DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but a pair of mismatched socks. Psych isn't mine. *pouts*

"Five minutes. What could go wrong in five minutes?" Shawn had asked.

If Carlton Lassiter had paid attention to him, perhaps nothing would have happened. If he had thought about the question he certainly wouldn't have left Shawn Spencer unattended for that long. But there were other matters on his mind, and he let the psychic out of his sight in the station for all of five minutes.

Shawn could do a lot of damage in that time.

Take, for example, the egg salad sandwich Lassiter would find in his desk drawer later that afternoon. His locked desk drawer.

Or the five foot long chain of Lassiter's paperclips.

Or that his password computer had been changed to 'shawnrules'.

Or that the watercooler had been filled with tepid coffee while the coffee maker had been filled with some kind of fruit smoothie.

Or that all his reports now had smiley faces worked in somewhere on the page.

Or that Lassiter's chair now squeaked. Juliet claimed that he couldn't blame that one on Shawn, but Lassiter knew.

His suspicions were confirmed after three days of seriously irritating squeaking. Lassiter had taken the chair apart and found a gum wrapper wedged in the wheel in just the right spot to make the squeak.

Written on the gum wrapper were the words "And one minute to spare."