Title: Dyslexic Heart

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Sequel to "Murder by Something Something". Shawn has never been good at following rules, not even the ones he makes for himself.

Author's Note: This starts immediately before "Any Given Friday at 10 PM, 9 PM Central". Familiarity with all of the episodes from the end of S3 through the first half of S4 is probably necessary to follow what's going on, as I used the episodes as a jumping off point for the events of the story. Think of it as a lot of post-episode fanfics strung together.

It should probably go without saying that reading "Murder by Something Something" first is also necessary, as none of Lassiter and Shawn's interactions will make any sense without knowing what happened between them in that story.

This is still a WIP, but I'm finally starting to see the end in sight, so I thought I'd try posting one chapter a week until it's finished. You're getting two chapters this week because the first has been up at my livejournal for over a month!

Title is from the Paul Westerburg song of the same name.

Do I love you?
Do I hate you?
I've got a dyslexic heart.

Special thanks to the Psych writers for making it canon that Lassiter is amazing in bed!

Lassiter had been worried that it would be awkward the next time he saw Spencer after the events of the Harrison Griffin case, so it was almost a relief that it was merely annoying instead.

Well, in actuality, it was the second time he had seen Spencer since then; the first had been at Claire Collins's funeral, when he had caught a glimpse of Shawn sitting in the back of the chapel where the service was held. They hadn't spoken, and in fact, Lassiter wasn't even certain that Shawn had seen him.

So this, a little less than a week later, was the first time he had really seen Shawn since they had shared what could only be described as an extremely ill-advised sexual encounter in a seedy motel room. It was disturbing that he felt a surge of pleasure at the sound of Shawn's voice, but comfortingly familiar that what the voice was saying was just as ridiculous as usual.

"…I knew that Lassie and I were dead meat if I couldn't stop Griffin somehow, and that I only had one chance to save us. So I summoned all of my formidable psychic powers and sent a message to my own personal Magic Head."

Lassiter turned the corner in the police station to see Spencer sitting on the corner of his desk, Gus at his side, holding a small group of uniform officers spellbound.

"As many of you know," he continued, "Gus and I share a special bond that, during times of great stress, I can call on for assistance."

Gus nodded sagely. "I was eating brunch in San Francisco with my sister when I head Shawn screaming for help in my head."

Shawn frowned. "I wasn't screaming, Gus. It was more of a manly bellow for assistance."

"Whatever, Shawn. Either way, I knew that I had to call immediately."

"When my phone rang, I psychically signaled Detective Lassiter to let him know that this was our chance, and he heroically tackled Griffin. It was an amazing display of psychic teamwork. Hey look folks, there he is now. How about a hand for our Head Detective?"

The officers applauded politely as Lassiter stalked towards them. "All right children, storytime is over," he barked at them, "get back to work." Everyone scattered as he came to a stop in front of Shawn and Gus. "Get off my desk, Spencer."

Shawn just smirked at him. "But Lassie, I was about to tell them about how mine and Gus's strength combined with yours to create an unstoppable crime-fighting machine that brought an end to Griffin's reign of terror."

Lassiter sighed. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"I just wanted to visit my favorite detective," Shawn said solemnly, then leaning over to look past Lassiter, crooned "Hiiiiiii Jules."

"Hi Shawn, hi Gus," she said politely, not moving from her spot seated behind her desk.

"The Chief called us down here to sign some paperwork," Gus said.

"Great. Go do that," Lassiter said, making "run along now" gestures with his hand.

Shawn hopped off of his desk and Lassiter took a step back, unwilling to even accidentally come into contact with him, but he didn't miss the slight wince that crossed Shawn's face as he bounced to his feet.

"How's your arm?" he asked, before he could stop the question from escaping.

Shawn shrugged, which caused him to wince again. "It's okay. The stitches come out tomorrow. How's that black eye feel? It makes you look very tough-guy, like Harrison Ford at the end of Raiders."

At the reminder, Lassiter touched the bruise around his eye gingerly. "It's fine. I only remember it when I look in the mirror."

"Hey, do you have bruises from hitting the water? Like, even my bruises have bruises."

Lassiter nodded. "Yeah, a couple of days ago I was so sore I could barely…" he trailed off, aware that Gus was looking at him oddly, and while he emphatically did not believe in psychic powers, he was certain that O'Hara was giving him the same look from her desk. "Never mind," he said sternly. "I have work to do. Go."

"Fine," Shawn said, with a theatrical sigh. "Try not to miss me too much, Lassie. Byyyyyyeeee Jules," he added, looking over at Juliet again.

"Bye, Shawn," she said, with barely concealed amusement.

After the terrible twosome had disappeared into the Chief's office, Lassiter sat down at his desk and tried to concentrate on the work in front of him, but after a moment was forced to look up and address the fact that O'Hara was watching him with a preoccupied expression on her face.

"What?" he asked testily.

"Did Shawn really psychically tell you when to jump Griffin?"

"O'Hara! Don't be so gullible. Of course he didn't. The phone rang, Griffin was distracted, and I saw my chance. End of story."

Juliet nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "It's just…"

"What?" he snapped, wishing she would get to the point, or, better yet, end the conversation altogether.

"You just seemed a little different with Shawn than you usually do. Nicer, I guess. It would make sense if you had shared some sort of, you know, psychic bond."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this O'Hara, but Spencer is not psychic. There is no such thing as psychic powers, but even if there were, Spencer would not have them. And God forbid that he and I share any kind of bond, psychic or otherwise."

"Understood," Juliet said, holding up a hand placatingly. "But you know, you two have been through a lot together recently. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to actually get along."

"It might," Lassiter grumbled.

Juliet gave him an exasperated look and went back to her paperwork, and inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. While he and Spencer certainly didn't share a psychic bond, they had shared a bond of a more physical sort. He was going to have to be more careful not to act any differently than he had before. Spencer, he had noticed, had not had any difficulty with acting as he normally did, spinning stories and flirting with O'Hara.

"That was weird," Gus said, as soon as he and Shawn were back in the Blueberry and headed for the Psych office.

"What was weird?" Shawn asked. "Are you talking about the way Officer Steward's eyelid twitches whenever she looks at you? Because that IS weird."

Gus scowled. "No Shawn, I was talking about the fact that Lassiter was actually nice to you. For a few seconds, at least."

"Was he?" Shawn asked, looking out the window at the passing Santa Barbara scenery. "I didn't notice. And anyway, Lassie can be nice sometimes."

He could be VERY nice, Shawn thought, remembering the feeling of his hand wrapped around Shawn's –

"Not often," Gus said, "which is why I noticed it today. You want jerk chicken or Mexican food tonight?"

"Hmmm? Oh, chicken, mon," he said, dropping into a terrible Jamaican accent that made Gus grimace.

"Didn't I tell you that you weren't allowed to go Jamaican anymore, Shawn? It's embarrassing."

"I thought that was just a temporary ban!" Shawn protested.

"Consider it permanent," Gus said firmly. "He didn't even really yell at you, just told you to get off his desk."

"What?" Shawn said, confused. "Wait, are we back on Lassiter now? You can't just jump around from topic to topic like that, Gus. It makes you sound too much like me."

Gus shrugged. "It was just weird, is all."

"So you said," Shawn pointed out, finding that he was having a hard time keeping his tone light. "I've told you before Gus, Lassie isn't so bad. We have an understanding."

"I don't understand your understanding, but if it works for you, I guess that's all that matters."

Shawn wasn't so certain at the moment that it was working for him, actually. One hasty encounter had done nothing to scratch the itch he had for Lassiter. If anything, it had just made the itch even itchier, more impossible to ignore. Like the chicken pox, or a bad case of poison ivy or a persistent rash.

Maybe he should stop equating wanting Lassie with an itch. It was kind of gross.

He glanced over at Gus in the driver's seat and reminded himself that it didn't matter if he was still itchy for Lassie; he wasn't going to do anything about it. He was certain that the strange fluttery feelings he had for Lassiter would fade with time, just like the chicken pox did. He only hoped that it didn't leave a scar.