Fic: "Pigs is Pigs (But They're Still Evil)," Psych

[elles_letters]

Rating: PG
Summary: Pigs are evil. If you take nothing else from this story, take that. Poor Lassie learns the hard way, but luckily for him, Shawn's there to make things better. Chocolate-covered pineapple pieces to whomever gets the title reference.
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.

Carlton Lassiter wished he knew what he had done to piss off Sweet Lady Justice so badly. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have warranted this.

A dead body had been found in the sty of a nearby pig farm. The swine had chomped their way through most of the corpse before the farmer discovered it. Lassiter had tolerated a lot in his decade or so of civil service, but wallowing around in a mixture of mud and pig feces overlooking the search for pieces of a partially eaten body had been a new low.

Head detective, my ass, Lassiter thought darkly.

He’d been ankle-deep in the mixture, the protective boots the farmer had given him making his legs sweat, when Shawn Spencer had come running up to the crime scene with an exasperated Burton Guster in tow.

“Wilber, Porky, Babe! Gus, they’re speaking to me!” The psychic had his hands pressed to his forehead and was doubled over from the apparent mental strain he was enduring. He ran up to the slotted gate of the sty and kneeled down to the pigs’ eye level.

“Pigs can’t talk, Shawn,” Guster replied, his speech muffled as he covered his nose and mouth with the crook of his arm. The pigs’ stench had been strong enough to make a few of the assisting officers physically ill. Only two other officers besides Lassiter were still mucking around in the sty.

“Hush, Gus. You know how sensitive Porky is about his stutter.”

Hanging out with a bunch of pigs all morning had left Lassiter in a rather cranky mood.

“What in the name of Miranda’s rights are you two doing here?” Lassiter shouted from across the sty.

“Lassie!” Shawn stood up quickly. His body appeared stiff and his eyes were squeezed tight. “Something’s not right! The pigs they call to me.”

Lassiter did not have time for this. “Spencer, I don’t have time for this.”

“Lassie, the pigs have been framed!” Shawn jumped the gate and splashed into the slop. Mud oozed over his canvas tennis shoes and up his pants leg.

“Spencer, what the hell?” Lassiter stormed over to where Shawn was currently whirling around.

“Their good names, ruined! First the Bay of Pigs and now this!” Shawn threw his hands up in the air in a melodramatic show of anguish. “You think they killed this man,” Shawn spun around, kicking up mud, as he pointed to the body.

“Yes,” Lassiter replied, surprised at how calm his voice was. He hated to admit it, but Lassiter had come to realize that Shawn wasn’t quite as annoying as he used to be. “This man used to work here. According to the farm’s owner, he’s a drunk who often showed up to work intoxicated. Obviously, he drank too much and passed out while sloping the pigs.” Lassiter kicked at a large sow that had come sniffing over. “Pigs will eat anything. He would have had a chance if he passed out anywhere else.”

Shawn stopped his spinning long enough to turn and stare at Lassiter. His face was serious and he seemed to be considering what Lassiter had said. Then, he suddenly collapsed into the muck.

“Shawn!” Gus yelled from the gate. He’d climbed the gate, but stopped short of jumping over.

“Spencer!” Lassiter ran over and stood over Shawn. “Are you al—ahhh!” Shawn’s muddied hand reached over and pulled at Lassiter’s ankle. Lassiter tried desperately to keep his balance, but ended up falling right on top of the psychic.

Shawn pushed Lassiter over and onto his back and put a finger to his mouth, quieting him.

Lassiter was livid. He could feel the disgusting mixture seep through his shirt and hair. Lassiter had never agreed with the idea of “justifiable homicide” before. But, as he felt the mud ooze into his scalp, he gave a considerable amount of thought to the idea.

“Spencer,” he whispered dangerously.

Shawn shushed him. “Quiet, Lassie.” Shawn grabbed the detective’s arm and held him in place. “Things will become clear soon.”

Lassiter tried to keep his anger under control. A difficult task considering he was lying in a sea of mud and pig crap, thanks to the man next to him. But, Shawn’s antics usually covered up a truly valid point. Lassiter just wished it could have been made without the mess.

“Spencer,” he started again.

“Shhhhh!,” Shawn squeezed his arm tighter. “They’re coming.”

Lassiter lifted his head out of the muck. Five large sows were headed over to where the two men lay. A particularly mean looking one began sniffing at the dark-haired detective's feet. He shooed the pig away with a quick kick to the pig's face.

“Lassie!” Shawn exclaimed, “don’t be rude. Petunia has something she needs to show you.”

The sow returned and resumed rooting at Lassiter’s feet. Lassiter lay in the muck and focused on his breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. The anger management techniques he’d been forced to learn were finally coming in handy. I’m giving Spencer to the count of five, then I’m pounding his head so far—

Lassiter’s thoughts stopped dead at the sound of his own panicked scream. The sow had bit his right ankle. Lassiter jumped up out of the muck, cursing and gasping in pain. Shawn got up and followed him.

“Lassie, my god!” Shawn’s voice actually sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lassiter said between gritted teeth. “In fact, I’m peachy, especially since you’re leaving.” Lassiter limped toward a group of uniforms. “Dobson! Get the two of them out of here!”

“But, Lassie—” Shawn started.

“Now!”

Two uniformed officers went over and accompanied Shawn out of the sty. He continued yelling for Lassiter, but the detective ignored him. Between the shooting pain in his leg and the raging fury clouding his vision, it wasn’t hard to do.

One of the uniforms approached him with a first-aid kit and helped him pull off the tall rubber boot. The officer told him it would be a good idea for him to head to the hospital. Lassiter looked down at his leg. His pants were ruined beyond repair now, ripped and stained with mud, pig slop and blood. He pulled the fabric away from his wound. A trip to the hospital would be a good idea; the bite was ragged and beginning to swell. Still, Lassiter’s day had sucked enough already. A long wait in an emergency room was not what he needed right now.

“Screw the hospital,” Lassiter said as he climbed out of the sty. “I’m going home.”

---

Eight hours and many pills later, Lassiter finally was able to get the sharp pain in his ankle reduced to a dull throb. He’d be lucky if he’d be able to walk on it at all tomorrow. It had been a struggle just to drive home on it. Lassiter had jumped into the tub the minute he was through his front door, washing the day’s mud, sweat and blood away. Afterwards, he’d washed and wrapped his wound with a clean sock. The swelling had gone down considerably since that afternoon, but it still hurt to put his weight on. Thanks to Shawn, he’d be stuck at his desk for at least a week.

“Spencer,” Lassiter cursed to himself. Just hearing his name was enough to piss him off. Shawn, the man who always bungled his way into his crime scenes, only to show Lassiter up at the end. Shawn, who made a mockery of police work with every case he solved. Shawn, who constantly invaded his personal space by touching him and spent way too much time calling him “handsome.”

Lassiter stood up suddenly from the living room couch where he had dressed his wound and limped his way into his bedroom. Thinking about Shawn was only serving to give him a headache. He needed sleep. He’d deal with Shawn tomorrow.

Lassiter had just gotten comfortable when he heard an insistent knocking at his front door.

Of course, this day can’t end peacefully, he thought as he sat up. He looked over at the clock on his dresser. The bright red numbers read 1:24 a.m. It was too late for any polite visitors and anyone at the station would have called first.

His unexpected guest knocked again. Whoever it was, they were agitated. That got Lassiter nervous. Easing out of bed, he grabbed the small gun he kept in his nightstand and slowly made his way to the front door.

He peered out the peephole, but could see nothing but his empty front porch. He stood to the side of his door and crouched down. The pain in his ankle flared up. Acting before his leg gave way completely, Lassiter flung the door open and aimed his gun. Right at a first-aid kit. Shawn was there, too, kneeling on one knee, holding the kit up like some sort of religious offering.

“Spencer. Why am I surprised?” Lassiter stood up, leaning heavily on his front door.

“Hey, Lassie,” Shawn’s face was hidden by the kit. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better before I was forced to investigate my own front porch.”

Shawn snorted. “Paranoid much?”

“Forgive my cautiousness,” Lassiter said sarcastically. “What the hell are you doing here this late?” Lassiter looked down and realized Shawn was still kneeling. “And will you stand up?”

Shawn stood, but continued to hold the first-aid kit in front of him as if it were some sort of shield. Standing fully in the front porch light, Lassiter could see that Shawn was still wearing his filthy clothes from this afternoon.

“I thought I’d come over and see how your ankle was doing,” Shawn said, “I didn’t get to ask before I left the hog farm earlier.”

“You mean after you were escorted off the property after getting a wild animal to attack me.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Petunia was hardly wild. Nevertheless, I’m here to make amends. May I come in?”

Any other time, Lassiter would have said no. As a matter of fact, he would have said no this time, but before he could answer, Shawn pushed past him and sat down on his living room couch.

“Spencer, I just want to go to sleep. Will you please get out of here?”

Shawn sighed. “Seriously, Lassie. I just want to check out your ankle. Let me make sure it’s alright, and I promise I’ll leave and let you sleep.” Shawn looked up at him, his green eyes sincere.

Lassiter was stuck. It was a reasonable request, and it’d probably be easier just to give in rather than try and force Shawn out. He closed his front door, turned on a lamp and flopped down next to the other man.

“Fine, just make this quick.”

Shawn grabbed his wounded leg and pulled it into his lap. He carefully unpinned the sock and tossed it on the ground with a sigh.

“A sock? Oh, Lassie you deserve better.” Shawn murmured quietly.

“I didn’t have any bandages,” Lassiter said somewhat embarrassed. From his seat, he had a perfect view of Shawn’s profile. His hair was sticking up every which way. Mud was caked in his hair, in his ears and underneath his chin. He looked tired and in need of sleep himself. “Why are you still wearing those clothes?”

Shawn laughed to himself as he used a pair of tweezers to pick grit and sock lint out of Lassiter’s wound. “Gus refused to let me ride home in his car. I swear he’s more protective of that car than my parents ever were of me.”

“And? What does that have to do with your clothes?”

“I haven’t been home yet, Lassie. It’s a long walk from my father’s house.”

“You went to your Dad’s?”

“I had to get a first-aid kit from somewhere.”

“And you walked from there?”

“Henry wouldn’t give me a ride, either.”

“Ahh...” was all Lassiter could think to say. Shawn had come to see him at the expense of his own hygiene. It was flattering in a strange sort of way. Lassiter didn’t know how he could stand the smell, however. His own car would probably smell of pigs for a month.

Shawn continued to work in silence. He pulled a sanitizing cream out of the kit and spread it on Lassiter’s wound. Lassiter was surprised by how gentle Shawn’s fingers were.

“I’m sorry, Lassie.” Shawn had spoken so quietly, Lassiter thought he might have imagined it.

“Come again?”

Shawn lightly ran his hands on the skin around Lassiter’s wound, being careful not to cause him more pain. “I said, I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What did you think would come of wallowing around in a pig sty?”

Shawn just shrugged silently. “It wasn’t supposed to…I don’t know.”

“Oh c’mon, Spencer. I’ve known you long enough to know you must have had some plan.”

Shawn pulled a long, clean bandage out of the kit and began to wind it around Lassiter’s leg. “A nip. I thought at most, you’d get nipped at. I didn’t think the thing would take a bite out of you.”

“What would be the point of being nipped?”

“It would have hurt, but not this bad. I just wanted you to see that there was no way the victim could have slept through being eaten. Someone dumped him there to mislead us.”

“Who would do that?”

“The farmer’s wife.”

That was unexpected. The farmer’s wife was a small, timid woman who never left her husband’s side. Lassiter couldn’t see her raising her voice at someone, let alone her fists.

“Why? What would be her motive?”

“She probably didn’t plan to. From what the other workers have told me, our victim was a drunken jerk. And from what the spirits have told me, he was most likely a sexually harassing, drunken jerk. A woman can only take so much.”

Lassiter thought about it; Shawn’s theory made sense. At the very least, it deserved further investigation.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

Shawn looked over at Lassiter. “Well, until you got bit, this way was much more fun.” There was a mischievous look in Shawn’s eyes that made Lassiter shiver. He prayed Shawn didn’t notice it.

A comfortable silence fell over them again. Lassiter watched Shawn as he tightened and arranged the bandage.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Lassiter said, surprise evident in his voice.

“I worked as a medic at a mountain-side base camp for a summer,” Shawn said.

“Ahh…” For the second time that evening, Lassiter had found himself at a loss as to what to say. It was much harder to deal with Shawn when he was being serious.

Shawn attached the metal fasteners to the bandage and gently rotated Lassiter’s foot. “There. All better.”

Lassiter lifted his foot up and moved it up and down, back and forth. He had to admit it felt better. The cream had a cooling effect that left his skin tingling and Shawn’s gentle ministrations had eased some of the stiffness out of the surrounding muscle.

“Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.”

Shawn looked at him with a warm smile on his face. “Well, I’ve been trying.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve only been here ten minutes.”

Shawn shook his head in self-disgust. “Dude, look I know I get on your nerves and I know I’m not your most favorite person at the station, but I have been trying to be less of a bother to you.”

Lassiter thought back to the last few weeks. It was true; Shawn hadn’t been as obnoxious as he was capable of being. His hare-brained schemes had become more restrained, his rule-breaking less flagrant and his bantering less disrespectful. Lassiter thought back to this afternoon when he’d admitted that Shawn was less annoying than usual. Getting used to Shawn’s antics was one thing; learning that he was toning them down for his benefit was something else all together.

The air in the room suddenly felt thick with…something. Lassiter watched as Shawn packed up the kit, only to be hit by the thought that he didn’t want him to leave.

“Spencer, it’s late. You can’t be planning on walking home?”

Shawn smiled. “I’ll be fine, Lassie. You go on to bed.” He stood up and dusted the dirt off Lassiter’s couch.

Lassiter pushed himself off the couch and hobbled behind Shawn. “Do you at least want a ride?”

Shawn shook his head. “I’m not going to make you drive on that leg.”

Shawn stopped at the front door and began fiddling with the knob. He seemed to be waiting for something. Try as he might, Lassiter couldn’t think of anything else that might convince Shawn to stay. Nothing that wasn’t too close to the truth, anyway.

“Then, I guess…” Lassiter started dumbly. He cursed himself. Now was not the time to be acting like an awkward teenager.

“Ya know,” Shawn said suddenly, “if you feel like being generous, think I could take a shower before I go?” He let go of the doorknob and turned to face Lassiter.

Lassiter considered it. Shawn Spencer naked, in his shower and less than twenty feet away. He found the thought uncomfortably delicious.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Lassiter said studying Shawn’s face for a reaction. A smile broke out on his dirt-streaked face.

“There’s still these clothes, though,” Shawn said, holding his arms away from his body. The corners of his mouth drew up slowly in a smug grin.

Lassiter felt his mouth go dry. He prayed he wasn’t misreading Shawn. “Well, then I guess we’ll have to wash those, too.”

Shawn’s face broke into a full-blown smile. “Hmmm…that might take a while, Lassie.”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait here, then.” Lassiter surprised himself with his own forwardness.

Shawn just smiled and propelled himself into Lassiter’s personal space. “I thought you’d never ask.” Shawn leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Lassiter’s lips. The kiss was off-center; touching the corner of Lassiter’s mouth more than anything.

When Shawn pulled away, Lassiter couldn’t move. He could barely think.

“Uhh…thank you,” he said softly. Shawn just chuckled, gave him another quick kiss and headed into the bathroom.

Lassiter eased himself back on the couch. As the sound of the running shower and the smell of Irish Spring soap filled the apartment, Lassiter thought back to the day’s events. True, he’d been forced to wallow in pig muck, but it got Shawn nice and dirty. A man had died, but they had a potential suspect. And a giant sow had tried to eat him, but that pig bite had brought Shawn into his apartment, into his shower and in kissing-range.

Turns out Sweet Lady Justice did love him.

He’d always suspected as much.

AN: So...yeah. From cocoa-butter cake to man-eating pigs. Something must be wrong with me. I honestly have no idea where this came from. At my previous job, I worked with a bunch of farmers/ranchers who shared wonderful stories of pigs eating things. Let's just say they don't discriminate. The idea of a murderer hiding the evidence in a pig sty came up and, well, you've read the rest.

Chocolate-covered pineapple pieces for whomever gets the title reference!