Wasted at Tom Blair's Pub, Redux [psych]

[gladdecease]

Title: Wasted at Tom Blair's Pub, Redux
Challenge: prompt_in_a_box round 12, prompt 7: Speak low if you speak love. - William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, 2.1
Word Count: 2580
Notes: I've had this written since Sunday, but my computer decided that this week would be Virus Appreciation Week, so...I've had difficulty posting. It's long, dialogue-ridden, and slightly out of character. I just want to get it up, so we'll call that drunkenness for now, and I'll edit it out later?

--

This is one of the oddest barrooms Lassiter has ever walked into.

He's used to rowdy bars, has been called to the aftermath of a number of bar fights in his earlier years, when he was assigned that kind of grunt work. He's also used to the kind of bar that would be depressingly quiet if not for the jukebox, having been a depressingly quiet patron of those bars often enough in his time. Married to his job, separated from his wife. It's a tired story. A dime a dozen in those bars.

This bar is neither of those--there are enough people here using alcohol as a social lubricant to balance out those using it to drown their sorrows. It's an okay bar, not really his type, though he's been here before.

What makes it odd is that as he walked by, he could have sworn he saw Shawn Spencer sitting in a back corner. Judging by the single tumbler, and by how unsteady Spencer had looked, balancing on his stool, tonight is a night for drowning sorrows rather than hooking up.

Which, if you knew Spencer at all, as Lassiter unfortunately does, just didn't make sense.

Getting drunk isn't exactly on his itinerary for this evening, but Spencer acting out of character? Spencer acting out always manages to draw his attention, so this is really no different.

Really.

Lassiter works his way through the bar, until he is standing next to Spencer. Spencer, who is much less drunk looking now that he's gotten close to him, and Lassiter wonders for a second if he's made a mistake. Spencer, who looks up and blinks.

Trapped, he nods, grunts out a greeting, and pulls up a chair like he belongs there, like they're drinking buddies meeting up, same time same place every week, instead of the pseudo-coworkers who can barely stand to spend work time together that they are. Spencer glances dubiously at his drink, then reaches out a hand to pat against Lassiter's face. Once, twice, Lassiter allows it, but when it becomes more like a proper slap, Lassiter shoves his hand away with a grimace. "Get off, Spencer!" He settles back in his seat. "Jesus, how much have you had to drink?"

"That's what I'm wondering, Lassy," Spencer responds distractedly, staring at his hand. With a jerking, overdone movement of his head that is echoed by his body, he doubletakes. "Wait, this isn't some bizarre drunken hallucination? You're actually here?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Lassiter says, "So it would appear." He fiddles with his bottle before taking a swig. Beer, he can trust himself with; he can drink four or five of these before it really does anything. Hard liquor, though, will knock him out in two shots. Literally, unfortunately.

Spencer grins, wide and tinged with something surprisingly bitter. He laughs in the same way, and it's odd enough that Lassiter puts down his beer and looks at the man seriously.

"What are you doing here, Spencer?" If anything, Spencer laughs louder at this.

"Oh, Lassy. You would ask that, today." The laughter fades off, but the bitter smile remains. "You always manage to do this to me, you know."

When he makes it clear in his expression that no, he doesn't know, Spencer elaborates.

"You surprise me. I've known you, what, three years now? And I learn new things about you all the time. Sometimes you'll do what I expect you to--a lot of the time, actually--but then you'll pull something different, something completely out of the blue. That never happens to me. I'm supposed to be the one that notices everything. People only surprise me when they sink to new lows of lameness or dorkitude, but that's not really surprise, that's disappointment. And even, even when it's the first time I've met someone, I'll be less surprised by them after the first five minutes than I've been by you after knowing you for years. Why is that, Lassy? Why are you so difficult?" The exasperation in Spencer's voice is familiar, but the complete confusion? Less so.

Lassiter doesn't really know how to answer Spencer. It's not that it's a hard question for him; he has some idea of why Spencer doesn't understand him, but he doesn't think he'll like the answer. "Spencer, I doubt you really ever tried to get me like you did those other people. You don't like me, you hardly respect me. Besides all that, our first conversation didn't exactly leave you much room for personal questions. Though you managed to make some serious accusations." He still misses Barry occasionally. She'd been a good cop, though he'd cared about her more than he should have.

Spencer shakes his head distractedly; Lassiter wonders if his response was one of the things Spencer had expected of him. "No, no, you're wrong about that. Well, not totally wrong. Half wrong? Is half right more optimistic? But anyway, you're right that I didn't care about you at all in the beginning. You were an antagonistic asshole just getting in my way, and honestly? It didn't help that you acted a lot like me dad.

"But I'm talking about later. After the first time we were here. That was the first time you really surprised me, Lassy. You being secretly impressed with me did not fit anything I could have expected for you. So I adjusted my paradigm, said to myself, 'okay, this is what he's like', and thought things would get back to normal. Not a month later, you're getting my bike back for me because I fixed a case you knew needed fixing and couldn't do yourself. And that didn't fit either. So I tried again, and started to get into a pattern. Each time I thought that I'd finally figured you out, you'd do something to prove me wrong again.

"Like this."

"What?"

Spencer gestures widely with both hands. "This. Being here, tonight. Why come to this bar? There are at least three closer to your new place that you like better, and this bar will just remind you of the time you got so wasted you knocked yourself out against a table. And why talk to me? You can barely stand me, you don't like me. You think I'm smart, a waste of talent by pretending to be psychic, but that's no reason to approach me in a bar. The last time it was just the two of us in a bar your beloved table altercation happened. Why..." Spencer is immediately still, more intent and alert than he'd been so far tonight. His eyes sharpen, his focus on Lassiter.

Shifting away from the accusatory glare, Lassiter orders a scotch from a passing waitress. His dignity's already screwed, if this conversation is going where he thinks it's going, and he knows he's not ready to talk about this with Spencer. Not while he's even mildly sober, anyway.

"Oh no," Spencer mutters as Lassiter finishes off his beer. "No no no, that's just too much. Tell me you didn't do it, Lassy."

Trading his empty bottle for a tumbler and thanking the waitress, Lassiter represses a sigh. "Didn't do what, Spencer?"

Spencer groans. "Oh, you did. God, you and Henry! What a pair. You're hard-ass detectives, you like fishing and ordering other people around..." He pauses, looks down awkwardly, but continues, "And when you finally get around to signing the paperwork, you don't tell anybody that you're divorced." Lassiter nearly chokes on his drink, surprised even though he shouldn't be, and Spencer winces. "How long's it been, Lassy?"

Lassiter swirls his tumbler around in his hand, watches the light reflect off the ice, the glass, the scotch. He swallows, clears his throat, and says, "Three weeks." He quickly drains the tumbler.

Spencer hits his head on the table, groaning. He lifts his head up, rests his chin on the table and says, "You know, my parents got divorced today." Well, Lassiter knows the answer to two of his questions now. Spencer sits up, rubbing at a red spot on his forehead. "Like, fifteen years ago."

Though he really, really doesn't want to know, Lassiter asks. "When did you find out?"

"May. A week before graduation. Mom moved out in April, but I figured it was one of their fights. Then she asks me to help her move in to her new place. She assumed Dad would tell me." Lassiter can't hide a wince. Spencer laughs, and he can't tell if it's because of him or the topic. "I didn't even know they were considering it."

And Lassiter may be getting ridiculously drunk right now, but even like this he can tell that the topic needs to be closed. About five minutes ago.

"Spencer," he says, gruff like he's pretty sure he sounds like at work when he hasn't got his coffee. Spencer jerks in his seat, and Lassiter likes knowing that he can still scare this guy a little, smart as he is. But when he makes leaps of logic, he's supposed to fake some mysterious source of knowledge, and maybe not doing that is why Spencer's so off the mark. "I've told people that I'm divorced."

Spencer stares, then blinks a few times, and makes a sort of sound like he's forgotten why they're on this topic.

Or maybe that's what he looks like when he's surprised.

"And I'm not here to reminisce, either. I told Victoria that I'm moving on, and I meant it. We're both going to move on."

Spencer blinks again, and Lassiter's pretty sure this must be his surprised face. He's only seen this face before when he's been on a hot streak and Spencer's come in to mess with him, only for him to mess with Spencer instead. It doesn't happen all that often, and Lassiter thinks he might document this face, along with rendering Spencer speechless, as enjoyable occurrences in his day-to-day life.

"I am here because I was walking past and saw you from the front window. And I thought...you, of all people, shouldn't have to drown your sorrows by yourself." If he was sober, this might be embarrassing. But in all likelihood, he'll forget this night ever happened after another scotch, and the truth never hurts.

Or maybe it does, because Spencer has again been reduced to gaping in silence. Lassiter would almost enjoy this, if he hadn't been doing it for so long. He suspects Spencer might be milking it, until his jaw snaps shut and he smiles. "What do you know, Lassy? You do have a heart."

Lassiter almost responds with a mocking 'ha ha', but he's pretty sure there's a "thanks" in there somewhere, and he'll take it.

And anyway, Spencer looks alright, throwing back his tumbler of vodka-and-something without falling off his stool. An impressive feat for how drunk he must be. He finishes the drink with a satisfied sigh. "Do me a favor, Lassy?"

The grin on his face makes Lassiter wary. Though it also means the man is getting back to normal. "Maybe."

"Could you try to not change my perspective of you for awhile? My dad's been unusually nice lately, and I can only have so many epiphanies a year. Gus figured it out for me; I get all existential and question myself, and then I leave town. Which isn't healthy in the current job market."

Lassiter barely understood that; Spencer is fine. And possibly less drunk than he'd thought. Or maybe he was more drunk? "My sympathies towards the struggling economy, but that depends on what the current perspective is."

Spencer blinks, frowns. "Fair enough." He taps one hand against the table, one against his pocket. In different rhythms. The jingle-jangle of either keys or spare change doesn't mesh well with the thunka-thud-thunk of the tabletop, and it irritates Lassiter. Spencer keeps it up for a minute or so, then stops. "Got it." Lassiter leans forward expectantly.

"You're head detective first, anything else second. You can be a hard ass, but only when you think the case is important enough...or you haven't had your coffee yet. You care about your record, your rep, but if the case is better off in someone else's hands you'll give it to them. You have a somewhat embarrassing fear of snow globes, and a strange penchant for ponies, fishing, and the kind of eighties movies I only thought Gus and I had watched more than once. And..." He's hesitant again. Lassiter wonders if he's going to say something offensive, or if it will be awkward instead.

"And...?" He doesn't really care if what Spencer's going to say will bother him; he's drunk and curious.

Spencer glances from side to side, leans in, and whispers, "And when you love, it's so strong that you'll let her leave you, even when you'd rather fight for her."

In the time it takes Lassiter to blink and mull over how incredibly right Spencer can get things when he tries, the man has already put a tip on the table, and is paying his tab at the bar. He stands up and follows, catches up with Spencer outside the bar. He's straddling his motorcycle when he notices Lassiter's standing in front of him, and takes off the helmet. Lassiter resists the drunk driving speech itching at the back of his throat, and says instead, "It's close enough."

Spencer laughs, all trace of his earlier bitterness gone, and puts the helmet back on, and revs his bike. With a squeal of rubber, he's gone.

Lassiter calls a cab, and while he waits for it, comes up with a mental list of things he would have to hide that would otherwise mess with Spencer's paradigm. He'd keep them hidden, for at least a few months, but after that? Well, it would be nice to have some choices to pick between.

The final list ended up looking something like this.
- Put the Psych snowglobe in a box. A locked box. In my bedroom. In the safe in my closet.
- Don't get into discussions of favorite movies.
- Put off that lowering-caffeine-intake plan for a couple months.
- Don't talk about high school. Or college. Definitely not about my first major.
- Stay away from farms.

Some things that almost made the list.
- Don't tell Spencer that he surprises me too. Removed because he doubted it would surprise Spencer. Given how he can't use the word 'astound' in normal conversation anymore...
- Don't tell Spencer that I've figured him out. Removed because he's going to keep this one to himself for a few years.
- Don't tell Spencer that I don't let go of friends as easily as lovers.
- Don't tell Spencer that he's not allowed to leave town and not come back. Removed because he'd sobered up a bit, and this is just too cheesy to even think about not saying.

--

Comments

[shirleyann66.livejournal.com]

I really liked this fic, and I know nothing about the fandom. It's the second Psych fic I've liked enough to comment on, and I think I'm going to have to bite the bullet and see if I can find the show somewhere.

I really enjoyed this fic. :)

[gladdecease]

Wow, I'm flattered. I don't consider it an example of a really good Psych fic, but the show is so amazing that it's difficult to put into writing. I definitely suggest watching it; it's on break between seasons, which gives you time to catch up!

Thanks~

Edited to add that if you need any more convincing, this might just do it for you!