One Time Deal

[musicalluna]

Title: One Time Deal
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn/Juliet
Genre: Romance, Drama
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Shawn does something really dumb.
A/N: Another Lassie-centric ficlet about O'Spencer, but without the Jules element this time around. :D Enjoy guys, and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.

 

"What the hell were you thinking, Spencer?!"

Two months. The fake psychic had made it two months before screwing up. But as per usual, he hadn’t half-assed the screw up. No, he had done it spectacularly.

"Aw, come on, not you too, Lassie! It’s bad enough that Jules isn’t speaking to me!" Spencer protested, fingers raking roughly through his hair as he paced. "I don’t understand what the big deal is!"

Lassiter snorted. "No, of course you don’t, Spencer. Most of the girls you go out with probably don’t give a damn whether or not you’ve got six other girls on the side." It was hard to believe, even if it was Spencer, that anyone could be so utterly stupid.

"I never went out with anyone like that," he objected and then his head swayed a little. "Okay, there was this one girl—but I’m pretty sure she was Mormon. Whatever—There are no ‘girls on the side’!"

"Oh. So she just imagined seeing you make out with the shopgirl, is that it?" he demanded.

Spencer froze and Lassiter scowled, crossing his arms. He had warned him the Friday of his and O’Hara’s month anniversary that if he ever did anything to hurt her, he was prepared to do some damage in her place. For the last two days she had been impossible to work with, caught between unstoppable tears and intense anger. It hadn’t taken much to get her to spill what had happened (they had gotten curiously close, much to Lassiter’s surprise) and he had immediately gone looking for the perpetrator.

"You’re an idiot, Spencer," he said scathingly. "How could you do something as stupid and underhanded as cheating?"

He spun to face him, snapping angrily, "I did not cheat on her!"

"Oh, really. Then exactly what do you call it, oh all-knowing psychic?" he asked sarcastically.

Shawn hissed, pulling at his hair and then finally with a great deal of reluctance admitted, "I was trying to get information."

"On what exactly? Whether or not she had a tongue-ring? Don’t give me that load of bull—"

"No!" he said sharply, and then in a more resigned tone, "I was flirting with her to try and get her to tell me where she was keeping the cash. She wasn’t buying it, so I kissed her. I was hoping she’d ask me up so I could snoop around her apartment. It’s not like I did it for fun. She gave me the creeps."

Lassiter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Spencer, even if that is true, the fact that you’re willing to sleep with someone to get the information is more than enough to convince me that you shouldn’t be with in 500 feet of O’Hara ever again."

Spencer scowled at him. "I was not going to sleep with her."

"You just said—"

"I said I wanted to be invited up—there are a million and one ways of getting out of a date, trust me. I had no intention of sleeping with a girl who I’m pretty sure murdered two people. I did not cheat on her," he insisted.

Lassiter’s eyes narrowed, but he had stopped flinging accusations as he pushed his coat back and put his hands on his hips. "All right. Assuming that’s true, Spencer, you’re still an idiot."

Spencer grimaced, waving his hands and shaking his head. "I know. She wasn’t supposed to be there!"

"That doesn’t make it better," Lassiter said flatly.

"But it didn’t mean anything!"

"Spencer, that doesn’t matter. Have you ever actually dated a woman? Girls like O’Hara do not take their relationships lightly. You are hers, and hers alone. That means you do nothing with no one else, EVER."

"I didn’t think it was a big deal," he said weakly. "It’s for the case."

"Well it is," Lassiter replied scathingly.

"What do I do? Jules won’t even talk to me," he said and Lassiter was surprised by the distress he heard in the younger man’s voice. He sighed.

"You are so full of hot air Spencer. All that talk about the girls you’ve dated and you don’t understand a damn thing about them," he said disbelievingly.

"She hates me."

Lassiter rolled his eyes in exasperation. Since when had he become a relationship therapist? "Shut up. She does not hate you. She’s crazy about you, for some insane reason. You have to apologize to her. An extravagant gesture and something to convince her you’re sincere—the only thing you can do is talk this one out Spencer."

He shifted, running his hand over his mouth. "I can’t just…" he waved his hands, "You know—flowers and champagne and dinner…?"
 

Lassiter sighed again. It was funny, how thoroughly Spencer had kept himself young. "No. It has to be talking. And a gesture. And you have to swear—and mean it or she’ll know—never to do it again."

"Great," he muttered, "And how do I get her to talk to me?"

"Park your rear on her doorstep and don’t leave until she talks to you. Women respond to persistence and idiotic moves like that." Lassiter scowled when Shawn didn't move immediately. "What are you waiting for, you idiot? Do I have to drive you there myself?"

"Would you?" When the detective's expression blackened Spencer held up his hands, grinning feebly, "Just kidding. Okay, okay, I'm going. And thanks Lassie. I owe you."

"Just go, will you?"

As the fake psychic turned and dashed out the door, Lassiter shook his head and wondered exactly what he had just gotten himself into.