Title: Three Conversations About Pumpkins And Bite-Size Candy
Author: Rispacooper
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Um...none really.
Please to Note: I wrote this for![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
psychflashfic which I just discovered the other day. So I wrote this in a hurry to meet their Halloween challenge deadline. And then made it too long, which I tend to do. Seriously, it's like two thousands words too long. Dammit. Pooh. But in my head it's for psychflashfic anyway.
Summary: Lassi has never enjoyed Halloween. This upsets Shawn for reasons he doesn't understand. Sugary fluff.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I apologize for whatever Beta-ing it needs. I wrote it in like a few hours. Sorry.
AN:dracofiend and her "sticky-outty ears" comment... heeee! Also: the law in California is that kids must wear helmets when riding bikes...now... Back in Carlton and young Shawn's day, only dorks wore helmets while riding their bikes. (They also got head injuries, ah well).
The conversation, as Shawn had overheard it, which he had only because he'd had a totally legitimate reason to be crouching under Lassi's desk, had gone like this:
"You don't like Halloween?" That had been Jules. Aside from the fact that few people ever spoke to Lassi in such openly disbelieving tones--or at all, unless he was arresting them as far as Shawn could tell, he knew it had been Jules because she had followed that question with a pitying little "aw" noise that had made Shawn cringe even while he'd been perking up so he could eavesdro--listen better. And if Shawn had been cringing at hearing that much pity in one tiny word, then Lassi must have been doing the Lassi equivalent--bristling and posturing and doing those frowny things he did so well with his face.
"No. And I don't understand all this fuss. Kids threatening their neighbors with eggs and toilet paper and flaming bags of..."
"Carlton..." Jules had tried to interrupt but Lassi had pressed on, and Shawn had taken a moment to picture the disgruntled scowl and how that would be followed by--possibly--the flash of something lost in his expression before he would cover it up.
"...if they don't get handfuls of candy that's only going to rot their teeth and cost their parents' money. And the pranks! Don't get me started on the number of nuisance calls we're going to get tonight and tomorrow night when the teenagers get a hold of some dry ice or lighters or rotting pumpkins or spray paint. Last year a group of so-called witches nearly burned down a cemetery with one too many Glade candles, and the year before that some drunk was running around dressed as Charles Manson the Ninja and climbed a telephone poll. And the stories every year about the razor blades..." Lassi had shuffled some papers on top of his desk at that and Shawn had quietly prepared to creep away. But then Lassi had gone still and his voice had dropped. "It's a stupid holiday."
"It's for kids!" Jules, being Jules, had kept on trying to convince him. Shawn had actually seen her sensible heels under the desk for a moment as she'd come forward. She'd be doing frowny things with her face too. "Didn't you enjoy it, being out after dark, getting free candy? Come on, Carlton, I bet you were a cute astronaut...fireman?"
The thought of a tiny Lassi in a costume had, admittedly, been so distracting Shawn had forgotten to move. And sort of cute, once Shawn's imagination had shrunk Lassi down to kid size...and took away the gun...and took away the tie. And given him ears too big for his head. And maybe ironed pants without a single wrinkle. Then it put the tie back. Then it looked like little boy Lassi.
Lassi must have gotten dirty as a kid, playing out in Old Sonora, but Shawn couldn't imagine him like that, at least not in town. He'd probably still slicked his hair down and carried books with him. He had probably worn a helmet when he'd ridden his bike. The image should have been funny, but Shawn had wrinkled his nose and stared hard at Lassi's shoes.
Then--as Shawn later explained to Gus--Lassi had mumbled something that had made both Shawn and Jules lean closer and had snapped Shawn out of his fantasy of Lassi dressed as a little cowboy--because that's what his costume would have been. Not an astronaut. Please.
"What?" Jules had asked Lassi to repeat it and then gasped in understandable outrage.
"I never went trick or treating." Lassi's voice had been rough, his body twitchy. He'd shifted more papers and then moved back. Shawn had frozen and focused on his legs, the boring, practical navy blue of his suit. "It's not important, O'Hara. Anyway, you sound like Spencer. Can we talk about something else now, before I am forced to resort to violence?"
"But, Carlton..." Jules had seemed helpless in the face of the picture of child-Lassi and his frowning little face, stuck at home with no costume or candy on Halloween, staring out the window while everyone around him had an awesome good time. Or maybe that had been Shawn, dealing with Henry and all his stupid safety rules. Anyway, Shawn had moved forward, forgetting the file he had been there to read and putting one hand on the floor, next to Lassi's shoe.
Shawn remembered the kids whose parents wouldn't let them celebrate Halloween. There'd been one or two in every class, either for religious reasons or with parents who were as irrationally afraid of Ouija Boards as Gus. Shawn couldn't stress that enough--it was a board game. Shawn had always wanted to sneak those kids some candy, but Henry had always scanned and confiscated all of his and Shawn had been grateful for the pieces he did get.
Henry had probably eaten it too; now that he thought about it, Shawn was pretty sure he'd never gotten all of the bite-size Snickers he had trick or treated.
"Drop it, O'Hara, it's not a big deal." Apparently, Jules had not been convinced by that, or scared of any Lassi growls, and must have given Lassi a look that made him keep talking. after sighing loudly. "Look, my mother was busy and I was always growing. She didn't have time to make costumes to fit me and there was no way she could afford to pay any dentists' bills, all right? It's fine. I was fine staying home."
"Lassiter..."
"I said drop it." Lassi's tone had gone icy and Jules--as Shawn would not have-- had backed off. Shawn had spent a breathless second realizing that his hand was still sticking out from the desk and that Lassiter had been about to see him and drag him out by his collar and make him pay for overhearing that delicious tidbit of information about his childhood, but then the Chief had called out something and both detectives had hurried over to answer her, giving Shawn a chance to escape.
"Poor little Lassikins," he had finished, retelling it all to Gus afterwards. The memory had been bugging him all day, in that tugging way it bothered Shawn whenever he thought of Lassi and Sheriff Hank, or Lassi not having anywhere to go for Christmas.
Not that he was going to invite Lassi home with him. He wasn't that crazy. Lassi and Henry would end up talking about fish or guns the whole time and they would totally ignore Shawn, which...could be good as far as his father was concenred...except for when Shawn's dinner and presents were the casualties. And whenever Lassi wasn't paying attention to him, Shawn had an urge to jump in his lap and call him Lassiface and then led to problems more often than not.
Anyway, Lassi probably didn't even give good presents; he probably gave people socks and underwear and not even the sexy kind of underwear, but the boring plain white kind. If someone invited Carlton to a Halloween party, he'd probably show up dressed as himself.
"No Halloween? That had to suck," Gus had agreed, as soft-hearted as a fluffy lamb sock poppet, snapping Shawn out of his second Lassi-induced daydream of the day, and then had suggested they get some pizza, which had distracted Shawn from noticing that he had referred to Lassiter as Carlton.
The other conversation, as Shawn remembered it, went like this:
"I bet Lassi doesn't even have a favorite bite-size candy," he remarked around a fat slice of melting cheese and hot pineapple goodness.
"Are you still talking about Lassiter?" Gus was working on a personal pepperoni and sausage. He was traditional like that. The TV was on in the pizza place and Gus was ignoring Shawn and staring at the news, which was indeed full of reports about nuisance complaints and small fires. Which happened year just like Lassi said and weren't that interesting, yet he barely looked in Shawn's direction.
"I just didn't know that about our Lassi... Wait, dude, did you say "still"?" Shawn stopped with some ham and pineapple right next to his mouth. It at least made Gus glance at him, eyebrows up. Gus studied him for a moment, then lifted his chin.
"Chew with your mouth closed, Shawn," he declared and then carefully set down his half-finished slice. He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin and held them up in a significant, Burton Guster is about to give a lecture kind of way. Shawn would stifle a yawn but he was mid-chew. "Gee, I bet Lassi would have made a cute little cowboy!" he remarked in a high voice and Shawn scowled at what he realized was supposed to be an impression of his voice.
"Dude, I do not talk like that," he insisted. "And when have I ever said "Gee"?"
Gus ignored him and went on, even higher. "Dude, what kind of parent couldn't even manage a sheet for a ghost and a pillowcase? Dude, can you imagine his little Lassi face pressed to the window...okay, or more likely sneering at them from behind a curtain? How sad is that?"
Shawn narrowed his eyes. Gus' eyebrows went even higher.
"I bet Lassi never held a sparkler on the Fourth of July either," he repeated, then added in his normal voice, "And your dad never let you hold sparklers either."
"I got some in Chinatown later and held them anyway," Shawn corrected him and Gus huffed and picked up his piece of pizza again.
"Whatever, Shawn. If you don't want to admit it, then that's fine. But stop talking about it. Some of us are trying to watch the news."
"Dude!" Shawn tossed his pizza back onto his plate and tried a frowny face. It made Gus point at him with his hands still full of pepperoni.
"Right there!" he declared triumphantly. "Can you imagine little Lassiter never carving a pumpkin?" he mimicked, in what was apparently his new official Shawn-voice that, by the way, sounded nothing like Shawn.
"What?" Shawn crossed his arms and then replayed every one of the comments about Lassiter in the past few hours. Which, okay, were maybe a few more than usual. Though how many did he make every day anyway? Ten? Twenty? There was nothing strange about that. Lassi was a weird, complicated guy, and there were lots of things about him that were worth further study...like a big grumpy lab monkey in a tight dark suit.
Like that adorable, sad, lost look he got on his face whenever Shawn or Jules or Gus or even the Chief referenced something he didn't get. Or the way he never ever joined them out at a bar or for lunch unless someone specifically invited them, even when anyone else would get that he'd been included in the invitation. Or the way his eyes got darker when Shawn called him "Lassi" to his face. Or the way he held his gun. Or the way he let Jules boss him around and always arrested who Shawn told him to arrest, even when he thought Shawn was crazy. Or how he looked when someone that wasn't Shawn had pissed him off and he was determined to arrest them, all clenched jaw and straight shoulders. Even his new buzzed hair reflected how serious he was, his sticky-outty ears just a little more sticky-outty and flickable...
Gus cleared his throat. Shawn blinked. The news was playing the sports report at the end of the broadcast. How long had he been tuned out?
"Are you not taking your pills?" Shawn focused back on Gus, though was warm suddenly, like really warm, and throbby, in a want to sex someone up kind of way. And while Gus was pretty, he wasn't at his best with pepperoni grease around his mouth and talking about Shawn like Shawn was some kind of idiot.
"I don't take pills, Shawn," Gus argued calmly and turned back to stare at the TV. "You know a salesman should never sample his product. And if you don't want to admit you're crushing on Lassiter then don't. But stop talking about the guy. You're creeping me out."
"I..." There were few moments where Shawn had ever been speechless, and most of those had been either while scrambling for a lie to tell Henry or when face to face with someone so mindbendlingly hot that he forgot how to use words. Like that time when Lassiter had gone striding past him, smirking about some confession he'd gotten, his jacket gone and his sleeves rolled up, and when he'd stopped to say something to Shawn, Shawn had frozen had felt his brain go completely blank except for thoughts about how nice Lassi looked like that. How hot. Doable even.
"I have a crush on Lassiter?" he wondered out loud, sounding more than a little lost too, and Gus had calmly picked up his soda and slurped it through his straw.
"That isn't even the issue, Shawn." Gus shot him another look and Shawn made a "Dude?" face at him. Gus rolled his eyes and then smiled at their pretty waitress in an attempt to get a free refill. "The issue is, what are you going to do about it?"
Like an evil, brilliant pharmecutical salesman with a magic head and a sexy smile, Gus dropped that bomb right as the waitress appeared.
The last conversation, as Shawn is having it, goes something like this:
"Trick or treat!" It's harder than it should be to sound normal. Shawn can barely hear himself over his heartbeat in his ears, but he knows that he does not sound high-pitched, whatever Gus says.
"What in the hell are you supposed to be, Spencer?" Lassi is not pleased to see him, or at least doesn't look it. But then, it's close to midnight the night before Halloween and Lassi had probably been chasing after petty criminals all day. He's got his sleeves rolled up and his tie off and Shawn is pleased to notice that his pants have wrinkles after all. That should make this easier.
Shawn straightens his shoulders and tries a frown. When he moves, one of his plastic ears falls off. Lassi's eyes follow it to the ground, then swing back up.
"I'm you, obviously." Shawn tsks and scowls as hard as he can and points to the badge pinned to his belt, which has "Detective Lassipants" written underneath the badge number, which happens to be 696969. Then he gestures down at his suit, which is a little big, but it had been the only suit Lassi had left at the drycleaners for Shawn to stea--pick up for him. "Spencer, I won't have any of your screwball antics in my station!" he imitated, in a really gruff, low voice that was nothing like Lassi. "I find your shenanigans too sexy and irresistible!"
"Is that my suit?" Lassi does not sound as pleased, even if he wasn't acknowledging all of Shawn's comments. But luckily, Shawn has thought of that. Lassi is, after all, not used to dress up. Shawn holds up one finger in the universal give me a second to reveal something genius gesture but Lassi is steamrolling right on. "Is that my tie?" he demands as though Shawn would ever put on anybody else's tie for any reason. "Wait..." Lassi's voice goes from trembling rage to quiet in the blink of an eye. "Are you supposed to be me?"
He blinks, and Shawn swallows, ham and pineapple not sitting well in his stomach. Lassi's eyes go wide and lost like now he's thinking abotu the rest of what Shawn said, and then he looks away.
"Is this some kind of joke, Spencer? Because it isn't funny." After that pause he turns back, all straight shoulders and hot eyes and Shawn forgets his words again.
"Wait!" he finally manages and bends down to the bag at his feet. "The...uh...the spirits...sent me here," he flails his hands in a vaguely mysterious motion and doesn't look out when Lassiter snorts. He just pulls out a flannel shirt and a green t-shirt and drapes them thoughtfully over Lassi's chest. It's a good chest. Shawn has good taste in crushes, once he realizes it. He pets that chest a little, like he always does. Because apparently he's always had a crush on Lassiter.
Lassi puts his hands up at the same time, warm over Shawn's before Shawn slowly pulls his away. He's taking that as a good sign.
"I assume you own jeans, Lassi. If you don't, this isn't going to work. Though for your sake as a newbie, I won't demand total accuracy." It was probably wise not to mention that he was wearing a pair of Lassi's underwear--or how he'd gotten the plain white boxers that suddenly became sexy when Shawn thought about where they had been and where they were now.
Lassi is staring down at what is clearly Shawn's flannel, so Shawn reaches up and messes up Lassi's hair a little, though it's still too short to come close to looking as amazing as Shawn's hair is...was--as amazing as his hair had been before he'd slicked it down into Lassi's old, pomaded--and on Shawn, somewhat dapper--style. Lassi's hair does feel nice though. It's suprisingly soft. He's starting to think everything about Lassi is secretly soft.
Though hopefully, not the important things. Thing.
"Are you out of your mind?" Lassi asks at that, and finally raises his eyes. The adorable, confused look is back on his face for a half a second before he goes for something pissed off. Shawn holds up a finger again and ducks back down to the bag at his feet so he won't do something stupid, like flick Lassi's ears, or ask Lassi to wear his underwear, or mention his plan to end up back in his own clothes in the morning.
He brandishes a roll of toilet paper.
"Henry's house is like five minutes away," Shawn tries with a winning smile, and tosses the roll at Lassi. Lassi doesn't catch it and it falls to the floor and unravels a few feet, but Lassi's face twitches into a scowl. One eyebrow goes up, but he's not threatening to kill Shawn, so that's good.
"I'm not..." Lassi has to stop to clear his throat. "I don't know about your spirits, but I'm not committing any crimes with you, Spencer. I don't care what night it is. In fact, especially because of what night it is."
"Ah," Shawn nods, not surprised, and holds up his finger again. "The spirits want me to show you a good time." Oh, did they. "They say that you need to know what Halloween is all about. Which is why you should be nicer to the spirits, Lass, this is when they are the most powerful and should be obeyed." Lassi rolls his eyes, but he's still not moving, not kicking Shawn off his porch or demanding his clothes back or dropping Shawn's shirts. Shawn grins and uses both hands to pull out the pumpkin. It's medium-sized, perfect for a beginner. Shawn's imagining a scene like in "Ghost", with Lassi bent over the pumpkin amd Shawn coming up behind him to show him how. Maybe grope him a little. A lot.
There is a carving set for kids in the bag too. Gus had thought it might be wiser than giving Lassi big knives around Shawn.
Lassi's eyes are wide and blue over the top of the pumpkin. He looks curious and pissed off at the same time.
"Tell me you paid for that, Spencer," he comments after a few moments. Shawn lets his grin get bigger.
"And when we're done with that, Lassi," he pauses for effect and hands over the pumpkin. Lassi, not surprisingly now, takes it without a fight and holds it lightly, juggling Shawn's shirts at the same time. He looking at Shawn with a puzzled expression, and he doesn't say anything when Shawn reveals two DVDs--"Halloween", the original, and "Friday the Thirteenth", also the original; originals only, and forever. And a bag of bite-size candy bars. Assorted.
"What...?" Lassi seems frozen too, his words all gone for a few seconds too. Shawn grins. "What is this?"
"This is Halloween, Lassi," Shawn tells him, and rolls his eyes as he puts everything back in the bag and picks it up before he scoots in the door and past Lassiter. "Duh. What, did you never celebrate it as a kid or something?"
"I..." Lassi stumbles as he turns to look at Shawn, trips a little over the toilet paper. He has a look like Shawn's surprised him with his psychic prowess again before he remembers to hide it. But he's not moving. "Why..." He clears his throat. "Why are you doing this, Spencer?"
Surprisingly, at that look in Lassi's eyes Shawn can speak, but, for some reason, his voice gets really high. He refuses to think of Gus. He does not always talk like that around Lassiter.
"I told you, Lassi...the spirits." Shawn widens his eyes, and then strolls into Lassi's kitchen. After a second, Lassiter snorts, and then Shawn hears the door close over the sound of Lassiter mumbling. "What was that?"
"I said, why do I get the feeling that while you're in here, my house is being egged and my lawn is being filled with flaming doggie crap?" The typical Lassiter response just makes Shawn smile.
"Because you're a paranoid freak," Shawn responds, more out of habit then anything else, and then turns around. The truth is something Lassi wouldn't believe from him right now anyway. He settles for a shrug and coughs to make sure his voice is a nice, low, calm timbre that is not in any way high-pitched or girly. "Don't worry Lassi, tonight is not about the trick. Tonight, is about the treat."
And he knows, when Lassi slowly moves to follow him, that in the morning, he's going to end up back in his own clothes, and Lassi is going to love Halloween. Possibly for the rest of his life.
Author: Rispacooper
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Um...none really.
Please to Note: I wrote this for
psychflashfic which I just discovered the other day. So I wrote this in a hurry to meet their Halloween challenge deadline. And then made it too long, which I tend to do. Seriously, it's like two thousands words too long. Dammit. Pooh. But in my head it's for psychflashfic anyway. Summary: Lassi has never enjoyed Halloween. This upsets Shawn for reasons he doesn't understand. Sugary fluff.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I apologize for whatever Beta-ing it needs. I wrote it in like a few hours. Sorry.
AN:
dracofiend and her "sticky-outty ears" comment... heeee! Also: the law in California is that kids must wear helmets when riding bikes...now... Back in Carlton and young Shawn's day, only dorks wore helmets while riding their bikes. (They also got head injuries, ah well). The conversation, as Shawn had overheard it, which he had only because he'd had a totally legitimate reason to be crouching under Lassi's desk, had gone like this:
"You don't like Halloween?" That had been Jules. Aside from the fact that few people ever spoke to Lassi in such openly disbelieving tones--or at all, unless he was arresting them as far as Shawn could tell, he knew it had been Jules because she had followed that question with a pitying little "aw" noise that had made Shawn cringe even while he'd been perking up so he could eavesdro--listen better. And if Shawn had been cringing at hearing that much pity in one tiny word, then Lassi must have been doing the Lassi equivalent--bristling and posturing and doing those frowny things he did so well with his face.
"No. And I don't understand all this fuss. Kids threatening their neighbors with eggs and toilet paper and flaming bags of..."
"Carlton..." Jules had tried to interrupt but Lassi had pressed on, and Shawn had taken a moment to picture the disgruntled scowl and how that would be followed by--possibly--the flash of something lost in his expression before he would cover it up.
"...if they don't get handfuls of candy that's only going to rot their teeth and cost their parents' money. And the pranks! Don't get me started on the number of nuisance calls we're going to get tonight and tomorrow night when the teenagers get a hold of some dry ice or lighters or rotting pumpkins or spray paint. Last year a group of so-called witches nearly burned down a cemetery with one too many Glade candles, and the year before that some drunk was running around dressed as Charles Manson the Ninja and climbed a telephone poll. And the stories every year about the razor blades..." Lassi had shuffled some papers on top of his desk at that and Shawn had quietly prepared to creep away. But then Lassi had gone still and his voice had dropped. "It's a stupid holiday."
"It's for kids!" Jules, being Jules, had kept on trying to convince him. Shawn had actually seen her sensible heels under the desk for a moment as she'd come forward. She'd be doing frowny things with her face too. "Didn't you enjoy it, being out after dark, getting free candy? Come on, Carlton, I bet you were a cute astronaut...fireman?"
The thought of a tiny Lassi in a costume had, admittedly, been so distracting Shawn had forgotten to move. And sort of cute, once Shawn's imagination had shrunk Lassi down to kid size...and took away the gun...and took away the tie. And given him ears too big for his head. And maybe ironed pants without a single wrinkle. Then it put the tie back. Then it looked like little boy Lassi.
Lassi must have gotten dirty as a kid, playing out in Old Sonora, but Shawn couldn't imagine him like that, at least not in town. He'd probably still slicked his hair down and carried books with him. He had probably worn a helmet when he'd ridden his bike. The image should have been funny, but Shawn had wrinkled his nose and stared hard at Lassi's shoes.
Then--as Shawn later explained to Gus--Lassi had mumbled something that had made both Shawn and Jules lean closer and had snapped Shawn out of his fantasy of Lassi dressed as a little cowboy--because that's what his costume would have been. Not an astronaut. Please.
"What?" Jules had asked Lassi to repeat it and then gasped in understandable outrage.
"I never went trick or treating." Lassi's voice had been rough, his body twitchy. He'd shifted more papers and then moved back. Shawn had frozen and focused on his legs, the boring, practical navy blue of his suit. "It's not important, O'Hara. Anyway, you sound like Spencer. Can we talk about something else now, before I am forced to resort to violence?"
"But, Carlton..." Jules had seemed helpless in the face of the picture of child-Lassi and his frowning little face, stuck at home with no costume or candy on Halloween, staring out the window while everyone around him had an awesome good time. Or maybe that had been Shawn, dealing with Henry and all his stupid safety rules. Anyway, Shawn had moved forward, forgetting the file he had been there to read and putting one hand on the floor, next to Lassi's shoe.
Shawn remembered the kids whose parents wouldn't let them celebrate Halloween. There'd been one or two in every class, either for religious reasons or with parents who were as irrationally afraid of Ouija Boards as Gus. Shawn couldn't stress that enough--it was a board game. Shawn had always wanted to sneak those kids some candy, but Henry had always scanned and confiscated all of his and Shawn had been grateful for the pieces he did get.
Henry had probably eaten it too; now that he thought about it, Shawn was pretty sure he'd never gotten all of the bite-size Snickers he had trick or treated.
"Drop it, O'Hara, it's not a big deal." Apparently, Jules had not been convinced by that, or scared of any Lassi growls, and must have given Lassi a look that made him keep talking. after sighing loudly. "Look, my mother was busy and I was always growing. She didn't have time to make costumes to fit me and there was no way she could afford to pay any dentists' bills, all right? It's fine. I was fine staying home."
"Lassiter..."
"I said drop it." Lassi's tone had gone icy and Jules--as Shawn would not have-- had backed off. Shawn had spent a breathless second realizing that his hand was still sticking out from the desk and that Lassiter had been about to see him and drag him out by his collar and make him pay for overhearing that delicious tidbit of information about his childhood, but then the Chief had called out something and both detectives had hurried over to answer her, giving Shawn a chance to escape.
"Poor little Lassikins," he had finished, retelling it all to Gus afterwards. The memory had been bugging him all day, in that tugging way it bothered Shawn whenever he thought of Lassi and Sheriff Hank, or Lassi not having anywhere to go for Christmas.
Not that he was going to invite Lassi home with him. He wasn't that crazy. Lassi and Henry would end up talking about fish or guns the whole time and they would totally ignore Shawn, which...could be good as far as his father was concenred...except for when Shawn's dinner and presents were the casualties. And whenever Lassi wasn't paying attention to him, Shawn had an urge to jump in his lap and call him Lassiface and then led to problems more often than not.
Anyway, Lassi probably didn't even give good presents; he probably gave people socks and underwear and not even the sexy kind of underwear, but the boring plain white kind. If someone invited Carlton to a Halloween party, he'd probably show up dressed as himself.
"No Halloween? That had to suck," Gus had agreed, as soft-hearted as a fluffy lamb sock poppet, snapping Shawn out of his second Lassi-induced daydream of the day, and then had suggested they get some pizza, which had distracted Shawn from noticing that he had referred to Lassiter as Carlton.
The other conversation, as Shawn remembered it, went like this:
"I bet Lassi doesn't even have a favorite bite-size candy," he remarked around a fat slice of melting cheese and hot pineapple goodness.
"Are you still talking about Lassiter?" Gus was working on a personal pepperoni and sausage. He was traditional like that. The TV was on in the pizza place and Gus was ignoring Shawn and staring at the news, which was indeed full of reports about nuisance complaints and small fires. Which happened year just like Lassi said and weren't that interesting, yet he barely looked in Shawn's direction.
"I just didn't know that about our Lassi... Wait, dude, did you say "still"?" Shawn stopped with some ham and pineapple right next to his mouth. It at least made Gus glance at him, eyebrows up. Gus studied him for a moment, then lifted his chin.
"Chew with your mouth closed, Shawn," he declared and then carefully set down his half-finished slice. He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin and held them up in a significant, Burton Guster is about to give a lecture kind of way. Shawn would stifle a yawn but he was mid-chew. "Gee, I bet Lassi would have made a cute little cowboy!" he remarked in a high voice and Shawn scowled at what he realized was supposed to be an impression of his voice.
"Dude, I do not talk like that," he insisted. "And when have I ever said "Gee"?"
Gus ignored him and went on, even higher. "Dude, what kind of parent couldn't even manage a sheet for a ghost and a pillowcase? Dude, can you imagine his little Lassi face pressed to the window...okay, or more likely sneering at them from behind a curtain? How sad is that?"
Shawn narrowed his eyes. Gus' eyebrows went even higher.
"I bet Lassi never held a sparkler on the Fourth of July either," he repeated, then added in his normal voice, "And your dad never let you hold sparklers either."
"I got some in Chinatown later and held them anyway," Shawn corrected him and Gus huffed and picked up his piece of pizza again.
"Whatever, Shawn. If you don't want to admit it, then that's fine. But stop talking about it. Some of us are trying to watch the news."
"Dude!" Shawn tossed his pizza back onto his plate and tried a frowny face. It made Gus point at him with his hands still full of pepperoni.
"Right there!" he declared triumphantly. "Can you imagine little Lassiter never carving a pumpkin?" he mimicked, in what was apparently his new official Shawn-voice that, by the way, sounded nothing like Shawn.
"What?" Shawn crossed his arms and then replayed every one of the comments about Lassiter in the past few hours. Which, okay, were maybe a few more than usual. Though how many did he make every day anyway? Ten? Twenty? There was nothing strange about that. Lassi was a weird, complicated guy, and there were lots of things about him that were worth further study...like a big grumpy lab monkey in a tight dark suit.
Like that adorable, sad, lost look he got on his face whenever Shawn or Jules or Gus or even the Chief referenced something he didn't get. Or the way he never ever joined them out at a bar or for lunch unless someone specifically invited them, even when anyone else would get that he'd been included in the invitation. Or the way his eyes got darker when Shawn called him "Lassi" to his face. Or the way he held his gun. Or the way he let Jules boss him around and always arrested who Shawn told him to arrest, even when he thought Shawn was crazy. Or how he looked when someone that wasn't Shawn had pissed him off and he was determined to arrest them, all clenched jaw and straight shoulders. Even his new buzzed hair reflected how serious he was, his sticky-outty ears just a little more sticky-outty and flickable...
Gus cleared his throat. Shawn blinked. The news was playing the sports report at the end of the broadcast. How long had he been tuned out?
"Are you not taking your pills?" Shawn focused back on Gus, though was warm suddenly, like really warm, and throbby, in a want to sex someone up kind of way. And while Gus was pretty, he wasn't at his best with pepperoni grease around his mouth and talking about Shawn like Shawn was some kind of idiot.
"I don't take pills, Shawn," Gus argued calmly and turned back to stare at the TV. "You know a salesman should never sample his product. And if you don't want to admit you're crushing on Lassiter then don't. But stop talking about the guy. You're creeping me out."
"I..." There were few moments where Shawn had ever been speechless, and most of those had been either while scrambling for a lie to tell Henry or when face to face with someone so mindbendlingly hot that he forgot how to use words. Like that time when Lassiter had gone striding past him, smirking about some confession he'd gotten, his jacket gone and his sleeves rolled up, and when he'd stopped to say something to Shawn, Shawn had frozen had felt his brain go completely blank except for thoughts about how nice Lassi looked like that. How hot. Doable even.
"I have a crush on Lassiter?" he wondered out loud, sounding more than a little lost too, and Gus had calmly picked up his soda and slurped it through his straw.
"That isn't even the issue, Shawn." Gus shot him another look and Shawn made a "Dude?" face at him. Gus rolled his eyes and then smiled at their pretty waitress in an attempt to get a free refill. "The issue is, what are you going to do about it?"
Like an evil, brilliant pharmecutical salesman with a magic head and a sexy smile, Gus dropped that bomb right as the waitress appeared.
The last conversation, as Shawn is having it, goes something like this:
"Trick or treat!" It's harder than it should be to sound normal. Shawn can barely hear himself over his heartbeat in his ears, but he knows that he does not sound high-pitched, whatever Gus says.
"What in the hell are you supposed to be, Spencer?" Lassi is not pleased to see him, or at least doesn't look it. But then, it's close to midnight the night before Halloween and Lassi had probably been chasing after petty criminals all day. He's got his sleeves rolled up and his tie off and Shawn is pleased to notice that his pants have wrinkles after all. That should make this easier.
Shawn straightens his shoulders and tries a frown. When he moves, one of his plastic ears falls off. Lassi's eyes follow it to the ground, then swing back up.
"I'm you, obviously." Shawn tsks and scowls as hard as he can and points to the badge pinned to his belt, which has "Detective Lassipants" written underneath the badge number, which happens to be 696969. Then he gestures down at his suit, which is a little big, but it had been the only suit Lassi had left at the drycleaners for Shawn to stea--pick up for him. "Spencer, I won't have any of your screwball antics in my station!" he imitated, in a really gruff, low voice that was nothing like Lassi. "I find your shenanigans too sexy and irresistible!"
"Is that my suit?" Lassi does not sound as pleased, even if he wasn't acknowledging all of Shawn's comments. But luckily, Shawn has thought of that. Lassi is, after all, not used to dress up. Shawn holds up one finger in the universal give me a second to reveal something genius gesture but Lassi is steamrolling right on. "Is that my tie?" he demands as though Shawn would ever put on anybody else's tie for any reason. "Wait..." Lassi's voice goes from trembling rage to quiet in the blink of an eye. "Are you supposed to be me?"
He blinks, and Shawn swallows, ham and pineapple not sitting well in his stomach. Lassi's eyes go wide and lost like now he's thinking abotu the rest of what Shawn said, and then he looks away.
"Is this some kind of joke, Spencer? Because it isn't funny." After that pause he turns back, all straight shoulders and hot eyes and Shawn forgets his words again.
"Wait!" he finally manages and bends down to the bag at his feet. "The...uh...the spirits...sent me here," he flails his hands in a vaguely mysterious motion and doesn't look out when Lassiter snorts. He just pulls out a flannel shirt and a green t-shirt and drapes them thoughtfully over Lassi's chest. It's a good chest. Shawn has good taste in crushes, once he realizes it. He pets that chest a little, like he always does. Because apparently he's always had a crush on Lassiter.
Lassi puts his hands up at the same time, warm over Shawn's before Shawn slowly pulls his away. He's taking that as a good sign.
"I assume you own jeans, Lassi. If you don't, this isn't going to work. Though for your sake as a newbie, I won't demand total accuracy." It was probably wise not to mention that he was wearing a pair of Lassi's underwear--or how he'd gotten the plain white boxers that suddenly became sexy when Shawn thought about where they had been and where they were now.
Lassi is staring down at what is clearly Shawn's flannel, so Shawn reaches up and messes up Lassi's hair a little, though it's still too short to come close to looking as amazing as Shawn's hair is...was--as amazing as his hair had been before he'd slicked it down into Lassi's old, pomaded--and on Shawn, somewhat dapper--style. Lassi's hair does feel nice though. It's suprisingly soft. He's starting to think everything about Lassi is secretly soft.
Though hopefully, not the important things. Thing.
"Are you out of your mind?" Lassi asks at that, and finally raises his eyes. The adorable, confused look is back on his face for a half a second before he goes for something pissed off. Shawn holds up a finger again and ducks back down to the bag at his feet so he won't do something stupid, like flick Lassi's ears, or ask Lassi to wear his underwear, or mention his plan to end up back in his own clothes in the morning.
He brandishes a roll of toilet paper.
"Henry's house is like five minutes away," Shawn tries with a winning smile, and tosses the roll at Lassi. Lassi doesn't catch it and it falls to the floor and unravels a few feet, but Lassi's face twitches into a scowl. One eyebrow goes up, but he's not threatening to kill Shawn, so that's good.
"I'm not..." Lassi has to stop to clear his throat. "I don't know about your spirits, but I'm not committing any crimes with you, Spencer. I don't care what night it is. In fact, especially because of what night it is."
"Ah," Shawn nods, not surprised, and holds up his finger again. "The spirits want me to show you a good time." Oh, did they. "They say that you need to know what Halloween is all about. Which is why you should be nicer to the spirits, Lass, this is when they are the most powerful and should be obeyed." Lassi rolls his eyes, but he's still not moving, not kicking Shawn off his porch or demanding his clothes back or dropping Shawn's shirts. Shawn grins and uses both hands to pull out the pumpkin. It's medium-sized, perfect for a beginner. Shawn's imagining a scene like in "Ghost", with Lassi bent over the pumpkin amd Shawn coming up behind him to show him how. Maybe grope him a little. A lot.
There is a carving set for kids in the bag too. Gus had thought it might be wiser than giving Lassi big knives around Shawn.
Lassi's eyes are wide and blue over the top of the pumpkin. He looks curious and pissed off at the same time.
"Tell me you paid for that, Spencer," he comments after a few moments. Shawn lets his grin get bigger.
"And when we're done with that, Lassi," he pauses for effect and hands over the pumpkin. Lassi, not surprisingly now, takes it without a fight and holds it lightly, juggling Shawn's shirts at the same time. He looking at Shawn with a puzzled expression, and he doesn't say anything when Shawn reveals two DVDs--"Halloween", the original, and "Friday the Thirteenth", also the original; originals only, and forever. And a bag of bite-size candy bars. Assorted.
"What...?" Lassi seems frozen too, his words all gone for a few seconds too. Shawn grins. "What is this?"
"This is Halloween, Lassi," Shawn tells him, and rolls his eyes as he puts everything back in the bag and picks it up before he scoots in the door and past Lassiter. "Duh. What, did you never celebrate it as a kid or something?"
"I..." Lassi stumbles as he turns to look at Shawn, trips a little over the toilet paper. He has a look like Shawn's surprised him with his psychic prowess again before he remembers to hide it. But he's not moving. "Why..." He clears his throat. "Why are you doing this, Spencer?"
Surprisingly, at that look in Lassi's eyes Shawn can speak, but, for some reason, his voice gets really high. He refuses to think of Gus. He does not always talk like that around Lassiter.
"I told you, Lassi...the spirits." Shawn widens his eyes, and then strolls into Lassi's kitchen. After a second, Lassiter snorts, and then Shawn hears the door close over the sound of Lassiter mumbling. "What was that?"
"I said, why do I get the feeling that while you're in here, my house is being egged and my lawn is being filled with flaming doggie crap?" The typical Lassiter response just makes Shawn smile.
"Because you're a paranoid freak," Shawn responds, more out of habit then anything else, and then turns around. The truth is something Lassi wouldn't believe from him right now anyway. He settles for a shrug and coughs to make sure his voice is a nice, low, calm timbre that is not in any way high-pitched or girly. "Don't worry Lassi, tonight is not about the trick. Tonight, is about the treat."
And he knows, when Lassi slowly moves to follow him, that in the morning, he's going to end up back in his own clothes, and Lassi is going to love Halloween. Possibly for the rest of his life.