Psych: Ya Had a Bad Day (2/12)

[moogsthewriter]

Title: Ya Had a Bad Day
Rating: T
Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Family, Romance, Suspense
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Notes: This was a response to a challenge over at Psychfic. It won the Silver Pineapple for Best Whump (the Boo Boo Award) in the 2008 Psychfic Awards. Also cross-posted at FanFiction.net. (Although I have cleaned it up slightly... mainly just correcting grammatical errors. Nothing too earth-shattering.) Does contain Shules (Shawn/Juliet).

Summary: Shawn's having a really bad day. And it keeps getting worse.

( Part 1 )
 

Five and a half hours later, a much grumpier Shawn was driving on his bike towards the SBPD headquarters, a cup of Starbucks coffee clenched loosely between his legs. At first, the problem in the heater had seemed minor. Then Shawn had discovered that a part needed to be replaced, and so, with a little motivation from some of Mrs. Mahoney’s famous chocolate chip cookies, he had made his way over to the Wal-Mart down the street that was always open. After spending over an hour searching for one little part, Shawn found it in the first place he looked, which irked him to no end, especially since it meant his “razor sharp” skills were off. Blaming it on the sleep depravation, he had high-tailed it back to his apartment complex, bypassing his own comfortable bed on the way up to Mrs. Mahoney’s third-floor apartment.

Contrary to his high hopes, however, the heater still hadn’t worked, even after he beat up his hands in an effort to get the thing working. Four cookies, another hour and a half of scouring Wal-Mart, and several severely bruised knuckles later, the heater had come to life. Of course, by that time it was almost seven-thirty, and Shawn knew he would never be able to go back to sleep. He left the apartment, lying through his teeth to sweet old Mrs. Mahoney, reassuring her that it was no problem at all, before heading over to a local diner for some breakfast, grumbling the whole way. He had nearly had a conniption when the waitress at the diner informed him there was no pineapple that day, and had settled for a small meal of scrambled eggs and toast.

After nearly falling asleep in his meal three times, he had made his way over to a nearby Starbucks and had ordered a Venti coffee with four sugars and some cream. Then he had promptly spilled close to a third of the hot beverage on his favorite pair of jeans as he had climbed back onto his bike. He made a brief stop at his apartment to change, spilled a little more coffee on his shirt when he took a quick sip on his way back down the stairs, and had stubbed his toe on the concrete block. Now he was heading in solo to the SBPD, since Gus was at a pharmaceutical convention in LA, and he was desperately hoping for a case to occupy his mind. Because after all, he thought wryly as he pulled his bike into a parking space, how could this day possibly get any worse?

He worked hard to suppress a stream of curses as more coffee sloshed out onto his shirt when he tried to take another sip.

He made his way through the doors of the SBPD, carefully taking a small sip, pondering over the fact that his coffee was nearly half-gone at this point, and he had only been able to take a few quick sips. His eyes fell on friendly face, and he hurriedly swallowed his coffee to exclaim, “Hey, Jules!”

Juliet O’Hara turned and glanced over the pseudo-psychic briefly. “Rough night?” she asked, taking in the dark bags under his eyes and the coffee stains on his shirt.

Shawn nodded faintly, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ve been up since three-thirty trying to fix a heater for my neighbor,” he said wearily, leaning on her desk. His eyes took in her rather attractive business suit, the files clutched in her hand, and the memo on her desk. “Court day?” he queried, twirling the cup gently in his hand in an effort to get the sugar to mix back in.

“How’d you - never mind. Yeah, for the O’Riley case,” Juliet replied, gathering a few more files before moving to head for the door. “Nice to see you, Shawn - catch ya later!” she called over her shoulder as she breezed out of the office.

“Good luck!” Shawn called. “Knock ‘em dead,” he muttered as she disappeared. He turned to scan the rest of the office. “Lassie face!” he called, spotting the head detective in his little “office”.

Carlton Lassiter’s shoulders tensed as he got to his feet and glared at the psychic. “What the hell are you doing here, psychic?” he asked with a hint of a sneer. “As far as I know, your services were never called on today.”

Shawn shrugged, taking another sip of coffee and grinning. “I sensed that you’re going to need my help closing a case today,” he replied.

Lassiter chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t think so, Spencer,” he growled. Suddenly he reached forward and yanked the coffee cup out of Shawn’s hand.

Shawn spluttered in astonishment. “Lassie - what the - that’s mine!” he choked out.

“Spencer, the last thing you need is coffee… with lots of sugar, apparently,” Lassiter declared with a frown, taking the lid off and tilting it to the side to peer at its contents. He looked back up at Shawn’s shocked face. “I think it’s best for everyone’s sanity if I just go and dump this,” he added, striding over to small break room.

Shawn stood there, dumbfounded at what had just happened. “But Lassie, I need that!” he suddenly whined, taking off after the older man.

“Trust me, Spencer, the only thing you need is a psychiatrist,” Lassiter called as he entered the break room. Shawn burst in a second later just as Lassiter dumped the contents down the sink.

Shawn clenched his teeth together painfully, struggling not to scream at the detective. “Dude, I’m not kidding. I really needed that,” he ground out, clenching his fists.

Lassiter turned to open his mouth in reply when the door creaked open and a harsh female voice barked, “Lassiter! Spencer! What’s going on in here?”

“He stole my coffee, Chief! I barely even had any!” Shawn exclaimed, whirling around to face Karen Vick.

“What are you talking about, Spencer? The thing was over half gone!” Lassiter cut in.

“I know, but that was only because-”

“Mr. Spencer, I don’t want to hear it!” Vick cut in, holding up a hand. “Carlton has a point, you really don’t need any coffee. And what are you doing here?”

Shawn stared at her for a beat with one eyebrow raised before replying, “Are you like channeling each other’s spirits or something? Because I’m sensing one very strong force here.”

Both Lassiter and Vick rolled their eyes at the same time. “Not today, Spencer,” Vick said with a sigh. She eyed the younger man closely, her gaze lingering particularly on the coffee stains on his shirt. “It’s a slow day here - we don’t need you. Go home and get some sleep - you look like you need it,” she ordered finally, spinning on her heel and walking out.

“But - but -” Shawn spluttered.

He was suddenly shoved forward as Lassiter came up and pushed him in the small of his back. “You heard the chief, Spencer. Out,” the detective growled.

Shawn’s entire body stiffened and he spun away from Lassiter. “Fine! Fine! This day already sucks anyway. I don’t know why I thought coming here would make it any better!” he proclaimed angrily. Lassiter stared at him with something akin to shock as the normally happy psychic stomped his way past the other officers and out the door. The detective’s eyes met the Chief’s eyes, who also seemed rather perturbed by Shawn’s outburst.

“What the hell was that all about?” Lassiter declared finally, making his way back to his desk. Vick paused with one hand on her door, chewing her lip and staring out at the door where Shawn had exited.

“I’m gonna go find out,” she said finally, grabbing her coat and heading out after her psychic detective. Lassiter sighed and opened a file, propping his feet up on his desk and taking a sip of his own cup of coffee.

( Part 3 )