Fic: Live By The Foma (Harmless Untruths) (1/2)
Name: Live By The Foma (Harmless Untruths) (1/2)
Author: nighthawkms (Beta'd by candyflossrain, and a little input from zomboid. Thanks ever so much gals for your help!
Fandom: Psych
Story Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, angst, Shawn Spencer (because yes, he always needs a warning :D)
Summary: Six ups and downs for Shawn and Carlton.
Notes: Taken from the prompt: Pick a novel and take the first line off of every page and write a drabble prompt from it. Book used is Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.
Disclaimer: Don't own Psych; USA Network and its writers do. I'm simply playing in the universe.
1. There was a big sexy orgy when everybody knew that the world was going to end, and then Jesus Christ Himself appeared ten seconds before the bomb went off.
The four of them were enjoying an after work drink at the local bar when Shawn just had to go and mess it all up.
“Oooooo! I’ve got an idea! Let’s play ‘Who at This Table Would You Sleep with If the World was Ending?’”
“Shawn!”
“Spencer…”
“Aw, come on!” Shawn tipped his drink toward Gus, endearing smile on his face. “You go first, Gussy! Come on, which one of us three fine specimens of the homo-sapien species would you jump into the sack with?”
“Well obviously I’m going to pick Juliet!”
“Awww, is Gus-Gus afraid of a little man lovin’?”
Lassiter cut in. “Spencer, there is only ONE girl at this table; the only answer that’s not going to be obvious is what she has to say.”
“Well, I can’t just leave my Jules hangin’, now can I?” Shawn said, winking at Juliet, whose face had turned a bright crimson color. “So I guess I’ll have to give an answer that’s not ‘obvious’.
“Now,” he said, pointing the tip of his beer bottle back and forth between Gus and Lassiter, “who to choose… Gus is my bestest of buddies, but would it make life horribly awkward for us if we did that?”
“The world is ending, Spencer. I don’t think it would really matter,” Lassiter said with a little smirk.
“Hey, don’t make this decision any easier for him!” Gus looked livid.
“I’m just making sure he doesn’t pick me!”
Shawn had been talking to himself while Lassiter and Gus argued, but seemed to have come to a conclusion. “-Irish hairline, so I guess I’d have to pick Lassi-face!”
“What?”
“Wait, why?” Gus seemed outraged, and Lassiter quirked an eyebrow.
“So now you want Spencer to pick you?”
“No, I just- I want to know why!”
“Well, first off,” Shawn said, leaning back slightly, “I still don’t want that last five seconds of the world afterwards to be awkward between me and you.”
Lassiter gripped his bottle tightly, glaring at Shawn. “So you’d rather have us be awkward?”
“Oh Lassi-face, it could never be awkward between us! Besides, I wouldn’t want to deny you your last chance to get a piece of my hot bod; that would just be cruel!”
There was a crack, and the glass neck of Lassiter’s bottle shattered, cutting into his hand. He didn’t seem to notice however; face red, and eyes digging into Shawn.
“Spencer, I’m imagining this bottle is your neck.”
Shawn sighed and shook his head sadly. “Oh Lassi, I love you too.”
---------
2. One enterprising American reporter in Moscow, making inquiries about Zinka among dance people there, made the unkind discovery that Zinka was not, as she claimed, only twenty-three years old.
“Spencer, tell me, why do you insist on always acting like a five year-old in a thirty year-old’s body?”
Shawn’s affronted look might’ve been more persuasive if his head hadn’t currently been stuck between the wooden bars of a staircase. “For your information,” he said, “I am not a five year old in a thirty year-old’s body. I’m a five year old in a twenty-eight year-old’s body.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lassiter’s sarcasm cut thickly through the air. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Why the hell did you do this, anyway?”
“There was just… just something calling to me in this area; I had to be closer to the source, to enhance the psychic connection!” Okay, so in reality, he’d been trying to examine a suspicious stain on the concrete pillar near the staircase, and at the time, sticking his head between the bars seemed like a great idea to get closer. At the time was the key phrase.
“Why isn’t your little sidekick around to help you out?”
“Gus couldn’t take the day off.” Shawn’s voice was pouty, like a toddler who hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted. “And I wasn’t about to let you and Jules get through this crime scene before me! Seeing how you huff around like an angry gorilla most of the time, who knows how badly you would have disturbed my emotional readings of the area.”
“Do you want your head freed or not?”
“Yes please.”
“Then stop talking.” Lassiter sighed and gripped Shawn’s shoulders, positioning himself behind the other man and bracing against the steps. “You’re lucky I decided to check down here before we closed it off. Now then, on the count of three, pull. Ready?” He saw Shawn give a curt nod, and readied himself.
“One, two, three!”
Lassiter yanked backwards hard, at the same time that Shawn pushed against the bars around his head, and the force of their combined efforts managed to pop Shawn’s head out of the bars. He let out a little yelp, ears stinging a bit from being forced against his face, and fell backwards, throwing Lassiter off balance and sending them both crashing against the wall behind them.
After Lassiter’s head had cleared from being knocked against the wall, he found himself with a lap full of Shawn Spencer, and stiffened in surprised. This was really not something he had planned on. Really, it wasn’t, though he had to admit, where did he think Shawn would end up?
Shawn was leaning against Lassiter’s chest, too close for comfort, and turned his head slightly to glance back at the other man.
“So is this our new thing now?” he asked, grinning devilishly. “Really, Lassi, if you wanted to get me in your lap, all you had to do was ask!”
Wow, Shawn’s face was really close right now, and Lassiter was finding it hard to think. After a moment however, his mind snapped back into place. “Shawn, get off of me, now.” His harsh tone left nothing that needed to be explained.
“Alright, alright.” In a flash, Shawn had jumped to stand and bounded up three steps, before seeming to realize something and turning back to face Lassiter, draping his arms over the banister and leaning against it.
“Hey, you called me Shawn! Does this mean I get to call you Carlton now? Oooo, how about Carly? That’s kinda cute if you-”
“Spencer!”
Shawn bounced up the rest of the steps as Lassiter lunged for his legs. The detective missed and thudded his chin on the last step. By the time he pushed himself up, grumbling and rubbing the sore spot, Shawn had disappeared.
Lassiter groaned and flipped over, letting his body sag uncomfortably on the length of the stairs as he thunked his skull against the top step.
He hated to be cliché, but life was so not fucking fair.
---------
3. My sick head wobbled on my stiff neck.
No, no, no, no, no! Carlton groaned and dropped the oral thermometer in his hand, letting it clatter into the sink, the digital 102.7 reading staring up at him. Today is not the day for this!
Carlton hadn’t been sick in ages. In fact, he really couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this bad, as if his entire body was failing. His legs were shaking like gelatin, and a thick sheen of sweat covered his brow.
Of course, it just had to be today that he came down with… whatever it was he had. It just had to be the day after his reluctant bet with Spencer.
Carlton blamed lack of sleep for agreeing to the idea. They had caught the suspect in their most recent case so late the previous night (and had been up for the past twenty four hours tracking her down) that Vick had taken a look at the tired, haggard faces of the group and told them to go home and get some rest, telling them that they could get the girl’s confession tomorrow and making them all swear not to be in before eight the next morning.
Shawn had goaded Carlton (through heavy, half-open eyelids) the entire way out of the station about how he had figured out the case first, and Carlton had retorted that just because Shawn had found the girl, didn’t mean he’d get the confession. In response, Shawn had told Carlton to put his money- or in this case, the credit for the confession- where his mouth was.
But now, as he gripped the counter and tried to stay standing, Carlton had a funny feeling that he was screwed. He’d already called Vick and told her that he wouldn’t be making in, prompting her to ask him questions about the status of his sickness over the phone for a good fifteen minutes. Even she had a hard time believing that he wasn’t coming in. Skipping work just wasn’t something he was known for.
Obviously his body was not aware of this, as it was trembling worse than a blob of Jell-O. Gripping the wall next to him as best he could, he managed to wobble out of the bathroom and made it to the couch in the living room. He collapsed on it, pulled a blanket over himself, and had just enough time to think, revel in your win while you can, Spencer, before his brain shut off again.
When he opened his eyes a few hours later, he was met with a close up view of Shawn Spencer’s face.
If he’d been in any condition to do it, Carlton would’ve jumped three feet in the air. Instead, he settled for giving a yelp of surprise and a groan, pulling the blanket up all way up over his head.
“Please, please tell me I’m hallucinating?”
“I don’t know, Lassi-face, it doesn’t seem likely, me being aware of this happening and all. Should I pinch you to see if you wake up?”
“Touch me and you die.”
“Now come on, you’re in no position to be making death threats; especially since you look half-dead yourself!”
“How- why are you here?” Carlton peeked out over the blankets to stare at Shawn suspiciously.
“Well,” said Shawn, putting down the plastic bag he gripped in his hand on the coffee table, “to answer the first question, I swiped your extra house key from your desk drawer. Don’t ask how I got in there,” he added, watching Carlton’s face drop into a confused frown. “The spirits have forbidden me to tell you.
“Second,” he said, opening the bag and starting to pull out the contents, “I got in this morning, all prepared to race you through the parking lot and then gloat in your face when you lost, and what do I find? No Lassi-face to race- hey, that rhymes! So anyway, I just had to come and investigate why you didn’t show up.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Carlton said, sneezing into a handful of blanket before continuing. “I’m in no condition to race anyone.”
“Well I’m here to help that!” Carlton now noticed what the items Shawn had brought with him were: a bottle of orange juice, cough syrup, two cans of chicken noodle soup, and a familiar manila folder…
“Spencer, please tell me that isn’t the Monroe murder case file.”
“What would you say if it was?”
“I would be forced to call the Chief and tell her that you stole police evidence!” He fell into a hacking cough; trying to emphasize his displeasure over Shawn’s theft had ended up irritating his throat. When his breathing calmed, he looked back up to see Shawn holding the folder out to him, endearing look on his face.
“I didn’t steal it; I sort of… borrowed it? And made a copy? Several, in fact. Did you know how horrible the station copy machine works? Somebody needs to fix that. Anyway, here’s all the info.”
Carlton still didn’t make a move for the folder. “Did you not think that perhaps I had my own copy here with me?”
Shawn shook his head and tapped his forehead knowingly. “Psychic vibes, my friend! The spirits told me that you left it in one of your desk drawers at the office.”
Carlton had a fleeting urge to ask Shawn if the missing file just happened to be in the same drawer that Carlton’s key had been in, but squashed it. More important things to find out. Like…
“Why did you feel the need to bring this to me then?” he asked, casting a hesitating glance over the folder, and then back up to Shawn.
“Can’t you just take a gift given without questioning motives, Lassi-face?” Shawn gave him a large, cheesy grin, which only caused Carlton to frown, suspicion growing.
“No, not from you.”
Shawn stepped back, raising his hand to his brow in mock affront. “I’m insulted, Carly! I thought you knew me better than that!”
“I do. That’s why I’m questioning you. And since when did you decide it was a good idea to call me Carly?”
“Since you became barely capable of moving and therefore are incapable of hurting me for doing so,” Shawn sniped back, grinning devilishly. “Now come on, be a good boy and take the folder!”
Carlton raised an eyebrow but reached up a hand and grasped the file, pulling it away and flipping it open. It was, in fact, all the information they’d previously gathered on the perp, and he was surprised to find that there was nothing new added. Surely… if Shawn had questioned the girl when he’d gone in that morning, shouldn’t something from the interview be mentioned in here? Like, oh, a confession?
“Hey, Spencer, how come-,” Carlton looked up to find the room absent of Shawn, and noises coming from the kitchen. Unfortunately, Carlton had neither the desire, nor the strength to investigate, and just prayed that the other man wouldn’t leave his kitchen a complete wreck.
Shawn returned a few minutes later with a tray carrying two bowls of soup and two small glasses. He plopped the tray down on the table (causing a lovely splatter of soup that Carlton knew he would probably have to clean up later) and yanked the TV remote off the tabletop, moving to the side of the couch where Carlton’s legs rested and giving them a gentle shove.
“Come on, scoot!”
Carlton gave a slight groan but complied, sitting up against the arm of the couch. It was a three-cushion couch, which gave Shawn enough room to claim the end cushion, and Carlton to stretch out on the other two. Having settled into his seat, Shawn leaned out and picked up the soup bowls, handing one off to Carlton and settling the other one between his criss-crossed legs.
Shawn turned the TV on and was soon lost in some random news program, oblivious (or at least, seeming to be oblivious) to Carlton’s piercing stare. He was looking back and forth between Shawn and the case file in his own hands, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“Spencer?”
“Ya-huh?”
“How come there’s nothing new in this file? Didn’t you take down her confession?”
“Didn’t talk to her yet.”
“What?” Carlton almost did a spit take with the soup he had just drunk. Shawn glanced over and gave him a little shrug.
“Haven’t gotten to it. It’s been a decently busy day at the station without you there; did you know how much crap doesn’t get done when your evil eye isn’t floating over everybody’s heads? You influence is actually quite disturbing, now that I think about it…”
“B-but, she needs to be interviewed! Somebody’s got to do it as soon as possible; it’s protocol! We can’t arrest a woman and hold her for two days without questioning her, Spencer!”
Shawn scoffed, flicking his gaze over to Carlton. “Cool your jets, Lassi. Jules was talking to the suspect when I left the station. She’s getting the woman’s confession; she’ll take the credit, and we can do the bet some other time.”
“But-but…!” Okay, so technically, Shawn was right. And that just didn’t seem, well… right! It didn’t make sense! Why the hell was Shawn not diving on this opportunity to one-up Carlton? He and Gus could’ve had Vick praising them for their hard work at this moment, and instead Shawn was sitting on his couch, eating soup and watching TV; letting Juliet take all the credit!
Yes, something odd was definitely going on here.
Carlton put his bowl on the table and folded his arms, giving Shawn a glare he hoped the other man would sense. After a moment, Shawn turned his head, a perturbed but interested look on his face.
“Aww, why so angry, Lassi-face? What did I do now?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me; I know it. What’s your motive?”
“To gain your everlasting trust and affection?” Shawn’s face spread in a cheeky grin, but Carlton wasn’t buying it and continued to fix him with the same grumpy stare.
“Spencer…”
Shawn’s expression drooped, and he rolled his eyes, sighing and putting his own bowl on the table. “Maybe,” he said, grabbing the orange juice bottle and twisting the cap off, “I like to play fair sometimes. For the bet to work, you actually kind of had to be able to get to the station today, and since you weren’t, it kind of voids the agreement.” He poured the juice into the glasses, and held one out to Carlton. “So, does that answer your question?”
Carlton nodded slowly; taking the glass and watching Shawn turn and settle back to watching the TV.
He was genuinely surprised by Shawn’s attitude. He’d never expected the man to give a damn about playing fair at something like this; never expected him to have any respect for playing by the rules, however vague those rules might’ve been. It was somewhat of a different side to Shawn Spencer, and Carlton found a smile erupting softly on his face. Maybe he didn’t understand Shawn as well as he thought he did.
There was a few moments of silence, then-
“The next time we bet on something, though” Shawn said, casting him a wicked grin, “I am so going to kick your ass.”
Carlton snorted and nudged Shawn playfully with his foot. “In your dreams, Spencer.”
Still, it was something to look forward to.
---------
4. But no, you come here with preconceived notions about mad scientists.
There was one thing Shawn was sure of; he’d really screwed up this time. Chief Vick’s face, contorted in unspeakable rage, was proof of that. Worse was Jules’s look of nervous fright, cutting to Shawn’s heart like an ice pick; he hated making her worry, as if she didn’t do enough of that.
But the worst was probably Lassiter. The man didn’t have to speak, just had to stare at Shawn, to communicate what he was thinking: I’m disappointed. I thought that maybe you were better than this.
And god, Lassi, he really was sorry. He didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, and disappointing the people he’d worked so hard to try to impress, to actually gain respect from, was the worst blow. If he hated making Juliet worry, then he hated betraying whatever respect Lassiter might have had for him just as much.
He was just trying to help, he really was…
Thirty-thousand dollars. The cost of two brand new squad cars, straight out of the shop, used as a blockade by a one Shawn Spencer (and a reluctant Burton Guster) to end a semi-large car chase. Completely totaled, sent to the scrap heap.
Shawn thanked god that Gus had foreseen the dangerous possibilities of staying close to watch the action, and dragged Shawn to a safe distance. The front hood of one of the cars now rested where they’d been standing minutes before.
They hadn’t technically stolen the vehicles. The keys had been in the ignition, and of course, they were going to return them afterwards. What Shawn hadn’t counted on was the guy being desperate enough to actually ram the cars with his own, instead of stopping or trying to find another way around.
It was a foolhardy move to try; it was next to impossible that the man’s car would be able to push the other two out of the way, and in the end, the blockade did what it was supposed to. But not without suffering the damages of a forty mile-per-hour crash, with one car slamming into a telephone pole and the other into a tree after the initial impact.
But really, Shawn had only been trying to help. The driver of the pursued car was a suspect in their most recent case; accused of kidnapping two young girls who had yet to be found. And Shawn had heard enough tales from his dad to know that the more time they let the girls go missing, the less of a chance they had of finding them alive. So Shawn wasn’t about to let the guy get away when two lives were on the line.
Unfortunately, now it seemed that the guy might not have had anything to do with the kidnappings, and Vick was absolutely furious at what Shawn and Gus had done. She’d made Juliet and Lassiter cuff the two of them at the scene (which neither of the detectives looked happy about), and then had them put in a cell at the station. Now they were waiting to find out what would happen.
Gus was throwing Shawn glares across the cell one minute, and bemoaning what would happen when his boss found out about this the next. Shawn was trying to block him out, but that only served to cause various faces and voices to pop into his own head, scolding him for his foolhardy actions. While he was picturing his dad chasing after him with a fishing pole (modified into a medieval flail), Officer McNab appeared at the front of the cell.
“Chief Vick wants to talk to you two,” he said, unlocking the door and standing aside for them to walk out. Shawn got up slowly, following Gus, who was twitching like an abused animal, out and into the main area of the department. He could feel Buzz’s eyes on the back of his neck, and another pang of guilt walloped him in the chest. One of those cars was Buzz’s…
Stares followed the two men as they walked toward Vick’s office. Shawn heard a murmur of anger passing like a wave through the crowd, and shied a bit closer to Gus, who probably hated him the least in the station at the moment.
They entered the office to find Vick in her chair, hunched slightly over the desk, elbows firmly settled on the wood and hands folded. Juliet was in a chair on the side, eyes trained on a folder in her lap, apparently unable to look at them. Lassiter was leaning against the wall, and Shawn was genuinely shocked to see the pained, unsure look he was giving the two of them.
“Detective Lassiter and Detective O’Hara have been discussing with me what occurred this afternoon,” began Vick as the door clicked shut. “They’ve both given their versions of the stories, and vouched for both of you and what you’ve done for the department, to try and help me decide what my course of action should be.”
Gus gave Shawn a wide eyed look, which Shawn returned. This didn’t sound good. Oh god, what was Vick going to do to them? Fines? Jail time?
“Your actions today were inexcusable,” she continued, fixing them with a hard, emotionless stare. “You stole police property and destroyed it, costing our department tens of thousands of dollars. I could have you brought up on charges this second. However, the things you have done for us have caused me to reach a different decision.”
Vick wheeled her chair back slightly and opened her front desk-drawer. Rummaging through it, she produced two checks and held it out to Shawn and Gus.
“I’ve deducted the cost of damages from what I was going to pay you for the last case, which is why these checks are written out for no money. These are the last checks you’re ever going to receive from us. We no longer require your services at the SBPD.”
There was silence, broken by Shawn’s stutter of shock.
“Wh-what?”
His jaw slackened, eyes widened in horror. Gus, on the other hand, looked positively elated.
“Oh jeez, thank you Chief, thank you so much. Come on Shawn, let’s-“
“Gus, you can’t seriously-“
“Look, Shawn,” Gus said, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him closer to mutter in his ear, “it could’ve been so much worse, and you know it. We’re getting off easy! Let’s get out of here before the Chief changes her mind!”
“No!” cried Shawn, pulling his arm away and turning to Vick, voice filled with desperation. “Look, Chief, I’m sorry about what happened; we were idiots; I know. But I couldn’t let the guy get away; you know what he could mean to our case!”
“It’s not your case anymore, Shawn,” said Vick, softly, voice firming as she continued. “Yes, the suspect was important, but the actions you took to apprehend him were over the top and unbecoming of someone who works at our department. And Mr. Guster is right; this could’ve been much worse for you. However, both of my detectives reminded me that in the end, you were trying to be helpful, and I had to take that into account. But if using police equipment recklessly is your idea of being helpful, then I’m not going to be able to use your help anymore.”
Shawn looked back and forth to Lassiter and Juliet, desperate for them to speak up; say something, anything to help him and Gus. But Juliet continued to stare down at the file, chewing on her lip nervously, and Lassiter was looking at the Chief, also unable to meet their eyes.
Shawn stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out Lassiter’s expression… guilty? But why-
Suddenly, Shawn’s mind lit up, and he realized who must’ve suggested their punishment to the Chief. Lassi-Lassiter had done this. Shawn had never really believed the man had wanted them gone, but now… and he’d actually liked the man. Oh god, he was a fool.
Shawn marched over to Lassiter, jabbing the other man in the chest with a finger, forcing him to look up at Shawn. “Happy now, Detective? We’re out of your hair for good. Guess you got your wish.” He had to bite his lip to keep angry tears from leaking out of his eyes.
Lassiter’s own eyes were wide in shock. “Spencer, no, I didn’t-“
“Save it,” spat Shawn, giving him a look of disgust. “Just save it, Carlton. I thought after all this time; maybe you didn’t hate us as much as you said. Guess the spirits lied to me, huh?” He gave a cold, mocking laugh, watching Lassiter’s face contorting in horror at his accusation.
Shawn turned back to Vick, who still held him in a firm gaze. “Keep the check, Chief. I won’t be bothering you all anymore. See ya around, Jules.” He strode over to the door, flinging it open and slamming it shut behind him, storming out of the station.
Gus gave the three people in the room each a nod, turned on his heel, and fled out the door after Shawn.
Vick finally broke her gaze, grasping her forehead with her hands and sighing, sagging into her chair. “Thanks for the backup there, you two,” she said sarcastically, moving her hands down to prop up her chin. “Really made that a hell of a lot easier for me.”
“But Chief, are we really going to…?” Juliet finally looked up, eyes filled with disbelief.
“Afraid so,” said Vick, nodding grimly. “There’s no proof that what those boys did helped us out in a way that necessitated their actions. Unless we get that, I have to take these steps; I’ve got no other choice!”
“This is not what I wanted, Chief.”
“Well I’m the damn Chief, Carlton!” Vick said, slamming her fist on the desk and causing the two detectives to jump. “I’m the one who has to make these tough decisions!”
“I- I only meant for you to do it temporarily, to maybe teach them a lesson!”
“Well you should’ve thought of that before you suggested it! Seems Mr. Spencer picked you out pretty quickly for thinking of things like that. Maybe he knows you better than you think.” Lassiter dropped his gaze, seeming to solidify her accusation by being unable to look her in the eye.
“Now go, both of you,” said Vick, flicking a weary finger towards the door. “We’ve got things to do.”
But before either of them could make a move, however, an officer dashed into the room, gasping for breath and clutching a file in his hand. “Chief, you’ll never believe-“
“What’s going on, Officer Darby?”
The man walked over and handed Vick the file, collapsing into a chair in front of the desk. “We did a search of the car,” he said, watching her eyes widen as she read through it. “We found the kids alive, hidden inside the back seat of the vehicle. The perp was planning on taking them out of town and killing them. If we hadn’t apprehended him, they’d be dead. It was a good thing those guys had that blockade set up; we were close to losing him.”
“Detective Lassiter?”
Lassiter looked relieved. “Chief?”
“Find Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster. Now!”
The Chief didn’t have to tell Lassiter more than once; he was already out the door.
Next Chapter
X-posted to psychfiction, psych_slash, and shawn_lassiter
Author: nighthawkms (Beta'd by candyflossrain, and a little input from zomboid. Thanks ever so much gals for your help!
Fandom: Psych
Story Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, angst, Shawn Spencer (because yes, he always needs a warning :D)
Summary: Six ups and downs for Shawn and Carlton.
Notes: Taken from the prompt: Pick a novel and take the first line off of every page and write a drabble prompt from it. Book used is Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.
Disclaimer: Don't own Psych; USA Network and its writers do. I'm simply playing in the universe.
1. There was a big sexy orgy when everybody knew that the world was going to end, and then Jesus Christ Himself appeared ten seconds before the bomb went off.
The four of them were enjoying an after work drink at the local bar when Shawn just had to go and mess it all up.
“Oooooo! I’ve got an idea! Let’s play ‘Who at This Table Would You Sleep with If the World was Ending?’”
“Shawn!”
“Spencer…”
“Aw, come on!” Shawn tipped his drink toward Gus, endearing smile on his face. “You go first, Gussy! Come on, which one of us three fine specimens of the homo-sapien species would you jump into the sack with?”
“Well obviously I’m going to pick Juliet!”
“Awww, is Gus-Gus afraid of a little man lovin’?”
Lassiter cut in. “Spencer, there is only ONE girl at this table; the only answer that’s not going to be obvious is what she has to say.”
“Well, I can’t just leave my Jules hangin’, now can I?” Shawn said, winking at Juliet, whose face had turned a bright crimson color. “So I guess I’ll have to give an answer that’s not ‘obvious’.
“Now,” he said, pointing the tip of his beer bottle back and forth between Gus and Lassiter, “who to choose… Gus is my bestest of buddies, but would it make life horribly awkward for us if we did that?”
“The world is ending, Spencer. I don’t think it would really matter,” Lassiter said with a little smirk.
“Hey, don’t make this decision any easier for him!” Gus looked livid.
“I’m just making sure he doesn’t pick me!”
Shawn had been talking to himself while Lassiter and Gus argued, but seemed to have come to a conclusion. “-Irish hairline, so I guess I’d have to pick Lassi-face!”
“What?”
“Wait, why?” Gus seemed outraged, and Lassiter quirked an eyebrow.
“So now you want Spencer to pick you?”
“No, I just- I want to know why!”
“Well, first off,” Shawn said, leaning back slightly, “I still don’t want that last five seconds of the world afterwards to be awkward between me and you.”
Lassiter gripped his bottle tightly, glaring at Shawn. “So you’d rather have us be awkward?”
“Oh Lassi-face, it could never be awkward between us! Besides, I wouldn’t want to deny you your last chance to get a piece of my hot bod; that would just be cruel!”
There was a crack, and the glass neck of Lassiter’s bottle shattered, cutting into his hand. He didn’t seem to notice however; face red, and eyes digging into Shawn.
“Spencer, I’m imagining this bottle is your neck.”
Shawn sighed and shook his head sadly. “Oh Lassi, I love you too.”
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2. One enterprising American reporter in Moscow, making inquiries about Zinka among dance people there, made the unkind discovery that Zinka was not, as she claimed, only twenty-three years old.
“Spencer, tell me, why do you insist on always acting like a five year-old in a thirty year-old’s body?”
Shawn’s affronted look might’ve been more persuasive if his head hadn’t currently been stuck between the wooden bars of a staircase. “For your information,” he said, “I am not a five year old in a thirty year-old’s body. I’m a five year old in a twenty-eight year-old’s body.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lassiter’s sarcasm cut thickly through the air. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. Why the hell did you do this, anyway?”
“There was just… just something calling to me in this area; I had to be closer to the source, to enhance the psychic connection!” Okay, so in reality, he’d been trying to examine a suspicious stain on the concrete pillar near the staircase, and at the time, sticking his head between the bars seemed like a great idea to get closer. At the time was the key phrase.
“Why isn’t your little sidekick around to help you out?”
“Gus couldn’t take the day off.” Shawn’s voice was pouty, like a toddler who hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted. “And I wasn’t about to let you and Jules get through this crime scene before me! Seeing how you huff around like an angry gorilla most of the time, who knows how badly you would have disturbed my emotional readings of the area.”
“Do you want your head freed or not?”
“Yes please.”
“Then stop talking.” Lassiter sighed and gripped Shawn’s shoulders, positioning himself behind the other man and bracing against the steps. “You’re lucky I decided to check down here before we closed it off. Now then, on the count of three, pull. Ready?” He saw Shawn give a curt nod, and readied himself.
“One, two, three!”
Lassiter yanked backwards hard, at the same time that Shawn pushed against the bars around his head, and the force of their combined efforts managed to pop Shawn’s head out of the bars. He let out a little yelp, ears stinging a bit from being forced against his face, and fell backwards, throwing Lassiter off balance and sending them both crashing against the wall behind them.
After Lassiter’s head had cleared from being knocked against the wall, he found himself with a lap full of Shawn Spencer, and stiffened in surprised. This was really not something he had planned on. Really, it wasn’t, though he had to admit, where did he think Shawn would end up?
Shawn was leaning against Lassiter’s chest, too close for comfort, and turned his head slightly to glance back at the other man.
“So is this our new thing now?” he asked, grinning devilishly. “Really, Lassi, if you wanted to get me in your lap, all you had to do was ask!”
Wow, Shawn’s face was really close right now, and Lassiter was finding it hard to think. After a moment however, his mind snapped back into place. “Shawn, get off of me, now.” His harsh tone left nothing that needed to be explained.
“Alright, alright.” In a flash, Shawn had jumped to stand and bounded up three steps, before seeming to realize something and turning back to face Lassiter, draping his arms over the banister and leaning against it.
“Hey, you called me Shawn! Does this mean I get to call you Carlton now? Oooo, how about Carly? That’s kinda cute if you-”
“Spencer!”
Shawn bounced up the rest of the steps as Lassiter lunged for his legs. The detective missed and thudded his chin on the last step. By the time he pushed himself up, grumbling and rubbing the sore spot, Shawn had disappeared.
Lassiter groaned and flipped over, letting his body sag uncomfortably on the length of the stairs as he thunked his skull against the top step.
He hated to be cliché, but life was so not fucking fair.
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3. My sick head wobbled on my stiff neck.
No, no, no, no, no! Carlton groaned and dropped the oral thermometer in his hand, letting it clatter into the sink, the digital 102.7 reading staring up at him. Today is not the day for this!
Carlton hadn’t been sick in ages. In fact, he really couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this bad, as if his entire body was failing. His legs were shaking like gelatin, and a thick sheen of sweat covered his brow.
Of course, it just had to be today that he came down with… whatever it was he had. It just had to be the day after his reluctant bet with Spencer.
Carlton blamed lack of sleep for agreeing to the idea. They had caught the suspect in their most recent case so late the previous night (and had been up for the past twenty four hours tracking her down) that Vick had taken a look at the tired, haggard faces of the group and told them to go home and get some rest, telling them that they could get the girl’s confession tomorrow and making them all swear not to be in before eight the next morning.
Shawn had goaded Carlton (through heavy, half-open eyelids) the entire way out of the station about how he had figured out the case first, and Carlton had retorted that just because Shawn had found the girl, didn’t mean he’d get the confession. In response, Shawn had told Carlton to put his money- or in this case, the credit for the confession- where his mouth was.
But now, as he gripped the counter and tried to stay standing, Carlton had a funny feeling that he was screwed. He’d already called Vick and told her that he wouldn’t be making in, prompting her to ask him questions about the status of his sickness over the phone for a good fifteen minutes. Even she had a hard time believing that he wasn’t coming in. Skipping work just wasn’t something he was known for.
Obviously his body was not aware of this, as it was trembling worse than a blob of Jell-O. Gripping the wall next to him as best he could, he managed to wobble out of the bathroom and made it to the couch in the living room. He collapsed on it, pulled a blanket over himself, and had just enough time to think, revel in your win while you can, Spencer, before his brain shut off again.
When he opened his eyes a few hours later, he was met with a close up view of Shawn Spencer’s face.
If he’d been in any condition to do it, Carlton would’ve jumped three feet in the air. Instead, he settled for giving a yelp of surprise and a groan, pulling the blanket up all way up over his head.
“Please, please tell me I’m hallucinating?”
“I don’t know, Lassi-face, it doesn’t seem likely, me being aware of this happening and all. Should I pinch you to see if you wake up?”
“Touch me and you die.”
“Now come on, you’re in no position to be making death threats; especially since you look half-dead yourself!”
“How- why are you here?” Carlton peeked out over the blankets to stare at Shawn suspiciously.
“Well,” said Shawn, putting down the plastic bag he gripped in his hand on the coffee table, “to answer the first question, I swiped your extra house key from your desk drawer. Don’t ask how I got in there,” he added, watching Carlton’s face drop into a confused frown. “The spirits have forbidden me to tell you.
“Second,” he said, opening the bag and starting to pull out the contents, “I got in this morning, all prepared to race you through the parking lot and then gloat in your face when you lost, and what do I find? No Lassi-face to race- hey, that rhymes! So anyway, I just had to come and investigate why you didn’t show up.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Carlton said, sneezing into a handful of blanket before continuing. “I’m in no condition to race anyone.”
“Well I’m here to help that!” Carlton now noticed what the items Shawn had brought with him were: a bottle of orange juice, cough syrup, two cans of chicken noodle soup, and a familiar manila folder…
“Spencer, please tell me that isn’t the Monroe murder case file.”
“What would you say if it was?”
“I would be forced to call the Chief and tell her that you stole police evidence!” He fell into a hacking cough; trying to emphasize his displeasure over Shawn’s theft had ended up irritating his throat. When his breathing calmed, he looked back up to see Shawn holding the folder out to him, endearing look on his face.
“I didn’t steal it; I sort of… borrowed it? And made a copy? Several, in fact. Did you know how horrible the station copy machine works? Somebody needs to fix that. Anyway, here’s all the info.”
Carlton still didn’t make a move for the folder. “Did you not think that perhaps I had my own copy here with me?”
Shawn shook his head and tapped his forehead knowingly. “Psychic vibes, my friend! The spirits told me that you left it in one of your desk drawers at the office.”
Carlton had a fleeting urge to ask Shawn if the missing file just happened to be in the same drawer that Carlton’s key had been in, but squashed it. More important things to find out. Like…
“Why did you feel the need to bring this to me then?” he asked, casting a hesitating glance over the folder, and then back up to Shawn.
“Can’t you just take a gift given without questioning motives, Lassi-face?” Shawn gave him a large, cheesy grin, which only caused Carlton to frown, suspicion growing.
“No, not from you.”
Shawn stepped back, raising his hand to his brow in mock affront. “I’m insulted, Carly! I thought you knew me better than that!”
“I do. That’s why I’m questioning you. And since when did you decide it was a good idea to call me Carly?”
“Since you became barely capable of moving and therefore are incapable of hurting me for doing so,” Shawn sniped back, grinning devilishly. “Now come on, be a good boy and take the folder!”
Carlton raised an eyebrow but reached up a hand and grasped the file, pulling it away and flipping it open. It was, in fact, all the information they’d previously gathered on the perp, and he was surprised to find that there was nothing new added. Surely… if Shawn had questioned the girl when he’d gone in that morning, shouldn’t something from the interview be mentioned in here? Like, oh, a confession?
“Hey, Spencer, how come-,” Carlton looked up to find the room absent of Shawn, and noises coming from the kitchen. Unfortunately, Carlton had neither the desire, nor the strength to investigate, and just prayed that the other man wouldn’t leave his kitchen a complete wreck.
Shawn returned a few minutes later with a tray carrying two bowls of soup and two small glasses. He plopped the tray down on the table (causing a lovely splatter of soup that Carlton knew he would probably have to clean up later) and yanked the TV remote off the tabletop, moving to the side of the couch where Carlton’s legs rested and giving them a gentle shove.
“Come on, scoot!”
Carlton gave a slight groan but complied, sitting up against the arm of the couch. It was a three-cushion couch, which gave Shawn enough room to claim the end cushion, and Carlton to stretch out on the other two. Having settled into his seat, Shawn leaned out and picked up the soup bowls, handing one off to Carlton and settling the other one between his criss-crossed legs.
Shawn turned the TV on and was soon lost in some random news program, oblivious (or at least, seeming to be oblivious) to Carlton’s piercing stare. He was looking back and forth between Shawn and the case file in his own hands, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“Spencer?”
“Ya-huh?”
“How come there’s nothing new in this file? Didn’t you take down her confession?”
“Didn’t talk to her yet.”
“What?” Carlton almost did a spit take with the soup he had just drunk. Shawn glanced over and gave him a little shrug.
“Haven’t gotten to it. It’s been a decently busy day at the station without you there; did you know how much crap doesn’t get done when your evil eye isn’t floating over everybody’s heads? You influence is actually quite disturbing, now that I think about it…”
“B-but, she needs to be interviewed! Somebody’s got to do it as soon as possible; it’s protocol! We can’t arrest a woman and hold her for two days without questioning her, Spencer!”
Shawn scoffed, flicking his gaze over to Carlton. “Cool your jets, Lassi. Jules was talking to the suspect when I left the station. She’s getting the woman’s confession; she’ll take the credit, and we can do the bet some other time.”
“But-but…!” Okay, so technically, Shawn was right. And that just didn’t seem, well… right! It didn’t make sense! Why the hell was Shawn not diving on this opportunity to one-up Carlton? He and Gus could’ve had Vick praising them for their hard work at this moment, and instead Shawn was sitting on his couch, eating soup and watching TV; letting Juliet take all the credit!
Yes, something odd was definitely going on here.
Carlton put his bowl on the table and folded his arms, giving Shawn a glare he hoped the other man would sense. After a moment, Shawn turned his head, a perturbed but interested look on his face.
“Aww, why so angry, Lassi-face? What did I do now?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me; I know it. What’s your motive?”
“To gain your everlasting trust and affection?” Shawn’s face spread in a cheeky grin, but Carlton wasn’t buying it and continued to fix him with the same grumpy stare.
“Spencer…”
Shawn’s expression drooped, and he rolled his eyes, sighing and putting his own bowl on the table. “Maybe,” he said, grabbing the orange juice bottle and twisting the cap off, “I like to play fair sometimes. For the bet to work, you actually kind of had to be able to get to the station today, and since you weren’t, it kind of voids the agreement.” He poured the juice into the glasses, and held one out to Carlton. “So, does that answer your question?”
Carlton nodded slowly; taking the glass and watching Shawn turn and settle back to watching the TV.
He was genuinely surprised by Shawn’s attitude. He’d never expected the man to give a damn about playing fair at something like this; never expected him to have any respect for playing by the rules, however vague those rules might’ve been. It was somewhat of a different side to Shawn Spencer, and Carlton found a smile erupting softly on his face. Maybe he didn’t understand Shawn as well as he thought he did.
There was a few moments of silence, then-
“The next time we bet on something, though” Shawn said, casting him a wicked grin, “I am so going to kick your ass.”
Carlton snorted and nudged Shawn playfully with his foot. “In your dreams, Spencer.”
Still, it was something to look forward to.
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4. But no, you come here with preconceived notions about mad scientists.
There was one thing Shawn was sure of; he’d really screwed up this time. Chief Vick’s face, contorted in unspeakable rage, was proof of that. Worse was Jules’s look of nervous fright, cutting to Shawn’s heart like an ice pick; he hated making her worry, as if she didn’t do enough of that.
But the worst was probably Lassiter. The man didn’t have to speak, just had to stare at Shawn, to communicate what he was thinking: I’m disappointed. I thought that maybe you were better than this.
And god, Lassi, he really was sorry. He didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, and disappointing the people he’d worked so hard to try to impress, to actually gain respect from, was the worst blow. If he hated making Juliet worry, then he hated betraying whatever respect Lassiter might have had for him just as much.
He was just trying to help, he really was…
Thirty-thousand dollars. The cost of two brand new squad cars, straight out of the shop, used as a blockade by a one Shawn Spencer (and a reluctant Burton Guster) to end a semi-large car chase. Completely totaled, sent to the scrap heap.
Shawn thanked god that Gus had foreseen the dangerous possibilities of staying close to watch the action, and dragged Shawn to a safe distance. The front hood of one of the cars now rested where they’d been standing minutes before.
They hadn’t technically stolen the vehicles. The keys had been in the ignition, and of course, they were going to return them afterwards. What Shawn hadn’t counted on was the guy being desperate enough to actually ram the cars with his own, instead of stopping or trying to find another way around.
It was a foolhardy move to try; it was next to impossible that the man’s car would be able to push the other two out of the way, and in the end, the blockade did what it was supposed to. But not without suffering the damages of a forty mile-per-hour crash, with one car slamming into a telephone pole and the other into a tree after the initial impact.
But really, Shawn had only been trying to help. The driver of the pursued car was a suspect in their most recent case; accused of kidnapping two young girls who had yet to be found. And Shawn had heard enough tales from his dad to know that the more time they let the girls go missing, the less of a chance they had of finding them alive. So Shawn wasn’t about to let the guy get away when two lives were on the line.
Unfortunately, now it seemed that the guy might not have had anything to do with the kidnappings, and Vick was absolutely furious at what Shawn and Gus had done. She’d made Juliet and Lassiter cuff the two of them at the scene (which neither of the detectives looked happy about), and then had them put in a cell at the station. Now they were waiting to find out what would happen.
Gus was throwing Shawn glares across the cell one minute, and bemoaning what would happen when his boss found out about this the next. Shawn was trying to block him out, but that only served to cause various faces and voices to pop into his own head, scolding him for his foolhardy actions. While he was picturing his dad chasing after him with a fishing pole (modified into a medieval flail), Officer McNab appeared at the front of the cell.
“Chief Vick wants to talk to you two,” he said, unlocking the door and standing aside for them to walk out. Shawn got up slowly, following Gus, who was twitching like an abused animal, out and into the main area of the department. He could feel Buzz’s eyes on the back of his neck, and another pang of guilt walloped him in the chest. One of those cars was Buzz’s…
Stares followed the two men as they walked toward Vick’s office. Shawn heard a murmur of anger passing like a wave through the crowd, and shied a bit closer to Gus, who probably hated him the least in the station at the moment.
They entered the office to find Vick in her chair, hunched slightly over the desk, elbows firmly settled on the wood and hands folded. Juliet was in a chair on the side, eyes trained on a folder in her lap, apparently unable to look at them. Lassiter was leaning against the wall, and Shawn was genuinely shocked to see the pained, unsure look he was giving the two of them.
“Detective Lassiter and Detective O’Hara have been discussing with me what occurred this afternoon,” began Vick as the door clicked shut. “They’ve both given their versions of the stories, and vouched for both of you and what you’ve done for the department, to try and help me decide what my course of action should be.”
Gus gave Shawn a wide eyed look, which Shawn returned. This didn’t sound good. Oh god, what was Vick going to do to them? Fines? Jail time?
“Your actions today were inexcusable,” she continued, fixing them with a hard, emotionless stare. “You stole police property and destroyed it, costing our department tens of thousands of dollars. I could have you brought up on charges this second. However, the things you have done for us have caused me to reach a different decision.”
Vick wheeled her chair back slightly and opened her front desk-drawer. Rummaging through it, she produced two checks and held it out to Shawn and Gus.
“I’ve deducted the cost of damages from what I was going to pay you for the last case, which is why these checks are written out for no money. These are the last checks you’re ever going to receive from us. We no longer require your services at the SBPD.”
There was silence, broken by Shawn’s stutter of shock.
“Wh-what?”
His jaw slackened, eyes widened in horror. Gus, on the other hand, looked positively elated.
“Oh jeez, thank you Chief, thank you so much. Come on Shawn, let’s-“
“Gus, you can’t seriously-“
“Look, Shawn,” Gus said, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him closer to mutter in his ear, “it could’ve been so much worse, and you know it. We’re getting off easy! Let’s get out of here before the Chief changes her mind!”
“No!” cried Shawn, pulling his arm away and turning to Vick, voice filled with desperation. “Look, Chief, I’m sorry about what happened; we were idiots; I know. But I couldn’t let the guy get away; you know what he could mean to our case!”
“It’s not your case anymore, Shawn,” said Vick, softly, voice firming as she continued. “Yes, the suspect was important, but the actions you took to apprehend him were over the top and unbecoming of someone who works at our department. And Mr. Guster is right; this could’ve been much worse for you. However, both of my detectives reminded me that in the end, you were trying to be helpful, and I had to take that into account. But if using police equipment recklessly is your idea of being helpful, then I’m not going to be able to use your help anymore.”
Shawn looked back and forth to Lassiter and Juliet, desperate for them to speak up; say something, anything to help him and Gus. But Juliet continued to stare down at the file, chewing on her lip nervously, and Lassiter was looking at the Chief, also unable to meet their eyes.
Shawn stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out Lassiter’s expression… guilty? But why-
Suddenly, Shawn’s mind lit up, and he realized who must’ve suggested their punishment to the Chief. Lassi-Lassiter had done this. Shawn had never really believed the man had wanted them gone, but now… and he’d actually liked the man. Oh god, he was a fool.
Shawn marched over to Lassiter, jabbing the other man in the chest with a finger, forcing him to look up at Shawn. “Happy now, Detective? We’re out of your hair for good. Guess you got your wish.” He had to bite his lip to keep angry tears from leaking out of his eyes.
Lassiter’s own eyes were wide in shock. “Spencer, no, I didn’t-“
“Save it,” spat Shawn, giving him a look of disgust. “Just save it, Carlton. I thought after all this time; maybe you didn’t hate us as much as you said. Guess the spirits lied to me, huh?” He gave a cold, mocking laugh, watching Lassiter’s face contorting in horror at his accusation.
Shawn turned back to Vick, who still held him in a firm gaze. “Keep the check, Chief. I won’t be bothering you all anymore. See ya around, Jules.” He strode over to the door, flinging it open and slamming it shut behind him, storming out of the station.
Gus gave the three people in the room each a nod, turned on his heel, and fled out the door after Shawn.
Vick finally broke her gaze, grasping her forehead with her hands and sighing, sagging into her chair. “Thanks for the backup there, you two,” she said sarcastically, moving her hands down to prop up her chin. “Really made that a hell of a lot easier for me.”
“But Chief, are we really going to…?” Juliet finally looked up, eyes filled with disbelief.
“Afraid so,” said Vick, nodding grimly. “There’s no proof that what those boys did helped us out in a way that necessitated their actions. Unless we get that, I have to take these steps; I’ve got no other choice!”
“This is not what I wanted, Chief.”
“Well I’m the damn Chief, Carlton!” Vick said, slamming her fist on the desk and causing the two detectives to jump. “I’m the one who has to make these tough decisions!”
“I- I only meant for you to do it temporarily, to maybe teach them a lesson!”
“Well you should’ve thought of that before you suggested it! Seems Mr. Spencer picked you out pretty quickly for thinking of things like that. Maybe he knows you better than you think.” Lassiter dropped his gaze, seeming to solidify her accusation by being unable to look her in the eye.
“Now go, both of you,” said Vick, flicking a weary finger towards the door. “We’ve got things to do.”
But before either of them could make a move, however, an officer dashed into the room, gasping for breath and clutching a file in his hand. “Chief, you’ll never believe-“
“What’s going on, Officer Darby?”
The man walked over and handed Vick the file, collapsing into a chair in front of the desk. “We did a search of the car,” he said, watching her eyes widen as she read through it. “We found the kids alive, hidden inside the back seat of the vehicle. The perp was planning on taking them out of town and killing them. If we hadn’t apprehended him, they’d be dead. It was a good thing those guys had that blockade set up; we were close to losing him.”
“Detective Lassiter?”
Lassiter looked relieved. “Chief?”
“Find Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster. Now!”
The Chief didn’t have to tell Lassiter more than once; he was already out the door.
Next Chapter
X-posted to psychfiction, psych_slash, and shawn_lassiter