Fic: Last Resort
Title: Last Resort
Author: Nems
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter one-sided/pre-slash
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: The news that Spencer finally got bored of Psych *does not hurt*. And you absolutely don't want him to stay. Even if you kinda do.
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Beta was done by badluck97. OMG. I adore her. This has to be said. She is saving my Shawn from the ignoble fate of being OOC and just plain bad, and she noticed all the plotholes I miss. She has given me such an insight into these characters! So, my humblest thanks to her!
You’ve thought about the end of this charade a lot. You’ve hoped for it, those long days when he whirls in, dancing and wriggling like made, with his so-called psychic visions upsetting everything you thought you knew about the case. Upsetting the way you’ve always done things, the way you’ve always gone about things. You used to have a good arrest record, plenty of commendations, you were a young Head Detective and you had your eye firmly on Chief one day.
Now you’re being shown up on your own crime scenes by him, so childish, even though he’s an adult. It hurts, because you know that he could be a good cop. A solid cop, with a stunning arrest record, an arrest record that lead to many convictions, bad guys off the streets… but no, he chose this silly little path, and it rankles. At least you know his father feels the same.
You’ve wished, so long, for this to be over, for him to take his little circus show out of your damn precinct and let you get back to the way things are done.
You just never thought it would end. Lately, you’ve gotten used to him solving the crimes for you; after all, isn’t the pursuit of justice enough? You don't need to be bitter over who gets the credit.
But one day, you hear it, from O’Hara, who still hasn’t learned that she doesn’t need to tell you everything.
“Shawn’s leaving,” she blurts out, and you blink in shock.
“What?” you manage to ask.
“Shawn. He’s leaving. He’s waiting until the end of the month, when his lease is up, and then he’s packing his bags, leaving most of his things in storage, and going off to… he didn’t say where. All he said was he’s going on a road trip.”
You nod and go back to the files on your desk. You’d been hoping for this, after all, so you really shouldn’t be feeling like he’s abandoning you. All that order that went out when he came in can come back now. You can’t wait. A little order, and a lot more peace and quiet, just what you need here. Being a cop is serious business, even if Spencer doesn’t appreciate it.
“Gus has been trying to convince him to stay,” O’Hara continued. “He’s not been very successful. I think it’s because he’s so used to Shawn leaving. I’m gonna try after work today.”
You hum noncommittally and flip a page in the file. You could’ve used his help on this case, but that’s fine. Because you are a good cop, and damnit, you can solve cases with Shawn Spencer. He might point to bits of evidence that guarantee an arrest and make a conviction very likely, but he is not the only trick the SBPD has!
***
O’Hara isn’t beaming the next day, from which you infer that she wasn’t successful in getting Spencer to stay. You sigh and ask anyway how convincing Spencer went, but only because you know she won’t talk to you if you don’t at least pretend to be interested in his leaving.
“He won’t stay,” she says briskly. “He said there’s no way he’ll stay. Gus told me he’d be back, though. He always comes back, Gus said, but I don’t know how he does it!”
You shrug. “They’ve been friends for a long time,” you offer lamely.
“The Chief might try to convince him to say,” O’Hara says, brightening slightly. “Maybe she’ll be able to convince him of his worth to the station.”
You raise your eyebrows briefly, sort of to convey, “Who knows?” and go back to your work. Work didn’t stop existing just because Spencer is gone.
It actually seems to be piling up without him to take one look and solve them, but you aren’t resentful, just grateful, because now you can do good old-fashioned police work.
***
You learn after lunch that the Chief, while a formidable woman with strong character and excellent persuasive force, wasn’t able to convince Spencer to stay. You compare him briefly to a force of nature, unstoppable and unpredictable, and are glad that he’s gone.
Sort of.
Because you really could use a nudging hand on this case, and it pains you to admit it.
Because he did solve many cases, and maybe you don’t want him to just go when he could be doing good work. His skills - whatever their actual origin may be - would be wasted in his usual lines of work.
Content with this explanation of why you feel funny about his leaving, you return to your work, because you are nothing if not dedicated.
***
“Even Mr. Spencer couldn’t convince him,” O’Hara tells you the next day.
You don’t doubt that. After a few fishing sessions with Henry, you know well how irritating he could be. You almost think Spencer’s decision to leave was strengthened by Henry talking to him, but you don’t say this out loud. You can almost imagine how that conversation happened. A lot of shouting and at least one variation of “You’re throwing away the one good job you’ve had!”
You sigh and realize that you’re expected to try to get Spencer to stay. It’s a ridiculous idea; you and Spencer hate each other. There’s no way a few pithy words from you will stop him from leaving, and you aren’t going to tell him that you want him around or need him around because you don’t.
Even if you kind of do.
***
It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re standing in front of the Psych office with a box in your hands, full of case files that Shawn’s solved.
Even the Valerie case is in there, one you were so proud to solve. O’Hara had told you that, too, was him. It hurts, a bit, that even that case was him - like the Back Bay Killer and that damnable blue sedan tip that he phoned in - but this just strengthens the case you’ve come to make.
You knock hesitantly on the door.
Spencer opens it with more force than absolutely necessary, but you don’t blame him. You heard, earlier today, that McNab came out here. And after him, Officer Allen, that crazy psychic groupie of his.
His gaze travels to the box in your hands.
“Come in, Lassy,” he says wearily. “It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ll tell me whatever you’ve come to say anyway.”
On the way in, you glance at the Psych calendar on the wall (and automatically, you hate it) and note that today is the last day of the month.
Everything in the office is boxed up, and there’s a duffel bag and a backpack next to the couch.
You have the feeling that you’re interrupting his leaving, and you’re grateful, for half a second, that you came when you did. You might have missed him, and now that you’ve resigned yourself to having this talk, you actually want to have it. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to waste the speech you composed on your way over here.
He flops onto the couch. “Say what you’ve come to say, Lassy, and then let me leave in peace.”
You put the box down on the desk and open it. You pull out a case file, purposefully not looking at him. “McCallum murders. Remember those?” you ask unnecessarily. “Of course you do; you were bragging about them for months afterwards. We were barking up the wrong tree,” and it pains you to admit that, but you know you have to, so you swallow your pride. “You solved that one.”
You put it back in the box and pull out another one. “The Spelling Bee murder? You solve that one, too, Spencer.” Another case file in your hands now, another upstage, another murderer behind bars. “The speed-dating case? That was you, I’m sure you’ll recall. So was the paleontologist - and with that case, you solved a twenty-year-old case as well. No one believed you when you said dinosaur bite, but you were right. We wouldn’t’ve found that out without you. You solved the nursing home case, too, by cleverly placing Henry.” You’re sure Henry had quite a lot to do with the sleuthing in that case, but you’re equally sure he’ll forgive you not giving him credit, if it means Spencer will stay.
Case files worm their way into your hands, one after another. You barely glance at them, just enough to see who the murderer was and maybe one or two details.
“You got the mummy case, too. The mummy that got up and walked out? Seemed impossible, and yet you figured it out - or psychically saw it, if you prefer. And what about that case with the widow and the two surviving robbers? When it turned out that the widow was the murder? You lead us there. Same for figuring out who murdered Dr. Blinn and nearly killed Dr. Drake. We weren’t close to suspecting a transsexual with multiple personalities.”
“You would’ve got it in the end,” Spencer says dismissively.
“Not in time to save Dr. Drake,” you force out, and it hurts, but it’s true. “And I’m sure Officer McNab is grateful for your psychic visions, too. Him and his wife. Doubt the man would be alive today otherwise.”
“And as long as Buzz doesn’t get himself in another situation like that, he won’t need me. Anything else you’d like to dazzle me with, Lassyface?”
“What about the murder of Nelson Poe? We arrested the wrong person there too. And you saved that judge’s life on American Duos -”
“I doubt people are lining up to thank me for that. Have you met the man, Lassy? Although, you might just hit it off with him.”
You ignore the jibe and continue relentlessly, because damnit, you are going to see this through. “You figured out the Valerie case…”
“Don’t tell me this is what this is about. Did Jules finally tell you that was me?”
You’re getting angrier, because this is not how you saw this going, and frankly, you don’t want to be here. You are no good at pep talks and gentle persuasion, and you don’t like Spencer enough to really care if he stays, and the whole thing is just ridiculous. “This isn’t about that! This about your track record! Which, even I have to admit, is excellent!”
Spencer scoffs. “Detective, this all has been fascinating, but I’m going now. Unless you have something interesting to tell me.”
“You solved that case with the other psychic.”
“Please. That was luck. If I hadn’t slept with her…”
And your chest does not tighten when he reminds you of how he solved that case. And you absolutely don’t feel like someone just punched you in the gut.
“I’m sure Guster’s parents aren’t thrilled to see you go, seeing how you saved both of them from a jail sentence. And you figured out the murder at your high school reunion, when none of us would believe there was a murder.”
Spencer just shakes his head. “Thanks for quoting my stats back at me, Lassy. Maybe I’ll phone in some more tips - oh, but then you’d just try to throw me in jail again.”
He stands up and grabs his backpack, slinging it smoothly onto his back. He grabs his helmet.
“Just tell me one thing,” you start, somewhat foolishly, you know, but you have to know. He’s leaving, you’re sure of that, his backpack’s on his back, his duffel bag by his feet, his helmet cradled under his arm.
“What, Lassy?” he asks without enthusiasm, and you start to feel his need to get out and do something else. You know he’s spent more time with Psych than he has with any other job.
“How do you do it?”
Spencer smiles slightly. “I’m a psychic,” he tells you, lying to you yet again, and you don’t get it. He’s leaving; what difference does it make now?
“How else would I know that you’re going to miss me?” And it’s true, so true, just like the first time he told you he was psychic. It angers you a bit, just a bit, because by now, you are used to him being right. It just unnerves you that he knows these things about you.
He crams the helmet on his head and picks up his duffel bag. “Goodbye, Lassy. Shut the door on your way out.”
He walks out, and with his retreating form goes your heart, and you barely realize it until you wonder, weeks later, why you are so down.
Author: Nems
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter one-sided/pre-slash
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: The news that Spencer finally got bored of Psych *does not hurt*. And you absolutely don't want him to stay. Even if you kinda do.
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Beta was done by badluck97. OMG. I adore her. This has to be said. She is saving my Shawn from the ignoble fate of being OOC and just plain bad, and she noticed all the plotholes I miss. She has given me such an insight into these characters! So, my humblest thanks to her!
You’ve thought about the end of this charade a lot. You’ve hoped for it, those long days when he whirls in, dancing and wriggling like made, with his so-called psychic visions upsetting everything you thought you knew about the case. Upsetting the way you’ve always done things, the way you’ve always gone about things. You used to have a good arrest record, plenty of commendations, you were a young Head Detective and you had your eye firmly on Chief one day.
Now you’re being shown up on your own crime scenes by him, so childish, even though he’s an adult. It hurts, because you know that he could be a good cop. A solid cop, with a stunning arrest record, an arrest record that lead to many convictions, bad guys off the streets… but no, he chose this silly little path, and it rankles. At least you know his father feels the same.
You’ve wished, so long, for this to be over, for him to take his little circus show out of your damn precinct and let you get back to the way things are done.
You just never thought it would end. Lately, you’ve gotten used to him solving the crimes for you; after all, isn’t the pursuit of justice enough? You don't need to be bitter over who gets the credit.
But one day, you hear it, from O’Hara, who still hasn’t learned that she doesn’t need to tell you everything.
“Shawn’s leaving,” she blurts out, and you blink in shock.
“What?” you manage to ask.
“Shawn. He’s leaving. He’s waiting until the end of the month, when his lease is up, and then he’s packing his bags, leaving most of his things in storage, and going off to… he didn’t say where. All he said was he’s going on a road trip.”
You nod and go back to the files on your desk. You’d been hoping for this, after all, so you really shouldn’t be feeling like he’s abandoning you. All that order that went out when he came in can come back now. You can’t wait. A little order, and a lot more peace and quiet, just what you need here. Being a cop is serious business, even if Spencer doesn’t appreciate it.
“Gus has been trying to convince him to stay,” O’Hara continued. “He’s not been very successful. I think it’s because he’s so used to Shawn leaving. I’m gonna try after work today.”
You hum noncommittally and flip a page in the file. You could’ve used his help on this case, but that’s fine. Because you are a good cop, and damnit, you can solve cases with Shawn Spencer. He might point to bits of evidence that guarantee an arrest and make a conviction very likely, but he is not the only trick the SBPD has!
***
O’Hara isn’t beaming the next day, from which you infer that she wasn’t successful in getting Spencer to stay. You sigh and ask anyway how convincing Spencer went, but only because you know she won’t talk to you if you don’t at least pretend to be interested in his leaving.
“He won’t stay,” she says briskly. “He said there’s no way he’ll stay. Gus told me he’d be back, though. He always comes back, Gus said, but I don’t know how he does it!”
You shrug. “They’ve been friends for a long time,” you offer lamely.
“The Chief might try to convince him to say,” O’Hara says, brightening slightly. “Maybe she’ll be able to convince him of his worth to the station.”
You raise your eyebrows briefly, sort of to convey, “Who knows?” and go back to your work. Work didn’t stop existing just because Spencer is gone.
It actually seems to be piling up without him to take one look and solve them, but you aren’t resentful, just grateful, because now you can do good old-fashioned police work.
***
You learn after lunch that the Chief, while a formidable woman with strong character and excellent persuasive force, wasn’t able to convince Spencer to stay. You compare him briefly to a force of nature, unstoppable and unpredictable, and are glad that he’s gone.
Sort of.
Because you really could use a nudging hand on this case, and it pains you to admit it.
Because he did solve many cases, and maybe you don’t want him to just go when he could be doing good work. His skills - whatever their actual origin may be - would be wasted in his usual lines of work.
Content with this explanation of why you feel funny about his leaving, you return to your work, because you are nothing if not dedicated.
***
“Even Mr. Spencer couldn’t convince him,” O’Hara tells you the next day.
You don’t doubt that. After a few fishing sessions with Henry, you know well how irritating he could be. You almost think Spencer’s decision to leave was strengthened by Henry talking to him, but you don’t say this out loud. You can almost imagine how that conversation happened. A lot of shouting and at least one variation of “You’re throwing away the one good job you’ve had!”
You sigh and realize that you’re expected to try to get Spencer to stay. It’s a ridiculous idea; you and Spencer hate each other. There’s no way a few pithy words from you will stop him from leaving, and you aren’t going to tell him that you want him around or need him around because you don’t.
Even if you kind of do.
***
It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re standing in front of the Psych office with a box in your hands, full of case files that Shawn’s solved.
Even the Valerie case is in there, one you were so proud to solve. O’Hara had told you that, too, was him. It hurts, a bit, that even that case was him - like the Back Bay Killer and that damnable blue sedan tip that he phoned in - but this just strengthens the case you’ve come to make.
You knock hesitantly on the door.
Spencer opens it with more force than absolutely necessary, but you don’t blame him. You heard, earlier today, that McNab came out here. And after him, Officer Allen, that crazy psychic groupie of his.
His gaze travels to the box in your hands.
“Come in, Lassy,” he says wearily. “It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ll tell me whatever you’ve come to say anyway.”
On the way in, you glance at the Psych calendar on the wall (and automatically, you hate it) and note that today is the last day of the month.
Everything in the office is boxed up, and there’s a duffel bag and a backpack next to the couch.
You have the feeling that you’re interrupting his leaving, and you’re grateful, for half a second, that you came when you did. You might have missed him, and now that you’ve resigned yourself to having this talk, you actually want to have it. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to waste the speech you composed on your way over here.
He flops onto the couch. “Say what you’ve come to say, Lassy, and then let me leave in peace.”
You put the box down on the desk and open it. You pull out a case file, purposefully not looking at him. “McCallum murders. Remember those?” you ask unnecessarily. “Of course you do; you were bragging about them for months afterwards. We were barking up the wrong tree,” and it pains you to admit that, but you know you have to, so you swallow your pride. “You solved that one.”
You put it back in the box and pull out another one. “The Spelling Bee murder? You solve that one, too, Spencer.” Another case file in your hands now, another upstage, another murderer behind bars. “The speed-dating case? That was you, I’m sure you’ll recall. So was the paleontologist - and with that case, you solved a twenty-year-old case as well. No one believed you when you said dinosaur bite, but you were right. We wouldn’t’ve found that out without you. You solved the nursing home case, too, by cleverly placing Henry.” You’re sure Henry had quite a lot to do with the sleuthing in that case, but you’re equally sure he’ll forgive you not giving him credit, if it means Spencer will stay.
Case files worm their way into your hands, one after another. You barely glance at them, just enough to see who the murderer was and maybe one or two details.
“You got the mummy case, too. The mummy that got up and walked out? Seemed impossible, and yet you figured it out - or psychically saw it, if you prefer. And what about that case with the widow and the two surviving robbers? When it turned out that the widow was the murder? You lead us there. Same for figuring out who murdered Dr. Blinn and nearly killed Dr. Drake. We weren’t close to suspecting a transsexual with multiple personalities.”
“You would’ve got it in the end,” Spencer says dismissively.
“Not in time to save Dr. Drake,” you force out, and it hurts, but it’s true. “And I’m sure Officer McNab is grateful for your psychic visions, too. Him and his wife. Doubt the man would be alive today otherwise.”
“And as long as Buzz doesn’t get himself in another situation like that, he won’t need me. Anything else you’d like to dazzle me with, Lassyface?”
“What about the murder of Nelson Poe? We arrested the wrong person there too. And you saved that judge’s life on American Duos -”
“I doubt people are lining up to thank me for that. Have you met the man, Lassy? Although, you might just hit it off with him.”
You ignore the jibe and continue relentlessly, because damnit, you are going to see this through. “You figured out the Valerie case…”
“Don’t tell me this is what this is about. Did Jules finally tell you that was me?”
You’re getting angrier, because this is not how you saw this going, and frankly, you don’t want to be here. You are no good at pep talks and gentle persuasion, and you don’t like Spencer enough to really care if he stays, and the whole thing is just ridiculous. “This isn’t about that! This about your track record! Which, even I have to admit, is excellent!”
Spencer scoffs. “Detective, this all has been fascinating, but I’m going now. Unless you have something interesting to tell me.”
“You solved that case with the other psychic.”
“Please. That was luck. If I hadn’t slept with her…”
And your chest does not tighten when he reminds you of how he solved that case. And you absolutely don’t feel like someone just punched you in the gut.
“I’m sure Guster’s parents aren’t thrilled to see you go, seeing how you saved both of them from a jail sentence. And you figured out the murder at your high school reunion, when none of us would believe there was a murder.”
Spencer just shakes his head. “Thanks for quoting my stats back at me, Lassy. Maybe I’ll phone in some more tips - oh, but then you’d just try to throw me in jail again.”
He stands up and grabs his backpack, slinging it smoothly onto his back. He grabs his helmet.
“Just tell me one thing,” you start, somewhat foolishly, you know, but you have to know. He’s leaving, you’re sure of that, his backpack’s on his back, his duffel bag by his feet, his helmet cradled under his arm.
“What, Lassy?” he asks without enthusiasm, and you start to feel his need to get out and do something else. You know he’s spent more time with Psych than he has with any other job.
“How do you do it?”
Spencer smiles slightly. “I’m a psychic,” he tells you, lying to you yet again, and you don’t get it. He’s leaving; what difference does it make now?
“How else would I know that you’re going to miss me?” And it’s true, so true, just like the first time he told you he was psychic. It angers you a bit, just a bit, because by now, you are used to him being right. It just unnerves you that he knows these things about you.
He crams the helmet on his head and picks up his duffel bag. “Goodbye, Lassy. Shut the door on your way out.”
He walks out, and with his retreating form goes your heart, and you barely realize it until you wonder, weeks later, why you are so down.