Psych Fic: Lassiter/Shawn part 3
Title: Multiple Times (2/5)
Category: Psych
Paring: Lassiter/Shawn
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Only from Shawn v. The Red Phantom
Summary: There are multiple times Dective Lassiter will be at a loss for words, and most of them involve a certain "psychic".
Quick A/N: First, thank you everyone who read the first chapters and posted a comment. It's nice to know I'm not writing total shit. Second, things change pace a bit in this chapter, but I hope it's for the best.
Enjoy (hopefully)!
Lassiter kicked the door in and bit back a groan, as cool as stunts like that looked in movies it killed the ankles.
“Freeze!” McNab warned.
“Police!” O’Hara identified.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!” Lassiter ordered.
“Don’t shot me!” Gus yelled and dived to the ground.
O’Hara blinked, McNab grinned, and Lassiter froze at the scene in living room before them.
The room was in disarray. Empty pizza boxes and beer bottles littered the floor, the coffee table was overturned, glass from broken lamps crunched under Lassiter’s feet, the brown walls were stained with something unidentifiable, the green carpet smelled of old cheese, and Gus’s feet were poking out from behind the couch.
“Gus?” O’Hara sounded. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Juliet. Hey Carly.” Spencer voice came to the left of McNab. Lassiter turned and saw Spencer leaning casually against the refrigerator in the kitchen with… was he eating cake?
“What took you guys so long? Edward is tied up in the kitchen.” Spencer pointed behind him and McNab - at Lassiter’s nod - followed the direction of Spencer’s finger.
“Really, guys. You need to work on this timing issue. It’s a serious handicap that, I feel, detracts from your otherwise fine police work.”
“What are you doing here Spencer?” Lassiter wondered why he still bothered to ask.
“Let’s see, in the past few seconds I’ve eaten a fine piece of cake, played hide and seek with Gus, and (oh yeah) solved the case. You know, the usual.” Spencer chewed the cake thoughtfully, “You can come out from behind the couch now, Gus. It’s your turn to seek.”
The response was muffled, “I’m not coming out until Lassiter puts his gun away!”
“Lassiter, you’re scaring Gus. You know he has a fear of guns.” Spencer paused, “Actually, I think it’s more of a fear of you… with a gun.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, but holstered his weapon.
McNab returned, “Sparks is tied up in the kitchen.”
“So,” Lassiter drew out as if speaking to a child, “Read him his rights, cuff him, and put him in the car.”
McNab shifted nervously and wrung his hands together, “Well, sir, you see… He’s tied up… With duct tape.”
Spencer raised his hand, “That was Gus’s idea!” From behind the couch, Gus pumped his fist victoriously into the air.
O’Hara tried to hide a smile, “I’ll go cut him loose, but seriously Spencer, we’ve been working on this case for a week. I haven’t even seen you at the station. How did you know it was Sparks?”
Lassiter froze, and the roaring in his ears blocked out Spencer’s answer. A week. They had gotten the case a week ago. It had been sitting on his desk the last time he saw Spencer in the station. In the bathroom of the station. Gus had stayed outside when Spencer… approached him. As the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in Lassiter mind, he felt his body tightening up and the all to familiar feeling of betrayal surging up into his chest.
“O’Hara,” Lassiter snapped, “You and McNab handle Sparks. I want a word with our psychic.”
The humor on O’Hara’s face disappeared at Lassiter’s tone. She had worked with him long enough to hear the underlying rage beneath his words. Gus could apparently hear it as well, because two eyes peeked worriedly over the top of the couch to observe Lassiter grabbing Spencer by the shirt, and dragging him unceremoniously out the front door, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the windows raddled in their frame.
O’Hara winced and exchanged a worried look with Gus. Gus frowned; he hoped Shawn knew what he was getting himself into.
***
Lassiter pulled Spencer outside and around the corner of the house by the shirt, unable to bring himself to touch the other man. He could feel his muscles trembling with the force of his emotions. Finally, when Lassiter gauged that they were far enough around the house for this conversation, he stopped and threw Spencer against the side of the house.
Spencer narrowed his eyes, taking in the shaking body, grinding teeth, and clenched fists that stood before him.
“Okay, I’m going to take a shot in the dark here and say that you’re angry.”
“You son of a bitch.” Lassiter tried to shout, but the words came out in a whisper, “You son of a bitch.”
“Carlton, what -”
“You used me.” Lassiter stepped closer to Spencer, eyes glistening. “You distracted me in the bathroom while Gus took the file. That’s how you knew about the case.”
Rapidly, Spencer’s brain caught up and he blanched, “No, Carlton. That’s not what happened. Look, I know you won’t believe this, but -”
Lassiter’s fist lashed out and struck the side of the house, and, before Spencer could even register the first movement, Lassiter repeated the action. For a moment, Lassiter appeared to consider punching the house a third time before his body abruptly sagged.
Spencer gaped, as the detective slid down to sit against the side of the house and cover his face with his hands. Lassiter’s shoulders shook, and for a brief, panic-filled moment, Spencer thought the man was actually crying. The panic flipped into something worse when Spencer realized Lassiter was laughing.
Spencer stood awkward and unsure of himself as Lassiter laughed the hollow laugh of a man has suddenly lost everything.
“I’m such an idiot!” Lassiter breathed out between his fits of giggles. “I can’t believe I was that stupid… again!”
“Again?” Spencer repeated dumbly.
And, just as suddenly as he broke, Lassiter was calm again.
“I’m not doing this, Shawn.” Lassiter blank gaze met Spencer’s helpless one, “You’re a liar. You’ve been lying to me since day one and you’re lying now.”
Spencer’s hands fluttered uselessly at his side, “Carlton, I…”
Lassiter gazed at him expectantly, and Spencer found he had to look away, unable to tell the truth and unwilling to lie. Standing up, Lassiter grinned ruefully, brushed off his pants, and walked away, leaving Spencer staring mutely after him.
TBC
Category: Psych
Paring: Lassiter/Shawn
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Only from Shawn v. The Red Phantom
Summary: There are multiple times Dective Lassiter will be at a loss for words, and most of them involve a certain "psychic".
Quick A/N: First, thank you everyone who read the first chapters and posted a comment. It's nice to know I'm not writing total shit. Second, things change pace a bit in this chapter, but I hope it's for the best.
Enjoy (hopefully)!
Lassiter kicked the door in and bit back a groan, as cool as stunts like that looked in movies it killed the ankles.
“Freeze!” McNab warned.
“Police!” O’Hara identified.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!” Lassiter ordered.
“Don’t shot me!” Gus yelled and dived to the ground.
O’Hara blinked, McNab grinned, and Lassiter froze at the scene in living room before them.
The room was in disarray. Empty pizza boxes and beer bottles littered the floor, the coffee table was overturned, glass from broken lamps crunched under Lassiter’s feet, the brown walls were stained with something unidentifiable, the green carpet smelled of old cheese, and Gus’s feet were poking out from behind the couch.
“Gus?” O’Hara sounded. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Juliet. Hey Carly.” Spencer voice came to the left of McNab. Lassiter turned and saw Spencer leaning casually against the refrigerator in the kitchen with… was he eating cake?
“What took you guys so long? Edward is tied up in the kitchen.” Spencer pointed behind him and McNab - at Lassiter’s nod - followed the direction of Spencer’s finger.
“Really, guys. You need to work on this timing issue. It’s a serious handicap that, I feel, detracts from your otherwise fine police work.”
“What are you doing here Spencer?” Lassiter wondered why he still bothered to ask.
“Let’s see, in the past few seconds I’ve eaten a fine piece of cake, played hide and seek with Gus, and (oh yeah) solved the case. You know, the usual.” Spencer chewed the cake thoughtfully, “You can come out from behind the couch now, Gus. It’s your turn to seek.”
The response was muffled, “I’m not coming out until Lassiter puts his gun away!”
“Lassiter, you’re scaring Gus. You know he has a fear of guns.” Spencer paused, “Actually, I think it’s more of a fear of you… with a gun.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, but holstered his weapon.
McNab returned, “Sparks is tied up in the kitchen.”
“So,” Lassiter drew out as if speaking to a child, “Read him his rights, cuff him, and put him in the car.”
McNab shifted nervously and wrung his hands together, “Well, sir, you see… He’s tied up… With duct tape.”
Spencer raised his hand, “That was Gus’s idea!” From behind the couch, Gus pumped his fist victoriously into the air.
O’Hara tried to hide a smile, “I’ll go cut him loose, but seriously Spencer, we’ve been working on this case for a week. I haven’t even seen you at the station. How did you know it was Sparks?”
Lassiter froze, and the roaring in his ears blocked out Spencer’s answer. A week. They had gotten the case a week ago. It had been sitting on his desk the last time he saw Spencer in the station. In the bathroom of the station. Gus had stayed outside when Spencer… approached him. As the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in Lassiter mind, he felt his body tightening up and the all to familiar feeling of betrayal surging up into his chest.
“O’Hara,” Lassiter snapped, “You and McNab handle Sparks. I want a word with our psychic.”
The humor on O’Hara’s face disappeared at Lassiter’s tone. She had worked with him long enough to hear the underlying rage beneath his words. Gus could apparently hear it as well, because two eyes peeked worriedly over the top of the couch to observe Lassiter grabbing Spencer by the shirt, and dragging him unceremoniously out the front door, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the windows raddled in their frame.
O’Hara winced and exchanged a worried look with Gus. Gus frowned; he hoped Shawn knew what he was getting himself into.
***
Lassiter pulled Spencer outside and around the corner of the house by the shirt, unable to bring himself to touch the other man. He could feel his muscles trembling with the force of his emotions. Finally, when Lassiter gauged that they were far enough around the house for this conversation, he stopped and threw Spencer against the side of the house.
Spencer narrowed his eyes, taking in the shaking body, grinding teeth, and clenched fists that stood before him.
“Okay, I’m going to take a shot in the dark here and say that you’re angry.”
“You son of a bitch.” Lassiter tried to shout, but the words came out in a whisper, “You son of a bitch.”
“Carlton, what -”
“You used me.” Lassiter stepped closer to Spencer, eyes glistening. “You distracted me in the bathroom while Gus took the file. That’s how you knew about the case.”
Rapidly, Spencer’s brain caught up and he blanched, “No, Carlton. That’s not what happened. Look, I know you won’t believe this, but -”
Lassiter’s fist lashed out and struck the side of the house, and, before Spencer could even register the first movement, Lassiter repeated the action. For a moment, Lassiter appeared to consider punching the house a third time before his body abruptly sagged.
Spencer gaped, as the detective slid down to sit against the side of the house and cover his face with his hands. Lassiter’s shoulders shook, and for a brief, panic-filled moment, Spencer thought the man was actually crying. The panic flipped into something worse when Spencer realized Lassiter was laughing.
Spencer stood awkward and unsure of himself as Lassiter laughed the hollow laugh of a man has suddenly lost everything.
“I’m such an idiot!” Lassiter breathed out between his fits of giggles. “I can’t believe I was that stupid… again!”
“Again?” Spencer repeated dumbly.
And, just as suddenly as he broke, Lassiter was calm again.
“I’m not doing this, Shawn.” Lassiter blank gaze met Spencer’s helpless one, “You’re a liar. You’ve been lying to me since day one and you’re lying now.”
Spencer’s hands fluttered uselessly at his side, “Carlton, I…”
Lassiter gazed at him expectantly, and Spencer found he had to look away, unable to tell the truth and unwilling to lie. Standing up, Lassiter grinned ruefully, brushed off his pants, and walked away, leaving Spencer staring mutely after him.
TBC