The Secret Santa Debacle of 2005

[musicalluna]

Title: The Secret Santa Debacle of 2005
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna, windscryer
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter
Genre: Drama, Angst, Fluff
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Christmas hasn't been one of Lassiter's favorite holidays in a while. Maybe this year things will be different. For the Psychfic Advent Calendar.
A/N: Thanks to Maja for helping me finish this story finally in an awesome way, and thanks to Isis for being patient with me today! XDDDDDDDDDDDDDD Merry Christmas, guys!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or any of the stuff within it. :D

“Chief, I’d like to work the Christmas shift.”

Karen looked up from her paperwork, meeting Lassiter’s gaze, and for a moment she simply looked at him. He shifted uncomfortably, his lips thinning. He hated it when she looked at him like that—it meant she was thinking, carefully considering him—and for three years now, it had always been the same mixture of sympathy, pity, and concern which he loathed. He had failed and he knew that and that was bad enough. He didn’t need a witness to that failure. “Are you sure?” she finally asked. “It seems like you’re—”

“I want to work Christmas, Chief. I don’t care if I’m mopping the damn floors.”

Her lips pursed, that look of pity growing in her eyes and his jaw clenched. She should just mind her own damn business then—

“All right, if that’s what you want. If you change your mind…let me know,” she added and he nodded curtly.

“Thank you.”

Moving swiftly back out of her office, he pulled at his tie, deflating as the irritation drained out of him.

Usually, Lassiter enjoyed the holidays. They weren’t necessarily his favorite time of year and he wasn’t the type to go half crazy trying to prepare, but he liked the sentimental goodwill towards all feelings it inspired. He had always enjoyed the time spent with family too, no matter how aggravating they could be. Which was strange, because more times than not, he had been pulled away for one reason or another in the middle of the Christmas festivities.

Like the year he’d had to leave in the middle of opening presents Christmas morning to deal with a domestic disturbance gone horribly awry. His wife was the sort who went half crazy trying to prepare, and his having to take off in the middle of eating the dinner that had taken her six hours to prepare had never gone off very well. That was one of the many reasons she had gotten fed up with him. And her getting fed up was why he was spending this Christmas by himself.

Alone.

For the third year in a row.

He hated being alone during the holidays, but that first year…the first year had definitely been the worst.

~ * December 2005 * ~

One of the events that he liked least was the inescapable Secret Santa party where one was expected to spend a set amount of money on something nobody really wanted and then receive one of those particular gifts from who knows who. The not knowing who had given him the gift was especially irksome. His mother had raised him to write thank you notes for everything and when you didn’t know who had given it to you, it was a little hard to do that. Besides, anything could have been done to said gift. Who knew what kind of lunatic could have gotten a hold of it. You could be faced with any number of terrible things—bombs, poisoned food or drink, severed limbs…you could just never tell.

He, of course, had gotten something sensible for his contribution to the stupid tradition.

Everyone needed a good badge polishing kit, didn’t they?

Try as he might, sensible gifts never seemed to catch on and he was not looking forward to suffering through the Secret Santa horror without his wife, the light at the end of the tunnel, waiting at home for him so that they could take whatever atrocious gift he received and dispose of it in the most entertaining way possible. His favorite thus far had been the disposal of the lotion set he had gotten two years ago—it had been an unholy mess, but the destruction of the lilac powder fresh love lotion had been more than worth it.

He sat down by himself in a corner of the group, watching resentfully as everyone else laughed and joked, the gifts already piling up on a table at the far end of the room. He would never understand what the hell these people saw in this ridiculous tradition.

Mingling and teasing, laughing and a few mistletoe induced friendly kisses were exchanged as they waited for everyone to arrive and then spend some time just enjoying the party.

A few people tried to drag him into things but a sharp glare or a soft but unyielding, “Go. Away,” was usually enough to send them scampering off in search of more cheerful company.

Karen came by and tried to coax him—and even flat out order him—out of the corner, but despite her out ranking him, she had no real authority to order him to participate in the festivities and so she gave up and told him to try to scowl less as it was scaring some of the rookies.

He gave it a shot. But it didn't really work from the looks he continued to receive from the junior personnel.

Finally the culminating event was announced, the gift exchange.

Thank goodness.

He only had to survive this and then he could escape to the cold cases vault until his shift was over and wait for this whole night to just end.

They had all been assigned numbers to match them up with their gifts and they were called out in cardinal order.

Unfortunately his number was pretty high. It might even be the last one, he wasn't sure.

He watched as gift after gift was torn into with all the glee of children and wondered about how exactly the city hadn't been destroyed or taken over by the criminal element. Good thing none of those criminals were here or they'd know they had nothing to fear from the good old SBPD.

Socks with bells, peppermint candles, a small desktop Santa figure that wished everyone a Merry Christmas and then pulled down his pants to moon the audience—yeah, Polson was so going to hear about that one later—the list of stupid things went on and on. Karen got Lassiter's gift and actually looked genuinely pleased.

But then she was a good actress, as many a criminal in interrogation had learned.

Finally it was his turn and he pushed himself out of his corner and strode to the center of the 'circle' where the public humiliation took place for all to see.

Small, heavy, and oddly shaped. But not the right weight, density, or sounds for a bomb, he decided after giving it a shake.

If it was another mooning Santa he was going to-

He stared at the small porcelain figure revealed beneath the glittery paper and swirly ribbon.

Well it wasn't Santa dropping his drawers. That would have been much more preferable.

It was Little Miss Sally and Her Froggy Friend.

The exact same figurine he’d bought for his wife for Christmas.

He went from mildly annoyed to irate in one-point-two seconds.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he demanded and the laughter and comments ceased as if cut by a knife. “Who picked this? Do you think it’s funny?”

Dead silence followed his furious inquiry.

He couldn't remember now what he'd said that day, it had been washed out in a haze of anger, though the looks of alarm and shock on his coworkers' faces were forever etched in his mind. He'd never been asked to participate in another such exchange and actually he was only invited to the parties by virtue of them being publicly announced.

Which was why he didn't usually go.

Why Karen thought this year would be any different was beyond him.

He stiffened, jerking to a stop when he saw Spencer and Guster crowded around O’Hara’s desk. Not those nuisances. Of all things, he didn’t want anything to do with them right now.

He was turning to hurry in the opposite direction when Spencer turned, exclaiming, “Lassie!”

He grimaced and kept walking.

“Hey! Lassie, wait up!”

A hand wrapped around his arm and he tensed, but stopped. “Spencer, let go of my arm,” he grit.

“But Lassie, we’ve got something for you,” Spencer said and for once, the look on his face said he was telling the truth. Carlton’s lip curled in an involuntary sneer, nonetheless.

“I don’t want anything you could possibly give me, Spencer,” he said.

The psychic rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Lassie. It’s Christmas, and you’re not going to do Secret Santa. You’re breaking Jules’ heart.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see O’Hara standing at her desk, a hopeful expression on her face. He scowled. That wasn’t playing fair.

“He’s serious, Lassiter,” Guster added from his side.

“Sure,” he grumbled. “Fine. Give it to me.” He held out his hands.

Spencer grinned, his face lighting up like an interrogation room bulb. “Lassie… Gus and I remember all too clearly the fiasco with your surprise party—no offense Jules—and, in the interest of self-preservation, decided to wrap your gift in cellophane. Merry Christmas, big guy.”

“I thought it was a good idea…so I did too. I hope you like it,” Juliet said in a small voice.

Carlton stared at the three of them, floored. He had expected something like this from O’Hara, but Spencer and his little sidekick? And they had even taken into consideration his intense dislike of surprises and actually acted kindly upon that information? Had he slipped into some alternate universe where Shawn Spencer was actually making an attempt at a good deed?

“Uh oh,” Shawn whispered, leaning towards Gus, the gift still sitting in his outstretched hands. “I think we broke him. Should we run? You don’t think he’d actually explode, do you?” Gus simply shook his head mutely, eyes fixed apprehensively on the motionless detective.

“Carlton?” Juliet said nervously.

Her tentative voice broke him out of the bizarre trance and his eyebrows angled downward, eyes narrowing. He snatched the gift out of Shawn’s hands. “What a stupid idea.”

His surly tone didn’t seem to trouble the fake psychic—on the contrary, he grinned, looking very pleased with himself as Lassiter peered at the gift, wrapped in cellophane and topped with a red bow. “This is…” his voice faded as he stared at the gift, again shocked. Not only did the gift not look like a prank, it in fact appeared to be a quality bottle of aged scotch that he’d been dying to try. He hadn’t told a soul about it, so how the devil had—

When he looked up, Shawn’s face was dimpled with a warm, amused smile and Gus beside him seemed just as pleased. His first instinct told him that he should be extremely suspicious. “Why?” he snapped, brandishing the gift at the pair.

That only seemed to make Shawn’s smile grow. “Why? Lassie, it’s Christmas. ‘Tis the season, detective.”