Summary: Everyone questions if their life is worth something, even the confidence-oozing Shawn Spencer.
A/N: Another drabble for Psych, I hope it's not too out there! I do not own Psych(I wish I could say I was that much of a genius), but alack, it is owned by Steve Franks and all the other wonderful directing people. Please review, I'd love to hear if I'm in character, OOC, too short, etc. Anything to help my writing improve. :]
Lassiter didn't know what he was doing here really. Perhaps so he wouldn't have to go home to a silent house, or he was just enjoying a night out. Forget all the psychobabble, when it came down to it, he felt like a drink would hit the spot right now. As he sat down with his scotch, he happened to look about the room—force of habit in his line of work—and let out a small groan. Spencer was here of all places. Did the man have no respect for anything sacred to him? He closed his eyes briefly in a small prayer to anyone listening that Spencer would not notice him.
"Lassie!" he heard the cry as the annoyingly green-clad man came ever closer. So much for his prayer.
"What do you want, Spencer?"
"I'm hurt," Shawn slurred slightly. "I come over to say hi and this is what I get?"
"Did you really expect anything different," grumbled Lassiter as he held up his drink for another sip.
"Heh, I guess not," Shawn said quietly. This caught Carlton off guard. Spencer being quiet? This just didn't happen. He set down his drink to get a good look at the man sitting next to him. The typical goofy grin that was on Spencer's mug was gone and was replaced with an almost calm expression that bordered on sad with a wistful look in his eye. Spencer gulped down the last part of his drink and then signaled for another.
"Lassiter… Do you ever look back at your life, and find an event or person that made you feel like you've done something worthwhile? That you made an impact?" The serious question shocked the detective. Not only had he said his real name but had asked him a meaningful question? Something was up.
"What's going on, Spencer? Usually you'd walk in here, flirt with some unfortunate girl, make some obscure 80's reference and then proceed to make fun of me."
"Actually, it's flirt, make fun of you, then a reference," remarked Shawn with a hint of his usual smirk on his lips. "But I admit, on any other day, I probably would have. But just the idea of doing that for the rest of my life suddenly struck me—when have I ever done something worth remembering? Something that was unselfish?" They sat there for a moment in silence, Spencer playing with his cup idly and Lassiter merely staring, dumbstruck. Spencer, the funny guy, the cool one, that oozed confidence with every strut and sashay. Perhaps all that strength was just a façade, a mere skin deep emotion. Finally plucking up enough will power, Carlton spoke.
"You're not perfect, Spencer, but neither am I." Shawn looked at him incredulously. He licked his dry lips and let out a snort. "What, did you expect me to agree with you? I many not believe all this psychic crap, but you get results. You say you've done nothing worthwhile or worth remembering. Have you forgotten all those you've helped? Without you, McNab would be dead." They stared at each other, as if daring the other one to speak.
Finally, Spencer smiled genuinely at Lassiter. "Lassie, you astound me."
Lassiter grinned back and merely replied, "Like wise." That moment of true understanding bonded them for that tiny amount of time, but it was worth it. To know and understand another human being, whether they were friend or foe, was precious.
"Well, I'm going to leave you to your drink and…" Shawn trailed off as he swayed precariously, hitting his hip on the table across where he had been sitting previously.
"Spenc—Shawn, how about I drive you home? I don't want to hear on my radio of a motorcycle accident by an inebriated punk."
Shawn gave a smile and said, "I'd appreciate that, Lass— …Carlton."