A/N: So, Psych withdrawals are seriously taking a toll on me here. I think I've reached the point where it's write or die.
Another tag to Yin 3 in 2D. I believe this makes three but at this point, I don't care to check. I just want my Psych back.
/|\
"Shawn, I'm fine," this is probably the thousandth time she has said this, but he ignores her or argues with her each and every time.
"Juliet, this cut is deep," she has come to learn that he only calls her by her given name when he's serious. "It needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged," He prods at the gash on her hairline once again with the cotton ball, damp with twenty different antiseptics and disinfectants.
"Which it was," she grabs his wrist and wrench the soppy cotton from his fingers, but he just surfaces with another.
"Jules, those medics at the station are like school nurses. They're not actually allowed to help, they just give you a Band-Aid and tell you that your mom'll have to deal with it after school," he brushes another elusive strand of hair out of her face, snatching a bobby pin from the counter and pinning it pack.
"Like you ever needed anything more than a Band-Aid," she attempts, yet again, to rise from the closed toilet seat he has her cornered on, but again, he puts his hand (the one not dripping with hydrogen peroxide) on her shoulder and gently pushes her back down.
"I'm insulted, Jules. You wouldn't believe some of the things that happened on the playground," he squints and tilts her head, examining the wound again.
"I'm sure all the girls beat you up when you pushed them off the swings, Shawn. But this isn't the second grade and-"
"You're right. This is sociopathic serial killer catching and we both know this gets ugly. And the only girls who could beat me up in the second grade were Martha Jambly and Taylor Green." He carefully peels back the packaging on a bandage and squeezes a bit of opaque gel onto the padding before pressing it to her forehead. Wadding up the paper from the bandage and pushing it into the trashcan, he gently presses his lips to the woven strands of the Band-Aid. "Alright, up," he offers her his hand.
Finally, she thinks, standing. But he just pulls off her suit jacket, lays it neatly over the lip of the tub, and sits down on the lid of the toilet. Hand firmly on her waist, he pulls her down onto his lap, grabbing her bandaged hand and peeling off the white gauze before holding her hand up to his face. He tilts his head at the wound, examining it closely.
He hums to himself in consideration and grabs yet another cotton swab off the counter, quickly squirting it with that stinging liquid from the brown bottle onto it before dabbing it along the cut, this one larger than the last.
She hisses at the pain it brings, reflexively yanking her hand back. His grip is steadfast, however, and her reaction gets her nothing but a quiet tsk from Shawn.
"Sha-wn" she whines, throwing her head back and pouting like a child.
"Now, Jules. You want this to get infected? I think not."
"But I'm tired, Shawn," she allows her eyelids to droop. She really is tired, after all. She wants to get into work early tomorrow, but she has a feeling he won't be letting her go in at all without a fight.
"And when I'm done with this, we can make you a nice, steaming cup of that tea you drink when you can't sleep. While you drink it, I will dramatically read that book you're in the middle of until you do fall asleep, because we both know you've had too much coffee in the last couple hours to sleep any other way. After you've passed out, I will bookmark your page and quite possibly unplug and turn off all the phones I can find and we'll both be out cold until approximately four o'clock tomorrow afternoon, if not later, at which point we will have breakfast, no matter what time it is."
She can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness as he smears the antiseptic gel onto the Band-Aid he's preparing and presses it to her hand, and this bandage is also followed by a soft kiss to the padding.
He stands up, gently setting her down before grabbing her jacket. He nods out the door of the bathroom, handing it to her. "Go change, I got your drink," he says softly before turning to hastily clean the counter and repack the first aid kit.
He quickly makes a mug of the tea, snagging her book off the coffee table as he made his way back to their bedroom. When he walks through the doorframe, where her gaze rests expectantly, she smiles. She reaches out for her mug, and he pulls it back, even though it was already out of reach.
She gives him a pleading look, cocking her head and sticking her bottom lip out at him in a pout. "On one condition," he says, holding it just out of reach. Se raises her eyebrows, prompting his explanation.
He kneels next to the bed, dropping the book on her lap and offering his hand, which she takes. "When all of this," he sways his head in a wide arc, "gets to be too much, you tell me, 'kay?" She attempts to act confused. "C'mon, Juliet. I know the re-opening of the Yin case got to you. Just tell me when it gets to be too much, okay? You don't have to be fine."
Smiling sadly, she nods. He passes her the mug and he climbs into the other side of the bed. Throwing his arm around her, he opens the book, scanning the page before he begins. She points to where she is on the page and he stops just short of reading the first scentence. Flipping the book to read the back, he reads the synopsis.
"Juliet." She hums her answer, the equivalent of a what?.
"This book is about kidnapping." He slides the bookmark back into place and drops it on the bedside table.
"Shawn, please. Don't," he can tell she just wants to forget the whole thing, but he refuses to read her a book about a stolen child tonight, when she's pushing down memories of being taken herself.
"Juliet, that's not going to help anyone," he's fully prepared to argue his way out of this one, but she gives him that look until he gives in. "One chapter," he says, holding up a single finger as if to solidify the statement.
She's asleep after four pages, sinking into the mattress and relaxing in his embrace. He removes the empty coffee mug from her hand and puts it, along with the book, back on the bedside table as he clicks off the lamp. Her only words as she drifts off are mumbled: Thanks, Shawn.
"Anytime, Jules. Sweet dreams."
Thankfully, they would be Yin-free.
/|\
Not sure if I like the ending. It seems anticlimactic and cliché. But I got nothing else and my Shules withdrawal is slowly but surely sucking the life out of me.
Psych, come back to me.
Seriously, I'll probably die from an OD when Shawn Rescues Darth Vader airs.
Regardless, I would like to introduce you to the Mr. Review Button, who will be your new best friend.