Hey, everyone! Chocolaterose here. Um, this is my first story on , and also my first venture into the Psych fandom. So it's understandable that I'm a bit nervous about this, heh-heh… Anyway, I hope you like it! Reviews and concrit are welcome!

Summary: Lassiter seems pretty emotionless about Shawn's return to the station after being shot and kidnapped, but Shawn sees something in his eyes that suggests otherwise. Really good Shassie friendship; could be seen as slash. Takes place after "Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark."

Warnings: Nothing serious. Bit of angst and, like, 2 words that aren't even bad. Possible spoilers for Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark, as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. Or any of the characters. In fact, I own nothing besides the plot. So don't sue me.

YOU CALLED ME "DETECTIVE"

The party for his return to the station had been nice. Shawn certainly hadn't expected it - there were balloons, streamers…even a banner reading, "Welcome back, Shawn!" in the main hallway. He could hardly believe he'd been missed this much after a day in captivity and a week's medical leave.

Chief Vick had shaken his good hand and given him a warm smile, though it had looked like she'd wanted to give him more. Juliet had given him a hug (slightly awkward since his arm was in a sling), a kiss on the cheek, and a huge pineapple with a bow on it. Gus had, of course, remained by his side through the whole thing - they'd already had their rather emotional reunion when he'd been in the hospital. Several cops, some of which Shawn didn't even recall ever meeting, had shaken his hand firmly and welcomed him back.

Then he'd gotten to Lassiter. The Head Detective had regarded him with a nod, a handshake and a slightly exasperated, "Welcome back, Spencer." Shawn had met the withdrawn older man's gaze and smiled, not surprised when Lassiter didn't return it. Still, he'd seen a flash of something in those blue eyes - happiness? Relief, perhaps? He hadn't been certain, so he'd simply said, "It's good to be back, Lassie," and dropped it.

Still, after the excitement had died down and everyone had gone to their respective offices and desks to get on with work, that unreadable look in Lassiter's eyes that had been burned into Shawn's memory had still been bugging the fake psychic. So, determined to find out what it meant, he'd set off to find the Head Detective.

And that's where he was now, walking up to Lassiter's office with a spring in his step. He stopped in the doorway. "Hey, Lassieface!" he said with his usual amount of enthusiasm, in no way hinting that this visit was serious.

Lassiter, who had been sitting at his desk doing some paperwork, jumped a little in his seat at the loud greeting. "Dammit, Spencer!" he growled in his usual grouchy manner, looking up at his visitor. "Can't you see I'm trying to work here?"

"I can see that just fine, Lassie," Shawn replied smartly. "But when has you working ever stopped me from annoying the pants off of you?" He smiled that winning smile, but his eyes weren't entirely in it. He was studying the look Lassiter was giving him, trying to decipher it. The detective's expression was stoic, perhaps a little annoyed, but his blue gaze held something else: endearment, faint amusement…perhaps even affection. This puzzled Shawn greatly, and even further determined him to get to the bottom of how the Irishman truly felt about him.

"You've got a point there," Lassiter muttered, turning back to his paperwork and bringing Shawn back to reality. "You've never missed an opportunity to drive me crazy, that's for sure."

"Oh, come on," the younger man said, leaning against the doorframe with his good shoulder. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you like it."

"I do not," the detective replied without looking up, his voice an emotionless monotone.

"Yes you do!" Shawn insisted more fervently this time. "You'd go crazy without me, and you know it." He paused. "You should know, since I was gone last week and wasn't here to bug you."

"I do not enjoy your constant annoyances, Spencer," Lassiter repeated as he got up from his desk and walked over to the filing cabinet against the opposite wall of his office, completed paperwork in hand. He still wasn't looking at his colleague. "In fact, last week was the most relaxingweek I've had at work in a long time." He placed some of the papers into a folder.

"Was it, Lassie?" the fake psychic asked. "Was it really?"

"Yes, actually."

"So you're telling me that you didn't miss me once last week?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," the detective replied with his back still to Shawn. "I couldn't have cared less whether you came in or not."

"Liar!" Shawn teased, finally walking into the office to stand right behind Lassiter. "You missed me. You were worried about me." He waited for a retort, but the older man simply continued thumbing through the folders in the cabinet. Shawn tool this as a cue to continue. "I heard that you and my dad were driving around for hours, and that you even trekked through the woods on foot looking for me! I was in the gas station when you two were questioning the kidnapper, and I saw you - you were exhausted, but you still kept going." He paused, staring intensely at the back of Lassiter's head. "I don't know what you call that, Lassie, but I call that 'caring'."

Lassiter's hand stopped moving over the files for a brief moment, then he turned around to face Shawn. He looked down at the younger man, meeting those sharp hazel eyes with his own shocking blue ones. "Look, Spencer," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish by interrogating me like this, but it's not gonna get you anywhere." He looked into Shawn's eyes. "I looked for you with your father until I could barely see straight, yes, but that's my job. Protect and Serve. Besides, Henry was forcing me to keep at it. He was the worried one." He paused and turned back to the filing cabinet, sorting a few more sheets of paperwork. When he finished, he turned and faced Shawn again. "I didn't 'miss you'. I barely even noticed you were gone. I'll admit that you're a valuable asset to the force, but that's all you are to me. An asset."

At first, Shawn was stung by Lassiter's words. Was he really just an asset to the detective? But then he noticed that look in his eyes again, and knew he wasn't telling the truth. His confidence back in a flash, he said, "More lies, Lassieface! You should be ashamed! Didn't your parents teach you any morals?"

"I'm not lying, Spencer," Lassiter replied calmly and sought solace in the file cabinet once again, placing the remaining paperwork from his hand into the appropriate folders. But even after he finished, his fingers kept idly roaming the file tabs.

He really is hopeless, Shawn thought. "Yes you are. You were worried sick about me. I know you; if my dad really was bossing you around and tiring you out, you'd have just said 'Screw you' and walked away. You don't take orders from hardly anyone, certainly not from him. You kept at it for me, not for him."

Lassiter's hands started to shake a little, but they kept flipping through the files, pulling out random papers and putting them back. The man seemed to be disinterested, but Shawn knew he was listening.

I've almost got him. "You had no idea if you were gonna find me dead or alive, and it drove you crazy. I saw the look in your eyes when you shook my hand a few hours ago - you're relieved beyond words that I'm still here."

Lassiter let his shaking hands rest on top of the files and sighed. He brought one of his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, but he didn't object to what Shawn was saying.

The younger man knew he'd hit the nail on the head; he didn't have to see Lassiter's face to know that. He rested his good hand on the detective's shoulder and squeezed gently. "And I know I'm more than just an asset to you," he continued, his voice softer. "When you rescued me, after I shot out that truck's engine…you called me 'detective'."

This made Lassiter turn around. The taller man's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and as they traveled to the sling Shawn's left arm was hanging uselessly in, it almost looked like they would spill over. Instead of only being visible in his gaze, the concern could now be seen in the detective's features as well: There were dark circles under his eyes, suggesting that he hadn't slept very well the past few nights; he seemed paler than Shawn recalled, probably from exhaustion, and his expression was that of a parent whose child had been beaten up in a fight at school and had come home with a black eye and a split lip - worried and anxious, yet caring. Shawn never thought he'd be able to evoke such emotion from the withdrawn man, and he drank it in for a moment before pulling Lassiter towards him in a one-armed embrace.

The hug was slightly awkward at first, given Shawn's useless arm, but the two men worked around it so that the fake psychic's good arm was around Lassiter's torso and his bad one was held close to his chest. Lassiter wrapped his arms somewhat possessively around Shawn's smaller frame and buried his face in the slightly mussed brown hair, closing his eyes. Shawn burrowed into the Head Detective's chest, inhaling the scent of coffee and gunpowder and new suit that was so utterly Carlton Lassiter, and held on for dear life.

The one thing Shawn hadn't mentioned was that he had also been dreadfully worried while he'd been held hostage - worried that he'd never see his friends again: Gus, Juliet, his dad, Lassie. Yes, he had been worried he'd never know how the introverted detective honestly, truly felt about him. It seemed like Lassiter was always sending mixed signals - one day he'd be congratulating Shawn on a job well done and telling him how useful he'd been, and the next he'd be insulting him and doing everything humanly possible to keep him off the current case. So when he'd said to Shawn "Nice shot, detective", the younger man had known he'd finally peeled back Lassie's tough, stoic outer layer and revealed the sentimental, affectionate one he'd been trying so hard to uncover for years. Sure, it hadn't been in the way Shawn had imagined - he'd certainly never thought it would take him being shot and kidnapped - but at least it had happened. This visit to the detective's office had only been to reassure Shawn that it really had.

Wrapped in Lassiter's arms, feeling the taller man's silent tears slowly dampening his hair, Shawn couldn't imagine a better reassurance.

"Dammit, Spencer…" Lassiter whispered into his hair, his voice barely quavering. He tightened his grip ever-so-slightly.

"It's alright, Lassie," Shawn soothed quietly. He was fighting to keep his own voice steady now.

The two of them remained like that for a minute or so longer before Shawn pulled away from the warmth of Lassiter's embrace. Keeping his arm around Lassiter, he looked up at the Head Detective and noticed the faint trails of moisture running from the corners of his puffy red eyes down his flushed cheeks. Shawn smiled a little and said softly, "I knew it."

Lassiter hesitated for a fraction of a second before letting out a sigh and closing his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "Alright, alright," he said in a slightly irritated tone, but when he opened his eyes again, Shawn saw none of that irritation reflected there. "I admit it. I missed you. And I was worried. Even last week, I could barely sleep." He removed one arm from around Shawn's waist to motion vaguely at the circles under his eyes. "You probably didn't need your 'psychic powers' to see that." He gave a short, dry laugh and wrapped his arm loosely back around the younger man.

Shawn laughed back in the same manner. "Heh-heh, you're right, I didn't." He suddenly felt a strong desire to tell Lassiter his dirty little secret, but he knew the detective already didn't buy it. He'd probably figure it out on his own one of these days.

Shawn then noticed Lassiter's gaze was flitting back and forth between his useless arm and his left shoulder. The material of Shawn's flannel shirt bulged slightly from the thick pad of gauze that covered the week-old (but still tender) entry wound, and those blue eyes lingered in that spot for a few seconds.

"Does it still hurt?" Lassiter's usually strong, confident voice sounded suddenly tiny and uncertain as he asked the question, eyes still transfixed on Shawn's shoulder.

Shawn shrugged the shoulder a little. "Eh, it's still sore, but nowhere near as bad as it was a few days ago," he replied. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned a devilish grin. "And that little dose of Lassie-love helped a bit, too."

Lassiter huffed indignantly and released Shawn, suddenly appearing self-conscious. He seemed to be re-gaining his usual air of dignity and his special Lassiter almost-hostility-but-not-really vibe. Shawn was glad - he'd missed the older man's authoritative, lofty, yet slightly sensitive personality.

"So," he said, sticking his good hand in his pocket and walking over to Lassiter's desk as the detective sat down behind it, "I think I'm gonna get going now. See if there's any cases that need my psychic intuition." He turned to leave, but stopped momentarily and looked over his shoulder. "By the way, thanks for caring, Lassie. And for helping with, you know…saving my life and stuff." With that, he took a step towards the door.

"Shawn, wait." Lassiter using his first name was enough to get Shawn to stop in his tracks, but the faint urgency also had something to do with it.

Shawn turned around and found Lassiter walking up to him. The taller man stopped a foot or so in front of the fake psychic and placed his hands on the flannel-covered shoulders, being gentle with the left one. He shot a glance at the open door to see if anyone was watching, then turned his blue gaze back to Shawn. Speaking in a low, urgent tone, he said, "If you ever scare me like that again, so help me I will shoot you and throw you in prison and let the other inmates fix you up instead of the paramedics. Am I perfectly clear?"

There was a faint glimmer of desperation in those eyes now, and Shawn got a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach from Lassiter's obvious concern for him. He smiled. "Crystal. And I'll try not to."

Lassiter took another moment to study Shawn's expression, searching for any signs that he was lying, but must not have found any because he cleared his throat and took his hands off of Shawn's shoulders. "Good," he said gruffly, nodding once, and the desperation was gone.

"I know you'd miss me too much," Shawn added with a smug grin. "Bye, Lassieface! See ya later!" Without waiting for a response, he practically bounced out of the office and down the hall to where Gus and Juliet were talking.

Lassiter watched him go for a few seconds, then turned and walked back to his desk. He swiped his hands across his face, getting rid of any remnants of the tears he'd shed a few minutes ago, and sat down to do another stack of paperwork as if nothing had happened.

You're right. I would.

Ending notes: So, that's it! I hope you all liked it! Just so ya know, in this story, Juliet just forgets about the call where Shawn had to tell her he loved her and life goes on as usual. I LOVE LOVE LOVE Shules, but this story is Shassie-centric, so I didn't want any other major pairings interfering. K? K. And I apologize if anyone was OOC - like I said, first time writing for this fandom.

Reviews are looooooove! And I would love some, since this is my first story!