In honor of Halloween... I wrote this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of its characters. I do own the plot line and any characters I make up. I will not be posting this anywhere but Fanfiction(Dot)Net.
Lassiter sat on the couch of Shawn Spencer's 'office' – or at least that's what he called it. Lassiter couldn't imagine how anyone could get any work done there. There were two leather couches, a flat screen TV, and, at this moment, about thirty people. Spencer had decided to throw a Halloween party (although it was October 26th) for all of the people that worked at the SBPD. And there were a few other women there that Lassiter had never seen before. He decided that they could only be described as… 'Flirty.'
Lassiter felt uncomfortable watching the people swarm around the office. Spencer had put two tables in the room, one of which had snacks and the other had punch (which Lassiter was sure had something other than punch in it). He watched as O'Hara filled up a cup with said punch. She took a sip, made a funny face, and then poured the drink into a plant. Lassiter smiled. Yep, Spencer spiked the punch.
O'Hara was the only reason that Lassiter hadn't left already. Lassiter was her ride home (her car got totaled in some kind of police related accident) and he wouldn't leave her there. He knew it would be polite to wait for her. He just wished he could wait somewhere else.
At that moment, Spencer came over and sat down next to Lassiter on the couch. He looked over at him with that stupid grin of his. "Lassie, why are you just sitting here?" he asked. "Get up, have some fun!"
"No," Lassiter said shortly. "I hate parties like this. And I also hate Halloween."
"Lassie, who hates Halloween?" asked Shawn. "And… what do you mean 'parties like this'? Everyone else is having fun!"
"Everyone else is drunk off your fruit punch," Lassiter retorted.
"Actually, Jules and Gus aren't drunk. And neither am I. And you might as well enjoy yourself, Jules offered to help me clean up, so you're here until the end no matter what."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Go away. Now."
"Fine," Shawn said, throwing up his hands defensively. He got up and went back to mingling with his guests.
Lassiter waited a long two more hours. He watched several people getting drunk and acting crazy, but surprisingly Spencer was not one of them. Well, he acted crazy, but with no help from alcohol. The guests all found their designated drivers and left the party at around eleven.
"Bye!" Spencer called after the last ones. "Come back for my famous Veterans day party!"
"Shawn, you have a lot of parties. I've only been here for about a year and I've been to about… seven," O'Hara told him.
"Well, this one wasn't that big. The Christmas one will be bigger," Shawn replied.
"Remember the St. Patrick's day incident?" Gus asked with a grin.
"She lived!" Shawn said defensively.
"I don't want to know," said Lassiter. He just wanted to finish cleaning up so that he could go home.
"You guys don't really have to clean up," Shawn said. "I'll have the maid get it."
"Shawn, we don't have a maid. I clean up around here," Gus said.
"You said you didn't like your title as Special Helper… how about Maid?"
"Shawn!"
"If you ladies are done fighting," Lassiter interrupted. "Then can O'Hara and I go?"
"You could…" Shawn said. "Or we could hold a séance!"
"Why in the world would we do that?" asked Lassiter.
"Because I'm a psychic!" Spencer said. "Come on, it'll be fun!"
"I agree," O'Hara agreed, earning a glare from Lassiter. "Come on, Carlton, please!"
Lassiter still wasn't going to leave O'Hara by herself with no ride home. "I'll stay," Lassiter said. "But I'm not participating in any séance"
"That's fine, you can just sit there," Shawn commented. "Let's go have us a séance!"
Next chapter will be a little more... well, it's kind of freaky to be honest. Like, scary freaky. Here, let me give you a preview:
Next Chapter - Title: Gus
Preview: Strange things start happening when Shawn starts his seance, but Lassiter isn't scared. He's sure that it's just a coincedence - Gus will turn up eventually.
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