Chapter Text
Lassiter is having a bad day.
Yes, he realizes that the younger officers think that his every day is a bad day. But today he has reasons behind his frown. First of all, he didn't leave the station until past midnight last night, and was back at seven this morning. The huge amount of paperwork he's already had to fill out today is another reason, as is the fact that the coffee he holds in his right hand has gone slightly cold.
Reason number four is inside the Chief's office when Lassiter walks in. Shawn Spencer, notorious fake and self-proclaimed psychic, is cavorting about the small room like a man possessed. In his right hand Spencer clutches a case file; in his left, a necklace. He's babbling something in a high-pitched voice and shaking the necklace like a baby's rattler. Lassiter is sure that his sigh can be heard in the next county.
"Alright," he demands, turning to Chief Vick, "What the hell is he doing?"
In response, the Chief turns a glare on Lassiter - as if he's the one being ridiculous - and presses one finger to her lips. He doesn't bother to stop the expression of exasperated disbelief that comes to his face.
As Vick rotates her chair back to watching Spencer, Lassiter takes a sip of less-than-lukewarm coffee and turns to look at the spasming psychic. Spencer's friend, Guster, is standing behind him, holding a smoothie and looking concerned. Lassiter raises his eyebrows at him. Guster has the nerve to actually make a shushing motion.
"I can feel her!" Spencer is shouting. "She's - she's with us! Yes, she - she - " He lets out a cry that would be embarrassing coming from someone twenty years younger, and collapses into one of the chairs in front of the Chief's desk. For a moment, silence reigns. Lassiter opens his mouth to speak.
He gets out a "For the love of god - " before Spencer springs to his feet, making another awkward noise, and flings an arm out.
His hand lands smack in the middle of Lassiter's chest, and Lassiter frowns down at it for a second, before directing his attention back to its owner.
"Oh, it's so good to finally have my voice heard," Spencer is saying in a terrible impression of a woman's voice. "You have no idea what it's like being dead! Ooh, it's so boring!"
"Dead?" Guster asks. "So you're saying that you're - "
"Ophelia Robins, yes," says Spencer.
"Oh, come on," Lassiter tries to interrupt, but Chief Vick fixes him with a look that makes him fear for his paycheck, so he shuts his mouth.
"It is I, the former heir to the Robins estate, back from the spirit world in this...incredibly handsome...vessel, to tell you that I would never kill my husband, Benny!"
"And why is that?" asks the Chief wryly.
Spencer slides his hand across Lassiter's chest, slowly, making him wish he'd worn a thicker shirt. "I could never do anything to hurt my darling," says Spencer in a voice two octaves too high. "He was so dear to me - his strong arms, his gentle eyes, his enormous - "
"Shawn!" coughs Guster.
" - Enormous conscience. You have to believe me, I would never shoot him...especially not three times! I mean, that's just plain expressive, don't you think?"
"You mean excessive," says Guster.
The Chief frowns. Spencer keeps up his stroking motion, and finally Lassiter knocks his hand away.
"You're not believing any of this crap, are you?" he asks Chief Vick incredulously. "The Robins case is closed. Straightforward murder-suicide. This...tawdry sideshow act is not going to make me believe that Ophelia Robins didn't shoot her husband when all the evidence pointed to her!"
Vick opens her mouth to answer, but unfortunately for Lassiter, Spencer gets there first.
"Oh, Benny!" he exclaims, tossing the case file at Guster. "It's so good to see you again!"
"What - "
The rest of Lassiter's sentence gets horribly lost in the next few moments, as Spencer kisses him.
He is frozen for a good two seconds, which is definitely two seconds too long for Spencer to be passionately making out with him. When the psychic's hand begins to snake its way around to the back of Lassiter's head, however, he snaps out of it. He puts a hand on either of Spencer's shoulders and shoves, hard, much harder than he needs to.
The younger man manages to make his staggering fall into a swoon, and collapses directly into Guster's arms. Guster, for his part, looks utterly horrified. When his eyes meet Lassiter's, he snaps his mouth shut and swallows heavily before trying to stutter out excuses.
"He, uh...you have to understand that Shawn doesn't know what he's doing, when he's in a, uh, trance like that. He probably thought...I mean, the spirit possessing him probably mistook you for her dead husband. That kind of thing can be known to happen, you know, in extreme circumstances..." Guster's babbling trails off when Lassiter glares at him.
Meanwhile, the Chief is sitting stock-still at her desk, and Spencer begins to stir in Guster's arms. "Ugh," he groans, "Gus? What's happening?"
Guster sets his friend on his feet, where Spencer wobbles and falls into a chair, as if exhausted. Lassiter swipes a hand across his mouth and grits his teeth together.
"What the hell was that, Spencer?" he growls. "I swear, I will shoot you - "
"Detective," warns the Chief, and it's all Lassiter can do not to glare at her, too. There is an undertone to her voice that sounds dangerously like amusement.
Okay, he thinks. Deep breaths. Count to ten, like his therapist told him to.
One.
Two.
"Lassie, surely you know by now that I don't remember what happens during a trance. They call it a possession for a reason; the spirit takes over my body and does what it will, in the name of justice of course." Spencer frowns. "Although I do have to ask, why does my mouth taste like overly sweet coffee? Spirits don't usually steal drinks - or at least, I don't think they do. Gus, do spirits steal drinks?"
Guster is too busy casting terrified looks in Lassiter's direction to answer. Shawn sighs and turns back to face Chief Vick's desk. "Anyway, Chief, mind telling me if there's a case here for me after all?"
A slight smile creases the corners of Vick's mouth. Lassiter realizes he stopped counting after three. "Well, Mr. Spencer, in light of what you've brought to the table, there very well might be."
"Great!" Spencer hops to his feet, then pauses. "I'm sorry, I've got to say something here. This tastes like what," he swipes his tongue around his mouth, "Three or four sugars? Definitely more than two creams. I mean come on, to the owner of the coffee I drank...you gotta know that's an unhealthy lifestyle. You're practically asking for cardiac arrest."
"Spencer," says Lassiter sharply.
"Shawn," says Guster in a pleading voice.
"Anyway, gotta fly! See ya, Chief. Lassie." And Spencer is gone in a whirlwind of motion, leaving a case file on the chair and the faint taste of pineapple smoothie in Lassiter's mouth.
There is silence for a few moments before Lassiter mumbles something about paperwork and flees the office, not meeting the Chief's eyes.
"Carlton!" exclaims O'Hara, who of course is waiting for him just outside. He waits for the inevitable tide of questions and the laughter; Spencer has succeeded in making a fool of him again. But all the young blonde detective says is, "You look a lot better than you did this morning. Get some good news or something?"
Lassiter forces himself to look as surly as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbles, and as the two of them make their way across the station, he does his best to put the whole incident firmly out of his mind.