#one step closer to shassie

[internallyscreamingpigeon-blog]

So I found a tweet that is apparently from the writers confirming that Lassie is indeed pansexual?!

[avatoh]

I Like You a Latte: Chapter 2

Psych Shassie Coffee Shop AU!

Chapter 2:

(Whole Story On AO3)

“O’Hara, no. Now drop it,” Lassiter said, straightening his tie and sitting down at his desk. “Not going to happen, not in a million years.”

Juliet smiled in the way that Lassiter hated, the way that said she thought she knew something he didn’t. “All I’m saying is, you made a bet and now you have to pay up. You gave your word. It’s actually pretty unlike you, not following through on something.”

Lassiter looked away, down at his desk, anywhere to keep her from seeing that blush that was rising on his cheeks at the thought of going back and facing that snarky little barista with the devilish little smile and the perfect hair, and- no. There was no way he was going back there to make good on a promise that he didn’t even really mean. It was a joke, after all.

Besides, the fact that he got the culprit right was a complete fluke, a guess, and it had nothing to do with whatever that idiot was calling a ‘psychic’ ability.

“I didn’t give my word,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I doubt he even remembers. That guy looked like he was on speed. I should have him drug tested, actually.”

“Oh, Carlton…” She rolled her eyes. “You should really be nicer to people. You’re too...”

“Suspicious? Paranoid? Tell me something I haven’t heard, O’Hara. I’m a detective. Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting of everyone you meet.” It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, anyway, Lassiter sure found that out the hard way. He pulled a file off the stack on his desk and slammed it down in front of him. He had work to do.

. . .

Back at the Blueberry Beanery, Shawn was just finishing his shift for the day.

“Were you nice to the customers today, Shawn?” asked Gus, his best friend and the owner of the place.

“Exceptionally. I even made a new friend.”

“When you say friend I hope you don’t mean…” Gus trailed off.

Shawn just grinned.

“Please tell me you didn’t charm another customer into a date, Shawn. It’s bad for business.”

“Come on, son. You know I only do that when I know they’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, but then they go on the date with you or you guys hook up and then I lose customers in the aftermath because for some reason I’ve never known you to go past a 1st date with someone.”

“There was that one person in Alaska when I was traveling.”

“Or so you say. And that was only because you were living at his house rent free.”

“Well not rent free, I worked hard for the room and board.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “Can you please cut it out? I’ve already lost two regulars since you started working here.”

“But I’ve gotten you way more regulars than that. I can whip out the charm when I need to.”

“True,” Gus pondered. “Anyway, no more dating customers, Shawn; even if you did make a new friend today. No more.”

“Gotcha,” he said with almost zero conviction. If that detective cop guy came back, he’d certainly see if he could work his patented Shawn magic with him.

. . .

Lassiter stood at the door to the Blueberry Beanery with a new case file in hand and a belly full of dread.

So what if he was craving one of those delicious sugar filled abominations? He wasn’t made of steel. Or without taste buds, for that matter.

Though the prospect of facing that mouthy Barista again wasn’t helping his decision too much. Sure, he’d promised to come back. And sure, no matter how much he could bullshit to O’Hara (who saw right through him) he was a man of his word. So yes, he was going to go inside.

But he wished he wasn’t.

It only took two seconds after walking in the door before someone was screaming his name.

“LASSSIE!” Great, Shawn. “There he is! I knew you’d be back!”

Lassiter scanned the café quickly to find more than a few stares pointed in his direction. He felt his skin crawl.

“Only because I said I would be,” Lassiter replied. He walked up to the counter with his files tucked under his arm, and Shawn's smile grew bigger with each step, finally settling into a full-on teeth-everywhere grin.

“You don’t have to make up excuses, Lassie. I knew you missed me.” He winked. “What’ll you have today? Wait- don’t tell me. How about a surprise, huh? Something special to celebrate you closing your case.”

“How did you,” Lassiter said. “Wait. Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

“P-s-y-c-h-i-c,” Shawn mouthed in a drawn out fashion as he twirled a pen around in his fingers and looked Lassiter dead in the eye. Lassiter fumed.

“Just make the coffee,” he grumbled.

“You got it, grumpy pants.”

Lassiter sat down as far away as he possibly could from Shawn but unfortunately it was a rather small café. He pulled out the case file and began to read through it. There weren’t really many pressing unsolved cases since the double murder. In fact, he was pretty sure he knew who committed this crime, but it was so fresh he still had to wait for the autopsy. It was an open and shut case.

Within a few minutes of looking, Shawn called out “Lassie!” at the top of his lungs, similar to the last time. Lassiter got up with a resolved sigh and grabbed the drink which tasted slightly different but even better.

“I adjusted the ratios a bit. Usually I’m spot on, but the fact that you wouldn’t admit to liking it means I was a bit off on the preparation so let me know if you like this one better, okay?”

Lassiter grunted as he sat back down to look over the case. Yup. It looked like this one was open and shut, so he sipped at his coffee while he began checking his phone for the day.

The shop actually was a pleasant place to be. The only slightly annoying thing about it was the barista who was pretty chatty with everyone who came in. At least he knew how to keep his voice down with the other guests because Lassiter couldn’t quite make out what Shawn was saying.

Having checked his email, his messages, and solved the case, Lassiter sat in silence as his drink dwindled down. He was enjoying the uninterrupted silence, but perhaps too much. You know why they say about silence— it lulls you just enough not to notice the predator that’s about to pounce.

“So, do you think it was the gardener?”

Lassiter jumped in his skin, ripped from his thoughts, as Shawn leaned over the back of the booth, face far too close to his own. Far, far too close because he could faintly smell the fruity scent of his conditioner and the sweet coffee on his breath.

“Back up, would you?” Lassiter said. “And stop looking at my files.” He swept the papers and photos together into a neater pile to ward off Shawn’s prying eyes. “This is official SPBD information. I could hold you in contempt of the law for willfully reading classified documents.”

Shawn snorted, then leaned closer. “Or how about I hold you in contempt for failure to handle classified information? I don’t know about anyone else in here, but I sure got an eye full of those bad boys before you so meanly put them away. If you ask me, that seems pretty mishandled.”

Lassiter frowned. He’d had enough of Shawn’s snippy comments and half-baked knowledge of the law. “How about you shut your mouth and get me another one of these instead of concerning yourself with how I handle my work?” He rudely slid the empty mug to the end of the table and turned to the side where Shawn is still leaned over, way too close, and raised an eyebrow.

Shawn didn’t seem affected. He never did. “Maybe I should be more concerned with how you could handle me,” he whispered.

This time, it was even worse than the shouting because it was so low and breathy that it sent a shiver down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up, too. Sweet Lady Justice.

“I—” he stuttered. He hated the way it came out of his mouth, so unlike his usually confident demeanor.

Shawn smirked and stood back up, practically bounced over to the end of the table, and picked up his mug before running off. “ANOTHER LASSIE SPECIAL!”

Shawn immediately started making the drink himself as he was the only one working. Lassiter had only been in the little café twice and all he had seen so far was Shawn there; he was beginning to wonder if there were any other employees who worked and when he might come in so he could meet them.

Shawn headed over to Lassiter and gave him his drink. “That’ll be $4.50.”

“On second thought, I think I want my fifty cents back,” Lassiter said plainly from across the shop as Shawn slid the change into the tip jar. It seemed like Shawn’s yelling from across the building was rubbing off on him.

Lassiter handed over a $5 bill and told the annoyingly gorgeous man to keep the change.

“Wowee. Fifty whole cents for solving the case of the year and possibly a second one. Thank you, kind Sir.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shawn quickly backpedaled.

“I’m giving you business and keeping my word, isn’t that enough. Besides, I didn't ask you to ‘help’ with the second one.”

“Trueee.”

“What’s the deal with this place anyway,” Lassiter asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you get stuck working here and how do you get off talking to paying customers like this? I bet you get complaints.”

“Well, I don’t talk to everyone like this, and I’d like you to know it’s been one whole month since I’ve gotten a complaint. You should feel honored, Lassie.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You’ll complain about me. Remember when I solved that case for you? I’d say I'm going above and beyond the call of duty for this job here. I ought to be promoted.”

“More like fired,” he muttered under his breath. “Make this to go, actually.”

“You got it, Lass-” he stopped, then grinned. “-ieeeeee.”

“I don’t know how anyone stands you.” Lassiter grabbed the paper cup and his belongings then headed straight for his crown vic.

. . .

Lassiter entered the bullpen amongst the chatter of offices and ringing phones, before settling down at his desk and tossing the file into the completed bin. At most, he would have a day or two of petty crimes before another high profile case made its way to his desk, but he didn’t want to wait that long.

Ever eager for a new mystery to solve, he knocked on Chief Vic’s office ready to shake her down for something big.

“Enough, Lassiter,” she said, looking exasperated. “Just take it easy for a day or two, you of all people have earned it.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I didn’t become Santa Barbara’s youngest head detective by ‘taking it easy’. Are there any homicides? High profile robberies? Gang related violence? Come on, Chief.”

“Lassiter,” she said, her voice severe. “Do not come into my office asking me this again. I want you on the Farbaros case and that is the end of that.”

“Chief—”

“Out, detective.”

. . .

Lassiter tried not to slam the door on his way out, but he was never good at controlling his anger. Jules even saw it rolling off of him, judging by the way she scooted away and refused to look at him the moment he got to his desk.

“What have you got on the Farbaros case, O’Hara?” he asked. In reality, it was more of an order than a question. “Bring me up to speed, now.”

“Well... “ she began. “Easy case, really. We’ve already interviewed all the witnesses and the evidence is already pointing in one direction.” She looked up with a sorry look on her face. She of all people knew how antsy he got without something to do. “We have one of the officers already on route to bring him in for questioning. Sorry, partner.”

Lassiter signed. Great. He took a sip of his coffee and pressed his fingers to his temple. He didn’t need a few days off.

There was always paperwork to do at least, so he worked on that for the rest of the day. If there was still no big case to work on the next day, he could always look through some of the older cold cases, which always were fun to do.

The downtime between cases was only fun for a few hours. After completing and filing the necessary paperwork as well as making a few phone calls to get the paperwork and what he needed processed more quickly, Lassiter decided to reward himself with his lunch hour, which he usually took in the comfort of his own desk. Today, just because things were so slow, he decided to leave his sandwich in the fridge for the next day and go somewhere fun for lunch. There was a nice Mexican place that usually took a while to get the food out that would be the perfect distraction for today. He went ahead and called in his order and then began driving over.

After paying for his food, he took it to a nearby park across the street and sat down on one of the public benches. He had gotten himself some freshly made and hot chicken tacos, a treat for himself. The notion of a “treat” was absolutely ridiculous, he realized as he unbagged the food. Perhaps he had been splurging more than usual with all the fancy coffees and now his favorite Mexican place that was a little out of the way. Did he even deserve these so-called treats, as he called them in his mind? He hadn’t even been the one to solve the big case, after all.

What was up with Shawn? Not only had he solved one, but two cases for him in the span of a week, like it was too easy. It wasn’t easy. Lassiter had spent hours upon hours reading and looking over a bunch of information only to have a barista tell him within a short little visit who the perp was. It was ridiculous really.

As if to rub it in his face while he was contemplating the fact that it wasn’t even him who solved the big case, his phone rang: a call from Henry Spencer, his former mentor.

“Hey, Henry, It’s been awhile.”

“It’s nice to hear your voice, rookie,” Henry said jovially through the speakers. “I’m just calling because I wanted to congratulate you on solving the Todd case.”

“Thanks,” Lassiter said. “How are you doing Henry? How’s the retirement treating you this month?”

“Fine, fine. We haven’t been fishing together in awhile. You should never feel shy to reach out. Anyway, besides the congratulations on solving that big case, I was wondering if you’d be free next Friday?”

“Why?”

“I’m thinking of having a barbeque. Just a few guys from the station, nothing too big. You should come by, show the old guys how well I taught ya, huh?”

Lassiter nearly groaned at the prospect of a social gathering, but seeing as though it would all be guys from the station, he figured he would be able to talk shop for most of it. Besides, Henry Spencer was one of the SBPD’s best, the human lie detector, as they called him, and he was proud that he was mentored by him.

“Next Friday...?” he trailed off, knowing full well he had no plans. “Yeah, I could go for a burger. I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you then.”

ch 1 a03

[ecotone99]

[MF] Round Trip

I knew I'd taken something. Or had I? Maybe I hadn't taken anything...maybe I could convince myself it was this putrid coffee causing my tilted delusions and not the blotter strip that was now chewed into a spit ball. I needed to do this...or something...or nothing, and pretend it was something. I needed to get out of the tube, I'd been cooped up in it all week avoiding the sun. I had my portable tube to avoid the rain and my reliable, old, carpeted and air conditioned tube would be waiting when I was done. Now my journey, through time, linear and back again, sideways and off at an angle. It's came like a bolt of lightning. A friend of a friend asked if I wanted some weed. "No" I said, "But I'd love one last trip, nobody has LSD anymore, man." Do dealers even say 'Man' in this day and age? They probably say strange alien things like 'Blasto' or 'Goose'. Dealer: "You want acid, brah?" Brah! I knew it'd be cool...not mainland like man or dude. Dealer: "Look, brah, I can get you acid". I knew in that moment it had to happen, I knew I'd chew it up, hop in the Prius and crash straight through the sunset to my destiny, which hopefully wasn't prison or a cave. We like to think the states is all but mapped, but maybe it's not. Maybe I'll get jumped and raped by Native American troglodytes, my pathetic drugged up cries for help braided with the breeze. No...that sounded terrifying, instead I was living the dream, it wasn't my dream but I'd be living it anyway. Finally it was my turn to let loose and do something crazy, like buy a multi coloured hat or not pay my bill at a restaurant or stab a penguin to impress a sexy Satanist. But do what specifically? What was the day going to bring? Hopefully I could squeeze the dregs of an experience out of the empty toothpaste tube of life.

I was 42, balding and a functioning alcoholic. I hadn't taken acid since I was 23, and to be honest I'd loved every trip I went on. Except for that one time, but we've not thought about that one time for a long time, there was a penis involved and we buried it in the ancient trunk...not a euphemism. But still, this was a change for me, and a sheet of 10 was too much, way too much, but it was done now. I'd just have to wait it out like shit pains. In the words of the late, great Alan Watts "Go through the middle". Normally I drank. Mainly I'd drink to get happy, I'd drink to avoid sadness and I worked to pay for drink. It never really negativity affected my life, I just glided by, like dandelion spores on a cow fart.

My life? Life? My life so far is sketchy. Like a pencil, except with less lead for the bullet. A mixture of times gone by, intense present anxiety all washed down with a whisky sour that tasted like an ash tray. I could pull at those life weeds that seemed to grow from my soul, but they'd always snap off just before they were uprooted, and two days later a clone would appear with friends. I'd just realised I was sat in my sitting room watching the TV. When did I get here? Something was buzzing, loud, loud...It was touching me!

"Honey, are you ok?" My girlfriend looked confused and frightened. "Yeh, I'm good, I just ate some bad sausage and now I feel guilty". She looked at me...she squinted...her eyes swelled like balloons. "You're drunk". "Yes" I said. "Dave gave me cannabis whiskey, but I didn't realise until it was too late, now I'm high, Hiiiiii!". She didn't look impressed and laughing in her face wasn't helping things. "Jesus, Frank, grow up." She sat down and I stopped and watched her watching TV. The show was about bees...she must like bees or something, why else would she be watching it? I stared at my partner of 20 years and reminisced about all the Polaroid moments we'd shared. Happy, smiling, the great love I felt for this delicate flower. Although right now her face looked like a Picasso that'd been in a fire. She couldn't know of this adventure, the coffee adventure, it was just Dave's whiskey. Who the hell was Dave? You could blame anything in life on someone you don't know, just make up a name 'Larry' and say "Larry made me do it! He forced me!" Yeh, sorted, he'll get the blame now. "Forced you to do what, honey?"....Shit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing, just talking to myself." My girlfriend walked in the room. "Did you say something?" How did she do that? I could have swore she was on the sofa. Did she just teleport or did I lose track of time? Did she even speak? "The thing...about Larry". She looked more confused than ever "Who the hell is Larry, and speaking of people I've never heard of, who's Dave?" She started at me for a second...or maybe a minute...maybe a year, I couldn't tell. She grabbed her purse from the counter top "I'm going to my mother's, I'll be back at 10pm, do the dishes, don't drive if you're high and stop drinking with Dave, whoever the fuck he is...love you." The kiss loomed at me like a wardrobe falling on a toddler, but the kiss itself was gentle and comforting. She slammed the door and I screamed out "No guns". Last week she'd given me a look I'd only ever seen out of the tube, for a moment I suspected she was one of them. I mean, she was always talking to them, she drank coffee with them, she'd even dated a few of them before we met. Could it be, that they, the insufferable 'they' had snatched her unsuspecting body from under my nose, recruited her for their evil purposes? No, she was clean. She was cleaner than a hookers kid, a filthy hooker who felt so unconsciously dirty that she'd scrub that child like the tires to an old Jeep.

I'd keep my eye on her though, just incase she slipped up and told me to "Have a nice day, now". I'd always recoiled at the very presence of plastic pleasantries. Here I am having a perfectly horrible day, with shit under my nose and piss on tap, when all of a sudden, out the dank cloud covered sky, a spotty necked teen with more shassy than teeth tells me to "Have a nice day". Now I feel obliged to at least try. Ok, you pimple faced throw back, I'll smile at the next person I see. Yes, that'll show the little fuck. I'll smile, and the victim of said smile, this stranger, this urchin, their heart will swell to bursting with gratitude and Buddha himself will congratulate me for filling my karma bar to capacity. There'll be cake, and I'll give a speech, I'll thank everyone but my mother, and she'll look at my auntie Barbara with that 'What an ungrateful little prick' look in her eyes and I'll grin smugly...lock me in a cupboard now you wilting old sow.

Then out of the heat and sweat I saw the woman I was going to smile at. A bag lady with no hair, at least not on her bald head. She'd be the one I'd punch to the moon with cheer. She got closer to her fate, and then... we made eye contact. At the last second I looked at my coffee. She wasn't worth it I figured, she'd only have told me to go fuck myself, spittle covering my once dry and sterile face just as she hits the 'Fffff". Now look what that snot nosed teen had done, he's ruined an old bald lady's life. What was in this coffee? It tasted like coffee but it brought on waves fear and heavy anxiety. I'd only ever felt fear similar on rollercoasters or strangely enough when taking to attractive nuns. I hated the fun fair, it didn't make sense to me to call something fun when not everyone would find it fun. Some people find torture fun but they don't call it the fun rack. Or maybe they do in this degenerates house. Maybe everything to do with torture has a double entendre stapled to its forehead. The skull crusher was now called the party hat, and the fingernail bamboo were now happy sticks. Who knows what depraved things go on behind hypothetical closed doors.

I decided to sleep on the hood of my car, driving wasn't an option, the coffee had hit me like a ton of bricks. I toyed with the idea of chewing through the windscreen, that way I couldn't be arrested for being behind the wheel. No judge in the world would buy that story. "So officer, you found the suspect behind the wheel?" "Yes your honour". "Did you witness him enter the vehicle?" "Yes your honour, he chewed through the windscreen". "Bailiff, have this officer put to death immediately for lying in a court of law". I was hungry now and breakfast seemed like last year. I rolled my head around to the left and caught sight of Everest's peak in the form of a Wendy's. That's where I would find the holy grail, all wrapped up like a breakfast burger, fully edible with inner peace located just under a pickle. I flopped off the hood and hit the floor like an old roll of carpet, with blood in my mouth I stood up, licked my teeth and spat a crimson mist into the air. I aimed my bone sack towards the light. One tactical forward lean and I was careering towards my destination with gusto, too much gusto, I flipped over a fence and landed sitting up looking at the burger joint, which now looked kind of dirty, just like a good slut should. Just what I needed, a filth grilled lardwich to snap me out of my coffee funk. What was in that coffee? I was sat slumped on a step just to the left of the entrance to Wendy's, when one of 'them' asked me if I was ok, "Yes" I said. "It's just my heart, the valves are wonky and they pump blood directly to my nose, the can't cure it, it's like cancer of the hair, you can shave it off, but it'll just grow back". I had a feeling her demeanour had shifted from concern to fear. "Just kidding" I said. "I'm having a stroke, now leave me alone, I'm tired." It worked, she disappeared back into the store looking confused.

I looked to my right, there was a dog tied to a post. He was a slave alright, a slave to the good life. He wasn't allowed in the store, but there were treats coming, I could tell. "You from round here?" I asked it. "Yeh, not far, you?" Oh my Christ, I thought. A talking dog. To be fair I had asked it a question, if I didn't want an answer, why did I ask? "Hey, buddy. I asked you a question, you live far?" He was getting demanding, he was acting aggressively and I was in for it if I delayed any longer. I mustered enough courage to say "I don't like dogs anyway, don't trust em, as far as I could throw em". A face appeared from behind a wall. "Take a hike then, buddy, you started taking to me". It was a man, not a dog, the dog hadn't said a word. Unless it was a ventriloquist, a very talented...no probably not, probably just the owner. I shouted "I'm having a stroke!!" I think I said it to the face, but I might have said it to the dog.

It was time to leave, the confused waitress was probably finished amassing her army of staff to forcibly removed me from the premises. I was supposed to eat here, but that was over now, I was pretty sure McDonalds was next. I might end up killing someone over there, better get it over with sooner rather than later. I stood up and stepped on the dogs paw, it yelped and scuttled back to its master. The master shot me a look of hate and disbelief "You drunken idiot, you nearly broke my dogs foot". "Dogs don't have feet, they have paws, and that dogs due a death. If it wasn't me It'd be Venezuelan hitmen". The master stood up and dragged his flea ridden ventriloquist dog away from my space. He mumbled something about 'drunken' something about 'cunt' and something about 'terrorism'. The last comment didn't make sense but I just figured he was a right wing nut with a racist dog and spiders behind his eyes. No wonder he was upset, poor bastard. I walked towards the McDonalds and tried to comprehend the dangers I could potentially face on the road. There was a set of traffic lights, but I didn't want to cross there like one of 'them'. I'd run straight across the freeway like Frogger and hope for no traffic, if I was unlucky enough to run into a semi, I'd look it in the eye and be the bug all over its front face thing. I'd scar the driver with my blood and guts in his grill, even if his last 10 murder rapes had been like water of a greasy bastards back.

I walked past a bench with a bald man sitting on it. I shouted "FROGGER!" He looked at me like I just yelled "RAPE!" His strange bald face started to speak "Who's raping you?" Oh my Christ, I'm thinking one thing and saying another. I loudly whispered "Frogger, but that was the 80's, I'm having a stroke". That stroke line was working a treat. I ran across the road avoiding all traffic and landed on some grass. I could lay here awhile, get my bearings.

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