Title: Frozen in Time

Note: This was supposed to be a bunch of short stories but...This is technically the first Psych story I wrote; even before my little Christmas short. Though the short got posted first. I don't expect much from this so...any reviews I get will be greatly appreciated.

One: Reassurance

To make somebody feel less anxious or worried.

Shawn sat in the Psych office, all the lights off. The only glow coming from a street lamp outside, creating a pool of gray shadows near the window. The dark gave him some comfort, though not a lot. It had been a horrible day and he wanted nothing more than to forget the events that led to him being where he was, sitting in the dark. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the chair. He could hear the sounds of the city outside but within the confines of the office he only heard the steady beating of his heart. There was an almost painful throb in his arm and a subtle pain in his chest. The simple act of breathing only made that pain worse. He was afraid to move for fear of making matters even worse, forcing him to cry out in the dark confines of the office.

As he sat there he began to wonder where everybody was, what they were doing at that exact moment. He'd left Jules at the precinct to do her paperwork. Gus had been obligated to attend a family function that night, leaving Shawn with no one to hang out with. And his father, well, he figured his father was probably hanging out at some cop bar talking with officers, on the force and retired. That left him alone to wonder why he was alone. After the day he'd had…

Then, much to his surprise, there came a subtle knock at the door. At first he didn't hear it, attributing it to the sounds of the city outside. But then it came again. From where he sat he looked toward the door, trying to decide if he should bother answering it or not. What if it was someone looking to be a client? He didn't want to deal with someone like that for at least another day or two. He hoped that with all the lights off that they would go away, get the hint that no one was around and leave. However, it didn't work that way. The person outside knocked again, this time a bit more forcefully, indicating that they weren't going to be going anywhere anytime soon. He grumbled, eased out of the chair and headed for the door. Who could possibly be calling on him?

He pulled open the door to find the last person he suspected. Letting his hand slide off the knob he headed back into the comfort of the darkness, seeking out the chair he'd spent the last hour sitting in. His suspicions were true; moving only made his chest hurt more. Carefully, moving like a man far older than him, he settled back into the chair. A minute later the door closed and a lamp was switched on, illuminating the room but leaving shadows along the edges.

"I'll take it from the fact that you're sitting in the dark that you aren't doing so well."

Shawn kept his eyes trained on the floor. "I'm fine."

"That's a lie. After all these years, trust me, I know when someone lies to me."

He let out a deep sigh, this time ignoring the pain in his chest, and closed his eyes. "What are you doing here, Lassiter? Don't you have better things to do with your time than coming to bother me?"

"Funny, Spencer, that sounds like something I should be saying to you," the detective remarked. From the sound of his voice Shawn could tell that he'd moved closer, further into the room.

"Can't you just leave me alone?"

"No," he said. "What happened…"

"Was my own fault," Shawn muttered in slight disgust.

Had he known that he was going to get into so much trouble he wouldn't have bothered walking into the precinct that day to see if they needed his help. He managed to fake his way through a good portion of the case, giving them clues that they missed here and there. But he hadn't been able to save himself. He kept kicking himself for not seeing the signs. His father had trained him to notice the small things, the little clues that a lot of people never noticed. He let out another deep sigh…

"Shawn?"

He opened his eyes, surprised to hear the detective use his first name.

"What happened to you…"

"Was my own stupidity," he said.

"Nobody saw it coming."

"I should have seen it coming," Shawn said. He wanted to get up and pace the room, let his anger dissipate, his frustration out. But with movement came pain.

Lassiter moved closer, pulling up a chair so that he was sitting across from the injured psychic. "How long are you going to beat yourself up over this?"

Shawn shrugged. Much like his motorcycle accident he'd been alone when the attack happened. The guy jumped him out of nowhere, someone he didn't even recognize but later learned that he was the murderer. Shawn should have counted himself lucky to walk away with bruised ribs and a laceration on his arm. He'd had to fight to stay alive as the man came at him with a knife. He recalled how it felt to have the blade slice through the skin on his arm, the warmth of the blood. The knife came perilously close to cutting the main vein running through the lower half of his arm. As it was the vein had been nicked, making the paramedics a little panicked in getting him to the hospital. He'd been there for hours afterward waiting for someone to come and pick him up but there hadn't been anyone. He tried to call them, they wouldn't answer. At ten-o-clock he hitched a ride, had a cab drop him off that the Psych office. The last thing he wanted to do was burden his father, especially after the argument they had shortly following his motorcycle accident.

He looked at Lassiter in an attempt to understand why the detective, of all people, had come to see him. "Why are you here?"

"I heard what happened to you," he said, his eyes straying to the bandage that encased Shawn's arm.

"And?"

"I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

Shawn arched an eyebrow in surprise, and slight confusion. All this time he'd thought Lassiter hated him. Why did he care? "I'm fine," he repeated.

"No you're not," the detective remarked. "You're far from fine."

"I'll live," Shawn said. "And that's all that matters."

Lassiter smiled somewhat sadly. "Spencer, I've seen this before and I know for a fact that you are not fine. You're doubting your ability to do…whatever it is that you do. But you need someone to tell you that you are good at what you do. I don't exactly believe in your psychic abilities but you've proven to be very useful. Spencer…don't let this get you down."

Shawn actually smiled. "Lassie-face, I don't think I could ever stop bugging the hell out of you."

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Good, because as soon as my chest stops hurting I'm going to be back to my old self."

Lassiter smiled. "You promise?"

"Guarantee."

An awkward silence settled over them. Surprisingly Shawn began to find himself in better spirits. Usually he didn't get along with the detective but…He wasn't going to let it go to his head. This was probably just a gesture of kindness. Tomorrow they would be back to their old habits and Lassiter would be snapping at him, ignoring him. He kind of looked forward to it. For now…

"How about we order some pizza?" Shawn asked.

"Over your dead body, Spencer," the detective said as he stood up. He headed toward the door.

"Oh come on, you know you want to spend the night with me," teased the fake psychic.

Lassiter pulled open the door. Looking back over his shoulder he said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer."

"It's a date, Lassie-face."