FIC: Varying Degrees of Con-Artistry
Title: Varying Degrees of Con-Artistry (Or: Six things no one knew about Shawn Spencer, and one thing he didn't know about himself)
Author: Lucia Zephyr (lucia_tanaka)
Fandom: Psych
Genre: Character study, drama
Rating: PG-13 for slash and occasional darkfic-vibes
Summary: Of pianos, first kisses, trip-ups, semantics, aspirin, facades, and mental slight of hand. Seven glances into the mind of Shawn Spencer.
Author Notes: I know, I know, I know. I said I wouldn't write another "five ways" thingie, but this is COMPLETELY Ashley/lunarwolfik's fault. Damn her.
This fic is essentially my view of Shawn Spencer, who is a really screwed up guy in my head. Under the cut is much made-up history, blink-and-you-miss-'em characterizations, and a bunch of stuff that'll be completely jossed in January. Enjoy!
1.
Shawn can play three instruments. One doesn't count because every self-respecting teenager in Shawn's day picked up the guitar. Hendrix always floats onto the radio again every couple years.
Shawn likes playing soft music on his guitar- the same he bought with his first paycheck when he was sixteen. Years later, he brought it with him when he went to stay with his mother after the separation. She loved him for it. They'd sit in the living room and she'd listen. Mom would curl up in the armchair, her hands wrapped around a thick mug of spicy tea, and Shawn would stretch out on the futon. He played her Jack Johnson, because you didn't need any accompaniment for his music, playing the notes from memory. He never needed music sheets to make Mom smile with "Flake", to get her to sing, though the chorus always made her cry the second time around. "Catharsis, Shawnie," she'd always say when he stopped, not wanting to see her like this. "It's a good thing."
Shawn learned drums because Gus got the music kick a bit late and suddenly realized he was meant for musical greatness. Shawn couldn't say no, so he played along and taught Gus to play guitar while he picked up drums. Gus burned out on songwriting before he worked up to the intermediate guitar course. Shawn never left the drums behind- his mind never left anything behind- and he liked to make noise after going out on the town and coming home alone.
Shawn latched onto the piano the most though. It was easy and smooth and made everyone look at him differently. You can be the cookie-cutter class clown until you played piano in Mr. Fillion's music elective class. The piano was special, like a dear friend who had even more far-fetched dreams and aspirations than Shawn did. The piano could be classical and refined, then flip over and be rock and roll. She stood for understanding and not asking more than he wanted to give. She wasn't choosy in what he did.
Shawn's father didn't see the point. Before Shawn left, he leaned on the piano while Shawn tapped out a simple beat he made up in his head, said, "there's no point unless you plan to be a musician, Shawn. Which you won't be. No son of mine it going to throw all his lessons away to be a lounge singer." Shawn just nodded and kept quiet.
He still owned his instruments. The guitar was against the wall in his room. The drums were set out as a weird kind of decoration to the main room. Against the far wall, though, was the piano. She was covered with a long, brown cloth, masking her to be almost like fancy furniture, but Shawn could toss the cloth up and out of the way in a moment. When the pull of his mind got too hard, trying to solve too many cases, trying to follow Dad's training, she was ready for him, asking only for what he wanted to give. The sheet music of Ben Fold's "Selfless, Cold, and Composed" was always open and waiting behind Shawn's eyelids. This was his, something he learned himself, something Dad had nothing to do with. He needed to have something he found himself, not given to him.
2.
Strictly speaking, Shawn's first kiss was Betty Saunders behind the stands at the high school football team's homecoming game. She was sixteen and he was a month away from it and she was nervous about her date with the full-back next Friday. She pulled Shawn aside and asked for advice. Shawn was clueless. Girls liked him, sure, but not enough that he has any real experience. They both laughed about their own troubles and Betty offered Shawn a way they could both learn a thing or two, her eyes wide, making Shawn think they were the most beautiful color green he'd ever seen.
The kiss was methodical and clinical and the taste of the lipstick Betty wore seemed to stay in his mouth for a week, making him run his tongue against his teeth, trying to get rid of it.
A few months after that disaster, Shawn was waiting for Gus's study club to let out. He had a lot of time and was willing to waste it, not wanting to go home and deal with Dad. There he met Gregory Malozzi when he tripped over Shawn's backpack after the Science Olympiad meeting let out. Greg had a smooth, low voice, a smile so blinding that it rivaled Shawn's own, and was the biggest science geek in the school.
He was also extremely friendly and Shawn found himself walking alongside Greg as they went down the road to 31 Flavors. Greg bought them both banana shakes and tried to explain the concept of white holes to Shawn. He used his hands a lot, making complicated gestures and painting diagrams in the air so complex, Shawn almost understood what Greg was so excited about. That it was so powerful and awesome, but completely impossible according to what Greg called "respectable physics". When Greg asked if he was making "a mole of sense", Shawn grinned and said yes, he was. Greg walked Shawn back to the school and asked if he'd be loitering around again tomorrow around the same time. Shawn didn't have to, could have gone off to Gus's house to hang out, but said he'd be there. Greg's face lit up with a smile.
They had shakes for two weeks, their talks getting more involved and their walks getting longer as they searched out private, scenic routes. Greg always walked Shawn home if they got out of the shake shop past five, babbling on about theories and physics and philosophy. Shawn learned more from Greg than he had from all his science teachers in his entire educational history.
One day, about a month after they first met, Greg walked Shawn home, using the longest way they knew, walking through the trees, secluded and away from the streets and cars and people. Greg was talking about how atoms shouldn't work. "The center is made of positively charged particles, the electrons flying around are negatively charged, so why the hell doesn't the whole thing collapse on itself?"
"That opposites attract thingie?"
"Yes, yes, exactly."
Greg laughed a bit too loud, Shawn smiled a bit too much, and then Greg went quiet, staring at Shawn. Shawn felt his ears turn red when he noticed how amazingly clear and blue Greg's eyes were before he was pressed gently into a tree and then they were kissing.
Shawn's favorite color, even years later, was that indescribable light blue. Whenever he thinks of his first kiss, he smiles and thinks of the cool taste of banana, not the impersonal taste of wax.
3.
Shawn could fool anyone. There was never anyone he came across that he couldn't charm into believing every word that came out of his mouth. It was a gift that Shawn utilized every day of his life. Then Shawn walked into the interrogation room of the Santa Barbara Police Department and made one giant screw-up.
Lassiter had the dark hair and clean features Greg had. Greg had meant loosening up, not worrying about keeping track of his lies, not having to lie at all. Lassiter had those goddamn icy blue eyes.
If it hadn't been for that subconscious mental connection, he'd have left Lassiter in the dark from their first meeting. Their current dance around each other would never have happened. Shawn's life would certainly have been a lot easier too. But, nevertheless, Shawn's mind whispered "relax" at him and it was all the accomplished detective needed to get irreversibly suspicious.
But Shawn had a knack for turning a bad situation good. Within two months of PD work, Shawn had a mental list of the top ten ways to drive Detective Lassiter insane. In Shawn's mind, Lassiter didn't stand for what Greg had, but something completely different and just as necessary. Shawn knew how to get Lassiter angry and combative in minutes because he liked the man best that way.
Lassiter meant hidden strengths that Shawn sometimes considered comparable to his own. He meant a snapping reply, having to think twice as fast so as not to slip up, and a rough slam into the wall when Shawn just wasn't fast enough.
Shawn liked how sharp and jaded Lassiter was. It was a nice change- not always being the one with all the power.
4.
Gus always called Shawn his best friend. Shawn always called Gus the brother he never had.
People lie to their siblings all the time. They never lie to their best friends.
5.
Shawn started getting headaches at fourteen. Migraines were hereditary on his Dad's side, so Mom worried about him whenever he left the living room to lay down in his room with the curtains closed and the lights off. It didn't help that his parents yelled at each other about it, the loud arguments making the throbbing pain behind his eyes intensify.
After Shawn had to stay home from school because of the pain, Mom went out to the store and bought a bottle of aspirin, a fifty-tablet container. It took three to handle it, and Shawn went through the first batch in just over three months. From then on, Mom bought the large hundred-tablet jugs, keeping them in the bedside table by Shawn's bed for whenever he needed it.
Over fifteen years later, Shawn still used the same brand of aspirin. He'd taken so many, his immunity to the meds had increased drastically.
Whenever Shawn solved a case for the SBPD and started to feel thankful for his training, he remembered that it now took seven or more aspirins to take the edge off a headache and promptly fell back to hating his father.
6.
Where Lassiter was just too sharp to be tricked, Juliet wasn't. She was young, new, and still had that just-out-of-the-Academy glow. She believed in the good of people and Shawn noticed it right away, before he even knew who she was.
Juliet was easy. Shawn knew how to smile and where to pout and the reasons Juliet needed to let him have free reign. It was so simple, it didn't take thought. After, she always smiled and said thank you. Shawn would crack a joke while just dying to say, "you're a cop, act like it".
Shawn almost felt guilty about it. She was a rookie and the PD knew it. They put her with their most seasoned detective for a reason, after all. But with Shawn happily driving Lassiter up the wall, it left Juliet unprotected and open. If the Chief knew the ways Juliet broke protocol, she'd be in a huge amount of trouble.
The more it happened, the more Shawn found it harder to smile and flirt with Juliet. He needed her for information, certainly, but she was slowly getting easier to manipulate. It wasn't supposed to work that way. She was supposed to watch Lassiter and learn, for god's sake, not become this starry-eyed girl who thought Shawn was a prophet of case solutions.
It was hard to play against people when there was no competition.
7.
Shawn was on his bike, messing with his helmet outside the SBPD when Lassiter walked over to him. He put one hand on the bike's handlebars, drawing Shawn's gaze up.
Shawn was growing to hate that look on Lassiter's face. Things were changing. Shawn didn't live just to drive Lassiter insane anymore. Lassiter didn't try to fight with Shawn at every step anymore. The only person who Shawn had even been in any sort of relationship with for more than a month was Gus, and even that fell apart. Gus got a spectacular offer from his pharmaceutical company. They'd start training him for higher work. Gus was in college in Southern Cali now.
So what the hell was he still doing here?
Lassiter's hand slid bonelessly off the bike and into his pants pocket. "You shouldn't be driving after that."
Shawn looked away, leaning forward to examine the gauges of his bike. He wasn't going to talk about this to Lassiter. It was normal for a person to be shaken up. Shawn got in position to take off.
"Spencer." Both of Lassiter's hands gripped the handlebars of Shawn's bike. Shawn's hands were already there and Lassiter's pressed over the backs of Shawn's unabashedly. "I should have-"
"Don't, Lassiter," Shawn whispered back, trying not to think of how the criminal managed to break free of the interrogation room guards to launch himself at Shawn. O'Reilly, the suspected (and probable) murderer used the chain of his cuffs against Shawn's neck to get leverage. O'Reilly had been taller and Shawn had to stand on his toes to avoid choking.
"I had the shot earlier, I could have-"
"Stop it." Shawn demanded and Lassiter's voice dropped instantly. He knew Lassiter had the shot. Shawn knew how to triangulate shots. He also knew that if Lassiter had pulled a headshot and killed O'Reilly, Shawn would have punched him. They'd worked for a week just to track the suspect down. To lose him before a proper questioning would have been worse than a few minutes of cut-off air and a new bruise on his neck.
God, what was he doing here?
Lassiter had that look, that dangerous set to his face that was far more risky than the sharp, angry one he used to always wear around Shawn. This was still confrontational, but not like it used to be. It was calm and collected. Shawn wasn't good at that.
By looking away from his face, Shawn's eyes settled uneasily on Lassiter's hand over his. It wasn't much better.
"Don't drive home."
It wasn't commanding or harsh. It was quiet and almost lost to the breeze against Shawn's ears. And when the pressure against his hands lessened just enough for him to be able to pull away, Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. Things were too different now. It was easier when it was all instinctual, without thought. Now Lassiter kept giving him chances and choices that Shawn didn't know what to do with.
Shawn pulled one hand away and felt more than saw Lassiter tense. But all Shawn did was take the key out of the ignition. He tossed the keys into the air and Lassiter caught them easily.
Lassiter drove him home, silent, leaving Shawn to chase questions around his head. Why still keep his secret, why keep acting, why didn't he feel any fear when O'Reilly wrapped that chain around his neck...
Through the reflection on the window, he could see Lassiter stare at him at every red light. He looked like he had his own questions to mull over.
Lassiter followed him up to his apartment, making Shawn pause and give him a inquistive look. Lassiter held up one hand that had Shawn's keys looped over one finger. Shawn gestured for Lassiter to give them over, but Lassiter ignored him, continuing up the stairs. He unlocked Shawn's door and let Shawn in, immediately following.
There was no time for the expected awkward silence. Lassiter finally said, "You didn't fight him. You could have died." Shawn shook his head and walked to lean on the kitchen counter with Lassiter trailing after him. "Tell me why."
Shawn bent over the counter, wanting to sink into the cool surface, but then Lassiter's hand was on his shoulder, turning him around so his back was to it.
"Shawn."
Shawn had been looking forward to the precipice, that last chance to turn back and get control of his life again, only to have Lassiter tell him he'd missed that point by a mile, simply by saying his name.
He missed it by a lot more than a mile, because Lassiter's hand came up, pressing into Shawn cheek before he bent down and gave Shawn the softest, most chaste kiss he could remember. With the effect of a light going out, Shawn's mind was silenced, focusing on the first thing Shawn'd ever had that even resembled something true.
Shawn shook his head and made a soft noise, trying to pull away. Lassiter's hands held him still, right under his jawline, and with the counter at his back, he had no where to go. He kissed Shawn again, and this time there was an insistent pressure, a slide from the corner of his mouth onto his lips. Shawn's eyes closed and his fingers gripped Lassiter's coat and he hazily wondered if he was pushing the man away or pulling him in.
Shawn felt drugged. The world was smooth and slow, all blanketing warmth against his cold skin. Shawn hummed quietly into the kiss and worked his hands under Lassiter's suit, finding liquid heat that worked its way into his body through his arms. Lassiter got a different idea and with a shrug of his shoulders, his jacket hit the floor behind him. Shawn shook his head, wanted to tell him no, you don't understand, but Lassiter pressed against him, one hand sliding up his back, under his shirt and the other cupping Shawn's neck to tilt his head to the side before he really kissed him, biting Shawn's lips to get him to open up and Shawn did, rewarded with the taste of coffee and too much sugar and exhaustion.
He eventually freed Shawn enough so Shawn could breathe and he took long, shallow gulps of air as Lassiter watched him with softened eyes. His gaze stung, that damned understanding and candidness and... Shawn closed his eyes and leaned against Lassiter, resting his forehead against his shoulder. That look in his eyes was wholly new and strange to Shawn.
Lassiter's fingers ran through Shawn's hair, lulling him, yet waking him more effectively than anything else.
Lassiter licked his lips, taking a deep breath before saying in a quiet voice, "Trust me, please."
And, Christ, this was so screwed up and at the same time not. Shawn just didn't have his eyes open to the obvious. "I- I'm not a psychic, I'm-"
Lassiter kissed him, rough and punishing, pushing his way in and bruising Shawn's lips. When he pulled back, it was slight, and when he spoke, Shawn could feel the movement. "That's not what I want and you're not dense enough to think it is."
Shawn closed his eyes and hung his head, thinking, trying to find his way in foreign lands. He heard Lassiter sigh and move slightly away, giving Shawn room. Shawn slipped away from the counter and into a more open area, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked back to see Lassiter watching him with his icy eyes darkened to a deeper blue.
Shawn licked his lips, tasting something not his own, and nodded. "Lassiter, I have never not trusted you."
Lassiter crossed the room to Shawn, reached out for his wrists and folded Shawn against him, holding Shawn's arms loosely pinned behind his back. "You need to start calling me by my name."
"Carlton."
He hummed in response, lips against Shawn's cheek to ask quietly, "Please," to which Shawn nodded before slipping his hands out of Carlton's grasp and grabbing his collar. He pulled him down into another kiss, regaining some control. Carlton's hand slid under Shawn's shirt, moving fleetingly, tracing his ribs, running along his spine, all while Carlton pushed Shawn out of the living room until the back of his legs hit something and Shawn fell backward onto his bed, dragging Carlton with him.
Something in Shawn's chest tightened and vaguely hurt; this was painful, but in the way of music and physics and the rush of a good lie- a warm, guilty pleasure, but this was without the guilt because maybe Shawn could finally come clean about all the facades and fronts. They were his life, the things that held up his world, but Shawn, thinking slowly and faintly as he was stretched and covered and pressed deep into the mattress, considered the stakes and thought the reward might be worth the risk. There was nothing to lose but an detached, grey life that Shawn was getting sick of anyway.
When he opened his eyes later, Shawn could see the green light of the clock reading 2:42 and the unnatural blue of Carlton's eyes watching him steadily, face open and contemplative.
Carlton whispered a question into the dark, "Why are you still here?"
Shawn knew what he was asking, and Shawn still didn't know, But with a heavy arm like an anchor around his waist and a mind full of truths instead of lies, Shawn thought maybe he had the basic idea.
I am extremely proud of myself for finally finishing this bastard. *slumps to floor*
-Luce
Author: Lucia Zephyr (lucia_tanaka)
Fandom: Psych
Genre: Character study, drama
Rating: PG-13 for slash and occasional darkfic-vibes
Summary: Of pianos, first kisses, trip-ups, semantics, aspirin, facades, and mental slight of hand. Seven glances into the mind of Shawn Spencer.
Author Notes: I know, I know, I know. I said I wouldn't write another "five ways" thingie, but this is COMPLETELY Ashley/lunarwolfik's fault. Damn her.
This fic is essentially my view of Shawn Spencer, who is a really screwed up guy in my head. Under the cut is much made-up history, blink-and-you-miss-'em characterizations, and a bunch of stuff that'll be completely jossed in January. Enjoy!
1.
Shawn can play three instruments. One doesn't count because every self-respecting teenager in Shawn's day picked up the guitar. Hendrix always floats onto the radio again every couple years.
Shawn likes playing soft music on his guitar- the same he bought with his first paycheck when he was sixteen. Years later, he brought it with him when he went to stay with his mother after the separation. She loved him for it. They'd sit in the living room and she'd listen. Mom would curl up in the armchair, her hands wrapped around a thick mug of spicy tea, and Shawn would stretch out on the futon. He played her Jack Johnson, because you didn't need any accompaniment for his music, playing the notes from memory. He never needed music sheets to make Mom smile with "Flake", to get her to sing, though the chorus always made her cry the second time around. "Catharsis, Shawnie," she'd always say when he stopped, not wanting to see her like this. "It's a good thing."
Shawn learned drums because Gus got the music kick a bit late and suddenly realized he was meant for musical greatness. Shawn couldn't say no, so he played along and taught Gus to play guitar while he picked up drums. Gus burned out on songwriting before he worked up to the intermediate guitar course. Shawn never left the drums behind- his mind never left anything behind- and he liked to make noise after going out on the town and coming home alone.
Shawn latched onto the piano the most though. It was easy and smooth and made everyone look at him differently. You can be the cookie-cutter class clown until you played piano in Mr. Fillion's music elective class. The piano was special, like a dear friend who had even more far-fetched dreams and aspirations than Shawn did. The piano could be classical and refined, then flip over and be rock and roll. She stood for understanding and not asking more than he wanted to give. She wasn't choosy in what he did.
Shawn's father didn't see the point. Before Shawn left, he leaned on the piano while Shawn tapped out a simple beat he made up in his head, said, "there's no point unless you plan to be a musician, Shawn. Which you won't be. No son of mine it going to throw all his lessons away to be a lounge singer." Shawn just nodded and kept quiet.
He still owned his instruments. The guitar was against the wall in his room. The drums were set out as a weird kind of decoration to the main room. Against the far wall, though, was the piano. She was covered with a long, brown cloth, masking her to be almost like fancy furniture, but Shawn could toss the cloth up and out of the way in a moment. When the pull of his mind got too hard, trying to solve too many cases, trying to follow Dad's training, she was ready for him, asking only for what he wanted to give. The sheet music of Ben Fold's "Selfless, Cold, and Composed" was always open and waiting behind Shawn's eyelids. This was his, something he learned himself, something Dad had nothing to do with. He needed to have something he found himself, not given to him.
2.
Strictly speaking, Shawn's first kiss was Betty Saunders behind the stands at the high school football team's homecoming game. She was sixteen and he was a month away from it and she was nervous about her date with the full-back next Friday. She pulled Shawn aside and asked for advice. Shawn was clueless. Girls liked him, sure, but not enough that he has any real experience. They both laughed about their own troubles and Betty offered Shawn a way they could both learn a thing or two, her eyes wide, making Shawn think they were the most beautiful color green he'd ever seen.
The kiss was methodical and clinical and the taste of the lipstick Betty wore seemed to stay in his mouth for a week, making him run his tongue against his teeth, trying to get rid of it.
A few months after that disaster, Shawn was waiting for Gus's study club to let out. He had a lot of time and was willing to waste it, not wanting to go home and deal with Dad. There he met Gregory Malozzi when he tripped over Shawn's backpack after the Science Olympiad meeting let out. Greg had a smooth, low voice, a smile so blinding that it rivaled Shawn's own, and was the biggest science geek in the school.
He was also extremely friendly and Shawn found himself walking alongside Greg as they went down the road to 31 Flavors. Greg bought them both banana shakes and tried to explain the concept of white holes to Shawn. He used his hands a lot, making complicated gestures and painting diagrams in the air so complex, Shawn almost understood what Greg was so excited about. That it was so powerful and awesome, but completely impossible according to what Greg called "respectable physics". When Greg asked if he was making "a mole of sense", Shawn grinned and said yes, he was. Greg walked Shawn back to the school and asked if he'd be loitering around again tomorrow around the same time. Shawn didn't have to, could have gone off to Gus's house to hang out, but said he'd be there. Greg's face lit up with a smile.
They had shakes for two weeks, their talks getting more involved and their walks getting longer as they searched out private, scenic routes. Greg always walked Shawn home if they got out of the shake shop past five, babbling on about theories and physics and philosophy. Shawn learned more from Greg than he had from all his science teachers in his entire educational history.
One day, about a month after they first met, Greg walked Shawn home, using the longest way they knew, walking through the trees, secluded and away from the streets and cars and people. Greg was talking about how atoms shouldn't work. "The center is made of positively charged particles, the electrons flying around are negatively charged, so why the hell doesn't the whole thing collapse on itself?"
"That opposites attract thingie?"
"Yes, yes, exactly."
Greg laughed a bit too loud, Shawn smiled a bit too much, and then Greg went quiet, staring at Shawn. Shawn felt his ears turn red when he noticed how amazingly clear and blue Greg's eyes were before he was pressed gently into a tree and then they were kissing.
Shawn's favorite color, even years later, was that indescribable light blue. Whenever he thinks of his first kiss, he smiles and thinks of the cool taste of banana, not the impersonal taste of wax.
3.
Shawn could fool anyone. There was never anyone he came across that he couldn't charm into believing every word that came out of his mouth. It was a gift that Shawn utilized every day of his life. Then Shawn walked into the interrogation room of the Santa Barbara Police Department and made one giant screw-up.
Lassiter had the dark hair and clean features Greg had. Greg had meant loosening up, not worrying about keeping track of his lies, not having to lie at all. Lassiter had those goddamn icy blue eyes.
If it hadn't been for that subconscious mental connection, he'd have left Lassiter in the dark from their first meeting. Their current dance around each other would never have happened. Shawn's life would certainly have been a lot easier too. But, nevertheless, Shawn's mind whispered "relax" at him and it was all the accomplished detective needed to get irreversibly suspicious.
But Shawn had a knack for turning a bad situation good. Within two months of PD work, Shawn had a mental list of the top ten ways to drive Detective Lassiter insane. In Shawn's mind, Lassiter didn't stand for what Greg had, but something completely different and just as necessary. Shawn knew how to get Lassiter angry and combative in minutes because he liked the man best that way.
Lassiter meant hidden strengths that Shawn sometimes considered comparable to his own. He meant a snapping reply, having to think twice as fast so as not to slip up, and a rough slam into the wall when Shawn just wasn't fast enough.
Shawn liked how sharp and jaded Lassiter was. It was a nice change- not always being the one with all the power.
4.
Gus always called Shawn his best friend. Shawn always called Gus the brother he never had.
People lie to their siblings all the time. They never lie to their best friends.
5.
Shawn started getting headaches at fourteen. Migraines were hereditary on his Dad's side, so Mom worried about him whenever he left the living room to lay down in his room with the curtains closed and the lights off. It didn't help that his parents yelled at each other about it, the loud arguments making the throbbing pain behind his eyes intensify.
After Shawn had to stay home from school because of the pain, Mom went out to the store and bought a bottle of aspirin, a fifty-tablet container. It took three to handle it, and Shawn went through the first batch in just over three months. From then on, Mom bought the large hundred-tablet jugs, keeping them in the bedside table by Shawn's bed for whenever he needed it.
Over fifteen years later, Shawn still used the same brand of aspirin. He'd taken so many, his immunity to the meds had increased drastically.
Whenever Shawn solved a case for the SBPD and started to feel thankful for his training, he remembered that it now took seven or more aspirins to take the edge off a headache and promptly fell back to hating his father.
6.
Where Lassiter was just too sharp to be tricked, Juliet wasn't. She was young, new, and still had that just-out-of-the-Academy glow. She believed in the good of people and Shawn noticed it right away, before he even knew who she was.
Juliet was easy. Shawn knew how to smile and where to pout and the reasons Juliet needed to let him have free reign. It was so simple, it didn't take thought. After, she always smiled and said thank you. Shawn would crack a joke while just dying to say, "you're a cop, act like it".
Shawn almost felt guilty about it. She was a rookie and the PD knew it. They put her with their most seasoned detective for a reason, after all. But with Shawn happily driving Lassiter up the wall, it left Juliet unprotected and open. If the Chief knew the ways Juliet broke protocol, she'd be in a huge amount of trouble.
The more it happened, the more Shawn found it harder to smile and flirt with Juliet. He needed her for information, certainly, but she was slowly getting easier to manipulate. It wasn't supposed to work that way. She was supposed to watch Lassiter and learn, for god's sake, not become this starry-eyed girl who thought Shawn was a prophet of case solutions.
It was hard to play against people when there was no competition.
7.
Shawn was on his bike, messing with his helmet outside the SBPD when Lassiter walked over to him. He put one hand on the bike's handlebars, drawing Shawn's gaze up.
Shawn was growing to hate that look on Lassiter's face. Things were changing. Shawn didn't live just to drive Lassiter insane anymore. Lassiter didn't try to fight with Shawn at every step anymore. The only person who Shawn had even been in any sort of relationship with for more than a month was Gus, and even that fell apart. Gus got a spectacular offer from his pharmaceutical company. They'd start training him for higher work. Gus was in college in Southern Cali now.
So what the hell was he still doing here?
Lassiter's hand slid bonelessly off the bike and into his pants pocket. "You shouldn't be driving after that."
Shawn looked away, leaning forward to examine the gauges of his bike. He wasn't going to talk about this to Lassiter. It was normal for a person to be shaken up. Shawn got in position to take off.
"Spencer." Both of Lassiter's hands gripped the handlebars of Shawn's bike. Shawn's hands were already there and Lassiter's pressed over the backs of Shawn's unabashedly. "I should have-"
"Don't, Lassiter," Shawn whispered back, trying not to think of how the criminal managed to break free of the interrogation room guards to launch himself at Shawn. O'Reilly, the suspected (and probable) murderer used the chain of his cuffs against Shawn's neck to get leverage. O'Reilly had been taller and Shawn had to stand on his toes to avoid choking.
"I had the shot earlier, I could have-"
"Stop it." Shawn demanded and Lassiter's voice dropped instantly. He knew Lassiter had the shot. Shawn knew how to triangulate shots. He also knew that if Lassiter had pulled a headshot and killed O'Reilly, Shawn would have punched him. They'd worked for a week just to track the suspect down. To lose him before a proper questioning would have been worse than a few minutes of cut-off air and a new bruise on his neck.
God, what was he doing here?
Lassiter had that look, that dangerous set to his face that was far more risky than the sharp, angry one he used to always wear around Shawn. This was still confrontational, but not like it used to be. It was calm and collected. Shawn wasn't good at that.
By looking away from his face, Shawn's eyes settled uneasily on Lassiter's hand over his. It wasn't much better.
"Don't drive home."
It wasn't commanding or harsh. It was quiet and almost lost to the breeze against Shawn's ears. And when the pressure against his hands lessened just enough for him to be able to pull away, Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. Things were too different now. It was easier when it was all instinctual, without thought. Now Lassiter kept giving him chances and choices that Shawn didn't know what to do with.
Shawn pulled one hand away and felt more than saw Lassiter tense. But all Shawn did was take the key out of the ignition. He tossed the keys into the air and Lassiter caught them easily.
Lassiter drove him home, silent, leaving Shawn to chase questions around his head. Why still keep his secret, why keep acting, why didn't he feel any fear when O'Reilly wrapped that chain around his neck...
Through the reflection on the window, he could see Lassiter stare at him at every red light. He looked like he had his own questions to mull over.
Lassiter followed him up to his apartment, making Shawn pause and give him a inquistive look. Lassiter held up one hand that had Shawn's keys looped over one finger. Shawn gestured for Lassiter to give them over, but Lassiter ignored him, continuing up the stairs. He unlocked Shawn's door and let Shawn in, immediately following.
There was no time for the expected awkward silence. Lassiter finally said, "You didn't fight him. You could have died." Shawn shook his head and walked to lean on the kitchen counter with Lassiter trailing after him. "Tell me why."
Shawn bent over the counter, wanting to sink into the cool surface, but then Lassiter's hand was on his shoulder, turning him around so his back was to it.
"Shawn."
Shawn had been looking forward to the precipice, that last chance to turn back and get control of his life again, only to have Lassiter tell him he'd missed that point by a mile, simply by saying his name.
He missed it by a lot more than a mile, because Lassiter's hand came up, pressing into Shawn cheek before he bent down and gave Shawn the softest, most chaste kiss he could remember. With the effect of a light going out, Shawn's mind was silenced, focusing on the first thing Shawn'd ever had that even resembled something true.
Shawn shook his head and made a soft noise, trying to pull away. Lassiter's hands held him still, right under his jawline, and with the counter at his back, he had no where to go. He kissed Shawn again, and this time there was an insistent pressure, a slide from the corner of his mouth onto his lips. Shawn's eyes closed and his fingers gripped Lassiter's coat and he hazily wondered if he was pushing the man away or pulling him in.
Shawn felt drugged. The world was smooth and slow, all blanketing warmth against his cold skin. Shawn hummed quietly into the kiss and worked his hands under Lassiter's suit, finding liquid heat that worked its way into his body through his arms. Lassiter got a different idea and with a shrug of his shoulders, his jacket hit the floor behind him. Shawn shook his head, wanted to tell him no, you don't understand, but Lassiter pressed against him, one hand sliding up his back, under his shirt and the other cupping Shawn's neck to tilt his head to the side before he really kissed him, biting Shawn's lips to get him to open up and Shawn did, rewarded with the taste of coffee and too much sugar and exhaustion.
He eventually freed Shawn enough so Shawn could breathe and he took long, shallow gulps of air as Lassiter watched him with softened eyes. His gaze stung, that damned understanding and candidness and... Shawn closed his eyes and leaned against Lassiter, resting his forehead against his shoulder. That look in his eyes was wholly new and strange to Shawn.
Lassiter's fingers ran through Shawn's hair, lulling him, yet waking him more effectively than anything else.
Lassiter licked his lips, taking a deep breath before saying in a quiet voice, "Trust me, please."
And, Christ, this was so screwed up and at the same time not. Shawn just didn't have his eyes open to the obvious. "I- I'm not a psychic, I'm-"
Lassiter kissed him, rough and punishing, pushing his way in and bruising Shawn's lips. When he pulled back, it was slight, and when he spoke, Shawn could feel the movement. "That's not what I want and you're not dense enough to think it is."
Shawn closed his eyes and hung his head, thinking, trying to find his way in foreign lands. He heard Lassiter sigh and move slightly away, giving Shawn room. Shawn slipped away from the counter and into a more open area, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked back to see Lassiter watching him with his icy eyes darkened to a deeper blue.
Shawn licked his lips, tasting something not his own, and nodded. "Lassiter, I have never not trusted you."
Lassiter crossed the room to Shawn, reached out for his wrists and folded Shawn against him, holding Shawn's arms loosely pinned behind his back. "You need to start calling me by my name."
"Carlton."
He hummed in response, lips against Shawn's cheek to ask quietly, "Please," to which Shawn nodded before slipping his hands out of Carlton's grasp and grabbing his collar. He pulled him down into another kiss, regaining some control. Carlton's hand slid under Shawn's shirt, moving fleetingly, tracing his ribs, running along his spine, all while Carlton pushed Shawn out of the living room until the back of his legs hit something and Shawn fell backward onto his bed, dragging Carlton with him.
Something in Shawn's chest tightened and vaguely hurt; this was painful, but in the way of music and physics and the rush of a good lie- a warm, guilty pleasure, but this was without the guilt because maybe Shawn could finally come clean about all the facades and fronts. They were his life, the things that held up his world, but Shawn, thinking slowly and faintly as he was stretched and covered and pressed deep into the mattress, considered the stakes and thought the reward might be worth the risk. There was nothing to lose but an detached, grey life that Shawn was getting sick of anyway.
When he opened his eyes later, Shawn could see the green light of the clock reading 2:42 and the unnatural blue of Carlton's eyes watching him steadily, face open and contemplative.
Carlton whispered a question into the dark, "Why are you still here?"
Shawn knew what he was asking, and Shawn still didn't know, But with a heavy arm like an anchor around his waist and a mind full of truths instead of lies, Shawn thought maybe he had the basic idea.
I am extremely proud of myself for finally finishing this bastard. *slumps to floor*
-Luce