Title: Later Days (7/7)

Author: Wolfscythe

Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, Some Gus/Juliet

Rating: NC-17 overall

Length: 35,260 overall

Beta: VZG

Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of its characters. I only borrowed them for a short period and returned them in pristine condition.

In high school Shawn was on the long distance track team for about a month. He could do it, sure, but he lacked motivation and commitment, qualities that still persist today. Huffing and wheezing, he regretted counting sex as exercise and never bothering with cardiovascular workouts. It didn't mean he was slow though. He vaulted over a wooden barricade, startling some officers who were milling about. They couldn't catch up to the sprinting psychic, shouting at him to stop. Shawn plowed through the doors and up the stairs, taking them two and even three at a time.

His lungs ached and his legs burned as he forced himself up flight after flight, watching the numbers climb. He couldn't risk the elevators cause they would just tell everyone which floor he was on. Surely the cops on the floor already informed the SWAT members in the building and were standing guard around their sniper friends. Shawn had no reason to bother the SWAT snipers, but had someone else in mind. He knew someone was in this building specifically to kill Blaine, not that he cared much, but most likely was going to kill Lassiter as well.

Running at a slower more exhausted pace, Shawn exited the stairwell, fanning out into the open corridor. It was deserted, the people most likely evacuated. The SWAT team would be several floors higher to have a better vantage point. The assassin would be lower to be directly across the window in Blaine's office, having a wide range in which to fire.

Looking into offices, Shawn noticed a button on the floor. It was black, and the threads on it had been torn, like it was ripped off, but the button looked like it was too large to be on a shirt. Cautiously entering the room, Shawn poked around. He looked under the desk and in the file cabinets. Opening a small storage closet, a full-grown man rolled out of it.

"Holy sh—" he almost shouted, covering his mouth. The man in the closet was only in his underwear and socks. He was alive at least upon closer inspection, just unconscious. "Shit," he whispered, knowing why there was an almost naked man in some closet. Shooting out the door, he raced down the hall. If Shawn was going to fire a bullet out a window into another building at a small target, he would do it from a certain angle. Looking out each office window to approximate distance as he ran quietly, he came upon the room that would be the best place. He took a deep breath before kicking the door open.

He was just in time to watch the man in stolen SWAT clothes fire off a round and chamber another one. With little regard for his personal safety, Shawn launched himself on the assassin. The gun the man was wielding was long and heavy, the scope large and cumbersome. There was no way for him to whip the gun around to use it against Shawn, who had the leverage to wrestle him to the ground. They tussled like girls at first, pulling on clothes and whatever was in reach. Shawn was on top of the man's back, going for his neck, or chest area; in fact, he really didn't know what he was doing. Exposure to fighting for his life was kind of new. The assassin on the other hand knew what he was doing.

He rolled over, pinning Shawn to the ground. Raising his arm he elbowed Shawn over his previous bruise from Lassiter. Choking for breath, Shawn curled protectively over his burning chest. The man took his chance and socked him right in the face, actively stunning Shawn and guaranteeing a massive black eye. He punched him again for good measure, aiming at the stitches, and dove for the gun that had been pushed away in their struggling. He swung the long barrel to point at Shawn's face, but a loud authoritive voice shouted, "Freeze!"

Three SWAT members surrounded the assassin, guns drawn, flanked by none other than O'Hara herself. He raised his weapon to point to the ceiling and held his other hand in surrender. O'Hara knelt by Shawn and inspected his injuries.

"You okay?" She gingerly touched Shawn's face, now obscured by blood. His stitches had torn and were bleeding into his eye and down his cheek and chin. "I'll get a medic up here immediately."

"Is Lassiter okay?" Shawn sat up, ignoring the hands trying to push him to lie flat. The SWAT team escorted the man out of the room, leaving them alone and promising to send up help. "Was he shot?" he asked desperately, still woozy from being hit and bleeding everywhere.

O'Hara shook her head. "I don't know. A shot was fired into the building. I was busy following you and radioing ahead." She pushed him down again roughly when he tried to get up. "He's going to be fine, I know it. We'll wait here and he'll call and tell us we're stupid for worrying." She smiled like she actually believed everything was going to be all right, and Shawn felt for the first time what it was like to be a pessimist.

The second Lassiter realized Blaine had been shot, he jumped to his feet and tackled Ms. White from behind, slamming into her with the bulk of his body. She was screaming, not knowing what was going on. Blaine calmly touched a finger to his chest, pulling it away to see the red. It blossomed over his whole shirt, absorbing quickly into the fibers. He fell to one knee, one hand over the quickly pouring wound, and dropped his gun uselessly to the ground. He was pallid and breathing shallowly, trying to piece together that he was even shot and going into shock.

Lassiter swung his hands under his butt and legs, putting his cuffed wrists in front of him. Ms. White was still screeching and sobbing, face down on the floor with the detective bleeding all over her. He stayed as close to the ground and far away from the window as possible. Blaine was silent, and Lassiter wondered if he died and just hadn't slumped over yet. There was a gurgling from his direction, so Lassiter figured he was alive for now. It was unnerving how there was only one shot fired. There should have been lead pouring into this room.

Instead of lead it was police. The open door let in a flood of armed suited officers, crowding in and pulling Lassiter and the girl out. Medics flew in seconds later with a stretcher and began to stabilize Blaine.

"Get me Detective O'Hara on the phone!" Lassiter barked. "And someone find Shawn Spencer and make sure he's okay." He was almost out the door when he added as an afterthought, "And someone get me out of these handcuffs!" No one was willing to argue with a bloody, beaten, angry Detective Lassiter.

Thomas Blaine was rushed to the hospital with a bullet in his chest. He was being stabilized for surgery when he went into cardiac arrest and was declared dead shortly after.

Prominent members of the underground smuggling rings were arrested the same day including Sir. Teleski, Terry Mount, Markos Susanna, and Cornelio (Dry) Connie. They all had reputable cases against them and all pleaded guilty to murder, smuggling, theft, insider trading, and a variety of crimes, landing them in prison for terms of fifty years to life. It was the largest takedown in the history of Santa Barbara.

Mr. Swan was arrested and charged for several crimes, but only found guilty and prosecuted for child pornography. He will be in prison less than ten years.

The assassin believed to be one of Blaine's former associates was found guilty of murder in the first degree and faces the death penalty.

The rescued children from the boat were all hospitalized, returned to their families or placed in foster homes. Some still require therapy, but receive free health and psychological care from the city. The boy who died was buried in a local cemetery plot also sponsored by the city and the neighborhood.

Simon's whereabouts are unknown.

The next time Lassiter and Shawn saw each other was one hour later at the hospital. Shawn was sitting on his bed and enjoying the strawberry jello one of the orderlies had snuck for him. He was restitched up, drugged to the gills on painkillers, and completely unconcerned for the buzz outside. News reporters clogged the hallways, desperate to speak to anyone. Lassiter fought his way through the crowd before informing the staff of the hospital all reporters had to wait outside the hospital because he needed his rest. It was untrue, he was out and about on his own, but had lost all his patience and did not want to be on the news as the unhinged furious detective. They scattered like chickens.

Lassiter entered the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

"Hey," he greeted. He was in the same shirt as before. Anyone could tell because it had large bloodstains streaming down the front. His tie was gone (thrown away) and his sleeves rolled up, revealing bruising from the handcuffs. His face was torn up with a fat cut lip and sharp abrasions. "You look good."

Shawn's face was white and one eye almost swollen shut. "Thanks. You too." A large bandage covered his new stitch work, almost cutting sight off in his other eye. "O'Hara told me everything from your end."

"Yeah, same here."

There was an awkward silence stretching between them. Shawn offered his mostly empty jello cup, and Lassiter smiled briefly and shook his head no.

"I'm sorry," Lassiter said suddenly. "For not believing you before when you said you were serious about this relationship thing."

Shawn scooted over and patted the spot next to him. "It's okay. A few months ago and you would have been right about me. I would have totally flaked." Shawn scooted closer once Lassiter sat down, their thighs brushing. He leaned in to kiss Lassiter and missed completely, getting the corner of his mouth. Lassiter turned and kissed him properly.

"Ow," he complained. "Wounded here."

"Oh you big baby." Shawn kissed him again and tasted copper mixing in with his strawberry jello mouth. "Hmmhm," he mumbled, disgusted in the taste. It was in that moment that Gus rapped on the door.

He shouted through the little blinds on the window, "Shawn Spencer I know you're in here!" When the door was not immediately opened he began to rattle the handle. "OPEN!"

Shawn trudged over to unlock the door. Gus stood with his arms crossed like an angry child, but as soon as he saw Shawn's face, his eyes welled up. "Shawn." He wrapped his arms around him in a big hug, crushing him.

"Please. Hurts. Can't breath," he stammered out, being released and clutching his bruise under his shirt. The bruise had grown in size, and had a sickly yellow color around the edges, thanks to Captain Asshole (Shawn's affectionate nickname for the assassin). The doctor had so kindly informed him that his ribs were thoroughly bruised and would take a long painful time to heal.

Gus looked over Shawn and Lassiter with his mouth open. "Are you guys okay?"

"Peachy," Lassiter grumbled, stealing an ice pack meant for Shawn and dabbing his lip with it.

"Carlton means we're going to be fine," Shawn translated, grinning broadly. "What have you been up to these past few days?"

Gus, annoyed and aggravated, replied, "Nothing nearly as life threatening as you have. You promised you would be careful and stay out of the way! If it wasn't for Juliet, I wouldn't even know where you were!"

"Ah, Jules. How have you two been getting on? Being extra friendly I see…" Shawn winked (well, closed his one good eye) and elbowed him playfully.

"Actually," Gus began, "We have been getting to know each other rather…wait. Stop it! I'm lecturing you."

"It doesn't do any good" Lassiter interjected quietly.

"Gus" Shawn tried getting his friends attention.

"Shawn," he shot back.

The door swung open dramatically and they both said "Juliet" in unison. She was holding two manila folders in her arms like they were prizes.

"Discharge papers," she explained. "You and Carlton are free to go. The doctor said we could use the back ambulance exit and avoid all the press." She walked over and dropped the folder on Lassiter's lap. "I must say Carlton, I am surprised at you. You usually clean up your own messes, and now I have to follow you around with a broom."

Lassiter hid his smile. "Thank you O'Hara."

"You're welcome." She smiled sweetly. It wasn't total forgiveness on Lassiter for bailing out on her and doing everything himself, but it was a start. She would rather be on a stretcher being patched up with the rest of them then filing their reports any day. She was confident he wouldn't leave her behind again.

Lassiter gathered up his folder and stiffly headed out. "I'm going to see Vick." Most likely to file his report of the whole incident. "You all go home and get some sleep," he said to everyone, but he was looking pointedly at Shawn.

"Come on," Gus encouraged, holding the door open as O'Hara followed Lassiter out. "I'll drive you home Shawn."

Lassiter drove back to his house from the station as slowly as possible. He was extremely tired, and figured the slower he drove, the safer he was being. He talked to Vick, who was also suffering from lack of sleep and extreme irritation, about everything that happened. Vick had someone else writing for her so she could have both hands free to throttle and then hug him. It was a great success for the Santa Barbara police department, the largest criminal takedown in history. Press was everywhere wanting coverage, it was late at night, and everyone working just wanted to go to sleep. Unfortunately there was no rest for both the wicked and righteous. It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that Lassiter finally got to leave.

He unlocked his front door and almost fell into his house from surprise. His lights were on, there was a distinct spicy smell coming from his kitchen, and he could hear someone clanging plates around. He palmed his weapon and took a few cautious steps inside.

"You can put that away, it's only Chinese food" Shawn shouted out toward the entry hallway. Lassiter relaxed and removed his holster to hang it up on his coat rack. The kitchen table was set, chopsticks included, and a whole Chinese buffet was arranged on the counter in little takeout boxes. "I didn't know what you were in the mood for so I ordered one of everything." Hong sue shrimp, egg foo young, lo mein, chicken, beef, pork, fried kalimari, Cantonese noodles, varieties of rice and vegetables, and several other unidentifiable dishes all spread out in a delicious salty heart clogging manner.

Shawn was wearing an apron (not one of Lassiter's) and pajamas underneath. He was barefoot, his hair spiky with moisture from a shower, and grinning like an idiot. Lassiter was never more attracted to him. "I brought clothes so I won't have to steal yours. Toothbrush too" Shawn added.

Lassiter was in shock. The day's events were bleeding out of him and leeching into the wood beneath his feet. "That's good," he mumbled, unsure of how to respond without sounding like a sappy moron. Shawn handed him a plate and chopsticks.

"I'm starving," he stated, digging a healthy heap of white rice onto his plate before moving on to some spicy kung pow chicken and grilled pineapple slices. They ate in peaceful companionship, Shawn talking about Gus and Juliet's blossoming romance, the latest movie he'd seen, and how hot the weather had gotten. They packed up the leftovers (Lassiter was going to be eating Chinese food for a long time) and got ready for bed, crowding over the bathroom sink.

They slept.

They slept for 15 hours, occasionally getting up to drink some water or use the bathroom. Lassiter would have slept longer if Shawn wasn't putting his frigid feet on the small of his back. He murmured and rolled away, but Shawn's feet were persistent and stretched to kick him in the butt.

"Shawn," he groused, twisting in the sheets to face him. Shawn was sweating; his white tank soaked to his chest. "Shawn," Lassiter said louder, trying to rouse him. He shook his shoulders and Shawn's eyes fluttered open. "Hey guy. Nightmare?" He smoothed down some of Shawn's wild hair, checking his temperature with his hand against his forehead. He wasn't hot enough to be feverish; he was actually cold and clammy to the touch.

Shawn swallowed thickly, sitting up to rub his eye, less swollen and now with a lovely bruise circling it. "M'fine," he mumbled, then yawned. "I wake you?"

"I was going to get up anyway,"Lassiter said, though he did nothing of the sort. He laid flat on his back and closed his eyes, cushioning his head with his hands.

Shawn knew he couldn't go back to sleep after his dream. Seeing Lassiter dead in a pool of his own blood, children screaming, and being locked away in a boat's filthy dead-smelling interior and then sinking in vivid detail was enough to scare away any more delusions of rest. Lassiter went to bed with a shirt, but must have removed it sometime in the night so his chest was bare under the covers. Shawn threw back the blankets with a flourish and bent over to slick Lassiter's bellybutton with his tongue.

He laughed and pushed Shawn's face away. Shawn retaliated, giving him a big wet raspberry on his stomach. "What are you? Seven years old?" Lassiter lightly scolded, smearing the saliva left behind.

Shawn leered, giving Lassiter's shorts a sharp tug. He took him to the hilt, taking immense pleasure in the detective's surprised gasp. He worked him to full hardness, swirling his tongue in rapid strokes and twisting shapes on the firming cock. Lassiter pulled his hair a little too hard, and he realized he was pulling him up. Lassiter slipped his hands under Shawn's arms and hauled him up, breathing heavily into his mouth before closing the gap. They kissed for a while, Lassiter lightly touching him.

He curiously tickled Shawn's ribs. Fingers traced veins down his arms, thumbs sliding along his wrists. He pushed Shawn's underwear down past his thighs and pulled his shirt up but not off so it bunched up over his pectorals. Lassiter suddenly hooked his leg around Shawn's back and flipped him on over, effectively pinning him to the mattress. Shawn arched his hips off the bed to grind his erection with Lassiter's.

He was slick from Shawn's mouth, and it felt incredibly good to be rutting against each other, creating friction and heat. He smothered a moan against Shawn's neck, kissing and nipping lightly at the skin. Shawn reached between them to grab Lassiter's cock, pressing hard at the delicate glands underneath the head. He twitched in his hand and thrust his hips up, silently pleading for more.

Shawn gladly lined them up, thrusting against one another, sweat and leaking semen easing the way. Lassiter moaned again, his lips skirting across Shawn's because of the building movement and pressure. Shawn arched again, bringing his knee up to slide against Lassiter's side and bring them closer together. The bruise on his chest was hurting from being stretched, but it was drowned out in the flood of pleasure coursing from the tip of his cock throughout his whole body. Shawn inhaled and came, spilling hot between them. He finished Lassiter off with a tight grip, listening to his harsh breathing. Lassiter was holding himself up over Shawn on shaking arms, and rolled over before his muscles failed.

They laid side by side, panting toward the ceiling, enjoying the afterglow. Lassiter could feel the semen on his stomach collecting into the little dip of his belly, and the rest very slowly dripping down his hip to soak into the sheet. It certainly wasn't pleasant, and a shower would be required very soon. Shawn was in the same boat, but lazier. He left quickly and got a warm wet towel to clean themselves off.

Shawn pulled his shirt down again. It had sweat soaked down both sides because it was bunched into his armpit, and it was rough against his suddenly sensitive erect nipples. He threw it off and pulled his boxers back on, half dressed in the cool room. Lassiter slid back into his shorts and stripped the semen stained sheet off before throwing it into the wash and returning to bed.

"Want to give it another go?" Shawn asked. Lassiter wondered how hard this relationship was going to be if Shawn was never satisfied with just one orgasm, but figured too much sex was better than none at all.

"You'll have to give me a few minutes," Lassiter admitted, not as young as he used to be.

Shawn grinned, jerking Lassiter's chain in good fun. "I'm good. I just wanted to see if you would agree, you dog, you."

"You're not as funny as you think you are," Lassiter said, no real scorn in his voice. He was even smiling. He joined Shawn in lying down on the rumpled bed, accomplishing nothing for another day.

"We did good, didn't we?" Shawn asked, unclear if he meant stopping Blaine, arresting all those people and saving the children, or even the sex. Lassiter answered him even though he didn't need to.

"Yeah. We did good." He kissed him on the forehead. "I'm hungry again. You want cereal or Chinese?"