First Psych fanfiction.
Like, ever.
If I screwed up, please tell me!
"O'Hara?"
Juliet O'Hara looked up from her desk, mouth set in an impatiently thin line. Her detective partner had been uncharacteristically calling her out multiple times for the past few hours. She found it quite difficult to focus on the recent Missing Persons report with repeated and steady interruption, but something in Carlton Lassiter's manner that day made her refrain from snapping out too sharply.
She took a breath and stood up, facing the man standing before her. This time he was tapping his feet anxiously on the linoleum floor, clicking a pen rapidly in his fist. He caught her irritable gaze and nodded.
"Yes?" she said, unnaturally evenly. Here was the moment where he usually looked about nervously for five seconds, fidgeted in the next ten, then gave a soft huff and gave a mundane excuse/question for pulling her away from work.
But this time he did not take half as long to make up his mind. He tipped a head to the hallway furtively.
"Need to speak with you," he mumbled gruffly. "In private."
She narrowed her eyes slightly at him, nodding slowly. "Sure..."
Lassiter strode quickly into the copy room and ushered O'Hara hastily in, shutting the door firmly behind them. She watched him, trying to gauge his emotions.
"I, um, was thinking," he started awkwardly. O'Hara nodded encouragingly, half just wishing that he would spill it already so she could get back to work and out of Chief Vicks radar. He brightened slightly at her raised eyebrows and blurted the rest of the words, motorboat-speed. "...ifyou'dliketohavedinnertonight?"
"W-what?" O'Hara's eyes widened. Was Lassiter actually asking her out?
"If you'd like to have dinner tonight," he repeated, obviously uncomfortable as his shined black shoes shifted on the floor. "W-with me, I mean."
"Um, sure, I guess," she stammered, still caught off guard. She drew a shaky breath, clearing her head. "Sure."
"Do you like the Cheesecake Factory?"
"Cheesecake Factory?"
The two leaped about three feet in the air, turning to see Shawn Spencer leering in the doorway, a familiar grin on his face.
"Oh, Lassie, Jules, you planning a party for someone again?" he said conversationally. "Who'sit? McNab? Vick's b-day was a month ago, wasn't it," he pondered. "Oh, but I'd recommend not going to the Fact'. Those foods of the gods'll clog your arteries better than a bath drain after a Persian kitty's shower."
"Since when did you care about clogging arteries?" Lassiter said snidely, almost automatically, while O'Hara's cheeks pinked almost unnoticeably. Shawn Spencer, of course, picked it up immediately.
"Oh Juliet, my Juliet, where hast thou your love now?"
"W-what," she murmured faintly. She glared at him accusingly. "Stop reading...it." she growled, covering her forehead with a hand for good measure.
"Ah, hm," Lassie raised a pleased eyebrow, while Shawn put two and two together and gaped at them, mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.
"Wow, really?" he found his voice after a moment. "I thought I was just getting vibes about your withdrawals from the Starbucks closed down." He stared at the two before shaping a heart with two hands and framing the detective partners within them, smirking quizzically. The display was quickly slapped down by a swift movement on O'Hara's part.
"Oh shut up," she muttered, though Shawn couldn't help noticing the pleased flush of pink rise over her cheeks for a moment. He winked at them as he sauntered out of the room.
"Don't eat at the Factory!" he reminded them before disappearing around the corner.
Lassiter rolled his eyes dismissively. "So?"
"How about Olive Garden?"
"You're actually taking his advice?" he sputtered indignantly. Juliet only laid a hand on his shoulder, tipping her head admittedly.
"Well, he is a psychic."
She left the senior detective throwing his hands up and raging on with something along the lines of 'psychic, my foot'.
Reviews please?