A little less action, a little more conversation.

Howdy folks! Good to see y'all. Glad you're still reading! This one was awkward and I'm not sure how happy I am with it. I promise the next chapter will be better and it will have confrontations and stuff.


When Shawn woke up, Lassiter was already in the kitchen. He was refreshed and determined. Today, he was finally going to get to the bottom of this.

"Juliet left you a pineapple." Lassiter said as Shawn came in.

"What?"

"it's on the counter." Shawn went over and picked it up. He hefted it, and gave Lassiter an odd look.

"How did she know I was here?"

"I told her." Carlton took a mouthful of his coffee.

"You TOLD her!?!" Shawn nearly dropped his pineapple, which would have been downright blasphemus.

"Yeah."

"What the Hell, man?"

"Spencer, relax. I said you were delirious and came over here to share your germs. We both have the 'flu, remember?"

"Oh, right. You lied to Jules? What did you say?" Shawn jumped up to sit on the counter and swung his legs back and forth. It was a difficult feat to achieve with his hands restrained, but he managed it (since he'd already shown Lassiter he could get out of the cuffs any time he wanted, he'd been ignoring them in the hopes that Lassie wouldn't feel the need to restrain him further).

"I told her you wandered over here, delirious, with a high temperature, hopped up on cold medicine. I couldn't in good conscience let you out like that, could I?" Lassiter replied mildly. He didn't make a sarcastic comment. He didn't tell Shawn to get his ass down off the counter, now. Shawn wasn't sure how to take this new nice Lassiter. He wasn't being a hard ass. So, he did what he always does.

"Where is it?" He asked, looking around the kitchen.

"Where's what?"

"The pod you climbed out of."

"Spencer...!" Lassiter ground out, his good mood beginning to dissolve. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "I'm... Am I not allowed to be nice to you?"

"No. It ruins our whole dynamic. That would make you Gus. And Gus would then have to take on the role of you, and he just couldn't pull off the whole bad-cop Irish hairline thing."

"Riiiiiiight...." Lassiter shook his head. "Anyway, O'Hara says get well soon. She also told me about an interesting conversation she overheard."

"Ooh, gossip! Do tell."

"Well, it seems that a group of uniforms were bragging about sending someone a message."

Shawn paled.


"Do you know who that might be, Spencer?"

"What? Why would I know?"

"Well, you are psychic after all." Lassiter stated, deadpan. Then sighed."I'd put money on their fists matching your bruises."

"Will you just let it go already!?"

"Spen...Shawn. This is serious. Please. Talk to me."

Shawn looked at him for a long moment, assessing. He took a deep breath.

"Fine. It started a couple of weeks ago. They've jumped me three or four times now."

"Who are they?" It was almost a growl.

"John Ellis, Colby Randolf, and George Truman."

"Why are they doing this?"

"They each have their own reasons. What I don't get is how they hooked up. They all work in different departments and they have nothing in common except their loathing of me."

"Come on, Spencer. Cops talk. Pissed off cops talk loud. In the bar, at the gym, at church."

"Yeah." Shawn looked at the floor.

"You want to tell me about it?"

"John's recently become one with the Lord. He thinks I've sold my soul to the Devil. I'm not sure if he wants to kill me or save me. George, he worked for Drimmer, and believed him when he said that we were doing it. He's a total homophobe. As for Colby, he thinks that I'm a fraud, and that I make light of police work."

"Well, one of them got it right at least." Lassiter muttered, quietly. But not quietly enough. He missed the brief spasm of hurt pass over Shawn's features before the mask was firmly back in place. Lassiter spoke louder. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I thought I could handle it myself. Anyway, it's not like it's that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" Carlton shook his head. "Spencer, you aren't that stupid. Look at you! They could have killed you!"

"Like I said, not that big a deal." Shawn replied, shrugging.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Suddenly, Carlton was shouting. He didn't notice the way Shawn flinched back from his anger, raising his cuffed hands a little in defence. "Since when is your life worth so little? Spencer, we see enough death every day, why are you so willing to put yourself in harm's way? How many times have you stepped in front of a gun? Gone haring off to a crime scene without back up? Bad mouthed the bad guy? Do you want to die?"

"NO!" The word burst out of Shawn with a passion he didn't know he had. "I don't want to die. But, sometimes..." His voice became a defeated whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if things would be better without me."


Lassiter stared at him. The problem went deeper than he thought. This wasn't just... how was he supposed to handle this? He wasn't sure if he should stage an intervention, or what. His first instinct was to yell. He went with it.

"Damn it, Spencer! You are not allowed to die! Do you know how much paperwork there would be? Not to mention, Guster would be moping around. And what about Juliet! How am I supposed to deal with a partner who is mourning the boyfriend she never had!" He stood up from his seat at the kitchen table and strode towards Shawn, really angry now. "How dare you? I knew you were selfish, but I had no idea how bad. You've saved lives. You're annoying as hell, and some days it's all I can do not to punch you in the mouth, but if you just drop down dead, then everyone who you saved, everyone you could save..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"ENOUGH!" Shawn yelled. He was shaking. "Enough. I've had it! I'm tired, my wrists ache, I'm fed up. All I want to do is get a proper night's sleep in my own bed. But you! You have to stage a fricking intervention! You chain me up, you feed me chicken soup, you treat me like a goddamn invalid! But you know as well as I do that you should have taken me in as soon as I 'fessed up! And now? Now, you want to punch me too? Brilliant. That's just what I need." He was shouting, and he suddenly realised it. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet; almost broken. "Just let me go. Just... let me go."

"Spencer, I can't do that. You know I can't do that. I need... you need help. You can't just keep dealing with this by putting on that happy shiny mask and make glib eighties references."

"Why? It's worked for years! You don't... you don't even know me. I'm a disappointment to everyone. Nothing I do is ever good enough. I try and I try, but..." He shrugged. "I run away when things get difficult. I'm a freak. I treat my friends like crap."

"That's all bullshit! You save people's lives all the time. You solve crimes that baffle entire departments. And Guster isn't the moron you like to pretend he is. If you treated him that badly, he wouldn't stick around." He shook his head. "The truth, Spencer. You hide beneath this crap, it's all you ever do. You prance around, like everything's fine and treat everything like it's a big party. Hell, you got shot, but it's all a game, right?"

"No. No it's not a game! It's...." He snorted. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"Seriously. There is no way that you could possibly get it."

"Gee Spencer, I may not be a genius, but I am not an idiot either."

"It's not something I can explain!" He tried to run a hand through his hair but the manacles got in the way.

"Try." Lassiter folded his arms.

"Why do you even care? What's the point?"

"What makes you think you are so worthless? What made you decide to pretend?"

"Like you said, I'm annoying, selfish..." he grinned at throwing Lassiter's words back at him.

"No. It's something else." Lassiter tilted his head, thinking. Suddenly he clicked his fingers. "It's because of the girl. No, not her exactly. What she represents."

"What are you talking about? That's crazy talk, Lassie-pants."

"No, see, that's you deflecting. That means I'm on the right track."

"Deflecting? You've been talking to my Mom again, haven't you?"


Lassiter thought things over. He may not be a super-genius like Spencer, but he was a damn good detective. He knew he could put this together. He started with the death of the child. That was the catalyst. Shawn had been upset at the scene, but had acted like it hadn't affected him. He made a reference to The Breakfast Club, called Guster a silly name and flirted with O'Hara. But then he went home and drank for 32 hours before showing up on Lassiter's porch. And the rest of this stuff was just bubbling under the surface until they hadn't saved her. Lassiter replayed their conversations in his head.

He thinks I hate him, he has to beg the Chief for cases, he is way smarter than anyone believes. His childhood wasn't ideal..."nothing I do is ever good enough." Oh. Is that it?

"You did all you could. It wasn't your fault." Carlton's voice was almost gentle.

"What?" Shawn looked up, eyes wide.

"The girl. She died, and it was sad. But you did your best and it wasn't your fault." I don't know if I'll want to go fishing with Henry again. He really messed the kid up.

"I screwed up!" Shawn pushed himself off the counter, and walked to the other end of the kitchen, not looking at Lassiter.

"No, you solved it. We caught the bad guy. We...you saved God knows how many children who would have been killed in the future."

"No. I... I failed. I let that little girl die. I missed a clue. I played the psychic card and I knew you and the Chief would need more than that. I waited and pissed around, trying to convince you all, and I.... if I was a cop, if I was just a regular P.I. if I hadn't been worried about my act... she might have lived."

"Moron." Lassiter said, but his tone was friendly, even mildly amused.

"Excuse me? I am experiencing manly angst here and you call me a moron?"

"If the boot fits."

"What did you just say to me?"

"If. The boot. Fits."

"Dude. Did you just quote Toy Story at me?"

"....No."

"Oh, you so did! I bet you're a Sherriff Woody fan, huh?"

"Well... Hey! We were having a moment and you interrupted it with inappropriate humour! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you!"

"It's what I do." A shrug.

"You are a moron, you know? If it wasn't for you we wouldn't have gotten Jameson at all. You are so good at being a detective that it's ridiculous. If you were a cop, you'd be fed up all the time. Not to mention you'd be constrained by warrants and subpoenas the same as the rest of us. We'd never catch anyone that way." Lassiter took a deep breath. This next bit was actually going to hurt. "As for the whole 'psychic' charade. That's mostly my fault. If I had just listened that first day, instead of trying to arrest you... well, this would be a whole different story.
That day. When the girl died. We should have listened to you. When have you been wrong? You need to stop feeling guilty. It's my fault; at least as much as it is yours. And what about the Chief? I didn't realise how she treats you until I really thought about it today. How many times have you been wrong? You had to beg to be put on the case. And then you still solved it far faster than the rest of us, with the added problems of me mocking you and those bastards hassling you!"

"Easy Lassie. Down boy. It's not that bad. The Chief can't just constantly let me on every case. She has budget issues. And you know I'm not the most professional consultant in the world."

Lassiter looked at him. Really looked. And he realised what the problem was. Shawn was chronically unable to see the worst in people. He saw Vick and Lassiter as his friends, the good guys and as such, they were above reproach. The officers who beat him, they were still cops, so they must be in the right. He could figure out crimes and bad guys motives, but he couldn't accept evil in people he sees as good (which thanks to his father, included the entire police department). That had shown clear in the Drimmer investigation. Shawn was... innocent.

But, because he couldn't blame them, he could only blame himself. And his father had reinforced this state of mind.

"Sweet merciful justice, Spencer! Are you really that arrogant? You think you're God, is that it? Able to control everything? You think you should be able to spot evidence that the entire precinct missed?" he shook his head. "You're a brilliant detective (and if you tell anyone I said that, I will shoot you) but you are not all powerful. You couldn't know that he would break pattern and kill the kid a day early. I hate to break it to you, but you are not psychic!"

There was a moment of heavily charged silence and then they both started to laugh.


I'm sorry for the massive helping of angst in here. It was getting less angsty last chapter, but this one went all angst ridden again. Also, i know Lassie is OoC. I'm sorry about that. i promise he will get to draw his gun and arrest someone before this story is over. REVIEWS! Pretty please with pineapple on top!

Thanks for reading!