NE MSTAKES OUR CAUSE EYE AIN'T DUNN KNOW EDITING.

Important AN:

For those of you who've read What He Didn't Say, go to the poll on my profile and tell me what you want continued. There will be another story elaborating on what The Brothers in Orange have been up to during the course of this investigation.

I don't own Psych or any other show/movie. I only own the rights to two books, and those aren't included.

Language warning for this chappie (I'm trying to be as realistic in my characterization as possible)

my computer is working again so that means UPDATES, Back to the case with this one. If you have any ideas what I'm leading up to, guess. I love laughing maniacally when people try to guess what I'm up to. There are a lot of clues. All you have to do is put them together.

Sitting in the observation room, Maggie watched the interrogation with a frown, absentmindedly fingering THE letter. This case was not turning out at all as she'd expected it to be, from finding Shawn to the body itself.

She shivered, tendrils of fear creeping up her spine. What sort of monster lurked behind these walls?

The image of Puppet danced before her eyes.

The body dangled from the bunk bed, upside down, streams of blood running from where the man's eye sockets had been clawed open, eyes ripped from the skull. Rivulets of blood spattered his hands, scarlet tissue under his nails, hands covered in the remains of his own eyes. The irises were still visible on the upraised palms, glaring at any observers as much as the empty sockets. He hadn't died when he apparently ripped his own eyes out. He died when he used his now-blood-stained teeth to tear open his own wrists, severing veins and arteries and leaving blood splatter like a macabre paint all over the concrete, a single pool beneath him. Some had dried already, a muddy brown against the white walls. Some was still crimson, dripping from the body's matted hair.

It was without a doubt the most horrifying image Juliet Margaret O'Hara had ever seen. Taking a burning gulp of her acrid coffee, Maggie tried to banish the image from her mind and concentrate on the room in front of her, Carlton's grim face and the harsh lines of the prisoner's body language.

"Tell me what you know about Shawn Spencer."

It was a command, given in hard, unforgiving tones.

"He's gone." The enormous man chuckled. The pineapple tattoo on his neck drawing Juliet's eyes. The room felt cold.

"More dead than Puppet will ever be. Puppet still exists. Sure, he doesn't breathe, but what does that matter? Shawn Spencer no longer exists." The high-pitched chortling broke his words into a staccato sentence. He gasped for breath.

"You're looking at the wrong prisoner." The man was grinning maniacally, the handcuffs that held him to the metal table clattering as he shook with laughter. "This is not Runner's prison. The only prison that holds him is the one he built for himself, the prison of his own mind."

"Thanks for the tip, John- er, James? I thought you were still on the run."

"It's Jason, now, Shawn. And there's no need to run when everyone chasing you is dead."

"Except for yourself." Runner felt, rather than saw, Jason's head nod in agreement on the other end of the line. There was silence for a moment, then...

"Does that mean that since the whole master-assassin-double-agent-amnesia stuff is over you can start using your Facebook? If so, you should like our 'Brothers in Orange (and Their Melodramatically Mysterious Friends)' Facebook page. You'll get invited to all of our private events. If not, I'll settle for twitter. You tweeting... Now, that's a picture."

The dial tone echoed in his ear.

He set the phone back in its cradle with a smile.

"Maybe we're asking the wrong questions," Maggie suggested hesitantly, "maybe we're the ones making this case about Shawn."

Carlton stared her straight in the eye. "Maybe so, but there's a pattern here, somewhere, and chances are, it revolves around Spencer, things almost always did seem to."

Transcripts of Interrogation with Prisoner C19428LFP

1800 Hours, Lompoc Federal Penitentiary

Attending Officers- Det. Juliet O'Hara of the SBPD

Head Det. Carlton Lassiter, SBPD

Background: Prisoner C19428LFP (also known as Sailor, known member of the Daggers, a Latino gang operating inside Lompoc) questioned in relation to the death of inmate C19476LFP Roger Morris(also known as 'Puppet'). Prisoner C19428LFP was convicted in 1995 of four accounts of statutory rape and physical assault with a deadly weapon, concealed weapons charges, possession with intent to distribute, and first degree murder. He was sentenced to life without appeal. Outside of prison he was a member of the highly influential Twenty-Third Street gang in Los Angeles. Once incarcerated, he became associated with the Daggers. He was a known associate of 'Puppet' (the victim).

What follows is the transcription of the interrogation of C19428LFP in relation to the murder case of C19476LFP:

Det. O'Hara- Are you aware that the death penalty is legal practice for heinous crimes committed in California?

PC19428LFP- Is that rhetorical?

PC19428LFP- If you answer my question, I'll answer yours.

Det. O'Hara- Is this your idea of cooperating, Mr. Fielding?

PC19428LFP- I'd like to do some cooperating with you, Detective. (subject displayed lewd gestures)

Det. O'Hara- Good. Then answer the question before I tell you exactly what I'd like to do with you.

PC19428LFP- I'm am very much aware of the state penal codes, since they fucked me over.

Det. O'Hara- I am not here to discuss your case, Mr. Fielding, I am here to discuss the case of the murder of an associate of yours, I believe you knew him as Puppet?

PC19428LFP- That asshole? Heard he got knocked off.

Det. O'Hara- And where were you when so-called 'asshole' was killed?

PC19428LFP- In my cell, most likely, where I've spent the last sixteen fucking years.

Det. O'Hara- Am I correct in saying that you knew the victim?

PC19428LFP- Knew him, but didn't 'know' him. Plenty of guys did though. If you want to know what happened to the fucker, ask the young ones. Puppet liked 'em young. Sick bastard. Not that there's much other play around here.

Det. O'Hara- Is there any other information that you can provide as to this case?

PC19428LFP- Nah. Wouldn't tell you if I did. I'm stuck here, life with no appeals, the judge said. Behind these walls is all I'm ever going to see. And do you know what happens to people who squeal here? They scream. Squealers always end screaming. You want to talk to someone who knows something, how about you ask the goddamn guards why the hell Puppet bled out in front of them! I've heard about how fucked up he was, and no matter where I am now, I was once a doctor. He would have taken at least fifteen minutes to die in excruciating pain. He would have screamed. So where the hell were the guards? I'm not the one you should be talking to. I got nothing to say.

Det. O'Hara- Thank you for your cooperation.

PC19428LFP- For you? You can have my cooperation anytime, anywhere. And the cuffs, I don't mind 'em.

End of transcripts.

Subject was restrained by guards and escorted back to his cell. (1825)

Transcript signed by Head Det. Carlton Lassiter, SBPD

The Bouncers were big, probably pumped up on the same drugs Emilio Vastedez had been distributing.

Shawn, still dressed as a business man, couldn't help it. He walked up and poked one of them in the arm, his eyebrows raised and his nose upturned, for once not in the mood to con his way in.

"Sure, the stuff made your arms bigger than mine," Shawn said conversationally, "But I know one part of my anatomy that is now substantially bigger." He paused. "Judging by the sparkle of intelligence and wit in your eyes, let's make that two."

Well, if he HAD to make an entrance... Let's see Emilio ignore that.

Carlton Lassiter's salt and pepper eyebrows, finally beginning to show hints of his true age, were furrowed in thought. There were too many questions, too many unknowns. Until Spencer got out of solitary, it seemed as if it would stay that way. They had a sexual predator and snitch who killed himself, supposedly under someone else's influence (although according to Woody, there were no discernible drugs in his system, at least, there most likely were none; there was some anecdote somewhere amidst the autopsy notes about an undetectable mystery drug the government is creating and Cuba and whether Carlton would like to join Woody and his wife for donuts sometime, but for some reason Woody couldn't fathom, Carlton's gut said this wasn't a revival of the men who stare at goats. This meant Woody asked Carlton for the privilege of autopsying Carlton's mysterious gut someday, hastily reassuring with a guilty expression that he meant after Carlton had already expired. Of course.). They had a warning from an "innocent" Runner, guards who "hadn't seen anything," the strange method of death, and a distinct lack of security footage of the incident. The door to the cell, Carlton found, rereading the guards' statements, was locked. It showed no signs of being tampered with, yet there was no record of anyone entering or exiting. It just didn't fit together.

It's a jigsaw puzzle, Lassiepoo. I wonder, was the jigsaw first or the jigsaw puzzle? I've heard it both ways. Jigsaw... That's a weird word. Like cockadoodle-doo. Do roosters actually say cockadoodle-doo?

Lassiter ran a single hand over his forehead, groaning. Six years and the man was still in his head, goading him. Annoying him. And damned if he didn't miss it.

Gus smiled as his face collided with the hard concrete floor in solitary. His "Interview With The Vampire," the blood sucking leech also known as Carlton Lassiter, was over, and he was penned for attacking another inmate. He laughed. If he knew what was good for him, the boy would take his advice and stay in the Med Bay till this "Puppet" shit rolled over. Jackal... Well, where Jackal was going, the prison issues would be pretty insignificant. Even Runner's ex, a dead pedophile, and a police investigation weren't important when it came to the mission.

In the solitary cell, Jackal sat up. It wouldn't be long, and he'd be joining his brothers. The plan was slowly but surely coming together.

Prison guard Emilio Hernandez frowned suddenly. His keys... He grasped at his waist for his ID tag, but he couldn't find it. His hand brushed his pocket and he reached in, pulling out his ID card with a frown. How did it-? He rolled his eyes and clipped it back at his waist.

Shawn strolled into the club with a smile, knowing his team was there to back him up. The first step of his plan was underway.

At the door in the alley outside the ironically named 'The Alley', two disproportionate men in black, bouncers it seemed, were slumped against the wall, unconscious.

The interviews were more puzzle pieces.

"Puppet was getting out. Didn't matter that the asshole was a psychopath. a few words to the warden, and he left the laundry room, was working in the prison office. A few more words and his sentence was reduced, for 'good behavior,'" the man shifted in his seat, scorn written all over his face.

Carlton puzzled over his notes, trying to make sense of it.

"I was doing my rounds. I didn't see anything until I rounded the corner. Then there was this gurgling noise, and he was just lying there and there was so much blood." The guard was stoic. "Don't know why you're making a big deal about it." He reached into his pocket. "Mind if I smoke?"

Someone should have seen something, heard something. There had to be a clue, and he was just missing it.

"I was in my cell. You can check the cameras. Big Brother was watching. You got nothing on me."

The faces were hard and unresponsive. The answers seemed to give him everything and nothing at the same time.

"I'm sorry detectives, but it seems there was an issue with the camera system in that corridor. The picture's not that great, but you do have a view of the hall outside his cell." Raybourne shrugged apathetically.

It didn't seem right. A man was dead and no one wanted to do anything.

"We don't carry weaponry, the only guns are at the gate. We do twelve hour shifts. Guard house is on the far side of the prison campus."

Their were several guards on rounds at all times. It didn't make sense.

"O'Hara, get a warrant to check the guard's bank accounts, see what's going on."

He had to figure this out. It was his last case...

"What about the rest of the staff?"

"What staff? This place runs itself. Inmates get everything they need done. Every couple of years a state inspector checks for any issues." The warden raised his hands with a smile. "It's a pretty self-reliant community."

He couldn't find a flaw in the security. Even the cameras showed no one moving in the hallway outside of Puppet's cell.

"The mail is delivered once a week. Everything is scanned."

Everyone seemed to want Puppet dead, but no one was taking the credit for doing anything about it.

"The Daggers may have a plan in the works, but this wasn't it."

"Did I knock him off?" Enrique Vastedez smirked. "No. I will say one thing, Puppet wasn't fit to wash my briefs, yet alone get parole while I rot in this hellhole." The dagger on the OG's cheek was a direct mockery of Spencer, it seemed.

The gang leader's smirk had grated on Carlton.

"Behind these walls, Detectives, men change."

Raybourne's words were grim. The inmates were the same.

"If you put a dog in a home, he is 'domesticated', put him in a cage, and he is just an animal. You are controlling the dog by putting him in a cage. But did you ever think that to him, you've given him run of his own domain. In a cage, he is in charge, no matter that you're keeping him there. We are men in cages. This is our domain, Detective. We are animals, you say, but we make the rules. You're playing our games, for now you're stuck in the cage with the dogs. The sons of a bitches got everything we need in here, and the import-export business ain't bad. This is our prison, you'll see."

The prison doctor had been slightly more helpful:

"You see, I have a bit of a background in psychology, Detective," He pushed back the curtain around his current patient's bed, pulling Carlton at the same time away from the sleeping man. In the glimpse that he did catch, Carlton felt himself stiffen. The kid looked so peaceful, so young.

"I could tell you even without it that this place is a time bomb. Los Hermanos have become a direct challenge to the Daggers. Runner, he wouldn't associate himself with a man like Puppet, but he probably is the one who can help you the most. Puppet may have talked too much about what he heard for the men here, but he was still a person. Besides, the sooner you leave here, the better." Doctor Wilson pushed his blond hair of his serious eyes.

"This place is a time bomb and Runner's the ticker. If he ever runs out, it's all going to go to hell. He came into here six years ago, totally unknown, was transferred out a few times after the incident that started Los Hermanos, and he doesn't take shit from anyone. Suddenly the weak ones, Daggers' opposition, were banding together. Together, they aren't weak anymore. Runner didn't tolerate bullies or prejudice, and now he's changed the whole dynamic of this place." The doctor frowned thoughtfully.

"The Hermanos are brothers. The Daggers are violent, unpredictable. The few groups that stay out of these politics, the Latinos and the OG with the Aces, they're like Switzerland, and they normally won't risk a power play because it's the Hermanos who keep the Daggers from going off on them.

"There is violence in a situation like this, it can't be helped. I have plenty of patients every day just from cellblock C, and there are seventeen cell blocks and nearly four thousand men in this prison. The only reason you're here is because Lompoc PD refuse to take jurisdiction over a case involving an ex-Santa Barbara resident. The federal powers that be, for some reason, agreed. I have seen many things, but only once before nearly seven years ago have I seen something anything like this. This is a game changer, and you're caught in the middle of it."

The doctor shifted, looking at his chart, and Carlton frowned... Then shook his head. He had gotten used to seeing tattoos everywhere.

"Whatever Puppet died for, it was more than just a grudge. The eyes ripped out, the chewed open wrists, it's symbolic. This man saw something, did something, he shouldn't have. When you find out what it was, and who was involved, you'll have your killers." He paused, hesitating. "And whatever you find will be better than this one man's death. You may wish you hadn't found out when you do..."

"Wilson!" The irate head doctor yelled out. "Why does it not look like you're in my office?"

Seeing an opportunity, Carlton stepped forward towards the cane brandishing man.

"Can you tell me anything about Puppet's death that could aid in our investigation? The inmates haven't been very helpful..."

"You want to know how two chemicals interact, do you ask them? No, they're going to lie through their lying little chemical teeth. Throw them in a beaker and apply heat."

"Well I want to ask you..."

The Doctor cut him off with a single raised eyebrow. "...like the philosopher Jagger once said, 'You can't always get what you want.' I'm a busy diagnostician, I don't have time to enjoy the lovely prison scenery or exchange fashion tips on the colors that go best with orange. I have an appointment with a dying man, and his symptoms are really excellent. Bleeding from his eyes and growing paralysis! ...At least, I had an appointment with him a half hour ago. Hopefully he's not dead yet, then the ME will get all the fun of diagnosing him. I do have an idea of how to treat him. If he gets better, I'm right. If he dies, tragedies happen: I'll owe Nurse Jackson a twenty."

The Doctor headed away, limping. Carlton stared after him. Wilson rolled his eyes.

The con was beautifully planned, and beautifully executed. Justice would be served, Shawn thought with satisfaction. It was almost over now. Just to make the man think he's won... Shawn smirked mischievously.

Sitting down at the computer, Juliet O'Hara knew what she had to do. She had to get into those files somehow. She typed Shawn's name into the database search box.

She had no idea at the time what she was starting. She knew Shawn had friends in all places, but she had no idea how high it really went.

FBI SAC Don Eppes frowned at his desktop. "Shit," he said, bringing one hand up to his forehead in his characteristic. "Something's gone wrong" gesture.

"Colby, take care of our witness, I have an issue I have to deal with. Somebody's been looking into a secure file, and I need to know who."

Walking away, Don sighed quietly. "Wonder what Spence has gotten up to now?"

Agent Reid of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit was playing with his Physics Magic set when his cell phone rang. His other cell phone. The consulting cell phone.

"Doctor Reid." He picked up.

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then, "What's up, Doc?"

Recognizing the voice, Reid smiled. "Nothing much, Doc."

"Spencer, you heard from the other Spence?"

Reid's brows furrowed. "Not since the last consulting gig. I was wondering about him. I saw the alert come in on his flagged file. What has he done now?"

"Made his play. Six years of preparation and things are finally coming together."

Agent Coulsson smiled at the NSA's alert as it popped up in his inbox. Somebody had been looking into Runner. The game was afoot, then.

Crawley glared at his computer screen, already signalling MI6's techs to backtrace the request for information. Mrs. Jones would not be pleased that THIS file, out of all files, was being requested. He couldn't imagine M was happy either. 009 would no doubt be investigating and the inevitable inter-agency issues would be indisputably rough. Reaching into his desk drawer, Crawley was careful to grab the Rolaids that Smithers had said were not explosive.

This would be a long week. It was like Kazakhstan all over again.

In Thailand's ISOC office, Shoonyndi was careful to talk in English, so if they were heard, they wouldn't be understood.

"If Spencer is active again and someone starts looking into those files, there could be a catastrophe on the scale of the Thaksin's assassination attempt issue."

"Hey Nate," Hardison called out. "You might want to take a look at this. Seems Spence has gotten into something."

Suddenly at Hardison's shoulder, Parker frowned. "I told him I would steal him out of prison, but he said he could manage. So, what's up?"

Charlie Eppes smiled into the phone receiver. "I've got one foot in the FBI's door. I heard about the alert, Shawn. Does this mean you're consulting again? It's been a while since the team got together. Brennan's had a kid, you know. Lloyd's out of prison on some sort of temporary basis. Patrick joined up with the CBI after the whole 'Red John' issue. Reid, well he's still Reid, and I haven't kept in contact with Lockie since Mycroft dragged him away."

TBC...

What? Reviews? You shouldn't have... Scratch that. You should have. Repeatedly, and with gusto. Even PMs are welcome. No PMS though. I like to stick to PMs.

Anyways, for those of you who know what it's all about-Ahem, Reviewers.

(It's ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will, five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain, and one hundred percent reason to remember the name, BTW)

Torchil: You'll find out about the assignment soon enough. After I'm finished with this story, I'm posting up a story called Beyond These Walls and one called Brothers in Orange. In those, you'll get all of the juicy details. As to the other issue- Shawn is awesome. Does that work as an explanation? And I have a one-shot about another disguise of his that I may or may not post up. Just imagine this- Gus meeting angry-black-woman Shawn. Really. And a lot of his methods I have tried myself, so these disguises? Tried and true. Thanks for the review!

Thewarpedmind1: Your wish is my command. Your awesomely incredible, food(pineapples)-for-my-writing-soul review made me smile so much that I hereby grant you one boon. Two lines, no matter what your pineappliness wants them to be, will be included in my story. You write 'em, and I'll work them into the plot. OR... One OC. Describe them and I will pop 'em in and give 'em a role. That, I've decided is the price of happiness. Thank you so much. Chameleon Shawn will be bustin' out soon. Along with a whole boatload of secrets and badassery.

Proudtobepurple: By all means, ramble on... I love slightly hardened Shawn, too. It's like the difference between bread and toast. Add the butter of the plot, some warmth, and harden Shawn up a bit and you have a recipe good for breakfast any morning. Not that I'm a cannibal. Nor you. Well actually, I do not know... ? ;) And I'm sorry it took me so long to update. This whole stupid "having a life" thing keeps getting in my way. I think It's a bit overrated.

Psychic101: Hi. Were you expecting that? Darn it, you probably were. Ah! So much pressure. Quick, think of something unexpected... I've got a lovely bunch of pineapples? I love the smell of gasoline? I don't know. Hopefully the story was unexpected enough for you. I apologize if the chapter didn't live up to expectations. It's sort of a "Back at the farm" thing. If it were a prison farm. Thanks for the review. Shawn vs. Runner is on its way. I'm writing it express. I am the FedEX of writers. Or at least I would be. If once more that stupid "real life" thing didn't keep getting in my way. Toodledoo! Have a maaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrvelous day.

This chapter was dedicated to KALVINANNE, for there is no better reply to the AWESOMENITY of KALVINANNE's reviews and dedication to this story.

p.s. Kalvinanne, can I abbreviate your pen-name to KA? It's short and it's fitting.

p.p.s. I hope I'm feeding your addiction.

p.p.s. Thank you for understanding.

p.p.p.s. Was this long and BADASS enough for you, KA?

In conclusion, Reviewers (You know who you are, and after the section above, everyone else does, too), the fact that you took the time to stop and leave a comment for me says so much about you wonderful people and I hope you get a lot of the same happiness as your stories are reviewed by others (and me, as soon as Real Life leaves me alone for a little while, you know what I'm reading). Thank you all.

For those of you who didn't review... Please do. I'm not quite sure about this incredibly long chapter and some comments would be incredible.

SS