A/N: Ok, guys here we go again! This is the gift that Torchil won in my last fic Come Over. Really hope she likes it, cause it's all for her! Not that I love any of you any less. :P Anyway hope ya'll like this. Please R&R

Title: Danger in the Dirty South.

Prompts: 1. Shawn is moonlighting at Psych, and is actually a CIA agent. 2. Lassiter has to care for a sick Shawn cause he is to blame, in Shawn's eyes at least. (Thanks Torchil)

Type: Action/Romance/Humor/Adventure. Kind of AU-ish

Rating: M. (L S V)

Beta: XXSpade'sAce. She wasn't with me for more than a day before I knew I couldn't live without her. She rocks!

Disclamier: I DO NOT OWN PSYCH, LASSITER, SHAWN, GUS, ETC. (There would be way more boy lovin if I did, though. ;P)

"Danger in the Dirty South"

Written By: Amberlynn1991

Beta'd by: XXSpade'sAce

Inspired by: Torchil

Shawn's POV

Gus always said that I only had one job to worry about, and it was usually said when he was fussy about something I had done, or had forgotten to do. Like the time I hadn't remembered to pay the cable bill, he was pissy for a full week. He complained about missing American Duos, and then threw the "I have two jobs and you only have one, Shawn," thing in my face. I wanted to rub in the fact that I also had a second job, but that would cause way more trouble than I could handle. I wouldn't risk his life just to make a point. I had been entangled with the CIA since I was seventeen. My dad and I had been out eating at some low key diner in LA when he made me play the hat game. A man who looked like he had stepped out of Men in Black noticed my abnormal talent and gave my dad a number. The rest, as they say, is history. They began training me almost right away, and I was field ready by age twenty. Being a spy is an amazing job. I get to travel the world doing exciting things for the better of my country. It's also a lonely life, cause getting close to someone can get you both killed. It can also make you wickedly homesick. That's why when I had the chance to come back, I did. The job was a man by the name of Parker Harldeson. He was the evil super villain in Santa Barbara. The devil in disguise. At first glance, he was astonishingly normal looking, handsome even. He stood about six-foot-two, slender in build, and had black, salt and pepper hair. Women swooned at his smile, unaware of the evil lurking inside. He owned this huge multi-million dollar company that manufactured everything from trash bags to laundry soap. The company was just a cover for his dirty deeds. His real passion is pushing drugs and guns onto Santa Barbara's streets. The CIA also suspected him of the deaths of over ten people. No one, not even the FBI, had been able to get enough to touch him. That was where I came in. I'd spent the better part of two years watching him. Hell, I even know how he likes his coffee. I'd gathered a stock pile of lukewarm evidence, nothing to put him away nearly long enough. I couldn't wait until he screwed up bad enough so I could get the fireball I needed. Then, I could retire and live out the rest of my life with my family and Psych. Not a bad little side job, if I said so myself.

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing?" I heard a familiar voice demand.

I spun around in my chair to face him and crossed my hands together. What is he doing here? I thought. I gave him my charming yet still smart ass smile. "Lassie, this is my office, remember? You totally stole my line." I smirked.

He flushed slightly and rolled his eyes. It was an odd, alluring mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

So cute. I thought.

He cleared his voice, shaking off the moment. "Right. Look, I need your help." he said, falling into the chair next to my desk.

The tone in his voice made all the cracks I wanted to belt die. I sat up straight and shot him a worried look. "Are you ok?" I asked, trying to keep the growing anxiety out of my voice. My palms began to sweat a tad. Dammit, I'm a bad ass spy, nothing can make me sweat!

He sighed and rubbed his face. He looked more tired than normal. Poor Lassie. "I'm here asking you for help, what do you think?" he snapped.

Hell in a bucket. "Ok, Lass, you're being a little tart with me, and if you want my help, simmer down. You want me to make you some coffee or something?" I asked.

He sighed heavily again. "Sorry, and yeah, that would be nice." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His bright blue button-down pulled taunt from his movement and cupped his well defined shoulder. His eyes were closed so I allowed myself the treat of Lassie-watching, a thing I did often.

Yum. Shit, coffee! Come on, man, focus! I went about making a pot of the magical drink with three creams and four sugars, just the way he liked it. "So, Lassie what is it that you need help with? Cause if it's moving a couch, you can count me out." I said, handing him my "the psychic is in" cup filled with coffee.

He took a sip and groaned deeply. "It's this new case we have. The wife of some powerful mogul was found dead in their swimming pool." he said, setting his cup down on my desk.

I nodded. "Cause of death?" I asked. Must be a tough one if he is coming to me.

He chewed on his bottom lip. "Drowning." he said.

"Hmmm. Seems pretty open and shut there, Lass." I remarked.

He rolled his eyes. "I know, but she was a great swimmer, swam every day. It doesn't add up. Her husband was there in the house that day, he found her body. I know he did it, I just can't prove it."

I nodded again. "Ok, I'll help. What do you have so far?" Pushover. Spies aren't allowed to be pushovers.

A ghost of a smile flashed across his face and he tossed a thin file on my desk. I snatched it up and opened it. "This is it?" I asked not looking at the work.

He nodded grimly and took another pull from him coffee. I glanced down at the page and froze. My spy training kicked in, but I didn't want to let of to the torment flowing threw me. It came from a single name.

Parker Hardleson. Shit shit shit! This can't happen. Lassie cannot be involved in this!

"Spencer, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." I heard him say.

Fuck, so much for spy training. "I just got a really bad feeling from this Parker guy." I said.

"That is the husband. What do you feel?" he asked, leaning towards me a bit. The smell of his spicy aftershave wrapped around me, and I felt myself calm down a tad.

"That he is dangerous and that you should stay away from him. Stay away from this case, drop it like it like it's hot, and haul ass." I said, almost pleading.

"Not going to happen. I want him put away for good." he said, standing.

Yeah, so does every other agency. Maybe this is what I need to finally get him. "I know, we just need to be careful. I get the feeling that he will stop at nothing to remain free. He won't be above killing a cop or a psychic detective for that matter." I warned.

"You can back out if you're that worried about it." he offered, sitting back down.

I shook my head. He really is nuts if he thinks I'm letting him do this alone. Bat shit crazy. "Not happening Lassie, I'm with you on this." I ordered.

He gave a nod. "You know I can't pay you for this, right?"

"It's a personal favor, not a job. No payment required." I grinned.

He stood again. "Thanks, Spencer. Good coffee, call me if you divine anything." I heard the 'Bull fucking shit' tone hugging the word divine and smiled. That's my smart boy.

"Will do Lassiefrass." I waved.

He stopped and gave me an odd look. "Why must you always butcher my name?" he asked.

I chuckled. "Why must you always call me Spencer? Why not Shawn?" I asked, truly curious.

He raised an eyebrow. "Because Spencer is your given name, and Shawn is informal." he stated with a shrug.

"We've known each other for two years now. You've saved my life, I've saved yours, I think it would be reasonable if you called me Shawn." I said.

"Tell you what you start saying my name right, and I'll call you S-Shawn." His voice broke slightly over my name.

It's kind of a good thing that he never uses my first name. I'd never be able to concentrate. It sounded rough, almost dirty coming from his lips. Wonder what it would sound like if he moaned my name or screamed it. Naughty place, get out of the naughty place! I cleared my voice. "I can't, Lassie just fits you so much better than Lassiter." I said with a smile.

He rolled his eyes again. "Lassie is a dog's name! I don't understand the nickname." He came and sat back down.

Wasn't he leaving? He really doesn't get it, does he? Silly blind as a bat Lassie. "Lassie wasn't just any old dog. He was the most loyal, heroic, badass dog ever! He was strong, smart, and just awesome. Always knew what to do when trouble was-a-foot. He was totally adorable too with those big eyes." I said in a dreamy voice.

He gave me a confused look and I sighed.

Dude, is he serious? He is totally serious! "Just like you, Lass. He reminds me of you. That is why I call you Lassie." I said, spelling it out for him. How can someone who is so smart act so dumb?

He blushed slightly. "W-well, thank you Spencer, that's very kind of you." he said awkwardly.

See adorable. "You're welcome. See, I don't think of you as horribly as you think I do."

He smiled a real smile.

It reminded me of the time he was talking to my dad about the raccoon fiasco. The smile he gave me that day was utterly breath taking. That damn smile haunts me in my dreams. I'd never seen him so relaxed and carefree. The wall he always had up had fallen for a tiny moment. I had been waiting for another moment like that, and it looks like I'd finally gotten it.

"You should smile like that more often." I muttered.

"Why's that?" he asked with a raised eye brow.

Shit, was that out loud? Crap, think of something. "It's nice. Lights up the whole room, you don't smile enough." Way to go, Ace! Why don't you just tell him you have a big gay crush on him!

He stood and shot me a crooked smile. I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Dammit all to hell. Shawn Spencer does not blush! "I'll keep that in mind, Spencer." he said, then walked out the door.

I shook my head and smiled. That man is going to make me spontaneously combust one day. He is going to be talking all cute and stuff, and I'll just burst into flames. Talk about going out in a blaze of glory. I chuckled to myself at my random thoughts and grabbed the phone. I dialed my boss and waited.

"Cutter." a harsh female voice said.

"We have a problem." I said.

End

A/N: Don't spazz out on me! There shall be more. Sorry it took so long to get this posted. I had so many story lines buzzing around in my head after Torchil's prompts (Thanks gal). I finally got one that stuck. It may take awhile to get this to where I want it to go, so stay with me! Anywho, I'm rambling. Hope y'all like it so far! Let me know.