015 Silence - One Hundred Reasons

[musicalluna]

Title: 015 Silence - One Hundred Reasons
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter/Polly
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: One of my responses for my 100 themes collection revolving around Lassiter and Polly.
A/N: I love this. It's disgustingly smushy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or it's characters.

 

Finally, silence.

Today has been one drawn out, never ending cacophony of noise. At four a.m. this morning it was Miranda, raising the eternal cry for food. It’s damned amazing how much that tiny little three week old body can consume in twenty-four hours.

Then at the station, a huge drug bust went down across town and it was a madhouse from 9 a.m. all the way up until 6 p.m. with suspects from different gangs snarling at each other and spitting at one another across the bullpen as we worked to book them. It was even worse after that little show monkey Spencer showed up at four, claiming he had “business” when everyone and their mothers’ dog know that he’s only there to flirt with O’Hara. He stayed until the end of the day, the persistent bastard. I’m really starting to admire O’Hara’s resilience though; she shuts him down like a pro, no matter how long he keeps at it.

Miranda was still crying when I stepped through the door at 6:30 and Polly, looking about ready to tear her hair out, immediately passed her off to me and fled into the bathroom. The only indication that she hadn’t tried drowning herself in the tub was the steady sound of the shower and the CD player turned up loud enough to hear across the house.

Miranda continued to cry. I now have the utmost respect for Chief Vick, having to tolerate a six month old who still had colic. Just a week of this and I’m already tempted to place myself in the midst of the nearest gang war.

It’s been a very long day.

But now, finally, at fifteen after eight, the house is finally quiet. Polly’s head is tucked at the crook of my arm, her body sprawled out at an awkward angle across the couch, but her face is completely slack and it’s clear she’s dead to the world. I managed to slough off my tie and my coat before being pinned, and now Miranda is curled up in the center of my chest, her tiny body warming me all the way to the core. She’s making almost imperceptible gurgling noises as she sleeps, looking as dead to the world as her mother, and I can feel the slight pulse of her heart beating against my chest.

Incredible.

Brushing light fingers over the soft downy hair on her head I marvel at how much has changed.

Eighteen months ago this silence would have been stifling. I would have done anything, turned anything on, talked to myself, left the house, even, just to escape the silence.

And now there’s nowhere I’d rather be.