Chapter 25

Shawn wheeled into the station, thrilled that Lassi had finally pried open his wallet and sprung for a wheelchair. Temporarily, of course, but Shawn didn't care because it meant he could go back and see everyone at the SBPD. He popped a wheelie as he went past McNabb, who grinned, and then slid to a squeaking stop next to Jules' desk.

"Jules!" he yelled, too happy to keep quiet. "I have missed you with the force of a thousand suns! Where have you been this last week? I was ready with jello shooters, 27 Dresses, and A Walk to Remember, but you bailed on our best of the worst rom-com night!"

She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him as he kept on trying to do stunts in his wheelchair, failing spectacularly at nearly every single one.

"It's called working, Shawn. Some of us still have to do it," she added dryly as she reached for a file, but before she could get to it, Spencer reached over and snatched it off her desk, wheeling away from her, his eyes flashing over the page for only a few seconds before she had jumped up, caught up with him, and pulled it out of his hands.

"That's not your case. In fact, you shouldn't even be looking at it. The chief specifically told me to keep you off of it."

Shawn's eyebrow shot up.

"Ooh, really? Than that means that she needs me on it more than ever. If I could just-"

"Shawn!" Gus stormed into the room, two smoothies in his hands, looking absolutely furious. "Just because you have a wheelchair, that does not give you the right to take off whenever you goddamn feel like it!"

"Aw, don't be a cricket with a broken leg, Gus! I was just convincing Jules here to put us on the most recent case!" He raised a hand to his head, doing his usual psychic routine and ignored Gus as he rolled his eyes, and said, "I believe it has something to do with…Irish mobs and drug running." He stopped and then said, "Hold up. That name. I remember the name."

He wheeled around and stared at Juliet accusingly, and snapped out in an uncharacteristically brusque manner, "Evan O'Daly. Lassiter told me that case was closed over a week ago, but if it isn't, than that means that it's still open, and since I don't see my boyfriend around here anywhere and the coat that he wore when he left this morning is over on the coat rack, then that means he isn't at lunch, and that also means, since his desk is clear, that he's using a different wallet, because he left his in his jacket, which means a fake I.D., which translates to doing undercover work…and he didn't fucking tell me! He's the one who wanted me off of it, wasn't he?" he hissed out, throwing his hands up in the air, obviously more than pissed.

Juliet gave him a commiserating look, but was also quietly impressed at how much he'd picked up on from just seeing a single name. How the hell had he figured that out so quickly? She brushed it to the side, however, when Gus said, "C'mon, Shawn. That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"Actually…"

Guster looked at her in surprise.

"Wait a second, are you telling me that he guessed right?"

She nodded, biting her lip, and carefully said, "Look, he promised me not to tell you anything, Shawn! He said it would only make you upset and that you might do something, oh, I don't know…reckless? And, well, I kinda agree with him. You're not exactly known for taking people lying to you very well."

He said nothing, his arms crossed over his chest, but then he gave her a hard stare and said, "Hold up…is this why you cancelled lunch on me? Twice?"

"Uh, I…"

He threw his hands down to the wheels of his wheelchair and moved himself away from her desk.

"Great, just great," Shawn muttered, ignoring Gus as he tried to hand him his smoothie. "No wonder he didn't want to let me out of the apartment. He was afraid I was going to find out the case wasn't closed, and that I would mess up his little undercover operation."

She tried to protest, but he cut her off with, "Why him? He's lousy at lying! Why would the chief ever even consider him for undercover work? And with the Irish mob?"

"Actually," Juliet corrected him, "Lassiter's one of the best I've ever seen. I mean, yeah, he's not all that great at lying in a normal social situation, granted, I'll give you that, but he's pretty damn amazing at undercover work, Shawn. I've never seen anyone slip so easily into his personas the way that he does. The FBI saw his background and skill set and they immediately-"

"FBI?" Gus said, incredulous. "Uh, I thought Lassiter couldn't stand them, let alone want to work with them!"

"C'mon, Gus, what're you talking about?" Shawn drawled out. "If it means impressing them with his skills, Lassi's the perfect candidate for playing show-off Head Detective." He paused for a moment and then exploded. "It's not like I can do anything!" he yelled, hitting his hands against the armrests. "I'm stuck in a freakin' chair until I heal up, and he's gone off to who knows where to be all Steve Burns in some shady, unnamed rainbow club in a bad part of Santa Barbara…!"

Juliet and Gus were both quiet, until she registered just what the psychic had said and took note of the movie reference and what it meant. How had he…?

"Shawn, how did you know?"

He looked up at her, his green eyes flashing, still angry.

"Know what?"

Her voice went tight and her tone suddenly shifted into interrogation mode as she said quietly, but sternly, "Cut the crap, Shawn. How did you know that he's investigating the gay club scene? That's not in the report, and no one knows about it except for me and the chief, we haven't even shared that bit with the FBI. Now, answer the question: how'd you know?"

He wasn't about to tell her that he knew because he had only just realized why Carlton had bought new jeans, shoes, and a couple of slightly too-tight black t-shirts. He felt like an idiot for not putting it together until that moment. He blamed it on the fact that he was physically incapacitated, so it was keeping him from being on top of his game. Shit. How had he not figured it out until now? Carlton had told him he'd bought the jeans because his old ones had torn at the zipper, and that the shirts were for outside work. And the hair gel. Dammit. Dead giveaway. How had he missed it?

Quickly, he shot out, "The energy here at the station is much more concentrated than at home. Deception, when in high concentrations," he said, pleased with how easy he was faking it, "Causes massive disruption in ley lines which builds up an amplification of spiritual energy at the point of disruption. To put it in layman's terms," he added, arching an almost condescending eyebrow and putting a finger up to his temple, "Too many lies in one place attracts spirits of truth. They wanted me to know, Jules."

She stared at him.

"That…actually makes some sort of sense. Uh, wow, Shawn. I guess lying to you wasn't exactly the best idea, huh?"

He nodded, his lips tight, but he turned it into a jaunty smile and brushed everything off as if it wasn't a big deal, even though he was cursing Carlton out violently inside his mind.

"No big deal, Jules. He wanted to protect me, like the big mama bear that he is. It's okay. Just tell him I stopped by and said that I'll see him at home, alright?"

She nodded, and then stared after him as he rolled out of the station, Gus finally catching up with him, successfully handing him his smoothie. She thought back to his remarkably scarily accurate deductions that he'd done as soon he'd wheeled into the bullpen, and she wondered about it. She'd only seen glimpses of that kind of thing a few times before. She had seen it in brief flashes, but they'd been covered up by his characteristic wild gesturing, along with some sort of psychic revelation.

Shawn consistently made her think of an incredibly over exuberant puppy that always ran from place to place, never walking, doing every trick asked of him with ease and with boundless energy and wild abandon, seemingly unaware of the screeching tires of a car coming just a hair too close to hitting him, but would occasionally slow down and raise his hackles the instant he sensed any real danger.

Juliet laughed for a moment at the metaphor, and sat back down at her desk.

The junior detective looked over at her partner's desk, and she bit her lip.

Lassiter was going to be pissed when he found out that Shawn knew.

"You told him?" Lassiter said coldly, tightly, making Juliet squirm uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"I didn't tell him anything, Lassiter, I swear! He came in and just from looking at your coat and your desk, he knew! I mean, he did this whole weird thing where he managed to figure out that the mob case wasn't closed, and that you were working undercover…it was weird," she said a second time, but then added, "But I didn't tell him!"

He nodded, and said carefully, "Uh huh. You didn't tell him. Sure." He paused for dramatic effect. "Then how did he know about the nightclubs? How, O'Hara?! Care to explain that?"

She stared back at him, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

"Don't take your anger out on me, Carlton. He's psychic, remember? He knew without me having to say a word!"

Lassiter glared at her as he shucked off the leather coat that he was still wearing, the heat of it oppressive in the warmth of the bullpen. Psychic, his ass. He ran an agitated hand through his hair and tried not to be squeamish as his fingers almost got stuck in the gel. Removing his hand, he wiped his fingers absently on the black jeans that fit him just a bit too tightly for comfort, and then turned back on his partner, hissing out, "O'Hara, the only reason why the FBI are working with us is because of the drugs. If they knew about the fact that the drug runners aren't our main goal, that we're trying to find a serial killer in the gay community, we're screwed. You know that, right?"

She nodded.

"Yes, I know. That's why I told Shawn not to breathe a word of this to anyone."

He rolled his eyes and reached for his sport coat…and then dropped his hand, hesitating. He would look stupid wearing it over a black t-shirt. And, since Shawn already knew, he might as well wear the leather back to the apartment. He picked up the motorcycle jacket and looked back at his partner and said, "I'll talk to him at home, see if I can't convince him to stay away from the case."

Juliet gave him a quick once over and said, "If you're wearing that, I think he'll just about agree to anything, partner."

Confused at what she meant, he just turned and grabbed his keys, heading home.

The instant he walked through the door, he knew something was up. He heard sounds coming from the kitchen. Not good. Quickly, he stormed into the kitchen…where he found Shawn trying to reach something on a shelf in the refrigerator, straining on the edge of his seat…

"Spencer!"

He didn't even flinch.

"Lassi-lips! Could you be a doll and hand me the white broccoli on the shelf that I can't reach?"

"It's called cauliflower, Shawn."

"I've heard it both ways, babe. Just hand it over, please. I'm cooking."

Amused, and wanting to see what he was attempting to make, he handed it to him and decided to watch the event unfold. As Shawn rolled over to the counter, Lassiter was surprised to see actual food items on top of a cutting board, and not just random junk. There were carrots, onions, slices of swiss cheese, and a partially opened can of cream of mushroom soup.

"What are you making?"

"Dunno, but it should taste good," Shawn said as he pulled open a drawer and pulled out a knife. He brought the cutting board down to his lap and diced up the vegetables with practiced ease, while Carlton started to lecture him.

"O'Hara told me you dropped by today."

"Uh huh."

He wasn't paying attention. Frustrated, Carlton reached down and pulled the knife from his hands and put it out of his reach and said, "She was impressed with your deductive reasoning this morning, Shawn." He turned his glare on him. "She called it your 'weird thing'. Care to explain yourself?"

The fake psychic rolled his eyes, looked up at the ceiling and then said, "Okay, maybe I kinda-sorta went all Sherlock Holmes in front of her, but it was only for a second and Gus was there to cover for me!"

"Oh, he covered for you? Really?"

"Technically, yes," he said hesitantly, but his boyfriend glared and he relented. "Okay, so he didn't really cover, more did a misdirect, but hey, it all worked out in the end! By the way," he added, turning away from him, pulling open another drawer and pulling out a baster, "I'm still pissed that you didn't tell me about the undercover thing, so don't expect to get any of this chicken, tonight."

"Chicken?"

Right on cue, the oven dinged.

"Yes, chicken, Lassi. My chicken." He grabbed the board back and rolled into his shins, moving him out of the way. "Now, move." He did, and tried not show his annoyance when Shawn opened the oven to reveal a perfectly sliced and cooked chicken, sitting in a roasting pan filled with some sort of sauce that smelled divine. Of course, Shawn could cook like a professional chef. Why was he even surprised? Shawn dropped the vegetables into the pan and then grabbed some oven mitts off the counter and pulled it out, putting it on the cutting board on his lap.

Lassiter watched as Shawn then rolled away over to the table, serving himself up several slices.

"By the way, Lassi," he added casually as he stabbed a piece of his chicken, almost conversationally. "If I weren't still injured right now, I would totally let you fuck me in that outfit."

Nearly choking on his tongue, but also filing away the sordid piece of information, the detective turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, heading towards the shower.

He still had gel in his hair.

Part 25/?