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“Gooood morning, Jules!” exclaimed Shawn as he waltzed into the precinct.
Across the room, Juliet’s head snapped up from her paperwork. She jumped out of her seat like she’d sat on a tack. Shawn waved to her and tossed his empty smoothie cup at the garbage can. It missed by at least a foot, and drops of pineapple mango goodness splattered across the floor. He moved to pick it up, but before he could, Juliet appeared behind him and grabbed him by the arm.
“Shawn, you need to be quiet!” she hissed in a panicky whisper.
“Why? What’s up?” asked Shawn.
Juliet pursed her lips together and pointed across the room, toward Lassiter’s desk. Shawn rounded the corner, expecting to see the uptight detective on the phone, but instead, a very different sight awaited him.
Lassiter was sitting at his desk… Well, sitting was a strong word. His arms were folded on top of a stack of papers, with his head resting on them like a pillow.
“Is he dead?” Shawn asked.
Juliet’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Dead?”
Shawn gestured to Lassiter. “I didn’t think he would ever be caught dead sleeping on the job, so I figured he might have died.”
Juliet sighed, resting her hands on her hips. “He isn’t dead… or at least, not last time I checked. I think he’s sick, though.”
“Really?” Shawn walked around the detective’s desk in a slow circle, trying to get a glimpse of his face. “I… honestly figured that wasn’t possible either.”
“Neither did I, but yeah, I’m pretty sure he has the flu. He was stumbling around and coughing up a lung, but he snapped at anyone who tried to ask if he was okay,” said Juliet. “Honestly, we were all pretty relieved when he fell asleep, so we’ve been trying to stay really quiet, but we can’t keep it up for much longer. Can you take him home?”
“Take him home?” Shawn echoed. “Jules, I didn’t take you for a matchmaker.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Please, Shawn. I’ve got officers interrogating suspects in whispers. We can’t work like this.”
Shawn glanced down at Lassiter again. The detective’s face was buried in his crossed arms, motionless except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. For some reason, the idea of tossing a blanket over him ran through Shawn’s head.
“Fiiiine,” he said. “I’d say you owe me one, but honestly, seeing Lassie all cute and vulnerable will be a reward in and of itself.”
He walked over to Lassiter’s desk, picked up a hefty book, and dropped it onto the floor. At the loud sound, Lassiter sat up straight. He looked up at Shawn, eyes wide.
Shawn squinted, taking everything in. Lassiter was definitely paler than normal, and Shawn didn’t miss the feverish flush to his cheeks. The collar of his shirt was crooked, his tie loose, something that normal Lassie would have freaked out over. Yeah, that looked like the flu.
“Morning, Lassifrass,” said Shawn, giving him a little salute. “Or should I say afternoon?”
“Spencer?” asked Lassiter. His voice was hoarse. “I thought you weren’t coming by until 1:30.”
“It is 1:30,” said Shawn.
Lassiter glanced down at his watch, and his eyes widened momentarily before shaking his sleeve back over the watch. “Right. I knew that.”
He coughed a few times before standing up slowly, and it didn’t take a (fake) psychic to see how much he was leaning on the edge of his desk as he looked between Juliet and Shawn. “So? What are we waiting for?”
Juliet said nothing, but shot a pointed look at Shawn, who sighed. “All right, Lassie, I just talked to the chief,” he said. “She gave me an address. We’ve gotta go.”
Lassiter raised an eyebrow. “Go where? I thought we had a meeting.”
Shawn opened his mouth, but Juliet was on it this time. “Oh, don’t you remember?” she asked Lassiter. “The chief came by about twenty minutes ago to explain the situation. You… were listening, weren’t you?”
“Of course,” said Lassiter quickly. “Right, then. Let’s go, Spencer.”
As he turned to grab his coat, Shawn fist-bumped Juliet, who then grabbed a file folder off of her desk and held it out to Lassiter. “Here. Let Shawn drive, okay? You’ve got to read this on the way.”
“Spencer, driving my car?” asked Lassiter incredulously. He scoffed, but stayed quiet as he walked toward the door.
Juliet wrote an address down on a sticky note, which she handed to Shawn. “Thank you for this,” she said.
Shawn took the note, scanned it, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Bye, Jules. Want me to send you a picture when I get Lassie all tucked up in bed?”
Juliet rolled her eyes with a dry laugh. “Just go, Shawn.”
Shawn waved at her and turned around, heading for the door. Outside, Lassiter was standing by his car, peeking under his sunglasses at the file folder Juliet had given him. When he saw Shawn approaching, he sighed and held out his keys.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said.
Once they got into the car, Shawn looked around, running a finger over the upholstery of the seat. “Oooh, baby. This is a nice ride.”
“You’ve been in it before,” said Lassiter, tucking his sunglasses back into the pocket of his jacket.
“Not in this seat.”
Lassiter scoffed, which turned into a series of rough coughs. Shawn glanced over as he put the keys in the ignition. “You okay there, Lassie?”
“I’m fine. Now drive.”
“Whatever you say.” Shawn turned the key and they pulled off.
A few minutes into the drive, the sound of papers fluttering made Shawn glance over again. Lassiter’s head had lolled back against the seat, eyes closed, the file folder’s contents emptied over his lap. Shawn rolled his eyes and looked back to the road.
It took about fifteen minutes to get to Lassiter’s house. Once they parked, Shawn reached over and shook the detective. “Wakey wakey, Carlytown.”
Lassiter opened his eyes with a start. “I’m awake,” he said, gathering the papers. “Are we here?” He glanced outside, and then turned back to Shawn, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Why are we at my house, Spencer?”
“Surprise,” said Shawn with a shit-eating grin.
Lassiter scowled. “Give me the keys. How did you get this address, anyway?”
“Jules gave it to me, actually,” said Shawn. “Apparently the entire department was getting really sick of you being, well, really sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Lassiter snapped quickly.
“Sure you aren’t. You just slept through the entire drive here because, I dunno, someone drugged you when I wasn’t looking?”
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “I don’t have to tell you anything. Just give me the keys, Spencer. We’re going back to the precinct.”
Shawn held out the keys, and when Lassiter reached for them, he snatched them back. “Slow reflexes, Lassie,” he said, shaking his head. “You really are sick.”
Lassiter lunged for the keys again, and Shawn twisted to avoid him. As they tussled, Shawn’s arm brushed by the side of Lassiter’s face, and he gasped. “Wait, wait. Time out.“ Stuffing the keys in his pocket, he reached out and felt Lassiter’s forehead before the detective could react. “Dude, you’re burning up. 100 degrees, maybe 101.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that,” hissed Lassiter, grabbing Shawn’s wrist and twisting it. The psychic yelped in pain and pulled away.
“Ow. Still got a strong grip… maybe I’m wrong,” said Shawn. “If you have a thermometer at home, we can test my theory.”
A vein pulsed in Lassiter’s forehead. “Look, Spencer, you are not coming into my house. You are going to give me the keys, and I am going to—“ All of a sudden, a breath caught in his throat and he began to cough, quickly burying his face in the crook of his elbow to muffle the sound. Shawn sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do, but finally settled for patting the detective’s back awkwardly.
Once the coughing subsided, Lassiter sat back, breathing heavily. Shawn raised an eyebrow. “You okay there, Lassifrass? Still got both lungs in there?” He tapped Lassiter’s chest with one finger.
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, stop denying it, man,” said Shawn. “It doesn’t take a psychic to see you’re sick. Just let me take you inside, okay?”
Evidently that coughing fit had taken a lot out of Lassiter, because he only nodded. They both got out of the car. Shawn followed Lassiter up to the front door and into the house. Inside, Lassiter made a beeline for his couch and sat down with a sigh, leaning his head back. “Keys,” he said without looking over at Shawn.
Shawn set the keys down on the table in front of the couch.
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” said Shawn, and flopped down on the couch beside Lassiter, who slowly turned his head to glare at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting down,” Shawn told him, kicking off his shoes and resting his feet up on the table. “Where’s your TV remote?”
Lassiter narrowed his eyebrows. “No, I mean why the hell aren’t you leaving?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Shawn. “We took your car here, and I don’t have a way home.”
“So take a taxi.”
“I didn’t bring my wallet.”
Lassiter reached into his pocket and pulled out his own wallet. “I’ll pay for it. Just… get out of here, okay?”
Shawn took the $20 bill Lassiter offered him and pocketed it. “Nah, I don’t think I will.”
“Wha… What the hell do you mean?”
“Well, if I leave, you’re probably just gonna try to drive back to work, fall asleep at the wheel, crash into a pole, and Jules is gonna kill me,” said Shawn. “So… yeah. I’m gonna stay right here.”
“You’re an idiot,” said Lassiter.
“Aaaand you aren’t denying it.”
Lassiter held his gaze for a moment, brow furrowed. Shawn winked, and Lassiter turned away, scowling. “Fine, you can stay,” he grumbled. “Just… don’t be a nuisance. And give me back my money.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Shawn, crossing his arms behind his head. “That’s my fee.”
“For what?” asked Lassiter. “For annoying me?”
“For taking care of you,” Shawn shot back with a grin. “Sorry, I didn’t have the chance to pack my sexy nurse outfit this time.”
Colour rose in Lassiter’s cheeks and the tips of his ears — and Shawn was pretty damn sure it wasn’t from the fever. He laughed triumphantly. “All right, time to get started. Where do you keep your pajamas, Lassie?”
“I am not telling you that.”
“Come on. There’s no way you can relax in that tight shirt and those stupid holsters.” Shawn jumped to his feet. “Where are the pajamas? Upstairs?”
He wandered toward the stairs, and only stopped when Lassiter grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “No no. You are not going up there,” he snapped. “Fine. If it means so much to you, I’ll go change. Just… stay here and don’t touch anything.”
Shawn saluted. “Aye aye, captain.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, but trudged upstairs anyway. Shawn hovered at the bottom of the stairs for a moment to make sure he made it up safely, and then darted into the kitchen. Don’t touch anything? Nah, screw that. He was gonna make Lassie something to eat.
He opened up the fridge. A carton of milk and a half-full jar of tomato sauce stared balefully back at him. Shawn pawed at the back of the fridge to make sure the rest of the food wasn’t in some hidden compartment, but sure enough, that was it. Next, he opened the freezer — a handful of frozen dinners. Not even one tub of ice cream!
“My god,” muttered Shawn to himself. “Do you survive on photosynthesis, Carlytown?”
After closing the freezer, he moved to the cupboards. Some salt, sugar, a few spices, and — aha! — a lone, slightly dented can of chicken noodle soup at the very back. Shawn grabbed it and scanned for an expiration date. “Next month,” he said triumphantly. “All right!”
When Lassiter came back downstairs, wearing a plain t-shirt and striped grey pajama pants, Shawn was stirring the soup on the stove. After taking a moment to process seeing Lassiter in… well, anything other than his usual suit, Shawn grinned and waved.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Lassiter.
“Making soup.”
“Where did you get soup? ”
“Er… it was in one of your cupboards.”
Lassiter raised an eyebrow. “I thought I told you not to touch anything.”
“Meh, I’m not so good at following instructions,” said Shawn. “Sit down and get cozy, okay? I’ll bring this out to you when it’s done.”
Lassiter gave a small, frustrated sigh, but he headed back over to the couch. Hearing the sound of intermittent coughing coming from that direction, Shawn looked through the cupboards until he found a glass, which he filled with water to bring over with the soup.
It only took a few more minutes for the soup to finish. Shawn poured it into a bowl and brought it over to the couch along with the glass of water. “Ta-da,” he exclaimed, setting both of them in front of Lassiter and splaying his hands in a presenting manner. “We have a rich broth with hand-cut noodles and julienned chicken and carrots, paired with a glass of fresh H2O, and… oh. A spoon. You probably need that, right?” He dashed back into the kitchen and opened drawers at random until he found what could pass for a cutlery drawer — one spoon, one fork, and one knife… what the hell? He grabbed the spoon and brought it back to the couch.
Lassiter was staring at the meal, and only looked up when Shawn dropped the spoon into the bowl of soup. “Why are you doing this?” he asked finally.
“What do you mean?” asked Shawn, plopping down on the couch beside him.
“Hanging around here, trying to get me into pajamas, cooking for me,” said Lassiter. “What’s your angle?”
“My… angle?”
“What are you getting out of this?”
“The satisfaction of helping a friend in need,” said Shawn. “Of course, getting to see you in your pajamas is pretty nice too. But it’s mostly the first thing. Promise.”
Lassiter was silent for a moment, then sighed and reached for the bowl of soup. Shawn busied himself with looking around for the TV remote. It had to be around somewhere — the TV was right in front of them.
When he turned back, empty-handed, Lassiter was watching him. “Looking for something?” he asked between bites of soup.
“TV remote. You wanna watch a movie or something?”
Lassiter blew on a spoonful of soup before putting it into his mouth. “Not really, but I can go upstairs if you want to.”
“Nooo,” whined Shawn. “If I wanted to watch a movie by myself, I would just go home. The whole point of being here is to keep you company . ”
Lassiter’s eye twitched as a flush began to rise in his cheeks again. “This isn’t a play date , Spencer,” he snapped, setting the bowl of soup back onto the table and crossing his arms. “You know, I don’t really enjoy your company at the best of times—“
Shawn clutched at his chest. “Oh, you wound me, Carlypop.”
“—so why in the world do you think I’d want you around when I’m under the weather?”
“Aha! You admit it, then!” said Shawn. “You’ve been denying it all day, but you finally admit that you’re sick.”
“Of course I’m sick, you idiot!” exclaimed Lassiter. “You think you’re a goddamn detective for figuring it out? All I wanted was for people to leave me alone and let me go about my day as normally as I could to try and distract myself from how shitty I feel. But you… You’re really testing my damn patience. I can’t work, and now I can’t even have peace and quiet because of you. This is my house, and you have no right to—“
As if the spirits answered Shawn’s silent psychic plea to stop being lectured, Lassiter started to cough again. He pulled the front of his t-shirt over his mouth and coughed hard, doubled over with the force of it. Shawn winced; it sounded painful. “Whoa, whoa, hey,” he said, leaning over and patting him on the back.
“—hands— off me—“ Lassiter choked out.
“Stop talking, stupid,” said Shawn. “Just try to breathe, okay?”
He moved from patting to what he hoped were soothing rubs. Once the coughing finally subsided, Shawn grabbed the glass of water and passed it to Lassiter, who downed half of it in one go. He kept one hand on the other man’s back until the glass had been set back on the table and Lassiter was sitting up straight again.
“You don’t sound so good, Lassie,” said Shawn. “Do you have any medicine here?”
Lassiter shook his head, drawing in a shaky breath.
“If you lend me your car keys, I could go to CVS and buy something for you.”
Another shake of the head. “You are not driving my car again, Spencer.”
“Hey! I didn’t crash it on the way here, did I?”
“You got lucky,” grumbled Lassiter. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “…Put the soup away in the fridge, all right? I’m exhausted. I’m gonna go have a nap.”
“Good idea,” said Shawn. “Want me to tuck you in?”
The detective scowled. “I have never wanted anything less in my life.” He stood up and cleared his throat. “Use the money I gave you to take a cab home. Or just watch TV; the remote’s on the bookshelf. I don’t really care. I need some sleep.”
With that, he headed for the stairs. Shawn waited until Lassiter was out of sight before getting up and bringing the soup to the fridge, as he’d been asked. That was, of course, where his obedience ended. He followed Lassiter upstairs and followed the sound of shuffling footsteps and raspy breathing to the detective’s bedroom. After waiting a moment for the footsteps to stop, Shawn walked in to find Lassiter sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling off his socks.
“He-ey, nice room you’ve got here,” said Shawn.
Lassiter looked up and his face instantly hardened. “No,” he snapped. “No, no no no . You are not coming into my bedroom.”
Shawn looked down at the floor. His feet were already past the doorway. “Sorry, Lassifrass, but it looks like I’m already inside.”
A vein surged in the detective’s temple. He tossed down his sock like it owed him money and stood up, crossing his arms. Even pale, sickly, and pajama-clad as he was, he still towered over Shawn, both physically and metaphorically. Shawn raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! …I guess you don’t want me to kiss you goodnight, then?”
Apparently he’d crossed a line. Lassiter’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Shawn’s shirt. With their height difference, he could have easily lifted Shawn off the ground, but luckily it seemed he lacked the strength for it in his current state. Shawn stumbled forward. Their faces were only inches apart.
“Why are you doing this?” hissed Lassiter. “Seriously, Spencer. Why are you still here? I get that O’Hara asked you to take me home, but you could’ve left it at that. And, sure, maybe you thought I would crash the car if you left me alone, and maybe you didn’t want my blood on your hands. You could easily just sit on my couch downstairs and watch TV or play on that stupid video game handheld of yours. But noooo, you’re following me around, raiding my kitchen for soup, offering to go buy me medicine. Why? Why the hell are you being so goddamn nice to me?”
Shawn’s response was locked and loaded, and he shot it back fast as a bullet. “Because you’re my friend , stupid!”
For a while, they just stared at each other, those last words hanging in the air like smoke. Finally, Lassiter let go of Shawn’s shirt and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He looked genuinely floored, staring blankly forward for a long moment before looking up at Shawn.
“Friends,” he said.
“I mean… yeah? I said that earlier, didn’t I? All that stuff about the satisfaction of helping a friend or whatever,” Shawn told him. “Did you not know that we were friends?”
“I know you say we are, but I didn’t know how you actually felt,” replied Lassiter. “I mean, you’re always bugging me.”
“That’s just how I show my love. Ask Gus.”
“So you actually want to be friends with me?”
“Duh.”
Lassiter groaned and put his head in his hands. “This is giving me a headache.”
“I think that might be the flu, actually,” said Shawn. “Although… I’m sure some people would agree that my friendship does come with headaches as a side effect.”
“Mmmph,” was Lassiter’s vastly intelligent response.
Shawn laid a hand on his shoulder. “You should really go to sleep, man. You’re crashing hard.”
Lassiter nodded, his head still buried in his hands. After a moment, he pulled his legs up onto the bed and slipped under the covers, rubbing his eyes. Shawn closed the blinds and turned off the lights, trying to make the room as dark as possible. Once he finished, he headed over to the bed and patted the detective-shaped lump under the blankets. “Nighty night, Lassie,” he said. “Or should I say afternoon?”
The only response was a grumble. Chuckling to himself at his own joke — if it could even be called that — Shawn turned around and headed for the door.
“Wait… Spencer.”
Shawn turned around, one hand on the doorframe. “Mmhm?”
“Thank you,” said Lassiter. “For helping. For wanting to help in the first place, really. And… I’m sorry for raising my voice.”
“Ehh, don’t worry about it. I got to see you in your pajamas, so we’re even.” Shawn waited a moment, picturing Lassiter’s ears turning pink, and smiled to himself. “I’m gonna head home now, but call me if you need anything, ‘kay? I’ll stop by tomorrow morning with some medicine.”
“You didn’t take my car keys when I wasn’t looking, did you?”
“Nah. Gonna use the money you gave me for a taxi like a good boy.”
“All right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”
“Bye bye, Lassie.”
With that, Shawn left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He took the stairs two at a time. Once he was back downstairs, he flopped onto Lassiter’s couch and pulled the $20 bill out of his pocket. A grin spread across his face, and he grabbed his cell phone, ready to send a text.
hey gus come pick me up !!! jerk chicken’s on me :P