A/N: I've had this story for a while, and just started posting it. This story will contain some wonderful whumpage, because who can't stand a hot guy beaten to the ground? I know I can't. This first chapter is just setting the scene. Please drop me a review, I love them! If you're one of the TMNT ppl waiting for a sequel... I'm workin' on it, I swear.
Detective Carlton Lassiter strode smugly to his desk, having just wrapped up another case all by himself. No 'psychic' necessary, no Sir, just good ol' police work. The past two months had been especially productive for Lassiter, not that any more cases were being solved…they were just done without outside help.
Chief Vick, however, had seemed more stressed as of late, but he couldn't understand why. O'Hara also seemed slightly off, less chipper. He sometimes heard her mutter that she wished they could call in a certain consultant for advice.
So some cases were taking a little longer than they had become accustomed to, and a couple went unsolved. That was normal for any police department! Spencer hadn't been that big of a help.
Lassiter quickly banished the thought from his mind. He had made it a goal not to even think of the hyperactive nuisance since he left on 'vacation' all those weeks ago. As a result, his blo55od pressure was down, he was sleeping better, and overall, just felt that a certain peace and order had returned to the world, crime aside.
But as the 5x6 area Lassiter dedicated as his private office came into view, he stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked repeatedly, almost turned around to walk away and come back again, but no matter what he did, the large pineapple on his desk, complete with red bow, reflected off the steel grey surface of his wide eyes.
A prank? Maybe O'Hara- but she didn't do things like that…McNabb? He didn't breathe unless granted permission, let alone come near Lassiter's hallowed desk.
Tentatively, the detective approached his tainted office space, hoping maybe it was a hallucination that would disappear. Cautiously, he reached out to touch the large fruit, as if it would jump up and bite him. So it wasn't an illusion. Lassiter's blood pressure rose by just feeling the hard, spiky surface that was the symbol of the reason for his multiplying grey hairs.
"Spencer!" The detective spun around, searching for any other signs of him- officers gathering for one of his sideshows, broken office supplies, someone in jeans having a seizure…but spotted nothing except for a few people giving him odd looks, which he returned with a venomous glare.
"Carlton, what's wrong?" Junior Detective Juliet O'Hara asked with furrowed eyebrows.
Lassiter let out a low grunt in response, pointing to the offending object that had desecrated his desk. The smile that flashed across the younger detective's face was not lost on him.
"Shawn's back?" She asked, trying hard to hide her excitement, and picked up the pineapple, fingering the bow.
Lassiter slumped into his chair, grumbling. "So much for peace and order…"
Shawn Spencer sped down the coastal roads, trademark grin plastered on his face. One glance at Lassy's reaction had been enough to inflate his already good mood. Tempted as he'd been to confront his favorite pair of detectives at that moment, he decided to save some of the fun for later.
Shawn weaved his motorcycle around the traffic that was moving at a pace too slow for his excess energy. It was a move his dad would have thrown a fit over, but Henry Spencer was buried deep in the back of Shawn's mind and not likely to reemerge until he felt like being depressed and degraded- or not anytime in the foreseeable future.
The beachfront office of Psych was just a blur as he rode past. The blueberry car was absent from the parking space it usually occupied, so there was no reason to stop. What he was looking forward to right now was getting to shower in his own apartment and maybe see what shows his Tivo had managed to record before running out of memory.
After that, maybe he'd break into Gus's apartment and delete some episodes of "Laguna Beach." Of course Gus would never admit his guilty pleasure, but just watching him squirm would be enough for Shawn. Currently, his lifelong best friend was returning from a three-day convention in LA and wouldn't be back until that night. He'd find some way to fill the time, probably by setting up something for Gus to trip on or scream about.
For the first time in two months, Shawn's apartment came into view. He parked his motorcycle questionably close to the fire hydrant as he always had, despite the incident with the rogue meter maid, who he'd rather not mention right then. If a fire truck actually needed to pull in, he doubted the three foot wide space his bike took up would make much of a difference anyways.
Swinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, Shawn bounded up the steps to his apartment and burst inside to his now musty and yet somehow still naturally lively home. Perhaps it was the brightly colored souvenirs from countless past excursions, but the layer of dust did nothing to suppress the feeling of walking into a constantly on-going party. It would all soon be added to from his most recent adventures across the country.
This happened every fall for Shawn--leaving on his motorcycle, only to be heard from in postcards or inebriated phone calls. It was how he kept from feeling trapped in the same monotonous routine of life. Of course everything had become increasingly exciting with the opening of Psych, which is why he had only left for two months. That and an incident in Mexico left him with only just enough money to cross the border and pay for the gas to get home…
One hot shower and a change of clean clothes later, Shawn left his bag unpacked on his bed to be dealt with much, much later, if ever. At the moment, his rumbling stomach forced him back outside in search of food. All the food his refrigerator now held was either rotten or expired and would also be addressed in the far future or until the smell got to him…or to make room for more food.
Pulling on his leather jacket to keep out the mild winter now closing in on Santa Barbara, Shawn locked up his apartment and started heading down the stairs, only to be stopped by a gruff looking man with Steve Martin's hair and Danny DeVito's body.
"Spencer…" He growled.
"Mr. Peterson!" Had the man not been the landlord, Shawn would have made a crack about his attire- what looked like his wife's robe over snow-white and boxer clad legs. Sometimes his photographic memory brought disturbing nightmares about these kinds of things…
"Your rent payment." The man barked simply.
"Uh…" Shawn cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "I thought we discussed that before I left."
"For the first month, yes. Not for the last."
"Heh." The greedy look in his landlord's eyes told him all he needed to. "Alright, what's it gonna take, Petey? You want me to pick a game winner again?"
The old man shuffled his feet slightly. "Maybe…"
Shawn caught sight of two tracks in the rug behind him and some red hairs on his robe. He always thought his landlord had held some resemblance to Hugh Hefner… "Tell you what, I give you a winner, and then I'll also tell you how not to get caught cheating on your wife again."
Mr. Peterson's eyes widened and he pulled the robe tighter around himself. "H-."
"Widow in 124, right? Orange hair, stylish walker?" Shawn was about to slap the man's shoulder, but thought better and drew his hand back awkwardly. "We'll work out the details later. Say hi to your wife for me, Petey." He called over his shoulder as he continued to his motorcycle, shuddering and trying to block out the mental image of his perverted landlord.
A few drops splashed onto his helmet's visor as he headed for Albertsons. The clouds had rolled in quickly, cutting off any sight of the blue sky Shawn had been enjoying earlier, but it still didn't do much to dampen his mood. It took a lot to get him down, especially when he was this happy.
If you asked, Shawn wouldn't be able to tell you why he was in such a good mood. His wallet held the only money he had left; about 40 bucks, most of which would be gone after his shopping spree at Albertson's. He didn't know how he'd completely depleted his money reserve, but it didn't worry him. Gus usually had plenty of cash and kept some extra in the ash tray of his car…
Soon enough, he'd be back on cases and the money would be flowing through again. He was almost anxious to get started.
Shawn slipped off his helmet and jogged into the store out of the now pouring rain, ruffling his hair to get his usual style back. Twenty minutes later, he was standing in line, recalculating how much his total would be. With 8 sales tax…he'd just barely scrape by, perfect as always.
That's when something happened to make him frown for the first time that day.
"Shawn!" A familiar hand slapped his back and he winced. "Fancy seeing you here. What's it been…two months since I last heard from you?"
Shawn was used to the disappointed and slightly biting tone his father used, but today wasn't a day he'd wanted to deal with it. He turned slowly, hiding his grimace. "Hi, Dad…yeah it's been a while, hasn't it?"
Henry gave his familiar don't-give-me-that-crap look. "So where did you run off to this time?"
Shawn's forehead creased as if deep in thought. "You know, there's really no way to be sure."
"Still on your bike, I see." The disappointment was just dripping off his tongue now.
"Yeah, Dad. I am." Shawn nodded slowly. "And I probably will be unless some horrible side effect occurs like chaffing or bow-leg…legged…leggedness…that thing in cowboys and kids with rickets."
"It's raining out there, Shawn."
His son gasped dramatically. "So you watch the channel 8 news too? I'm actually thinking about switching over to 5; the girl may suck at forecasting, but she has a great body."
"I'm trying to tell you to not be stupid and end up crashing on that thing because the roads are wet." Shawn had to give his Dad props. Aside from the stupid part, he almost sounded like he cared.
"Well I've only had a motorcycle for 13 years, but I think I've driven in rain before. Thanks for your concern though, you really are coming along there." Shawn was next in line so he turned to the female cashier and immediately commented on her new hair-style, starting up a rather flirtatious conversation he hoped his Dad would stay away from.
"Well it's not new exactly…just like last week." The young woman blushed.
"Well it really goes well with…" Shawn waved his hand in the general direction of her face for a few seconds, "it compliments your profile." He smiled sweetly.
"You really think so-?"
"Why didn't you have Gus drive you?"
Shawn clenched his teeth briefly and held up a finger. "Hold on one second." He told the girl and turned slightly. "What, Dad?"
"Gus; why didn't you take his car?"
"He's in LA until tonight. There's a convention for xenophobics." Shawn explained quickly and turned back to his cashier. "Sorry about that, where were we?"
"I haven't seen you around lately." The woman pouted.
"Yeah, MI6 called-."
"So that means you've talked to Gus already." Henry cut in again.
Shawn let out a short growl of exasperation. "Yes, Dad, a few days ago."
"I never got a call." Henry shrugged.
Shawn bit his lip hard before answering. "Well you don't know how to work MapQuest, do you?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything, Dad." He sighed, knowing his chance for a date with the cashier was totally shot. He grabbed the now full grocery bags and shoved them into his backpack, ignoring the slightly disturbed look the cashier was giving him and his Dad.
"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?" Henry asked as if the whole conversation had been leading up to it. His son stopped in pulling his bag over his shoulder and turned.
Shawn couldn't help but stare at his father for a full minute, wondering if he'd been hearing the same dialogue. "Dinner?"
"Well, yeah, I see you didn't buy anything that you could actually consider using for a meal, not that you'd cook anyways."
"Although your offer was so kindly presented, I think I'll just eat at home." Shawn started walking briskly toward the exit.
"I called Gus earlier. He'll drive you over when he gets back." Henry continued, not moving from his previous spot.
"Fine!" Shawn kept moving toward his bike, not bothering to continue arguing. That would be just like his dad; having an entire conversation full of answers he already knew just to see how his son would respond. He wouldn't be surprised if Henry had set everything up himself; from
the running out of money, to running into him at Albertson's. More likely however, Shawn's Dad had probably discovered somehow that he'd arrived back in town. Dinner was punishment for leaving without telling him.
The rain was really coming down when Shawn stepped outside, and as much as he would defend his bike to his father, he still didn't enjoy riding it in these conditions…it soaked his jeans, which is quite possibly the most uncomfortable feeling in the world.
The Psych office was much closer than his apartment, and contained a change of clothes where Shawn could get dry and wait out the storm. He wasn't feeling too particularly happy anymore. It was some evil power Henry had always had over him. Only his dad would bag on his motorcycle, scold him about not calling and then invite him to dinner, all in one encounter.
Thankfully, Shawn arrived at Psych only a few minutes later. His driving always was more erratic when he was pissed off and the rain cut down his visibility. Fumbling with numb fingers, Shawn pulled out the right key and stumbled inside, pulling off his helmet. Immediately a shiver went through him. The place was freezing, and dark. It had the same feeling as his apartment, and Shawn knew Gus probably hadn't stopped by in a while.
After turning up the heat, Shawn dug around his desk of organized chaos and pulled out a change of clothes, dressing quickly. His limbs were already numb. Sprawling himself across the couch, Shawn pulled a pillow across his stomach, force of habit, and turned on the TV. A breaking news story was beginning to play, but he didn't hear much of it. He was passed out in under a minute.
A/N: Reviews please? :D