Secret Santa for hugmebrotha: Psych

[Nas]

Hey, hugmebrotha!  I was so psyched (  ) to get you for secret Santa this year!  You're a great friend and I hope you like this story.

 

Title: Murphy's Stupid Law

Characters: Shawn, Lassie, Gus, Jules, Chief Vick

Pairings: lowkey Shassie 

Word count: 2104

 

Shawn Spencer has many qualities—some of them are even good—but “responsible” clearly isn’t one of them.  

Somehow he had managed to be late in paying his utility bills, make only fifty dollars for the month, and catch a particularly persistent cold.  Needless to say, he'd been desperate for cases—mooching off of his best friend would only get him so far.  Shawn really needed to manage his money better. 

Fortunately, he was appointed to a fairly high-paying case on Monday. Unfortunately, that's why he's currently bound to a chair, completely miserable. 

He tries to look around, but his eyes still haven't quite adjusted to the darkness.  Before he has the opportunity to realize what’s happening, his chest spasms into a fit of coughing, jerking his entire core against the ropes. It was then he noticed the raw pain in his side and ribcage. 

And head...don't forget head, he thinks, longing to bring his fingers to his temples. 

All of his vague thoughts dissolve as he hears a familiar voice, brimming with concern. “Shawn, you sound terrible!”  

Gus!  He hadn't realized that his best friend was here too. Now that he was thinking about it, it wouldn't make sense if Gus weren't there. Through guttural coughs he’s trying to ask where they were. Or say really anything. 

“Oh my God, Shawn…” Gus sounds like he's trying not to freak out.  After a pause, he brought out a more soothing tone. “Take a deep breath.”  

It's then that he realizes they're sitting back-to-back. The chairs are probably tied together too. Shawn draws in a slow breath, hoping his lungs won't betray him. After a few final coughs he feels confident that he'll be able to speak, though he's trembling from the cold temperature of the room. “How long’ve we been here?” His hoarse voice cracks on the last word. 

“Not sure,” says Gus, “He knocked me out.”  

Shawn audibly groans and clears his throat.  He then attempts to come up with a plan in his murky conscious. “Did you call Lassie or Jules?”

“No, he took my phone...I already checked.”

Shawn shifts, trying to feel if his phone is in his back pocket. It isn't. “Great...mine’s gone too. 

“Shawn, you really don't sound good.  How long have you had that cough?”

The pseudo psychic groaned again. “I don't remember.”

Despite not being a real psychic, Shawn could sense that Gus was probably glaring at him. “You have an eidetic memory.  Don't give me that.”  

“Probably since the end of last week.”  

He had known exactly when it had started. Normally at the slightest sniffle or sore throat he’d act like death was at the door. This time, however, was different; he needed money. He now had to pay extra fees for missing the initial bills, and he really didn't want to get evicted...again.  He needed to just get through this case—then he could keel over and have Gus play nursemaid.  He started to imagine his best friend in a stereotypical French Maid costume. Gus would definitely be pissed.  Was that in some movie?  Shawn can't remember.  

He suddenly realizes he had been tuning Gus out. Honestly he couldn't believe he'd try to give a lecture at a time like this. 

“And really, frollicking around in the rain screaming ‘the drought has ended’ last weekend?  You thought that was a good idea?”

“Okay okay okay!” Shawn cuts in, unintentionally punctuating his words with a sniffle. “Let's just try to get out of here.”

xXx

Shawn had hoped the case wouldn't be too challenging. While Murphy’s Law generally applied to Carlton Lassiter’s life more than his, sometimes the stupid thing would hit him too. He supposed Lassie had taken enough abuse lately anyway—especially with his divorce being made official and all. 

The pseudo psychic had pulled one of his usual stunts of looking at the briefing board, waltzing into Chief Vick’s office, and having a miraculous vision. 

He had to put a lot of effort into his performance. Now he had to pretend to be both a psychic, and a healthy Shawn Spencer. 

He flung the chief’s door open, Gus trailing behind him like a duckling. 

“Ah, Mr. Sp—”

“POLICE! Someone's broken into my house!  I think...but...I always lock my windows and my books are out of order!”  

“He's in a trance!”  Gus exclaimed, as if any of the three people in the room needed an explanation. 

Juliet looked both intrigued and concerned, and thus doubly invested. “Shawn!  What do you see?”  

Carlton Lassiter rose to his feet. “Oh for the love of—”

“MOM!  MOM!”  Shawn ran over to Lassiter. The psychic detective had a faraway look in his eyes, but both the rest of his face and his tone displayed panic. “I don't know what happened. I'm not...I'm not crazy!  I don't know...she just...I didn't do it…”  Suddenly Shawn seemed to snap out of his “trance” and he flung his body in the direction of the head detective. Without giving it any thought, Detective Lassiter was quick to grab the shorter man and keep him from falling. 

For the moment, Shawn enjoyed the feeling of being held by his strong arms, and let his body lose all tension. Most of the time, he has this much physical contact with Lassie only when the latter manhandles him away from one crime scene or another. 

Then the head detective looked down and scowled. “Spencer, get up!”  He started to release his grip on Shawn, who accidentally stumbled forward and nearly fell to the ground. He saw Juliet visibly flinch. He hurriedly got up and stood next to Gus. 

“Alright, Mr. Spencer...You can be on the case too.”  Chief Vick said, probably hoping it would get him out of her office. 

“We’re on it, Chief!”

The two marched out of the office, Shawn with a smug look on his face. Sure he was already exhausted from that performance, but hopefully they'd solve the case today or tomorrow and then he could collapse and go to sleep. 

“Spencer, a word?”  

He didn't have to turn around to know that the silky voice was Carlton Lassiter’s. The pseudo psychic turned around anyway to present the taller man with an open-mouthed smile.  He heard Gus mutter something under his breath as Lassie pulled him away. 

“Lassie!  I miss our talks.”

“Spencer, once again, police business is not your playground!  This was my crime scene, and you brought a snack into it yesterday!”

Shawn sniffled, but played it off as if he were laughing. “Pff, I didn’t—”

“OH YES YOU DID!”  The head detective yelled, fuming with absolute rage. “Do you want to know how I know?  McNab told me!”

It was far more likely that Buzz McNab mentioned it in passing, but Shawn grimaced anyway. Not because Lassie knew he snooped on a crime scene—he really didn't care about that too much—but because he really had to sneeze. It was kind of an issue that Carlton had a large hand gripping each of Shawn’s shoulders. 

“Just...can you go a week or two without making a complete mockery of—”

Shawn suddenly wiggled out of the man’s grip and ducked into his own shoulder. “huh...EK’shh!”  

Carlton had an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was as if he didn't know if Shawn was being a smartass or not. “Uh, bless you.”  He said, Shawn assumed more out of manners than anything else. It really was a bit awkward, because Shawn knew he wouldn't have the ability to respond with a ‘thanks’ at the moment. 

“hhh...huhT’SHhh!  Huh...IX’itt...ughh…” Stifling that last one had been a real mistake; he could feel the throbbing pressure in his head intensifying. Not to mention the fact that he could feel his nose beginning to run. Shit. 

Carlton Lassiter was staring at him. The taller man had an eyebrow arched as if he already were questioning the pseudo psychic’s well-being. “Are you sick or something, Spencer?”  

“Nah,” Shawn blatantly lied, “Are you wearing a new cologne or something?” 

The head detective glared at him. “I'm not wearing any cologne.”

“Well...Froot Loops are all the same flavor.”  Shawn stated before walking away, leaving a confused and irritated Lassiter to brood upon this. 

The pseudo psychic could've been imagining it, but he swore he heard the head detective mutter a “Damnit, Spencer.”

Shawn fished through his pockets for a tissue. He definitely had packed a few; he had known he was getting sick. He found one, pulled it out and pressed it against his nostrils, and attempted to clear his sinuses before meeting up with Gus. If Gus were to catch on to the fact that he was feeling unwell, his plan to make money off this particular case would fail, and he'd end up being two months late for paying off his debts...or he'd have to borrow money from either Gus or his dad. 

He didn't want to owe either of them anything; he already owed Gus quite a bit of money—and probably time—and he sure didn't want to owe his dad anything.

They had interviewed people until Thursday when they ended up getting assaulted and chucked into what they figured was the basement of the house. 

xXx

Even from the basement, they can hear the front door crash open. 

“SBPD!  Open up!”  

Wow, he must've forgotten to throw out the phones. Doesn't he know they can be tracked?

“Chuck Johanson, you're under arrest for murder in the first degree and for kidnapping.”  Juliet O’Hara said, and began to read him his Miranda Rights. 

Carlton Lassiter went downstairs to release Shawn and Gus. “You were right...Chuck was gaslighting his sister to get all of the estate, and we have enough evidence to convict him of matricide. We were also able to track your cell phones to here.”  

“Of course I was—”  Shawn broke into a fit of violent coughing.  Ignoring the presence of two concerned stares, he fought to finish his original thought. “Right.”

Even though he was free, he didn't want to get out of the chair; he knew he would likely stumble. 

Luckily for Shawn, Gus seemed to have figured this out and he extends a hand to him to help him up. Suddenly he’s blearily looking at the ground as yet another fit of coughing overtakes his body, forcing him to bend at the waist. The congestion had moved to his chest days ago, and it still is relentless. 

And somehow there’s a pretty nice blazer around his shoulders. Lassie!

Was he shivering before?  He must have been. 

“You sound like hell, Sh—Spencer.”  

Did he just?

“Will I get paid?”  Shawn rasps, serious for one of the only times in his life. 

“What?  Yes.”  Carlton replies. The head detective’s had a bewildered expression. Shawn sees him look at Gus. They must've had some kind of unspoken understanding. The head detective feels his forehead with the back of his cool hand and says something almost incoherent to Shawn. All the pseudo psychic can think about is Lassie’s warm jacket and cool hand. 

And the last thing Shawn remembers is those strong arms. 

xXx

Where am I?  

“You're in my apartment.” It was that silky voice again!  Wait did he say that out loud?  Probably. 

“O-Okay.”  Shawn says, “W-Why am I h-here, Velma?”  He's deliberately provoking the head detective despite his own discomfort. It's just a habit at this point. He's so cold that he can barely focus on the head detective’s face. 

“Shawn, you had a pretty high fever and my apartment was the closest…”

Shawn looked down and saw that he was laying in a bathtub full of ice in only his underwear.  Well...that explains why I'm f-freezing. “Uhh…” He shuddered, “How high?”

“Nearly one-hundred-and-four.  A doctor was here a few hours ago...do you remember that?”  Carlton asks, and relieves a slight shake of the head from Shawn. The head detective sighs, pinching the bridge of his own nose.  “Gus and Juliet are taking a nap on my couch…”

It was almost strange to think of the head detective having a normal home despite the fact that he's seen it before. 

“How did you—” Shawn cuts himself off by coughing yet again. Lassiter is at his side, awkwardly rubbing his shirtless back. 

Um, what? 

Shawn must be blushing. Well, he would if he could feel anything except numb from the ice. “Lassie...c-can I please get out of here?”

“Your fever is probably down enough now…”

“Lassie?”

“What?”

“You called me Shawn.”  Shawn says, letting his mouth form into a genuine smile. 

 

[hugmebrotha]

Oh my GOD.  I am in total love with this story! Thank you so much!! Where do I even begin...

1) This story is HILARIOUS!!! I was trying hard not to crack up in class when Shawn was in his 'trance' and screwing around with Lassie!! AND THE FRENCH MAID PART, OH MY GOD. You totally nailed Shawn's POV!! 

2) LOWKEY SHASSIE!!! God. Their ice bath conversation drove me insane!  Totally adorable, awkward fluff (and so hot when Lassie checked Shawn's fever and held him!!! AHHH!!!) Also, Shawn's sneezing and Lassie's awkward 'bless you' !!!! THE CUTENESS IS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE!!!

3) "You called me Shawn." Perfect ending. Stop. I'm so giddy from this lowkey Shassie fluff and sick Shawn. Your writing is flawless!!!

 

Thank you so much again dude, I'm in total LOVE!!!

Edited December 9, 2016 by hugmebrotha

[Sophie<3]

I don't know this fandom at all (in fact, at first I didn't realize "Psych" was the name of the show, and I thought maybe you'd told hugmebrotha that somebody else was your Secret Santa recipient and now you were like: "Psych! It's you!" You know, as in "sike"! ) but I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed this! Even without knowing the characters, I liked their interactions! And Shawn sounds cute.  

[sneezy_frnk]

This was sooo cute! There isn't a lot of Psych fics and I needed more of them in my life and this one is awesome