What Goes Around (Knocks 'Em Down), Psych FanFic
Master Fic List
TITLE: What Goes Around (Knocks 'Em Down)
RATING: G
CHARACTERS: Shawn/Carlton, Gus/Juliet
WORD COUNT: 950(ish)
WARNINGS: *gasp!* I don't think there are any...
SUMMARY: For psychflashfic's Challenge #3: Cold/Flu. "It started with a cough."
AO3 Link
Disclaimer: I receive no profit from this. (Except for the warm, fuzzy feeling I get when I write something fluffy.) I hold no illusions that this is a masterpiece.
Author's Note: I wrote something completely different the first time I sat down to do this challenge. But since I've been on a Gus/Juliet kick lately, I thought I'd write something different and throw them in. Eventually I may go back to the first fic, but for now I'm sticking with this.
Pointless fluff. Possibly incohesive (yes I may've just made that word up...). Apologies for the profusion of parentheses (I tried something a little different). Un-betaed, as per use.
-----------------------------
It started with a cough.
Innocent enough, really. O’Hara brought it back with her after a weekend visit with her nephews. (What was it his grandfather used to say? When in doubt, blame children?)
Two days later, she called in sick for the first-time since beginning her promising career with the SBPD. Carlton winced and held the phone far away from his ear as she practically hacked a lung down the line.
“Feel free to stay home,” he told her.
-----------------------------
Spencer wandered into the station, alone, the next day. Not entirely unusual in and of itself, but Carlton didn’t like the tense look in the other man’s eyes.
“Where’s Guster?” Carlton asked, trying not to sound like he actually cared all that much. Shawn heaved a dramatic sigh as he heaved himself onto the corner of Carlton’s desk.
“Home sick,” Shawn practically pouted. Carlton frowned, his eyes narrowing as he considered the evidence. He only knew of two people who were ill. Two people he’d observed talking to each other a lot more recently…
“Does that mean what I think it does?”
Shawn regarded Carlton with a tilt of his head. “That I’m incredibly lonely and you should hold me tight and never let go?” he suggested, slowly raising his arms. Carlton rolled his eyes as Shawn grinned. “Or…Gus didn’t want you to know?”
“Why not?” Carlton asked with a frown. Shawn raised an eyebrow as he lowered his arms.
“Well, you are a bit overprotective of her…” Carlton’s grunt wasn’t exactly a denial.
“Get out of here, Spencer.”
“But Lassie…” Shawn whined. Carlton glared at him until Shawn sighed. “Fine. Your place or mine tonight?”
“You have a hole in your ceiling, Shawn,” Carlton pointed out as he stood and picked up a file folder. (He hoped Shawn would take the hint he was busy and leave faster.)
“It’s a skylight!”
-----------------------------
Shawn fell victim next, calling at lunch the next day to ‘regretfully inform’ Carlton he wouldn’t be able to make their dinner plans for the evening. (Carlton should have expected it after Shawn had sneezed on him that morning. Twice.)
Carlton was torn between disappointment and relief. He’d grown accustomed to having a companion at the dinner table but, honestly, a headache had been beating its way through his skull all day. He thought it might be incredible just to go home and go straight to bed. (Even if that bed was to be disappointingly empty.)
-----------------------------
Carlton frowned as he spotted the familiar blue car sitting outside his apartment. Both Guster and Shawn were supposed to be at their respective homes, sick.
Carlton’s whole body felt achy as he dragged himself into the building. The last thing he wanted to deal with were uninvited houseguests.
Carlton stood blankly in the threshold once he’d pushed the door open. Shawn and Guster were seated side-by-side on his couch, each with a steaming bowl in their hands; blankets around their shoulders. Neither man looked like the picture of good health.
“Spencer, what the hell…” Carlton began in a tone more weary than angry.
“Sit down, Carlton,” a female voice ordered from his left. He jumped, for a moment fearing his mother had somehow managed to get into his apartment. He felt relief as he blinked in the direction of the kitchen to see O’Hara by the stove, filling a third bowl from a large pot. She caught him staring and rolled her eyes before stepping toward him and shooing him toward the remaining spot on the couch.
Carlton sat heavily on the other side of Shawn. Before he had a chance to say anything, O’Hara had shoved the new bowl into his hands.
“I thought you were sick,” he said, resisting the urge to sigh as the steam from the bowl eased some of the tension in his sinuses. (Good Ol’ Chicken Noodle.)
“I was,” O’Hara agreed. “I’m feeling much better today, thank you for asking. Shawn figured it was your turn to ‘fall to the bright…’”
“Bright?” Carlton repeated looking at Shawn.
“I believe Shawn meant to say ‘blight’,” Guster spoke up, sounding like he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “Which is erroneous considering ‘blight’ is commonly used to refer to a disease that infects plants.” Carlton gaped at Guster, obviously ill and still taking the time to correct someone’s vocabulary. Carlton looked back at O’Hara to see her smile adoringly at the man.
“We thought we’d come by and look after you,” O’Hara continued. She glanced at all three of the men on the couch. “Well, I came by to look after you. These two just didn’t want to give up my soup.”
Nausea was one of the few symptoms Carlton didn’t have, but he nearly vomited at the fond look she was beaming at all three of the men. Instead he started into a coughing fit that ended with O’Hara patting him gently on his back. He looked up at her in surprise and she blushed before taking a step back.
“Just eat your soup, Carlton.”
Shawn fidgeted next to him and eventually ended up with his feverish forehead on Carlton's shoulder. Carlton, who’d felt chilled since lunch, gratefully leaned into the warmth.
“You haven’t threatened to take away my key yet,” Shawn murmured as Carlton took a sip of his soup. (The soup was good, from what he could taste of it.)
“If O’Hara hadn’t brought her soup, I’d be changing my locks,” he muttered. O’Hara smiled broadly and Carlton sighed. Somehow he got the feeling his partner was an odd distortion of a stray cat: let her feed you once and she'd never go away.
He took another sip of his soup and found himself not caring much.
/end
TITLE: What Goes Around (Knocks 'Em Down)
RATING: G
CHARACTERS: Shawn/Carlton, Gus/Juliet
WORD COUNT: 950(ish)
WARNINGS: *gasp!* I don't think there are any...
SUMMARY: For psychflashfic's Challenge #3: Cold/Flu. "It started with a cough."
AO3 Link
Disclaimer: I receive no profit from this. (Except for the warm, fuzzy feeling I get when I write something fluffy.) I hold no illusions that this is a masterpiece.
Author's Note: I wrote something completely different the first time I sat down to do this challenge. But since I've been on a Gus/Juliet kick lately, I thought I'd write something different and throw them in. Eventually I may go back to the first fic, but for now I'm sticking with this.
Pointless fluff. Possibly incohesive (yes I may've just made that word up...). Apologies for the profusion of parentheses (I tried something a little different). Un-betaed, as per use.
-----------------------------
It started with a cough.
Innocent enough, really. O’Hara brought it back with her after a weekend visit with her nephews. (What was it his grandfather used to say? When in doubt, blame children?)
Two days later, she called in sick for the first-time since beginning her promising career with the SBPD. Carlton winced and held the phone far away from his ear as she practically hacked a lung down the line.
“Feel free to stay home,” he told her.
-----------------------------
Spencer wandered into the station, alone, the next day. Not entirely unusual in and of itself, but Carlton didn’t like the tense look in the other man’s eyes.
“Where’s Guster?” Carlton asked, trying not to sound like he actually cared all that much. Shawn heaved a dramatic sigh as he heaved himself onto the corner of Carlton’s desk.
“Home sick,” Shawn practically pouted. Carlton frowned, his eyes narrowing as he considered the evidence. He only knew of two people who were ill. Two people he’d observed talking to each other a lot more recently…
“Does that mean what I think it does?”
Shawn regarded Carlton with a tilt of his head. “That I’m incredibly lonely and you should hold me tight and never let go?” he suggested, slowly raising his arms. Carlton rolled his eyes as Shawn grinned. “Or…Gus didn’t want you to know?”
“Why not?” Carlton asked with a frown. Shawn raised an eyebrow as he lowered his arms.
“Well, you are a bit overprotective of her…” Carlton’s grunt wasn’t exactly a denial.
“Get out of here, Spencer.”
“But Lassie…” Shawn whined. Carlton glared at him until Shawn sighed. “Fine. Your place or mine tonight?”
“You have a hole in your ceiling, Shawn,” Carlton pointed out as he stood and picked up a file folder. (He hoped Shawn would take the hint he was busy and leave faster.)
“It’s a skylight!”
-----------------------------
Shawn fell victim next, calling at lunch the next day to ‘regretfully inform’ Carlton he wouldn’t be able to make their dinner plans for the evening. (Carlton should have expected it after Shawn had sneezed on him that morning. Twice.)
Carlton was torn between disappointment and relief. He’d grown accustomed to having a companion at the dinner table but, honestly, a headache had been beating its way through his skull all day. He thought it might be incredible just to go home and go straight to bed. (Even if that bed was to be disappointingly empty.)
-----------------------------
Carlton frowned as he spotted the familiar blue car sitting outside his apartment. Both Guster and Shawn were supposed to be at their respective homes, sick.
Carlton’s whole body felt achy as he dragged himself into the building. The last thing he wanted to deal with were uninvited houseguests.
Carlton stood blankly in the threshold once he’d pushed the door open. Shawn and Guster were seated side-by-side on his couch, each with a steaming bowl in their hands; blankets around their shoulders. Neither man looked like the picture of good health.
“Spencer, what the hell…” Carlton began in a tone more weary than angry.
“Sit down, Carlton,” a female voice ordered from his left. He jumped, for a moment fearing his mother had somehow managed to get into his apartment. He felt relief as he blinked in the direction of the kitchen to see O’Hara by the stove, filling a third bowl from a large pot. She caught him staring and rolled her eyes before stepping toward him and shooing him toward the remaining spot on the couch.
Carlton sat heavily on the other side of Shawn. Before he had a chance to say anything, O’Hara had shoved the new bowl into his hands.
“I thought you were sick,” he said, resisting the urge to sigh as the steam from the bowl eased some of the tension in his sinuses. (Good Ol’ Chicken Noodle.)
“I was,” O’Hara agreed. “I’m feeling much better today, thank you for asking. Shawn figured it was your turn to ‘fall to the bright…’”
“Bright?” Carlton repeated looking at Shawn.
“I believe Shawn meant to say ‘blight’,” Guster spoke up, sounding like he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “Which is erroneous considering ‘blight’ is commonly used to refer to a disease that infects plants.” Carlton gaped at Guster, obviously ill and still taking the time to correct someone’s vocabulary. Carlton looked back at O’Hara to see her smile adoringly at the man.
“We thought we’d come by and look after you,” O’Hara continued. She glanced at all three of the men on the couch. “Well, I came by to look after you. These two just didn’t want to give up my soup.”
Nausea was one of the few symptoms Carlton didn’t have, but he nearly vomited at the fond look she was beaming at all three of the men. Instead he started into a coughing fit that ended with O’Hara patting him gently on his back. He looked up at her in surprise and she blushed before taking a step back.
“Just eat your soup, Carlton.”
Shawn fidgeted next to him and eventually ended up with his feverish forehead on Carlton's shoulder. Carlton, who’d felt chilled since lunch, gratefully leaned into the warmth.
“You haven’t threatened to take away my key yet,” Shawn murmured as Carlton took a sip of his soup. (The soup was good, from what he could taste of it.)
“If O’Hara hadn’t brought her soup, I’d be changing my locks,” he muttered. O’Hara smiled broadly and Carlton sighed. Somehow he got the feeling his partner was an odd distortion of a stray cat: let her feed you once and she'd never go away.
He took another sip of his soup and found himself not caring much.
/end