Shortest rant ever
I hate my job. Have a story.
Title: Not even a little
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn, Lassiter
Warnings: None
Notes: This gen fic is rated sis safe. WHICH MEANS, sometimes when two people act like they don't get along, it's because they don't get along. (Not that I don't love a good Shawn/Lassiter fic myself, but this story is NOT IT.)
Carlton caught Spencer by the collar of his pink polo as he was attempting to sneak into the records room and dragged him back out. He then stationed himself in the doorway, gave Spencer his most foreboding glare -- not that it ever had much effect on him -- and pointed the way to the stairs.
"I hate you," Spencer groused, sounding exactly like one of O'Hara's nephews. The eight year old.
"Yeah, I got that," he replied and waited for the 'psychic' to slink off.
***
"I don't actually hate you." Spencer's voice startled him, and he mistyped 'apprehend.' Thank goodness for autocorrect.
Carlton glanced up. Spencer was fiddling with the stack of folders in his inbox. He swatted at the wandering hand irritably. Spencer's ability to sneak up on him was beyond aggravating. When Spencer was loud, he was very, very loud -- so Carlton forgot that when he was quiet, he was silent.
As he was now, apparently waiting for him to respond. "I know," he said, because it was true.
"I mean, I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think you're an okay guy. Decent, hardworking, dedicated -- okay, some might say obsessive, but you've mellowed. Some." Spencer cast a critical eye over him, as though he were trying to assess Carlton's virtues from the surface. "And you know how to work a suit, though you could stand to do something with your hair --"
He knocked the hand away before it landed. "Please go away."
Spencer shrugged and slouched off.
***
Somehow, Spencer's dramatic reenactment of the victim's final moments culminated with him draping himself across Carlton, leaving O'Hara to make the arrest. As she mirandized Jenkins, Spencer sprang back to life and away from Carlton.
"You do know I only like you, not like you like you, right?"
Terrific. O'Hara got to make the arrest, and he got to talk about Spencer's feelings. He rolled his eyes and tried to join O'Hara by the car. Spencer stepped in the way. "Because I can see how you'd be confused, with the touching and all, but you have to understand that's just how the spirits move me."
"The spirits live to annoy me. Got it." He tried to edge around Spencer, but Spencer neatly sidestepped. Since O'Hara had her hands full, he looked to Guster for help, but he just leaned back against a handy park bench and grinned like this was the best show he'd seen all week.
"And I'm not sublimating desire into aggression. I don't sublimate. All surface id, all the time, that's my motto. So our little rivalry is just that -- you're like the Inspector Whosit to my Holmes."
He refused to fill in 'Lestrade,' because Spencer would take it as an admission, and no. Instead, he settled for the maturest of retorts: "Oh, I am not."
Spencer flung his arms out to either side. "Right, see? Pure rivalry!"
O'Hara had secured Jenkins in the back seat and was looking curiously in their direction. He shrugged at her past Spencer.
"Also, you're not my type," Spencer said solemnly.
And okay, seriously. "Spencer, there's something you should know." He leaned in, dropping his voice. "I prefer..." Spencer mirrored him, wearing a sincere listening expression. "...the company of women." He smacked the back of Spencer's head lightly on the way past. He thought it said something, that, on the list of weird things that had happened since Spencer made himself an SBPD fixture, coming out as straight at a crime scene didn't even make the cut.
Title: Not even a little
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn, Lassiter
Warnings: None
Notes: This gen fic is rated sis safe. WHICH MEANS, sometimes when two people act like they don't get along, it's because they don't get along. (Not that I don't love a good Shawn/Lassiter fic myself, but this story is NOT IT.)
Carlton caught Spencer by the collar of his pink polo as he was attempting to sneak into the records room and dragged him back out. He then stationed himself in the doorway, gave Spencer his most foreboding glare -- not that it ever had much effect on him -- and pointed the way to the stairs.
"I hate you," Spencer groused, sounding exactly like one of O'Hara's nephews. The eight year old.
"Yeah, I got that," he replied and waited for the 'psychic' to slink off.
***
"I don't actually hate you." Spencer's voice startled him, and he mistyped 'apprehend.' Thank goodness for autocorrect.
Carlton glanced up. Spencer was fiddling with the stack of folders in his inbox. He swatted at the wandering hand irritably. Spencer's ability to sneak up on him was beyond aggravating. When Spencer was loud, he was very, very loud -- so Carlton forgot that when he was quiet, he was silent.
As he was now, apparently waiting for him to respond. "I know," he said, because it was true.
"I mean, I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think you're an okay guy. Decent, hardworking, dedicated -- okay, some might say obsessive, but you've mellowed. Some." Spencer cast a critical eye over him, as though he were trying to assess Carlton's virtues from the surface. "And you know how to work a suit, though you could stand to do something with your hair --"
He knocked the hand away before it landed. "Please go away."
Spencer shrugged and slouched off.
***
Somehow, Spencer's dramatic reenactment of the victim's final moments culminated with him draping himself across Carlton, leaving O'Hara to make the arrest. As she mirandized Jenkins, Spencer sprang back to life and away from Carlton.
"You do know I only like you, not like you like you, right?"
Terrific. O'Hara got to make the arrest, and he got to talk about Spencer's feelings. He rolled his eyes and tried to join O'Hara by the car. Spencer stepped in the way. "Because I can see how you'd be confused, with the touching and all, but you have to understand that's just how the spirits move me."
"The spirits live to annoy me. Got it." He tried to edge around Spencer, but Spencer neatly sidestepped. Since O'Hara had her hands full, he looked to Guster for help, but he just leaned back against a handy park bench and grinned like this was the best show he'd seen all week.
"And I'm not sublimating desire into aggression. I don't sublimate. All surface id, all the time, that's my motto. So our little rivalry is just that -- you're like the Inspector Whosit to my Holmes."
He refused to fill in 'Lestrade,' because Spencer would take it as an admission, and no. Instead, he settled for the maturest of retorts: "Oh, I am not."
Spencer flung his arms out to either side. "Right, see? Pure rivalry!"
O'Hara had secured Jenkins in the back seat and was looking curiously in their direction. He shrugged at her past Spencer.
"Also, you're not my type," Spencer said solemnly.
And okay, seriously. "Spencer, there's something you should know." He leaned in, dropping his voice. "I prefer..." Spencer mirrored him, wearing a sincere listening expression. "...the company of women." He smacked the back of Spencer's head lightly on the way past. He thought it said something, that, on the list of weird things that had happened since Spencer made himself an SBPD fixture, coming out as straight at a crime scene didn't even make the cut.