Title: Not the Brightest Crayon in the Box
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn/Juliet
Genre: Romance, Fluff
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Shawn and Juliet bicker.
A/N: Prompts: scraped knees, kiss to make it better, lecture not to pull a stunt like that ever again.
I do not own Psych or the characters.

"I think that was the dumbest thing I think I've ever seen you do."

"Hey," Juliet protested with a frown. "It wasn't that b--"

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, her hands clamping down around the edges of the chair she sat in as Shawn began dabbing at her bloodied knees with a cotton swab. He sat on his knees at her feet, said appendages bare and tucked into his lap. Juliet had been helped onto one of the stiff, armless chairs in the station, generally reserved for criminals. It had been the most convenient when they had gotten inside a little over ten minutes ago.

The knees of her usually flawless suit had been ripped violently apart, the skin beneath scraped and bloodied and speckled with black.

She grit her teeth against the sting of the disinfectant.

"Sorry," Shawn murmured, the non-torture inflicting hand resting gently against the side of her calf. "And it was that bad." He glanced up at her, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Flying tackles aimed at people who are twice your size and about four times as heavy don't really qualify for the 'Smart Choices' list."

Juliet sighed, dropping her head back against her shoulders. "I got the gun, didn't I?"

"You know, it's funny how 'that doesn't matter!' when I do something dumb, but you do something dumb and suddenly that makes it better."

Juliet's cheeks flushed. She didn't really have a good answer for that because, well, it was true. But with Shawn it was different. A sharp zing of pain crackled through her kneecap as Shawn added a little pressure to the rubbing, trying to clean out the embedded gravel from the road, providing a perfect distraction.

"Ow, ow!" Juliet whispered, her hands coming off of the chair to make a grab at her knee. The little noise of pain she made was totally on purpose. Absolutely.

Shawn caught her hands in one of his, rubbing out the bits of gravel with a determined grimace, his shoulders hunching slightly.

"Ow," she said again, her voice almost a whimper. Her knee felt like it was throbbing raw, white hot fire.

Shawn's expression only twisted further. "Sorry. I have to," he explained, apologetic, and she felt a little wash of guilt for even thinking about using her pain against him. She bit back another whimper-like noise.

"It's okay," she told him, keeping her voice light.

His mouth curved into a little smile. "No offense, Jules," he said, "but you kinda suck at the guilt-as-a-diversion tactic. You had me right where you wanted me and let it drop." He tsked.

Her nose wrinkled up and she pulled in another breath through her teeth as he started in with a new swab on the other knee. "I don't know what you're talking about," she told him breathlessly.

"Uh huh," he said, healthily skeptical and then blew the light touch of cool air onto her burning knee. Then he looked up, his eyes locking with hers. "He tried to shoot you, Jules. You only got the gun because you were that much faster than him. But if you had even been a split-second slower..." The hand on her leg spasmed in a little clutching movement that had her heart catching in her chest. He looked up at her solemnly. "Just leave the dumb stuff up to me from now on, okay?"

"Maybe we should both agree not to do anything dumb from now on," she told him.

Shawn looked up at her from where he was pulling two large Band-Aids out of a box. "Jules, you know I can't agree to that."

Juliet laughed. "Then agree to try."

Head wavering back and forth, Shawn said, "I guess I can give you that much." They smiled at one another and then Shawn leaned forward, murmuring, "I hate to see you hurt, Jules."

"I know," she returned softly.

And then he did something that made her very glad she was sitting down, because her knees dissolved into the consistency of jelly.

Softly, with a touch about that of the strength of a butterfly's wings, he kissed the scrapes on her knees, his lips seeming to draw the sting right out of them.

She felt her breath catch in her chest.

He pulled back and then carefully pulled the bits of white paper from the Band-Aid. Laying it carefully over one scraped up knee, he smoothed it down and said, "Next time we can both tackle the bad guy."

Juliet kissed him.



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February 2014


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