Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.


Freaky Thursday

"Mm, this is good sambuca," Juliet said. "Are you sure you don't want to try a glass?"

Lassiter looked up from his plate. "I can't. Driving."

Juliet laughed. "Does that mean you can't have one glass? It'll wear off before we leave."

"The only time I've ever had a dinner out that lasted long enough to burn off the buzz from a glass of wine I got - " He broke off, realizing that finishing that sentence - "I got divorced" - would garner awkward questions he couldn't answer truthfully.

"You got what?" Juliet asked shrewdly.

He smiled sheepishly. "Is this an interrogation, detective? Do I need a lawyer?"

She ran a well-manicured finger around the rim of her glass and batted her eyelashes. "I don't know, Mr. Spencer…do you?"

"Before the night is out, I suspect so," Lassiter said, only half-joking.

"Hmm, sounds like you're planning on being a bad boy tonight. Maybe I should make sure my handcuffs are in good working order."

Lassiter sat up ramrod straight in his chair. "So, Juliet," he said, too brightly, "read any good books lately?"

Fortunately, she merely giggled and allowed the change of subject to stand.

"Haven't had much chance to read, but I've been working my way through Christopher Moore, like you recommended."

Lassiter had no idea what she was talking about, of course, so he was forced to wing it, which turned out as well as it usually does. "Oh yeah, that…that's a good book."

"Which one?"

"Er…all of 'em," he said. His tongue felt like cotton wool - being Spencer for one night was harder than the obstacle course segment of the physical reevaluation exam. At least he now had a vague idea that "Christopher Moore" was an author and not a title.

"I confess I went out of order," Juliet said. "I read Practical Demonkeeping and then jumped straight to Fool - when I found out it was King Lear's fool I couldn't resist. When I'm done with it I'll track down the others."

Practical Demonkeeping? What the heck kind of literature was Spencer corrupting his partner with? Fool, now, that sounded about right, though King Lear sounded a little high-brow for the psychic. He still hadn't a clue what she was talking about but he was capable of taking clues, putting them together, and reaching a conclusion from what he knew. Christopher Moore most likely wrote humorous novels, probably as dark as one could get and still be some measure of funny.

"Oh yeah, that one's really funny," he said. "I won't say anything more about it, though, 'cause I don't want to ruin the ending for you."

"I didn't know you'd read Fool," O'Hara said. "I'm at the part where Regan and Goneril have kicked Lear out of Gloucester's castle. I left off as Pocket was climbing over the outer wall to go after him."

Lassiter nodded sagely and turned his attention back to his food, hoping that conversation would fade into an easy - for her - silence.

"Seen anything good on TV this week?" she asked.

Lassiter stirred his noodles aimlessly with his fork. "I don't watch much television," he said, before he could stop himself. Juliet's snort of incredulity was enough to remind him who he was supposed to be, but what could he say, exactly? He didn't watch much television, and doubted very much that what little he did watch overlapped often with what Spencer watched. "I've been busy this week, I mean. Not much time to…er…'chill in front of the tube.'"

"You must have watched something," Juliet said, with a smile. "Come on - spill. It wasn't Debbie Does Dallas, was it?"

Lost for his own reaction to that question, facetious as it may have been, Lassiter reached out and plucked Shawn's reaction out of thin air. "Debbie Does Dallas? Yeah, in a double-feature with Deep Throat. The seventies called, they want their porn back."

"Oh. So it was Ass Masters, then, was it?"

Lassiter choked and had to take a sip of water to compose himself. "Actually, Juliet, I believe this week I watched a Mythbusters rerun," he said, with some asperity and complete honesty. "On the Science channel."

"The one where Jamie dresses up in black leather and ties Adam to the Wheel of Pain?"

Is this the sort of conversation these two have all the time? Lassiter wondered. Out loud he said, "No, it was the one where they tried to build the Confederate steam-powered machine gun."

Lassiter looked at Juliet to discover that she was struggling to suppress mirth. She failed, and sat back in her chair laughing helplessly. She wiped her eyes with her nice linen napkin and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Shawn," she said. "I know I'm making you uncomfortable, though damned if I know why. I can't help it - it's so nice to get under your skin, for a change, instead of constantly being on the receiving end."

Anything he could think of to say in response to that fell into the category of "trying to sabotage the relationship," so he rendered himself speechless with a huge bite of food. After that the conversation turned down safer channels, as Juliet evidently made the decision not to bait him any more. In fact, the remainder of the evening was kind of nice - they talked the way they used to do before the partnership was called into question, a good reminder of why he'd been trying so hard to accept what was, to him, patently unacceptable over the past few months. He was surprised and almost saddened when the plates were cleared away and the waiter asked if they'd like anything off the dessert menu.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Lassiter said, again unconsciously committing an egregious error against the character he was supposed to be playing. Juliet quirked an eyebrow at him but shook her head at the waiter, too.

"Could we have our check, please?" she asked. The server brought the bill around and, with an inscrutable look from one to the other of them, placed the little leather billfold it was clipped into equidistant from both of them. Juliet reached for it but Lassiter was quicker. He pulled his gold card from Shawn's pocket and placed it in the holder. When the server brought it back he signed his own name, in what he was relieved to see was his own handwriting, on the credit slip. He walked Juliet back to the parking lot, gave the valet who drove up with his Fusion a suspicious glare, and handed her into the vehicle. That was the soonest he realized something was wrong - she sat in the bucket seat with her arms folded tight across her chest and a scowl on her pretty face.

"Okay, what did I screw up this time?" he asked in bewilderment.

"When did you get a credit card, Shawn?" she asked.

"Oh, I…I don't have one," he said. He thought fast. "Lassie loaned me his card, because I was short on cash."

"And if I called him up right now, he'd tell me the same story, right? That he loaned you his gold card and his car, because…why? Because you've traded places?"

In answer, Lassiter pulled out his cell phone - actually Shawn's cell phone, since neither of them had thought it wise to trade, given the signature look of the Psych phone - and dialed in his own cellular number. Somehow, hearing his own voice at the other end of a telephone call was in some way even more surreal than holding a face-to-face conversation with someone wearing his skin. "Hey, Lassie," he said, "it's me, Shawn. Say, 'Jules' is a little peeved with me right now, because she thinks I stole your car and your gold card. Yeah, I was hoping that, for the sake of the relationship and all, you could tell her yourself that yes, this was all legitimate and I'm going to pay you back?"

"Dude, Jules asked me out, I wasn't supposed to have to pay," Shawn whined.

"Yes, Detective Lassiter, I am going to pay you back, because I am a responsible adult who ought, on occasion, to treat my girlfriend to a nice dinner simply because she wants it, with no ulterior motives, and, despite the fact that I am undoubtedly a fiscal nightmare and a damage deposit away from totally degenerate homeless person, I can meet my financial obligations even if I am forced to beg loans from my friends."

"Geez, you don't have to beat me over the head with it," Shawn sighed. "Put her on. And call me again the minute you drop her off, because I've got something big to tell you, you know, about our 'problem.'"

Lassiter handed the green smart phone to his partner and watched her nod into it at the words he couldn't hear. "Okay, you really gave him permission to use your credit card? Really?" she asked. "Well, then, I guess I should thank you for a lovely evening, Carlton. Listen - I'll pay you back, all right? What? No, I'm serious, it was nice of you and all, but you really shouldn't have - "

She listened to something else for a moment, then said good bye. "I'll…see you at work, then, Carlton. Thanks again."

She handed back the phone. "That was probably the strangest conversation I have ever had with Lassiter, and I've had some strange ones," she said.

"What was so strange about it?" Lassiter asked nervously.

"Well, he kept calling me 'Jules,' for one thing, which is even weirder than you continuously not calling me Jules tonight. You…two…are really taking this 'in each other's shoes' thing seriously, aren't you?"

Lassiter shook his head sadly. "You have no idea how seriously."

"Well, I hope something good comes of it, because I've got to tell you, it's kind of starting to freak me out. I mean, you acting like an adult has been a nice change, but Carlton-as-you is just…scary."

"I…suppose he's doing a terrible job of it, as always," Lassiter said, as lightly as he could.

"That's the scary part. He's doing it really, frighteningly, revoltingly well. No offense, Shawn, but…you're the type of person who really should be limited to 'one or less.'"

I think, if I were Spencer, that I would be offended by that statement, Lassiter thought. It seems like maybe O'Hara isn't quite as satisfied with her relationship as I was afraid she was. Good God, what am I supposed to do about that? Try and do something to make her think more highly of the jackass?

He decided instead to do nothing, other than drive her back to her apartment in silence. He was fairly certain that he'd kept his end of the bargain and not done anything on this one date to make O'Hara dump Shawn outright, but Spencer was just going to have to take his medicine later when Juliet finally decided she was done paddling in the kiddie pool. He pulled up outside her building and opened the passenger door for her.

"I had a really good time, Shawn," Juliet said. She sounded a little bit surprised. "I don't mean to sound like an old nag, but it was nice to have an actual grown-up conversation with you that didn't depend heavily on sexual innuendo. For the first time, it really felt like we were connecting as friends. I mean, we always were friends, sort of, but you never seemed like the kind of guy who could really be friends with a woman without bringing sex into it. For future reference, a girl kind of likes to be able to be friends, real friends who just have rambling, pointless, wonderful conversations about everything and nothing, with her boyfriend - at least now and then. I'm not saying we have to give each other manicures or anything, but I think we discovered tonight that we have more interests in common than we thought. It wouldn't be too tortuous, would it, to just talk every now and then? About something other than TV."

"I enjoy talking with you, Juliet," Lassiter said honestly. "I'm sorry I'm not better at it."

She smiled and touched his cheek. He froze at the contact but she didn't seem to notice. "That's okay. You want to come in for a nightcap?"

Lassiter tried to smile. He couldn't tell whether or not he succeeded. "Thanks, but…not tonight. I…I've got to get Lassie's car and credit card back to him, you know. He's timing me, and we don't want him kicking the door in, right?"

She chuckled softly and planted a light kiss on his cheek just below his left eye. "No, I suppose we don't. Good night, then, Shawn."

"Good night, O'Hara," Lassiter whispered after the door closed behind her. Half-stunned, he walked down the steps to his car while dialing his number on Shawn's phone.

"Lassie - great. First off, how'd it go?" Shawn answered after the first ring.

"Fine," Lassiter said. "She seemed to have a decently good time. Now, what did you come up with on our 'problem?'"

"No solutions, I'm afraid, but a course of action. It occurs to me that we could do no worse than to bring our problem to a medical professional."

Lassiter stopped short. "Spencer. If we go to a doctor and say that we've swapped bodies, we'll both end up in a room with padded walls wearing matching white jackets with sleeves that buckle in back."

"No, no, no, no, no, Lassie, you didn't let me finish. It occurs to me that we need to go to a medical professional who knows both of us well enough to recognize that we're telling the truth. If we could find a doc with a little touch of the crazies it probably wouldn't hurt, either. So I get to thinking, where can we go to find a guy who knows us both well enough to spot the problem, is kooky enough to buy our explanation, and yet still has an advanced medical degree?"

"What? God, Spencer, no - not the morgue."

"Yes, Lass-hopper. The morgue."

TBC