Fic: Psych, Smell of Sangria Zin and Cheap Perfume (Shawn & Gus, Lassiter/Juliet)

Title: Smell of Sangria Zin and Cheap Perfume
Fandom: Psych
Pairing/Characters: Shawn & Gus, Lassiter/Juliet
Rating: Much like Psych, PG bordering on PG-13
Word Count: 1140
Spoilers: References to 2x01, "American Duos"
Summary: Shawn and Gus are working hard to get their fill (and a thrill) at a karaoke bar; Juliet and Lassiter are livin' just to find emotion.
Author's Notes: For the nothing_hip fabulous Journey "Don't Stop Believin'" challenge. Hold on to that feelin', guys.


When Gus pushed open the door, he was greeted by an enthusiastic, if toneless, rendition of "I Will Survive."

Though he didn't know it, it was the third rendition of said song that evening.

"Dude. It smells like the place where Wind Song comes to die."

Shawn ignored Gus' protest, for the most part, and eagerly searched the crowd. "This is going to be outstanding. Didn't you see Duets?"

"You know I did." Gus actually owned the DVD (it was a used copy, okay? And Andre Braugher totally made him feel "Free Bird").

"Well, together, we are going to do a Huey Lewis-styled shakedown of this joint. Or at least meet some lovely ladies who were fans of American Duets. and score a free pitcher or two of sangria."

"Sangria, Shawn? In a place that advertises Arbor Mist in the window?"

"Well, Arbor Mist makes a kind of sangria. Don't be such a surly octopus, Gus. Ooh, and put on your best Trident smile. Here come some Gwenyth Paltrows now."

"Shawn, gross! She was Huey Lewis' daught..."

"Oh. My. God. Weren't you on American Duets?" The enthusiastic question asker was less a Gwenyth and more a Debi Mazar--mascara by Maybelline, hair by Aqua Net, and heels by Choo by way of the outlet mall.

"Indeed. I am Shawn Spenstar and this is Gus T.T. Showbiz. And you are?"

"Cathy. This is my friend, Alexia."

Alexia looked as mortified as Gus felt. And her skin was the color of a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato.

He was in love instantly.

"Ladies, we are at your mercy. We are your personal Bon Jovi and Samboro, your Henley and Frey, your Hall and Oates, your..." Here, Gus elbowed Shawn in the ribs. "Anyway, if you request it and order the Sangria Zinfandel, we shall sing and drink and be merry."

Cathy began to open her mouth, and Gus interjected, "Except 'Shout.' That's played out. Besides, we excel at displaying our versatility."

He then beamed at Alexia, who smiled shyly at her clasped hands. "Maybe you could sing my favorite song?" she cooed.

Cathy rolled her eyes. "Oh, not this."

Gus eagerly responded, "Anything!"

Which is how Gus and Shawn ended up entertaining one of Santa Barbara's less-hip karaoke spots with an entirely unironic interpretation of "Endless Love."

After much arguing and repeated threats, Gus won the coveted Lionel Richie role.

---

The sting had been successful, for the most part, but Lassiter was brooding in the alleyway like all the guilty parties of the underground casino had eluded capture. Not just one.

"Carlton..." O'Hara put her hand on her partner's shoulder. He tensed slightly, but did not brush her off or walk away.

"Just five more minutes and we would've had him." In his ever-contrary way, Lassiter was scuffing the toe of his oxford against the blacktop like Opie Taylor caught sneaking one of Aunt Bea's cookies...all while snapping and unsnapping his handcuffs furiously. "I don't understand how Dortmunder keeps slipping away like this."

He looked so desolate, standing under the sad sign for the Midnight Train Bar and Grille, tie knot crooked, normally flawless, aerodynamic and terse hair showing signs of fatigue, that O'Hara did something she had never done before...

"Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Lassiter fixed his partner with a look. "It's 3:00 in the morning."

O'Hara scoffed, "So? We've been on this for at least seven hours! I don't recall either one of us eating anything during that time."

Lassiter began to take an argumentative posture, then returned to his sulky, defeated glaring at the streetlights and empty boulevard.

"I have two dry-aged strip steaks. I can make mashed potatoes. With lots of butter."

Juliet did not add, "This meal I'm offering up was intended for a date with Bobby, a 6'2" EMT with eyes the color of a Milky Way bar from Heaven."

Lassiter stared for a moment, then looked back into the darkness. "I guess the report can wait until nine."

Juliet pretended not to notice how his demeanor had changed ever-so-slightly with the promise of starch and butter.

---

The thing about Carlton Lassiter was: he could not stay idle. Especially when battled a cripping bout of self-doubt (not that he would label it such a thing). So Juliet gave him a vegetable peeler and two pounds of potatoes.

"I don't recall signing up for KP," he said drolly.

"I'm going to do 90% of the work, so stop complaining."

"I wasn't complaining; I was stating a fact."

Juliet's response was to stare pointedly at the vegetable peeler, then pop an eyebrow at her partner.

Lassiter rolled his eyes, then rolled his sleeves (but continued to wear his shoulder holster); Juliet slipped out of her shoes, threw her hair into a messy bun, washed her hands, and set to work.

They worked in relative silence, save the contributions of Juliet's favorite kitchen companion, a well-loved copy of VH1's The Big '80s Power Ballads. After ten minutes or so, Juliet glanced sideways and commented, "For all the whining you did, you're doing a fabulous job."

"Well, I was a Boy Scout. A lot of camp prep involves peeling potatoes."

"Of course you were a Boy Scout."

They rolled their eyes at each other in tandem.

After the potatoes were peeled, Lassiter continued pitching in with the odd measuring, seasoning, stirring, and turning. He even set the table. Juliet was beginning to not mind that Bobby the Paramedic was out the steaks. She was even beginning to admire the way her partner's forearms looked against his rolled-up shirtsleeves--capable and stubborn and competent and dark with silky hair...

Maybe she was just overtired. And the steam from the boiling potatoes was getting to her.

30 minutes later, Juliet trilled "Okay!" in triumph at the steak and potatoes and coffee that her partner had brewed in her sassy-but-lonely four-cup pot.

Then she looked at her partner, his normally pale skin flushed from the warmth of the kitchen (or perhaps, from the way he'd looked down at the floor, because she'd almost caught him looking where he shouldn't have been looking).

Maybe it was being awake for nearly 24 hours. Or the homey smell of the kitchen. Or the fact that David Coverdale had set to wailing the Eternal Question, "Is this the love that I've been searching for?"

But Juliet O'Hara, for whatever reason, said "Here," and began a perfunctory straightening of Carlton's tie.

She let him lean in subtly and inhale at the crown of her head, then tipped her chin up ever-so-carefully (regardless of what the movies say, bumping heads is not really all that cute, however Meet Cute and True Love it looks) and kissed him.

After 30 or 45 seconds, Lassiter murmured, "I'm still mad about Dortmunder."

Juliet squeezed his upper arms and growled...but kissed him harder.