Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Psych except some very ugly t-shirts and a pineapple keychain.
Author's Note: This is my first time writing in the Psych fandom, heck really any fandom outside of H.P., and because of that I welcome any and all critique. I tried my best to make the characters as "in-canon" as possible but I might not have come as close as I could've. And please don't forget to review for reviews are a fanfiction author's only payment. Thank you!
"What I'm saying is that I think, maybe, the best things, the richest things, aren't supposed to come easily." –Juliet O'Hara, 'An Evening with Mr. Yang'
You have spent your whole life working to control your emotions. To be more than a pretty blonde wrapped up in a neat, tidy package. And for the most part you do okay. You have never ran from any of your cases, not even the more gruesome and disturbing ones, the ones that give you nightmares late at night when you have finally slowed down long enough to breathe. To think. If anything you are always the detective at the front of the line, one of the first ones in, right behind Lassiter. (And that is only because Carlton demands to go ahead, waving his "I've been working this job a lot longer then you have O'Hara" card directly in front of your face. And even though you tell yourself you only listen to him because he's your partner and it's your duty to show him respect, the truth of the matter is that part of you is secretly relieved that he goes in first. That he sees the horrors of life before you do. Somehow it's easier to put up a façade with other people in the room.)
But occasionally, those emotions you work so hard to control come through in spite of yourself. They come through when you have to tell a parent that their daughter isn't coming home for the holidays, your voice breaking ever so slightly as you utter the meaningless words, "I'm sorry." They come through when you realize that if you had been quicker, faster, five minutes earlier, that body lying immobile on the floor wouldn't had been there.
And sometimes, your emotions come through because of him.
You told yourself over and over again that you are immune to Shawn Spencer's charms. That even though he was smart and funny and had the ability to send a horde of butterfly wings fluttering around in your stomach with just a simple smile; you two were just friends, colleagues, nothing more.
No matter how much close talking occurred.
And so, to convince yourself of that, you make yourself attracted to men like Lars Ewing and Cameron Lutz. Men who have a commanding presence, men who are brilliantly good at what they do, men that wouldn't even attempt to throw Skittles into the open mouths of dead guys. Men that don't flirt with every semi-attractive woman they find in a 2 mile radius, men that don't have the attention span of a two year old Labrador puppy, men that are the exact opposite of Shawn.
(Because somewhere down the line he stopped being Mr. Shawn Spencer, Santa Barbara's resident psychic detective and just started simply being Shawn. Just Shawn.)
But you ignore all those emotions you feel about him, maybe more so then you would if it was any other man. You file them away in a box in your heart, a box so deep and hidden that the emotions only pop out in a few brief, selective moments. Moments that occur only between the pair of you. Moments you know mess with Shawn's head more than any tight blouse and sultry perfume ever could.
For once in your life you have decided to listen to your emotions. To just say what you want to say, what you need to say. Because if you don't tell him now, after today, today of all days, you might never say them to him. You might never find the courage again.
It astounds you how you can go into a triple homicide case and come out without breaking a sweat but the thought of telling Shawn how you feel –how you truly feel- makes your hands all clammy and your throat go dry.
You feel like such a girl.
But you tell him anyways. You stand there in front of him with nothing but a ridiculous amount of popcorn and toblerone's between you and you tell him how you feel. And it's hard. And it's scary. And it is without a doubt the most terrifying thing you have ever done.
Especially when he tells you about her.
And, just for a second, your face falls but you quickly pick it back up again (sometimes there are perks to knowing how to quickly conceal your emotions). And you wish him the best because, despite everything, Shawn Spencer is one of the most amazing people you know. And he deserves to be happy.
Even if it's not with you.
After the brief cheek kiss, it amazes you how much emotion you put into that simple chaste kiss, you exit the room with a slightest hint of a smile on your face and an unshed tear in your eye. You put your heart out there on the line and you failed. You let your emotions speak for you and you failed. But that's okay.
Because you are Detective Juliet O'Hara and if there is one thing you have learned in your three years in the SBPD it is that your best cases aren't the ones that come to you easily. They are not the ones that you get with a simple click of your fingers or with a sudden flip of your hair. Your best cases, the most exhilarating, toughest and rewarding ones, are the cases that you work hard for, the ones that you never give up working on even when all hope is gone.
And that extends into your personal life as well. You can wait because you know, you know, that the most rewarding things in life are worth waiting for. And for the first time in the three years that you have known Shawn Spencer you realize something new about him.
He is worth waiting for.
You and him are worth waiting for.