"Hey Dad, what's that?" A seven year old Shawn picked up what he considered to be a large pair of scissors.

His dad was working in the yard, ignoring him. "Something you shouldn't be touching right now Shawn."

"But—" Shawn chopped the air with it a few times, the sound catching Henry's attention. He immediately moved to grab it from his son, heading for the garage.

Shawn still was undeterred, he didn't like not knowing things. "What is it?"

"To you it's a freaking hacksaw. Don't touch it."

"A hacksaw?" It didn't seem right.

"Yes, Shawn, so don't go touching anything pointy in this garage."

"Oh… are there more hacksaws laying around?" Shawn asked, wondering why his dad was so upset.

"They're not actually called… oh." Henry said, realizing what he had done. He needed to be more careful.

"Would you stop doing that?"

Gus's voice brought Shawn out of his thoughts, finally noticing his taping the salt shaker against the table. "Dude, kinda nervous here."

"This was your idea!" Gus, softened a bit at Shawn's anxiety. "We can still bail out."

"I told him it was extremely important."

"You're normal definition of 'extremely important' usually involves half-price taco Tuesday."

"That's twice the Mexican awesomeness for your buck, Gus!"

"Whatever. The point is, you can tell him something ridiculous and we can leave."

Shawn thought about it. It was tempting… He shook his head. "I can't. If we wimp out on this… I don't know, I trust him."

"He's done nothing but try to get you fired or arrested for the last few years." Gus reminded him.

"No, that's not all man. He got me my bike back from that auction, he shot that guy who held us hostage at his house, he told me I did 'good work' when I got kidnapped. I don't know, I think under that spikey porcupine exterior is a real gooey, caramel-filled teddy bear."

"Shawn, I'm still not so sure—"

"Alright what do you two idiots want?" Lassiter interrupted, standing at the head of the booth they were sharing. Gus scowled at him from his seat. Much to the opposite, Shawn grinned invitingly.

"Lassie! Just the man we wanted to see. Here, sit next to me and we can split a—"

"You said, and I quote, 'it was a matter of life or death.'"

"You what?!" Gus asks, gaze switching to Shawn.

"In my defense I also mentioned that there would be ice cream. And that promise was delivered."

"That's it I knew this would be a waste of time." Lassiter moved to leave.

"Lassie!" Shawn's call stopped him. He turned around, surprised at the seriousness in Spencer's expression and tone. "Okay, jokes aside, this is… I need to tell you something."

Lassiter stared into the psychic's eyes, studying him and, placated, nodded before sitting next to Gus, Shawn's antics from before still bothering him. He put an arm on the table to support his head. "Okay Spencer, I'm listening."

Across from him, Shawn let out a breath, biting his lip in an unusual fashion for him, looking at almost anything but the detective. His gaze drifted towards his hands and, without looking up, he blurted. "We want to tell you the truth."

Carlton frowned at the statement, brows furrowing. 'It couldn't be.' He leaned a bit forward on the table, attention fully focused on Shawn. "Truth about what?" He said, tone actually softer than he intended.

At that Shawn hesitated stiffly, seeming like a man about to take a plunge. He opened his mouth, as if to say something before quickly shutting it again and ruffling his hair distractedly with his hand. Lassiter caught his gaze, the question of 'Where do I start?' looming between them, unspoken. Impatience blossomed quickly and Lassiter reverted to his usual tone. "Is this it? Because I really have better things to do."

Surprisingly, it was Gus that spoke up. "Shawn's a genius." He said bluntly.

Shawn started, slight exasperation leaking into his tone. "Gus—"

"Can it Shawn," Gus retaliated, tone heavy. "You were valedictorian. You would've given the speech if you hadn't ditched graduation.

Shawn sighed. "You deserved it more than me—"

"That's crap and you know it." Gus interrupted him again, turning back to Lassiter who had watched the exchange bewilderedly. "Shawn's a genius." He repeated.

Lassiter blinked, startled. "What do you mean…"

"I mean he's got a genius-level IQ. I mean he got a one hundred on the detectives exam when he was fifteen. I mean he almost skipped straight to high school at ten. I mean he's got the best memory I've ever seen." Gus replied and as the detective searched his face for any sign of a joke, he slowly realized that there was none. This was truth.

"What does this have to do with—"

"I'm not psychic."

The statement came quietly, rushed and from the man himself and uneasy silence fell over the table in the wake of it before Lassiter's senses came back to him. He made to stand, he was an officer of the law and a confession had just come from the horse's mouth – he had to report it.

He heard Shawn call out his name but was again shocked as Guster took action, grabbing his arm and almost hauling him back into the booth. "Lassiter just listen."

Rigid in his seat, the detective ground out, "What do you expect me to do when you tell me something like that?"

Gus ignored him. "You know this was Shawn's idea to tell you and I thought he was crazy. But now I'm starting to think it's about time he got recognition from somebody besides me. Henry certainly never—"

"Henry knows?" Carlton glared at him.

"Of course he does." Shawn replied, unusually calm. "You'd think he would know if his kid was psychic or not."

Groaning, Lassiter resigned himself to the conversation. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Recognition for what?" He asked, getting back to what Gus had said.

"Well…" Shawn started before faltering, looking at Gus for guidance. Gus looked as baffled as him for a moment before an idea struck.

"Show him."

Shawn's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Close your eyes Shawn." The command came, strong and familiar from what Lassiter could tell by Spencer's reaction to it, stiffening and eyes turning steely.

"Gus, I don't—"

"Just do it. There's no way he's going to believe us without evidence." Gus reasoned.

Shawn nodded and sighed in acceptance before again going through a process that looked well-performed in Lassiter's opinion. Shawn leaned an arm against the table, head tilted towards or the floor, yet one hand covered his eyes anyway, preventing any further sight of the room, while the other hand rested against the table, drumming in a nervous-habit fashion. It all happened in a moment and the act of covering one's eyes, though normally insignificant, seemed... different.

He gaped. "What are you two trying to show me exactly?"

Gus ignored him, looking all around the them. "Lassiter, count how many hats there are in the room."

"What?"

The other man turned back to the detective. "Just trust me. And don't say the number out loud."

Lassiter looked away from him and back to Shawn, whose expression pushed boredom throughout the exchange before sitting up a bit more to get a better look. The small Red Robin was fairly full, and a large amount, he now noticed, sported hats. He counted them in his mind, gazing back over the crowd to make sure his number was correct. "Got it."

"Great. Now ask Shawn how many there are."

He frowned at Gus. "His hands are…"

"I know his hands are." Gus replied steadily, eying him, waiting .

Sighing, Lassiter asked resignedly, "Alright Spencer. How many hats are in the room?"

The response was immediate, Spencer's tone brushing upon uninterested. "Eleven." He said, gesturing. "Three at the counter, two in the booth by the door, one in the one behind us, four on the waitresses and one in a bag on the floor by that table."

Lassiter blinked and reevaluated the room by what Shawn had said. "I counted eleven and missed the one in the bag." He shook his head. "You missed one."

Shawn grinned, hand still covering his eyes. "The kid right?" Lassiter nodded despite Shawn being unable to see. "A beanie doesn't count." The fake-psychic laughed a little. "I'll take it one step further. Life stories." He started pointing to individual people as he talked, first to a man in a rumpled suit. "Businessman there just got out of therapy, anger management issues. Blonde waitress just got engaged. Goth kid sells drugs – may want to look into that Lassie. Manager just got promoted. I can go on." He said, finally dropping the hand to sip casually at his milkshake.

"You're just making up wild stories." Lassiter replied, though he himself sounded unsure.

Shrugging, Shawn dared, "Try me. Check anyone. I don't care which."

Lassiter looked around and found the waitress walking close to them. He stopped her. "Excuse me, I'd just like to congratulate you on your engagement." He said lightly, hoping not to look insane.

The waitress looked at him confusedly. "Thanks… but how did you know?"

A chuckle came out of him. "I'm psychic." He replied ironically, ignoring her as she stared at him before walking away. "How?" He asked, tone serious.

"My dad." Shawn replied.

"What do you mean?"

"He trained me." Shawn explained. "Used to practice baseball to a shooting target, Easter egg hunts involved submitting evidence. I mean he locked me in the trunk of a car once! It wasn't cool." He shook his head, biting his lip at the memory. "He wanted me to be a cop, and I was cool with it at first but I was a kid. I mean, he even started teaching me how to shoot when I was twelve."

"Shoot?" Asked Lassiter, stunned.

"Yeah, not to be big-headed but I'm probably a better shot than you are." And Lassiter could see the truth in that, Shawn's insistence for a gun when rescuing Guster, his brilliant shot when kidnapped.

"But still how do you-?" He asked, gesturing around them.

"He's a genius." Gus said again.

Shawn ignored him. "I've got an eidetic memory."

Lassiter raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Photographic." Shawn clarified. "My father found out when I was a kid and started training me in deduction ever sense."

"Deduction? Like Sherlock Holmes." It made sense now, Shawn's 'psychic' explanations usually came wrapped in a package of reason that surely deduction provided.

"Sort of." The 'psychic' nodded. "He liked my recall the most, lost of memory exercises like the 'hat game'." Which explained the familiarity of the act, the detective figured, the insight into Spencer's upbringing giving him new revelation.

"Your mother said she had something similar."

"Yeah, there are a bunch of different levels of it, hers is pretty minor. I apparently got the whole shebang." Said Shawn, pointing at his head.

"Which is pretty much the heart of the matter of why we asked you here." Gus intervened finally, catching Lassiter's attention.

"What?"

"There are a bunch of different issues that come with eidetic memory." Said Gus.

"Like what?" Lassiter asked, now fully invested in what was going on.

Gus breathed in, gearing for a long explanation, looking at Shawn for confirmation before continuing. Shawn nodded and looked down towards the table. "Basically the brain stores every frame of every second of life and the person can never ever forget them. This causes massive amounts of information to flood the brain - far more than any normal person can deal with. People with this kind of memory are actually prone to get headaches and become distracted or disoriented at times because of this." Gus explained. "That's also the reason why, when they're introduced to something new or they've never heard the name of - let's say a pair of hedge clippers – they remember the first name given to them in association with it, the actual name - or let's say a mistake like hacksaw - they'll remember that association between the word and object forever and no amount of reminding can fix it."

Lassiter blinked at the new information. He held up the ketchup bottle. "So, what, if I held this up and he didn't know what it was and I called it a cocker spaniel he'd call it that forever."

"Essentially, yes." Gus confirmed.

"And that's what happened today?"

"Got a bit overwhelmed." Shawn said, sighing and rubbing at his temples.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Lassiter finally asked.

Guster was again the one to get to the point. "We need someone in the force to understand what's going on if something like that happens again. Psychic backlash, whatever you want to call it, but we need to show that Shawn's not going crazy."

The logic was sound and, internally of course, the detective commended them for taking this step. "Why not tell O'Hara instead of me? She'd be more sympathetic."

"I didn't want…" Shawn trailed off, trying to get the wording right, his tone quite and desperate. "I don't want to disappoint her."

Lassiter eyed him and Shawn allowed it. There was no joking, no hint of aloofness in Spencer's face, just genuine concern for Juliet. Lassiter could relate. "If this is all true, why the lie?"

At that Shawn huffed. "I didn't lie! Not at first. But you and your lady friend wouldn't believe me. So… psychic." He gestured towards his head again, this time wiggling his fingers in one of his 'psychic vibrations' poses.

"Why keep it up though?"

"Does regular consultant sound like me, dude? Fake-psychic is much more fun." Shawn grinned at him widely.

So, despite the genius and training, Shawn Spencer was still Shawn Spencer.

"What we need to know now is," Guster said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Are you going to tell anybody? Or will you help us out?"

Lassiter sighed. That morning if he had heard the admission he would have immediately turned Spencer in. But what he had just heard… "I can't believe I'm saying this." He said. "But I don't think I will." The two consultants stared at him incredulously. "I used to think you just went through cases blindly and just got lucky half the time. But what you do… it's actually somewhat impressive. And you close cases. There's no reason to say anything." Gus let out a sigh of relief, immediately hugging Lassiter awkwardly and Shawn started laughing. "Again I can't believe I just said that." Lassiter added stiffly, pushing Guster away from him.

"Yes! Lassie welcome to team Psych." Shawn exclaimed offering out a hand for a high-five.

"God I'm regretting this already." Said Lassiter before a thought occurred to him. He looked up sharply and stared at Shawn. "Wait… is that how you change my bank account numbers?"

The 'psychic' just grinned at him.

A/N: And... FINISHED IT. Just took two years. Dang. Thank you all for your patience and comments over that span of time. But let's get technical: Yes, this is something that happens with people with the 'full shebang' of eidetic memory. Like most things medical/psychological/subjects-I-write-about, each case is different BUT this is actually base on someone I knew. He was german and, when learning english, someone told him blue was purple - so he always said purple. He remembers it, remembers every time someone corrects him, but his usual instinct is to say purple. It's actually very interesting and it reminded me so much of Psych I had to write it. (Although recently I was watching an episode where Shawn does say "hedge clippers" so obviously me choosing that word isn't based on anything in the actual show.)

Notes on Beta and Disclaimer in Ch 1.