to keep his head between his knees, while simultaneously being tapped or shaken every five minutes to make sure he was still awake. Not fun. Apparently all he'd needed to do to sit in the front seat was pass out, though, so that was a bonus.

It was evening by the time they'd returned to the station, and Gus' car was gone- go figure. He mentally reminded himself to put the battery back in his phone.

He'd been about to call a cab when the decision was made for him and Lassiter insisted on playing chauffeur.

"You're sleeping in your office?" He clarified, and to Shawn's ears the words were dripping with judgment.

"We pay for it at night, too, it'd be an awful shame not to use it."

A beat.

"How often have you been fainting?"

"Lassie…"

"Spencer. We're discussing this."

"You got any music?"

"I'll make this perfectly clear: you won't be allowed to consult with us on investigations if you're passing out with no explanation."

Shit. That made complete sense, and before he could stop to think he was talking.

"I've been psychic since I was young, Lassie. Nothing's wrong with me. Besides the spirits, that is."

"I'll take that as a no, you haven't seen a doctor?"

"I know the cause, but if I say so they'll just want me to see a shrink." His default really was lying, wasn't it? No wonder nobody who got close enough trusted him.

"Might be a good thing…" The other muttered.

Shawn did not need to see a psychologist. It was damaging enough being related to one. "I'm not crazy."

Lassiter seemed caught off-guard by this response, grimacing at the lack of humor in it. "I know that."

Shawn, on the other hand, wanted to make it perfectly clear. As his lies grew more specific, he wouldn't blame the other for assuming his 'symptoms' might be of a psychiatric type. Consistently claiming to see and hear spirits, and now fainting with no apparent medical cause?

"I'm not- I don't hallucinate." Shawn said quickly, and the other man looked over, eyebrows raised in shock and… concern. Damn it, that was supposed to be reassuring. In an 'I know I sound crazy right now, but I'm acknowledging it, so I must be sane!' way. It clearly came off more as an 'I'm defensive because I definitely might be crazy' response.

Luckily for him, Lassiter chose not to respond, returning his attention to the road. Unluckily for him, this meant that the rest of the drive was left in heavy silence.

They pulled into the empty parking lot. Shawn reached forward to open his door, but to his confusion, Lassiter opened his own. He watched the detective walk around front of the car, and his door was opened for him.

"What are you doing?"

"Come on."

"I'm actually just old enough to stay home alone, thanks." Shawn tried unsuccessfully to joke, but he complied with the other's request.

It was a relief that Lassiter hadn't gone back to bracing his shoulders as if he would collapse again at any moment. Maybe 'relief' wasn't the right word, because it felt like his neurons lit up as he felt a hand on his lower back gently guiding him towards the glass door of Psych.

"Thanks for the ride home, let's do this again sometime." He tried again, to no avail, as Lassiter pushed the door open.

"You don't keep the door locked?"

Well, he usually did. How the hell had he forgotten? He didn't forget things. Gus must have been by. Although he was even more cautious than Shawn regarding safety.

Lassiter followed him inside, shutting the door behind them.

"What-? Lassie, it's past my bedtime." He was running out of lighthearted ways to tell the man to leave.

"Where's Guster?" Lassiter pushed past him, making his way to sit stiffly on the couch. Shawn reluctantly followed, sitting on the other side.

"At home, I'm assuming?" He hadn't meant that to sound as bitter as it had. Here he was, yet again, spending an entire day on a case while Gus went about the rest of his life. It's not like Shawn's workday ended when he got home, either- his mind would be rerunning things down to the type of lint on Rani's blouse until he fell asleep. That's if he slept at all.

Would Gus find some way to swoop in at the last moment, connect some already-laid-out clues that could've been easily solved if Shawn hadn't been so sleep-deprived, and claim to have 'had to solve the case himself' again?

…Then again, he hadn't even told Gus there was a new case. How many missed calls must he have now?

"Spencer?" Shawn's head snapped up. If Gus were here, he'd feel much more guilty about the warm feeling he got at the concern.

"What, sorry?"

Lassiter scowled, sitting forward. "Look at me."

He furrowed his brow, but did so.

The detective sighed. "Your pupils look fine… I didn't see if you hit your head."

"I didn't hit my head."

"Well, you're acting like you did," Lassiter sighed. "More than usual, that is…"

"Ouch."

"This has to be the tenth time today you've zoned out when someone was talking to you." He accused.

Shawn grimaced. He was right. It seemed like lately he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even realize he was being spoken to. What was the point of his mind if it was preventing him from work?

"I'm sorry, Lassie. I'm usually not so distracted… Ah, by the spirits, I mean." It was like there was something ingrained in him to curb any chance of vulnerability with that oh so intoxicating vice: dishonesty.

Lassiter raised an eyebrow, his expression hard to read. It seemed like he was just as uncomfortable attempting the role of 'confidant' as Shawn was at confiding. "Did something happen recently?"

"What? No. I'm fine."

"Shawn, you had a migraine and passed out within the same day, both of which you then admitted are regular occurrences! The- the more I say this out loud, the more I'm realizing how absurd it is that we're not at the hospital right now—"

"I'm tired, Lassie."

"I—" Lassiter sighed. "Tell me how I can help you."

Shawn sputtered, taken completely aback by the sudden onslaught of sincerity. They were not meant to interact like this. "I'm fine, Lassie! Or, you know how you can help me? Leave me alone so I can sleep."

The other man seemed to process that for a minute before responding in a much calmer tone than before. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone right now."

"What?"

"Spencer, I'll be candid. You've been acting off ever since last week—"

Shawn recalled his 'episode' in the interrogation room, and immediately tensed. Actions have consequences. Lies have consequences. Of course, he'd been letting himself think that indulging in these small moments of having someone care for his well-being was harmless, even useful, but obviously not. What it had been was selfishness.

"—and I can't just leave here if you're experiencing symptoms—"

His heart pounded in his chest. Selfishness, which had only led to him pushing his best friend away out of guilt, shame, and fear of being caught. Yes, that's what it was. Because he could hide behind his anger as long as he wanted- and yes, he was righteously angry at the trivialization of his work- but it was clear what the driving force of his actions was.

Lassiter was still talking. When was the last time he'd gotten more than a few hours of sleep? Fuck, he must have had more than fifteen missed calls by now. He'd stormed out like a dog being chased. Then, then he'd been useless if not for his little performance at the scene itself. It felt like he wasn't getting enough oxygen. He rubbed at his throat.

"Shawn? Damn it."

And Lassiter was kneeling in front of him- when had that-? God, it was hard to breathe.

"Breathe, come on…" And then he was counting.

This was familiar. This was familiar. God…

He was doing it again.

He'd gotten to the point that he was pretending to be unwell without even trying to. How sick of a person do you have to be to fake this kind of thing as a natural reflex?

"Shawn."

"I'm fine. I'm not— this isn't—" How could he explain?

He chuckled breathlessly. "

At the moment, Shawn couldn't even place himself near the mindset he'd had a week ago when he'd carefully plotted his 'episode,' his experimental false malady. At the time he'd excused it as a test of his colleague's opinion of him, but it was clear now that the real test was that of his own moral character. A test he'd failed wholeheartedly.

"Stop," Lassiter commanded. "Just breathe with me. Please."

Shawn did so, or tried to, but it turned out his little simulation had gotten a bit out of hand this time, because it helped none.

He waved an arm at the man, leaning away. This had to end. What was he doing? He still hadn't put the battery back in his phone.

"Spencer, just—" Lassiter scowled at his attempts to wave him off. "Let me help you, damn it!"

"I don't need…" He started, and suddenly the room was spinning. He screwed his eyes shut.

Lassiter muttered something under his breath and placed a hand hesitantly on Shawn's knee. "Spencer."

They could've finished research on Greg Kelson if he hadn't been so preoccupied in procuring more attention from his colleague. He could still salvage this, right? He just had to knock off the act and get to work.

"Shawn, just—" He shook his knee, and Shawn squeezed his eyes back open to see the older man's large eyes examining him. For once, he looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't sure what to do. That was understandable- last time Shawn feigned this he'd let Lassie's little counting routine cure him. Why was he subconsciously choosing to be more difficult now?

"Listen. Uh, here's what we'll do. You're supposed to name five things you see, four things you feel, three things… Well, you get the idea." He cut his explanation short, and Shawn internally cringed at how frantic Lassiter seemed to help him as quickly as possible. This didn't feel good. This had felt good at some point, hadn't it? Could you die from hyperventilation?

"So just tell me— Shawn. Just tell me five things you can see."

Fine. He could do that. That was simple. He tried to take a deeper breath, flicking his eyes across the room unnecessarily- he knew what was in his own office space. Everything was as they'd left it this morning. The coffee machine sat uncleaned, their fridge magnets in their proper position, even the cereal was as usual— was that file cabinet open when he'd left?

"Spencer. What are five things you can see?" Lassiter gently repeated.

Shawn nodded, trying again to steady his breathing. "I, uh…. The fan…"

Lassiter seemed instantly relieved. Jesus, how much of a basket case had he been acting if basic sight was an accomplishment? "...Gus's, ah, Gus's laptop…"

He looked down at his hands. They seemed to be shaking slightly less.

"That's two." Lassiter prompted.

And suddenly, Shawn was no longer in the Psych office. He was in a diner booth, small in stature and in authority as he stared across at his father. Henry looked at him with disappointment and disinterest as he fidgeted with his hands.

"That's two. I asked you how many hats were in the room, Shawn, not how many people were wearing them.

He shot forward, stumbling to his feet as Lassiter reeled back in surprise. "Get out."

The detective gaped at him, standing but not moving to obey his wishes. He spoke incredulously, like leaving had been the very last thing on his mind. "Shawn, you're having a panic attack."

"Lassiter, get the hell out of here right now."

"Shawn—"

Shawn surged forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door. Lassiter, although he could most definitely overpower the shorter man with effort, gave little resistance. Shawn grasped at the doorknob, realizing he'd locked it. Of course he had, he always locked it. Why hadn't Gus locked it? God, Gus. His partner could've been trying to get a hold of him right now.

"Shawn. I told you, you are clearly not in a- in a sane state of mind right now."

Shawn scoffed. He was insane now, too. Lassiter sighed exasperatedly. "You know what I mean. Just take a breath, we need to talk about this."

"What I need." Shawn choked down a breath. "Is for you to leave."

This hung in the air for a moment, the detective finally seeming to consider his requests. He still looked at Shawn as if he were one of his mom's headcases, but he didn't come right back with an argument. He swallowed, seeming wholly unconvinced by the decision he was about to voice.

"Okay. Okay, I'll go."

The psychic breathed a sigh of relief.

"But, Spencer, tomorrow…" He paused. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Shawn pushed the door shut, immediately turning the lock.

He returned unsteadily to the couch, collapsing against the warm leather his colleague had occupied not five minutes prior. The only sounds in the near-liminal office were his own heavy breathing and the crickets chirping outside. An indeterminate amount of time passed, but in the silence, he could finally breathe.

He reached into his pocket, slipping out his cell phone and battery, hesitating before popping the pieces back together. A few seconds later his screen loaded, summoning the only light in the barren room.

He had no missed calls.