A/N: This is my latest creative track - songfics. I've discovered that these are a way to write a short little bit of Psych so I can keep my sanity for school. These probably won't be updated regularly - just as ideas come to me. If you have any songs you'd like to see "immortalized", let me know. I can't make any guarantees, but it's always good to have inspiration!

And as with all great musicals, there needs to be an opening song. So what better inspiration than the Psych theme song? XD This is meant to be a humorous fic from Lassie's point of view, and it's actually the only non-Shules fic I have planned at the moment, so enjoy, you non-shippers! I don't own Psych or its theme song. Oh, and there's an itty bitty spoiler for the Pilot episode.

Enough babbling. On with the story!


"I know you know
That I'm not tellin' the truth.
I know you know
They just don't have any proof."
Theme Song

Spencer absolutely infuriated him.

Without a doubt.

That was what Carlton Lassiter thought as he sat on the park bench and caught a glimpse of the "psychic" (who believed that bull, anyway?) strolling towards him, a cocky smirk on his face. How the hell did Spencer even know where he was?

There was no way Spencer was psychic. Lassiter had rejected that from the very beginning. Spencer had some inside contact, or an illegal phone tap - which Lassiter would give his badge to bust - or something. Whatever it was, it was not mystic, psychic, mumbo-jumbo. Lassiter was positive about that.

But there was still the problem of the "psychic" (no way that was true) being in this particular park on this particular day at this particular time. No one knew that Lassiter came to this park bench to eat lunch (consisting of a chicken salad sandwich on rye bread, an apple, a bottle of water, and two chocolate chip cookies) on Thursdays almost every week since he was forced into taking this day off.

The concept of him needing a day off was ridiculous, now that he thought of it. He was in his prime - he didn't need a break. What on earth was Karen - Interim Chief Vick - insinuating anyway?

So he sent a rookie home in tears her very first day. She should have known better than to ask him such a ridiculous question when he was so tense. Honestly - where was the copier? Rookies. It wasn't his fault he was worked up about a triple homicide with the mayor and the DA breathing down his neck and certain not-so-helpful-in-this-realm psychic hounding him at every turn.

Which brought him right back to the question - how did Spencer find him here? This was a good half-hour walk from any of the places he frequented (his apartment, the police station, and a small bar) and no one knew about it.

…Except maybe O'Hara.

She probably told him, he fumed silently, trying to keep his gaze focused on a group of college-aged punks chucking a Frisbee around in their wild attempt to knock each other's teeth out. Or so it appeared to Lassiter, anyway.

He'd watch these idiots as long as he didn't have to acknowledge the idiot walking towards him like a man on fire.

"Heya, Lassie!"

Lassiter bit violently into his apple, hoping that this would end up being some kind of horrible talking mirage - something brought on by too much work. Or that glass of scotch before bedtime. Maybe it was all some alcohol-induced dream.

Yeah, a nightmare. A grotesque, horrible -

"Just the man I was looking for!" Spencer declared loudly, flopping down onto the seat next to him with a triumphant sigh.

- reality.

Lassiter literally felt the air grate past his vocal chords as he hissed, "What are you doing here, Spencer? Since you, the Chief, and the city of Santa Barbara all insist I take at least one day a week off, I'd really prefer not to see you at all on said day."

"City? Lassie, New York's a city. Santa Barbara is more of a… sprawling town in comparison," Spencer remarked.

Lassiter had to clench the empty sandwich bag in his fist to avoid clenching it around the younger man's neck. "What the hell do you want, Spencer?"

Spencer, in typical Spencer fashion, didn't reply right away. Instead, he leaned back on the bench, crossed his leg, and bounced it in time with some tuneless song he began humming.


Lassiter ground his teeth together fiercely. "Sometime today, Spencer," he ground out. What he wouldn't give at the moment for the chance to use his Glock.

Or a nightstick.

Or his fists, for that matter.

Anything to stop that incessant humming. The younger man simply shifted again, his leg bouncing a little more wildly. Lassiter vaguely recognized it as a sign of nervousness, but he could really care less at that moment. "Spencer, I swear, if you don't spit it out in the next-"

"I need you to be a distraction."

Lassiter blinked, narrowing his eyes dangerously to hide his shock. His voice was carefully kept flat. "What."

"I need a way to distract Karen next Thursday," Spencer hurriedly said, his hazel eyes flashing around anywhere but Lassiter's face.

Lassiter twisted subtly to get a better look at him. This was a side of the exuberant consultant that he hadn't ever really seen before - pure nervousness. Not even the first time Lassiter met him - in an interrogation room. Men twice Spencer's weight had often quailed in fear after being with Lassiter in the interrogation.

Not Spencer. No, Spencer had mocked him openly without even a flinch. Lassiter had never felt more aggravated in his life until that moment. Oddly enough, that feeling was now almost a daily occurance.

Nevertheless, the Head Detective found himself curious, in spite of his misgivings. "Why?"

"It's her birthday. I've been working with her husband-"

"How did you know?" Lassiter cut in sharply.

"How to get a hold of her husband? A phone book, Lassie. They're useful. You should read one sometime," Spencer said with a grin, finally making eye contact with the Head Detective.

"I meant about her birthday - that's not something she's ever shared with anyone in the station," Lassiter shot back, his tone icy.

Spencer shot him a look. "Lassie. Seriously. You have to ask? It's me!" Lassiter merely snorted in reply. "Anyway," the (non)psychic continued, "I've been working with her husband to get a small get-together planned. Nothing much - after all, like you said, it's not something she likes to share with the station. It's mostly with her friends outside work and some of her family members. And you, me, my dad, Gus, and Jules - apparently we're her favorites. We're all Jason - her husband - hears about, anyway."

Lassiter stared at him silently, concealing his surprise at this statement. Apparently this was enough motivation for Spencer to rush on. "We need you to figure out a way to keep her at the station an extra hour. That way me, Gus, and Jules can help Jason put up the rest of the decorations and get everyone settled while he goes to pick up their daughter."

"What kind of distraction?" Lassiter asked coolly.

Spencer shrugged, getting to his feet. He spun around on his heels to face the detective. "That's something I leave up to you. So could you? Please?"

"How did you really know it was her birthday?" Lassiter asked. When Spencer opened his mouth to reply, he added, "And don't feed me any of that 'psychic' crap, either."

"I'm hurt you still doubt my abilities, Lassie!" Spencer exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest and closing his eyes as if mortally wounded.

"Abilities, my-" Lassiter suddenly paused as a movement to the right and behind the shorter man caught his attention. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the bright red blur of a Frisbee rocketing towards Spencer's head. "Sp-"

Without opening his eyes, Spencer reached up and caught the disc before casually tossing it back at the college students. Lassiter stared in shock as the Frisbee settled into the grass at the feet of the kid who had thrown the disc. He was staring in bug-eyed shock, ignorant of the disc at his feet. The slack-jaw expression on his face matched Lassiter's inward reaction.

"So? What do you say, Lassie?" Spencer asked with a grin, opening his eyes and acting as if nothing had happened.

Lassiter opened his mouth, then closed it soundlessly, staring from the Frisbee players to Spencer and back again. He shook himself once, then calmly said, "Fine. But I can't make any guarantees."

"Awesome! You rock, Lassie! I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your lunch - at least, the chocolate chip cookies. I see you already finished the chicken salad on rye. See ya later! Oh, and not a word of this to Vick - we want it to be a surprise!" Spencer finished happily as he walked away.

As he passed the college students, one of them shouted, "Dude, how'd you do that?"

Spencer smirked and tapped the side of his head. "Psychic," he said with a wink, glancing over at Lassiter, who promptly scowled.

"Du-ude," one kid breathed in awe as Spencer walked away.

Lassiter furiously reached down to the paper bag at his feet, opened it, and pulled out his cookies. He had finished the sandwich before Spencer had even appeared, but that didn't matter. There was no way Spencer was psychic.

Lassiter glanced over at the Frisbee flying through the air as he munched a cookie. Inside information - that's how Spencer pulled off his act, Lassiter decided.

Inside information, and a keen sense of when to duck… or grab a Frisbee.

Nothing more.

A/N: And cue the curtain! As always, reviews are highly encouraged. Thanks so much for reading!