Shawn had been on the receiving end of Lassiter's skepticism towards his 'abilities' since he'd met the man. Rightfully so, as they were complete bullshit, but it ranged from a mild annoyance to a significant hindrance at times.
Lassiter was a good person, Shawn knew that. His moral compass was mostly intact, and as far as he was aware he never let his distaste for Shawn get in the way of a case, always double-checking the facts on the off chance he and Gus were onto something. Although he almost always played opponent to Shawn's antics, he always put the case first. Shawn simply didn't expect that this moral compass would extend to him, a man he clearly held slightly negative at best feelings for.
Until it did.
It was a rough day, no doubt. Shawn had barely managed to put the details of the case together until almost the last possible moment, Gus being the one to uncover the most crucial bit of evidence in the end, and Shawn having to give a fairly convincing(if he should say so himself) performance of his 'vision' to convince the detectives of his outlandish theory's merit. Or, at least, annoy them enough that they'd do anything including their jobs to shut him up.
He was actually almost more proud of his performance than his detective work. He'd pulled out all the stops, the usual flailing and yelling not proving shocking enough. Shawn had actually managed to make himself cry. Real, authentic tears. 20% Allergy season, 10% lack of blinking, 20% rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, and 50% pure legitimate acting tears.
The mortified looks on his 'audience''s faces were like pure dopamine after the detectives had dismissed his hypotheses for the entire case. Gus' eyes had widened and Shawn didn't know whether it was in a complimentary or disgusted manner, his partner being so usually unfazed by his 'visions'.
O'Hara, the softy, had immediately urged Lassiter and the Chief to reconsider his theory, receiving little pushback from either. When they'd left the room Gus had simply raised his eyebrows with a hefty shake of his head. Morally disappointed, yet impressed. Perfect.
Gus had then offered to go on a coffee run while they awaited news of their suspects' detainment, and Shawn had paced every hallway twice before resigning to an unlocked interrogation room.
It was a rough day indeed, well deserving of his current posture- slouched, seated in a metal chair, head in his hands. Shawn was not particularly upset about the way the case went, he knew they'd done their best and it was difficult evidence. The detectives were right to be skeptical of his ideas, no matter how correct he ended up.
He and Gus both had been out late investigating and woken very early- he was exhausted. That's why he currently found himself twenty seconds from falling asleep, something that might never have happened in the history of police interrogation chairs.
Abruptly, the door creaked open, and in walked none other than Lassiter himself. The detective entered, staring at a clipboard, shutting the heavy door before freezing as Shawn peered up between his fingers. He hadn't seen him looking, which meant he could still pretend to be asleep and avoid interacting with him entirely.
He heard Lassiter take a step forward. "Spencer?"
There went that plan.
Shawn scrubbed his face, clearing his throat. "Lassie?"
His voice cracked. That sure added the embarrassment cherry on top of the annoyance sundae he'd been served. Lassiter would certainly huff at the nickname before telling him to scram. Rightfully so, this was an interrogation room. One that probably needed preparing for an interrogation.
Instead, the pseudo-psychic was met with a frankly awkward expression and body language, along with… Could that be concern ? How tired must he look?
"Are you… What are you doing in here?" Lassiter asked.
Here it came. The sarcastic beratement before telling him to leave. If Shawn wasn't so tired he'd leave on his own volition to avoid the nuisance, but that and spite kept him glued in his position. If Lassiter wanted to bust him for trying to nap in a restricted area, he'd let him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
Lassiter frowned, his eyes studying Shawn before he moved to sit across from him at the table. Shawn's annoyance spiked. Carlton felt so little control in his own life that he felt the need to power trip over such a small occurrence? Make it mirror a real interrogation? No, that was Shawn's limit. Just before he could move to get up, however-
"Are you… okay?"
With those words, Shawn's mind hard reset and he suddenly became aware of how exactly he must have been perceived. He had just been walked in on in a position that might make an observer believe he was pretty upset- head in his hands, light dimmed, silence- especially if one was used to seeing upset people in the interrogation chair and not tired people. Especially if the upset person had broken down crying in front of his coworkers not an hour prior. Huh.
There was no way Lassiter actually believed he was simply shaken from his 'psychic vision'. The man held a PhD in Devil's Advocacy, for Christ's sake. And yet…
Only one way to find out.
Shawn adjusted his posture, obscuring his face again and leaning into the curled-up state he'd half committed to previously. He was certain his eyes were still at least a bit red, and it was dark in the room anyway. He sniffled- just a bit, no need to overdo it when his real performance was behind him- and channeled his most unconvincing resolve.
"I…Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Lassie."
It was a thin line to walk, and Shawn almost expected Lassiter to roll his eyes, get up, and walk away. But people like to feel smart, and detectives like to think they've spotted a lie.
Lassiter licked his lips, as if stalling before having to fulfill his civic duty as someone with a conscience. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked softly.
And the softness was shocking. Just as it must have been confounding for the detective to see Shawn, the usual figurehead for comic relief, so (perceivedly) downtrodden, it was as stark a contrast for Shawn to hear a non-confrontational tone of voice from his regular oppositionist.
"You don't- you don't really want to hear about this…" Yes, reel him in by feeding into humanity's natural savior complex.
Lassiter chose his words carefully. "I asked, didn't I?"
It was time for the hard sell. The true, past-the-point-of-no-return, no-going-back, end-of-plausible deniability sell.
Shawn let out a shaky breath. Then another for good measure, letting his body shake with the faux-sob, like the sound of a rollercoaster clicking up a hill.
"Sometimes the spirits are just so loud. They just won't stop,"
He couldn't make himself look at Lassiter. He felt his face flush red with a strange and sudden sense of embarrassment. It was one thing to fake hearing voices, yelling for the whole police station to hear, another even to choke himself and loudly throw his own body downstairs at a spelling bee, but a completely different matter to give such a private 'performance'. A maybe-unconvincing attempt at emotional manipulation, all just to further convince and test the belief his cohort had in his lie.
"It's like, I know the case is over, and that's all I needed from them, but they don't know that and they won't listen—"
Shawn could stop now, he knew, but for some reason, the exhaustion of the day and the general stress of the case were fueling his story.
"—And they're so loud , and constant, and everyone, everyone, just thinks it's some sort of, some sort of parlor trick, some sort of 'cue the laugh track' gag, something I can help, something I can control, and god I wish I could but It's always on, and they always expect me to—"
Shawn was cut off by a hand on each of his arms, pulling them down from his head so he stared face-to-face with Lassiter, who had pulled his chair up right in front of him to look him in the face.
"Spencer, you have to breathe."
Shawn hadn't realized he'd gotten so out of breath from his ramble and he gasped for air, admittedly a bit louder and more forcefully than he'd meant to, which caused him to choke the air back out, then gulp down more.
"In… Two… Three… Four…"
Lassiter slightly raised his and Shawn's wrists with his counts a few centimeters, like he was modeling a PD training video for de-escalation.
"And out… two… three… four…"
Even Shawn's attempt at breathing for himself had been substandard to the detective. Go figure.
He let the counting routine go one for another two full breaths- the more useful and involved Lassiter felt, the more believing he would be. Although it seemed for the moment that Shawn had the upper hand in convincing him.
When Shawn's breathing 'evened out', he realized he was about a foot from the older man, staring right into his eyes. His very blue, seemingly believing eyes.
This was weird, to say the least. The whole situation he'd dug himself into was weird, of course, but even more so the fact that Shawn actually didn't mind the proximity. He didn't mind the surprisingly warm hands gripping his wrists, gently yet firmly. In fact, as Lassiter slowly released them, he found himself craving the touch. There was definitely something intimate about being talked down from a fake panic attack, but Shawn didn't know why this would be something he would ever desire, especially from Lassiter of all people.
"What can I do to help?" Lassiter prodded.
Unbelievable. Underneath the detective's carefully skeptical exterior, he did believe Shawn. He had to. The Carlton Lassiter he knew would not have hesitated to call bullshit on his act if he didn't fully believe him. Apparently, Shawn was a better actor than he got credit for. It helped, of course, that there wasn't anything clear for the pseudo-psychic to gain from lying here when they were completely alone with no case currently at stake.
Now Shawn knew, though, without a doubt, that Lassiter believed in his 'abilities'. Now, in future cases, if (and when) the detective gave him pushback in future cases, Shawn would always hold the trump card. Not that he would be particularly keen to tell an audience that he'd been crying in a room alone- it was a pretty pathetic story- but Lassiter could never again look Shawn in the eye and claim he didn't believe he was a psychic. That was enough for Shawn.
So why wasn't he ready for this to end?
"Honestly, Lassie," Shawn said in his best 'the spirits are so chaotic it hurts to talk' tone. "Surprisingly, you're helping just by being here."
Lassiter looked satisfied enough with that. He seemed to sit back in his seat slightly, still close to the other but not ready to grab him again. Shawn almost wanted to close that distance, throw himself in the other's arms like a maiden in need of rescuing, if only to regain a bit of contact. Seriously, what was wrong with him?
"Spencer?" Great, Lassiter had asked him something, and he had been too distracted by his strange fantasies to even listen.
"Huh?"
"I asked, how often does this happen?" Lassiter repeated.
"Does what happen?" Shawn asked, with immediate regret.
He had already begun to forget the gist of his ramble. Something about the 'spirits' being loud? A pointed complaint about people not believing in his visions? Subtle, Shawn. He did not want to hear Lassiter's response. If he had to try and summarize it, he might realize how generic it sounded. It didn't even make much sense; Lassiter was the only one at the station who voiced any distrust in his abilities, at least to his face.
Lassiter furrowed his eyebrows. Shawn realized that the only other option he could mean would be 'How often do you come to interrogation rooms and cry?' and, well, he had already reached his daily quota for patheticness. He didn't let the detective respond.
"Oh, well… Sometimes it just gets a little overwhelming. I can't really control when or how I get the visions. Sometimes I just need them to stop, but they never do…"
Shawn really didn't know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to end it, and soon. He had gotten what he needed- proof of belief, leverage- and, well, other things… things that would need deep psychological examination later… Now, it was time to get out of there before his deception was caught on to.
Lassiter seemed contemplative. "I hadn't realized these… episodes… could be so distressing for you."
"Well…"
Shawn's eyes would've gone anywhere to avoid the concerned, calculating gaze before them. Luckily they landed on the door, through the window of which he spotted a familiar figure. One who decidedly could never know the details of this little unplanned experiment.
"Well," Shawn continued. "To tell people would only mean pity, or worry, which is useless because nothing can be done about it."
Lassiter frowned. "No one here would pity you, Spencer. Not over this,"
The figure in the window grew closer.
"Speaking of which," Shawn tightened his voice, raising his right hand to his temple, and turned his head away from the door. "I'm sensing—"
Lassiter sat forward in his chair.
"—Gus is coming. Is there any way, oh god, is there any way this can stay between us? Gus, he has enough on his plate already without having to worry about me, too, you know?"
The detective seemed to examine him. He looked Shawn up and down in silence before dipping his head in a quick nod.
Three somewhat hesitant raps on the door before it opened, creaking. Gus' eyes moved from Shawn to Lassiter, then back to his friend. Shawn shook his head, a silent, obvious signal of do not ask.
Gus coughed. "Uh, Shawn, I brought your coffee," He emphasized the cup, before nodding to the other man. "Lassiter. If you want some coffee…"
They had stood, standing awkwardly and slightly too close together, just like their chairs had been.
"...then you should've gone out for some," Gus finished.
"Gus," Shawn clapped him on the back. "Buddy, thank you. Running dangerously low on caffeine here, nearly fell asleep on that metal table,"
"Right." Gus was not going to let this go.
"You two should leave, Interrogation Room A only moonlights as a coffee waiting room." Lassiter finally spoke.
"Ha! Funny. Gus, Lassie made a joke,"
Gus shook his head. "So, our theory held up? Both were arrested?"
Shawn looked at Lassiter. Gus' head swiveled again.
"You don't know? That's not what you were discussing?"
"It is. And they were. Despite how… outlandish it was, you were correct yet again." Lassiter covered for him.
Gus shrugged. "Great. Any reason we're still hanging around here?"
Shawn shrugged back. "Victory lap?"
"We're leaving," Gus replied, and they did.
As he exited the doorframe, Shawn risked a look at Lassiter, who was not looking back at him.
In his mind, he shoved Gus through the door, slammed it shut, and jumped back into the chair. He'd work himself into a real panic attack if he had to, just to steal back the focus, the concern, the attention, the touch-
"Shawn, you coming?"
"Yeah, 'course."
If Shawn's moral compass were more intact, it would have ended there.
