"Hit" - Shawn/Lassiter - R - Chapter Three -
Title: Hit
Author: panda_god
Pairing: Shassi (Shawn Spencer/ Carlton Lassiter)
Chapter: 2/??
Rating: R for graphic scenes portraying dead bodies, violence, murder, and future sexual content.
Disclaimer: Psych and all it's awesomeness is not mine. I don't make any money from this, in fact I lose money because I don't do my real job while doing this.
Summary: Shawn stumbles upon a woman killed execution style on the side of the road and it begins a case that will be his most dangerous yet.
Notes: Firstly I would like to say a great big THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who took the time to drop a comment! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Secondly I would like to say that I really, really like constructive criticism. So if you're reading through this and things just out at you, I invite you, nay, I urge you to post about them. That's how I learn! I would like to dedicate this chapter to my Archarology class, which is the class during which I wrote it, while the teacher was showing slides of his trip to South America. Thanks Professor!
“Shawn, what are you doing?” Gus demanded. He sounded annoyed.
Shawn didn’t bother to look up from the screen of his phone, which he was using to snap shots of everything in the briefcase. He had pulled on a glove, one of the latex free kind that Gus kept around everywhere, and carefully lifted each piece of paper to photograph it.
“Once Lassy and Jules get here it’ll be over for us,” he said, carefully piling everything back in exactly as it had been before he touched it. “We won’t be allowed near this thing. They probably won’t be allowed near it. This crosses into FBI territory. I bet you this becomes a matter of national security.”
He still hadn’t looked up, but in his head he could envision the look of absolute horror on Gus’ face.
“Dude,” his friend started, “They were here. Someone who is involved in this was in here, and now we’re in here… Alone.”
He could practically hear Gus’ mind screaming at him to flee. Fight or flight with Gus usually boiled down to flight. Fight only won out in very special circumstances where A, Shawn was in serious danger of losing his life, or B, he knew he could win.
“Yes, Gus, they were here,” Shawn said, finally looking into his friend’s face. “Were, as in are not now. We’re fine. In a few minutes Jules and Lassy will be busting down the door , so even if whoever gave this to us is still here, we’ll be totally safe.”
“Will be!” Gus whispered, “We aren’t safe now!”
He was positively frantic.
“Gus!” the name wasn’t yelled, but it was said somewhat harshly and Shawn was giving Gus a look, pointing at him with one finger. “Calm down. You can‘t lose your head over this.”
Despite his brave front Shawn jumped when the front door opened so hard it slammed against the wall, and let out a shriek, a manly shriek mind you, of terror. A second later Lassiter was coming through the doorway to where their desks were, Juliet hot on his heels, both looking tired but eager to see the new evidence. Shawn quickly snapped his cell phone closed and subtly slid it into his jeans pocket as the two detectives eyes zeroed in on the briefcase and they both approached.
“Who gave it to you?” Lassiter demanded, pulling a pen from the inside pocket of his suit coat and using it to shift the files around a bit.
“Oh my god,” Juliet was saying as she watched, no doubt committing as many of the facts from the files as possible to memory.
Shawn shrugged, discreetly removing the latex-free glove from his hand and stuffing into the waistline of his pants, “The spirits are being dodgy tonight, Lassy.”
Gus pointed at the open window, “Whoever it was, they came in through there and they were gone when we got here.”
Ah, Gus, always the sell out when it came to adventure and possible danger. Shawn glared at him, elbowing him in the arm and getting smacked in return. They commenced a silent, childish fight behind the two detectives’ backs, a fight that ended when Gus pinched Shawn’s upper arm, hard.
Completely ignoring the two buffoons, Lassiter had moved towards the open window and was inspecting it closely.
“O’Hara, get on the phone with the crime scene unit,” he snapped. “I want this place gone over with a fine toothed comb.”
He slid the pen he had been using back into his pocket, “If they so much as sneezed in here I want to know about it.”
He turned to Gus and Shawn, eyes narrowed with warning. “You two, touch nothing. I don’t want this scene contaminated any more than it already has been. We might be able to lift a print.”
Shawn put on his disagreeing face and shook his head, “This spirits are telling me that whoever was here knew what they were doing. You won’t find anything.”
“We have to try,” Juliet said, pulling out her cell phone and going outside to make the call.
That left Shawn and Gus alone with Lassiter, whose sharp eyes were scanning every inch of the room. Shawn opened his mouth to tell the detective that the spirits told him it was a waste of time, but Lassiter must have had a touch of psychic to him.
“Don’t talk, Spencer,” he said, glaring at the would-be psychic over his shoulder, “Every word you say gives me a headache.”
-----
Two hours later found a gaggle of men and women carefully picking through the Psych offices carpet and dusting every available service for prints. Carlton watched them carefully, eyes narrowed. If one of them breathed to hard they would have him to deal with. Guster had left right off the bat, claiming he had a route to finish and that he would only get in the way. Carlton wished that Spencer was so gracious and would leave when he knew he wasn’t wanted. Speaking of the fake psychic.
Sharp blue eyes sought out the form of Shawn Spencer and narrowed further, taking in details and interpreting what they saw. His shoulders were tense, and he looked uneasy, his eyes darting around the room. He was standing with his back to a wall, a solid wall, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Carlton had dealt with this before.
Despite his flippant mood towards his dark skinned companion, the psychic was scared. It was as obvious to the head detective as the color of the sky. A bit of guilt gnawed at him, and he warred fiercely with it before it finally won out. His comment about headaches had made Spencer give him the most hurt, pathetic look he’d ever encountered from the man. It had instantly made him regret his words, and he already regretted enough in life. He didn’t need regret over some immature man’s hurt feelings piled on.
Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes momentarily he stomped down on all his annoyance and approached the psychic.
“Spencer,” he said as way of greeting, moving so that his back was also to the wall, their shoulders almost touching.
“Lassy-face!” was the almost joyful response. “How goes the search?”
“We can’t find anything,” he said. “But you already knew we wouldn’t, so that shouldn’t be too surprising for you.”
“It’s not,” Shawn said, “But I had hoped I might be wrong.”
“We all did,” Lassiter admitted. “But you were right, as per usual.”
The smile that twisted onto the psychics face was rueful. “Can I tell you a secret, Lassy?”
Carlton frowned, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Spencer didn’t seem to have heard him and pressed on, “This thing that I can do, I don’t like it. Sometimes I wish I could flip it off, like turning off a light. But I can’t. I’m stuck with it. It’s part of who I am, engrained in me. I can’t get rid of it.”
He hadn’t specifically said what it was, but Carlton was sure he meant his “psychic” abilities. He didn’t believe in psychics as a rule, but he especially didn’t believe that Spencer was one. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. That statement though… Lassiter could read people, and he could read Spencer. He looked upset, a bit unsteady, and absolutely exhausted. But only if you knew him well enough to know the way the subtle lines around his eyes creased, or the way his mouth tightened just a bit at the corners. Carlton softened a bit. That statement was the most sincere thing he’d ever heard the man say. Pulling his attention back to the scene around him his eyes fell on Juliet. She was watching them closely, and the head detective had to wonder at the feeling of jealousy that surged up in him. She was awfully interested in Shawn, and it made him want to yell at her, but he wasn’t sure why.
Was he developing feelings for her? His eyes narrowed, this time less out of anger and more out of confusion. That couldn’t be right. He decided not to pursue that thought and instead tried to steer himself back to the original reason he’d approached the psychic.
“Spencer,” he started, “We’ll be having a car stationed out front. The person, or persons, who were here earlier most likely won’t come back, but if they do we’ll be watching.”
He tried to fight down the pleased fulfillment that erupted when a bit of the tense worry eased out of Spencer’s shoulders.
----
It had been such a long day. Too much running around, followed by waiting, followed up by more running around on zero hours of sleep. Lassiter had looked like he was about to pass out by the time they left, a full six hours after arriving. Juliet, with many thanks to modern makeup and very smart hairstyling, had looked fine if you weren’t looking hard, but upon closer inspection the dark circles under her eyes were obvious. No amount of base or powder could completely hide absolute exhaustion. By the time Shawn returned to the Psych office, exhausted and scruffy looking, he didn’t have the energy to take off his shoes or jacket before collapsing on the comfortable couch and falling asleep.
And then warmth was surrounding him. Warmth and security unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He cuddled closer to it and its arms tightened around him, pulling him closer to a surprisingly solid form.
“Shh,” someone was cooing, pulling him up into a lap, lips touching the top of his head, then his closed eyes.
He moaned tiredly but forced his eyes open. “Lassy?”
“Shsh,” the detective hushed, pressing their lips together briefly.
He had very soft lips. Very soft, very skilled lips. Shawn demanded more, pressing forward when the detective pulled back, one hand moving to the back of his head, fingers clutching into his dark hair to hold him. He could feel laughter, the detectives chest vibrated with it, and his lips curved up into a smile even as he gave in and kissed harder, longer. Shawn didn’t understand it. He’d never felt it before, but he was completely safe. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to. With Lassiter holding him, kissing him, he knew nothing would ever be able to hurt him, because the man wouldn’t let anything hurt him.
Lassiter pulled away completely, smiling, “Wake up, Shawn.”
Oh, his voice was so soft, so kind. Not the usual bark of hatred he was used to.
“Shawn, wake up,” the voice was changing, the tone was a more annoyed and instead of sounding like Lassiter it sounded like Gus.
Bleary eyes were forced open, the feeling of warmth and safety from the dream disappeared instantly, and Shawn was left feeling cold, uncomfortable and a little lonely. He looked into the concerned face of Gus and his brows lowered in confusion.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice a bit horse, his throat feeling dry.
“I was just dropping off some papers and I could hear you in the other room,” Gus said, “Sounded like you were having a nightmare. You okay? Why are you sleeping here anyway?”
Now fully awake, his heterosexuality rushing back to him, Shawn blinked. It hadn’t been a nightmare while he was having it, but it sure felt like one now. Gus was looking at him expectantly and he realized his long time friend was waiting for an answer.
“I’m fine,” he started, “Just this case. More than a bit disturbing.”
Gus raised an eyebrow, “And the reason behind the camp out in the office?”
Shawn looked away, “You know I don’t sleep well in apartments. Too noisy. I gave mine up weeks ago.”
“Weeks?!” Gus sounded genuinely upset. “The apartment that I spent weeks finding for you? Affordable, in a good neighborhood, responsible tenants who agreed to make sure you didn’t starve? You gave that up?”
Shawn bit his lip, “It smelled like old mashed potatoes and the land lady kept stopping by and trying to get me to eat these horrible cookies her niece made for her.”
“You know what you do when nice old ladies offer you cookies, Shawn?” Gus asked, “You eat them. That’s what you do. You suck it up and you eat them, and you don’t, do not, give up your affordable, nice apartment.”
Shawn frowned, looking away, ignoring Gus. He could respond to anything the Pharmaceutical sales rep threw at him, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was too preoccupied by thoughts of Lassiter. More specifically, Lassiter’s lips. They had felt really good. Extremely good. Soft, but firm, they knew exactly how to be in control while letting Shawn do all the work. He mentally shook himself. It was just a dream. He wasn’t gay, and he especially wasn’t gay for Lassiter. It was outrageous to even be thinking it. And even if he was gay for Lassiter, he doubted real life Lassiter was as good of a kisser as dreamland Lassiter. Gus had moved away during his mental battle over the kiss and was tidying one of the desks. Through the front windows of the office Shawn could see the sun setting. He had been asleep for a few hours, but he had been awake for more than twenty four and his body was trying to drag him back down, his mind begging for more time in dream land.
Minus Lassy, please, a part of him muttered.
No, no, he’s invited too, another part whispered in a sultry tone.
Ugh.
He collapsed back onto the sofa and closed his eyes, immediately falling back to sleep. He was so far gone that he didn’t notice Gus carefully checking all the windows to make sure they were locked, or pulling an afghan off of a nearby chair and draping it over his body.
God, sleep was good.
Author: panda_god
Pairing: Shassi (Shawn Spencer/ Carlton Lassiter)
Chapter: 2/??
Rating: R for graphic scenes portraying dead bodies, violence, murder, and future sexual content.
Disclaimer: Psych and all it's awesomeness is not mine. I don't make any money from this, in fact I lose money because I don't do my real job while doing this.
Summary: Shawn stumbles upon a woman killed execution style on the side of the road and it begins a case that will be his most dangerous yet.
Notes: Firstly I would like to say a great big THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who took the time to drop a comment! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Secondly I would like to say that I really, really like constructive criticism. So if you're reading through this and things just out at you, I invite you, nay, I urge you to post about them. That's how I learn! I would like to dedicate this chapter to my Archarology class, which is the class during which I wrote it, while the teacher was showing slides of his trip to South America. Thanks Professor!
“Shawn, what are you doing?” Gus demanded. He sounded annoyed.
Shawn didn’t bother to look up from the screen of his phone, which he was using to snap shots of everything in the briefcase. He had pulled on a glove, one of the latex free kind that Gus kept around everywhere, and carefully lifted each piece of paper to photograph it.
“Once Lassy and Jules get here it’ll be over for us,” he said, carefully piling everything back in exactly as it had been before he touched it. “We won’t be allowed near this thing. They probably won’t be allowed near it. This crosses into FBI territory. I bet you this becomes a matter of national security.”
He still hadn’t looked up, but in his head he could envision the look of absolute horror on Gus’ face.
“Dude,” his friend started, “They were here. Someone who is involved in this was in here, and now we’re in here… Alone.”
He could practically hear Gus’ mind screaming at him to flee. Fight or flight with Gus usually boiled down to flight. Fight only won out in very special circumstances where A, Shawn was in serious danger of losing his life, or B, he knew he could win.
“Yes, Gus, they were here,” Shawn said, finally looking into his friend’s face. “Were, as in are not now. We’re fine. In a few minutes Jules and Lassy will be busting down the door , so even if whoever gave this to us is still here, we’ll be totally safe.”
“Will be!” Gus whispered, “We aren’t safe now!”
He was positively frantic.
“Gus!” the name wasn’t yelled, but it was said somewhat harshly and Shawn was giving Gus a look, pointing at him with one finger. “Calm down. You can‘t lose your head over this.”
Despite his brave front Shawn jumped when the front door opened so hard it slammed against the wall, and let out a shriek, a manly shriek mind you, of terror. A second later Lassiter was coming through the doorway to where their desks were, Juliet hot on his heels, both looking tired but eager to see the new evidence. Shawn quickly snapped his cell phone closed and subtly slid it into his jeans pocket as the two detectives eyes zeroed in on the briefcase and they both approached.
“Who gave it to you?” Lassiter demanded, pulling a pen from the inside pocket of his suit coat and using it to shift the files around a bit.
“Oh my god,” Juliet was saying as she watched, no doubt committing as many of the facts from the files as possible to memory.
Shawn shrugged, discreetly removing the latex-free glove from his hand and stuffing into the waistline of his pants, “The spirits are being dodgy tonight, Lassy.”
Gus pointed at the open window, “Whoever it was, they came in through there and they were gone when we got here.”
Ah, Gus, always the sell out when it came to adventure and possible danger. Shawn glared at him, elbowing him in the arm and getting smacked in return. They commenced a silent, childish fight behind the two detectives’ backs, a fight that ended when Gus pinched Shawn’s upper arm, hard.
Completely ignoring the two buffoons, Lassiter had moved towards the open window and was inspecting it closely.
“O’Hara, get on the phone with the crime scene unit,” he snapped. “I want this place gone over with a fine toothed comb.”
He slid the pen he had been using back into his pocket, “If they so much as sneezed in here I want to know about it.”
He turned to Gus and Shawn, eyes narrowed with warning. “You two, touch nothing. I don’t want this scene contaminated any more than it already has been. We might be able to lift a print.”
Shawn put on his disagreeing face and shook his head, “This spirits are telling me that whoever was here knew what they were doing. You won’t find anything.”
“We have to try,” Juliet said, pulling out her cell phone and going outside to make the call.
That left Shawn and Gus alone with Lassiter, whose sharp eyes were scanning every inch of the room. Shawn opened his mouth to tell the detective that the spirits told him it was a waste of time, but Lassiter must have had a touch of psychic to him.
“Don’t talk, Spencer,” he said, glaring at the would-be psychic over his shoulder, “Every word you say gives me a headache.”
-----
Two hours later found a gaggle of men and women carefully picking through the Psych offices carpet and dusting every available service for prints. Carlton watched them carefully, eyes narrowed. If one of them breathed to hard they would have him to deal with. Guster had left right off the bat, claiming he had a route to finish and that he would only get in the way. Carlton wished that Spencer was so gracious and would leave when he knew he wasn’t wanted. Speaking of the fake psychic.
Sharp blue eyes sought out the form of Shawn Spencer and narrowed further, taking in details and interpreting what they saw. His shoulders were tense, and he looked uneasy, his eyes darting around the room. He was standing with his back to a wall, a solid wall, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Carlton had dealt with this before.
Despite his flippant mood towards his dark skinned companion, the psychic was scared. It was as obvious to the head detective as the color of the sky. A bit of guilt gnawed at him, and he warred fiercely with it before it finally won out. His comment about headaches had made Spencer give him the most hurt, pathetic look he’d ever encountered from the man. It had instantly made him regret his words, and he already regretted enough in life. He didn’t need regret over some immature man’s hurt feelings piled on.
Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes momentarily he stomped down on all his annoyance and approached the psychic.
“Spencer,” he said as way of greeting, moving so that his back was also to the wall, their shoulders almost touching.
“Lassy-face!” was the almost joyful response. “How goes the search?”
“We can’t find anything,” he said. “But you already knew we wouldn’t, so that shouldn’t be too surprising for you.”
“It’s not,” Shawn said, “But I had hoped I might be wrong.”
“We all did,” Lassiter admitted. “But you were right, as per usual.”
The smile that twisted onto the psychics face was rueful. “Can I tell you a secret, Lassy?”
Carlton frowned, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Spencer didn’t seem to have heard him and pressed on, “This thing that I can do, I don’t like it. Sometimes I wish I could flip it off, like turning off a light. But I can’t. I’m stuck with it. It’s part of who I am, engrained in me. I can’t get rid of it.”
He hadn’t specifically said what it was, but Carlton was sure he meant his “psychic” abilities. He didn’t believe in psychics as a rule, but he especially didn’t believe that Spencer was one. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. That statement though… Lassiter could read people, and he could read Spencer. He looked upset, a bit unsteady, and absolutely exhausted. But only if you knew him well enough to know the way the subtle lines around his eyes creased, or the way his mouth tightened just a bit at the corners. Carlton softened a bit. That statement was the most sincere thing he’d ever heard the man say. Pulling his attention back to the scene around him his eyes fell on Juliet. She was watching them closely, and the head detective had to wonder at the feeling of jealousy that surged up in him. She was awfully interested in Shawn, and it made him want to yell at her, but he wasn’t sure why.
Was he developing feelings for her? His eyes narrowed, this time less out of anger and more out of confusion. That couldn’t be right. He decided not to pursue that thought and instead tried to steer himself back to the original reason he’d approached the psychic.
“Spencer,” he started, “We’ll be having a car stationed out front. The person, or persons, who were here earlier most likely won’t come back, but if they do we’ll be watching.”
He tried to fight down the pleased fulfillment that erupted when a bit of the tense worry eased out of Spencer’s shoulders.
----
It had been such a long day. Too much running around, followed by waiting, followed up by more running around on zero hours of sleep. Lassiter had looked like he was about to pass out by the time they left, a full six hours after arriving. Juliet, with many thanks to modern makeup and very smart hairstyling, had looked fine if you weren’t looking hard, but upon closer inspection the dark circles under her eyes were obvious. No amount of base or powder could completely hide absolute exhaustion. By the time Shawn returned to the Psych office, exhausted and scruffy looking, he didn’t have the energy to take off his shoes or jacket before collapsing on the comfortable couch and falling asleep.
And then warmth was surrounding him. Warmth and security unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He cuddled closer to it and its arms tightened around him, pulling him closer to a surprisingly solid form.
“Shh,” someone was cooing, pulling him up into a lap, lips touching the top of his head, then his closed eyes.
He moaned tiredly but forced his eyes open. “Lassy?”
“Shsh,” the detective hushed, pressing their lips together briefly.
He had very soft lips. Very soft, very skilled lips. Shawn demanded more, pressing forward when the detective pulled back, one hand moving to the back of his head, fingers clutching into his dark hair to hold him. He could feel laughter, the detectives chest vibrated with it, and his lips curved up into a smile even as he gave in and kissed harder, longer. Shawn didn’t understand it. He’d never felt it before, but he was completely safe. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to. With Lassiter holding him, kissing him, he knew nothing would ever be able to hurt him, because the man wouldn’t let anything hurt him.
Lassiter pulled away completely, smiling, “Wake up, Shawn.”
Oh, his voice was so soft, so kind. Not the usual bark of hatred he was used to.
“Shawn, wake up,” the voice was changing, the tone was a more annoyed and instead of sounding like Lassiter it sounded like Gus.
Bleary eyes were forced open, the feeling of warmth and safety from the dream disappeared instantly, and Shawn was left feeling cold, uncomfortable and a little lonely. He looked into the concerned face of Gus and his brows lowered in confusion.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice a bit horse, his throat feeling dry.
“I was just dropping off some papers and I could hear you in the other room,” Gus said, “Sounded like you were having a nightmare. You okay? Why are you sleeping here anyway?”
Now fully awake, his heterosexuality rushing back to him, Shawn blinked. It hadn’t been a nightmare while he was having it, but it sure felt like one now. Gus was looking at him expectantly and he realized his long time friend was waiting for an answer.
“I’m fine,” he started, “Just this case. More than a bit disturbing.”
Gus raised an eyebrow, “And the reason behind the camp out in the office?”
Shawn looked away, “You know I don’t sleep well in apartments. Too noisy. I gave mine up weeks ago.”
“Weeks?!” Gus sounded genuinely upset. “The apartment that I spent weeks finding for you? Affordable, in a good neighborhood, responsible tenants who agreed to make sure you didn’t starve? You gave that up?”
Shawn bit his lip, “It smelled like old mashed potatoes and the land lady kept stopping by and trying to get me to eat these horrible cookies her niece made for her.”
“You know what you do when nice old ladies offer you cookies, Shawn?” Gus asked, “You eat them. That’s what you do. You suck it up and you eat them, and you don’t, do not, give up your affordable, nice apartment.”
Shawn frowned, looking away, ignoring Gus. He could respond to anything the Pharmaceutical sales rep threw at him, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was too preoccupied by thoughts of Lassiter. More specifically, Lassiter’s lips. They had felt really good. Extremely good. Soft, but firm, they knew exactly how to be in control while letting Shawn do all the work. He mentally shook himself. It was just a dream. He wasn’t gay, and he especially wasn’t gay for Lassiter. It was outrageous to even be thinking it. And even if he was gay for Lassiter, he doubted real life Lassiter was as good of a kisser as dreamland Lassiter. Gus had moved away during his mental battle over the kiss and was tidying one of the desks. Through the front windows of the office Shawn could see the sun setting. He had been asleep for a few hours, but he had been awake for more than twenty four and his body was trying to drag him back down, his mind begging for more time in dream land.
Minus Lassy, please, a part of him muttered.
No, no, he’s invited too, another part whispered in a sultry tone.
Ugh.
He collapsed back onto the sofa and closed his eyes, immediately falling back to sleep. He was so far gone that he didn’t notice Gus carefully checking all the windows to make sure they were locked, or pulling an afghan off of a nearby chair and draping it over his body.
God, sleep was good.