A very, very short drabble about why Lassiter cannot really hate Shawn. Lassiet, for Loafer. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
PsychPsychPsychPsych
Carlton Lassiter did not like Shawn Spencer.
The young man was arrogant, flamboyant, loud, obnoxious, and demanded constant attention. But the worst thing he had ever done was get Lassiter's partner transferred. He had really cared about her; she was the first woman he'd cared about since his wife had left him. And Spencer had gotten her transferred.
Lassiter sighed softly and looked up at his ceiling. Over the years, he had developed somewhat of a tolerance for Spencer. He wouldn't go as far as to say he liked him, but his feelings had improved from wanting to empty his clip into the idiot. That was a small miracle on his part.
The woman he was holding stirred and sighed, and Lassiter smiled. Maybe this newfound sense of peace and semi-tolerance toward Spencer had something to do with her. After almost six months together, he still couldn't believe that Juliet O'Hara was his. He was the one that she went home with every night, and every morning, he woke up to her beautiful face.
As much as he hated Shawn Spencer, he supposed that he had to admit that, if it wasn't for Shawn, he never would have met Juliet. And a life with Juliet was a life he didn't want to contemplate at all. So he couldn't really hate the idiot.
Well, not entirely, anyway.
The End!
A/N: There, Loafer. No suffering. LMAO. Thanks for reading, and please review!