All Those Little Moments 32, 19, 79, 37

[coffeebuddha]

Title: All Those Little Moments Are What Make A Life
Author: coffeebuddha
Rating: R/FRT (overall)
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Summary: A collection of drabbles and shorts for a 100 Themes Challenge. Contains various genres, characters, and ships-mostly Shassie with some Shules, Gules, and misc.

***

 

32. Night

After you were born, it took you four months to smile at me. That's when the clock started ticking. ~ Henry Spencer

It was nearly two in the morning and the last thing Henry was in the mood to be doing when he had to be up in three hours was trying to get his colicky son to fall asleep.

Four months. Four endless months of screaming and crying and dirty diapers, and he still looked at his son and wondered if he'd ever really feel like a father. He knew he was supposed to love the kid, but he didn't know if he knew how. What if he was incapable of loving his own son? What did that say about him? Maddie would figure it out sooner or later, because she figured everything out sooner or later. How would she react to knowing that he was having trouble feeling anything for Shawn?

Shawn's cries had quieted to little whimpers, but his face was still red and screwed up like he could start wailing again at any second. Henry shifted his grip and rocked him, pacing as well as he could in the small nursery. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with his wife, but his son's eyes were scrunched tightly closed and his mouth was falling open and Henry could feel him tense and inhale deeply.

Suddenly feeling more than a little frantic, Henry started singing. It was the theme to some sitcom he didn't know the name of instead of a lullaby and he couldn't remember half the words, but Shawn immediately stilled and stared up at him. Encouraged, Henry kept singing, repeating the short theme over and over, making up his own lyrics when the real ones didn't come. Shawn was still staring at him, his eyes wide, and he made a happy sort of mewling sound before beaming a wide, toothless smile at his father.

Henry felt a small kick low in his gut and slowly, very slowly, a smile crept across his face. He stroked a finger down a downy soft cheek. "Do that again, kid."

Shawn gurgled and snuggled closer, his small mouth still curved in a soft smile. Henry carefully pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and inhaled his unique baby scent. Shawn's little body felt heavier in his arms and his breathing had slowed. Henry marveled at his tiny son and held him a little closer. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

"You want me to take over, Henry?" Madeleine was leaning against the nursery doorframe, wrapped in a robe. Her voice was groggy and her eyes were still puffy with sleep, but she was smiling and had an arm half lifted to take Shawn from him. Henry looked back at his son and sat down in the rocker.

"Nah, I've got him, Maddie. Go back to sleep. I'm going to stay here for a little longer and make certain he doesn't wake back up."

It was nearly two in the morning and the last thing Henry was in the mood to be doing was sitting in a hospital room waiting for his son-his idiot son who just couldn't leave things well enough alone to the point where getting shot was almost becoming a regular occurrence-to regain consciousness. The chairs were uncomfortable, the coffee was crap, and everything was so blindingly white. Henry drank his coffee and reread the same paragraph in his book for the tenth time, trying not to think about how close he'd come to losing Shawn.

"Da'?" Shawn slurred. Henry dropped his book on the end of the bed and hit the call button for a nurse.

"Welcome back, kid. You're an idiot, you know that?"

Shawn's eyes were drifting in and out of focus and his smile was groggy, and there was that little kick in Henry's gut again. Shawn was looking around the room, but Henry knew he wasn't really seeing it. "'m back in…hos'pal 'gain? "

Henry cleared his throat and settled back more comfortably in his chair. "That is where they usually take you when you go and get yourself shot, Shawn." Shawn nodded, his head swinging loosely around in Henry's direction.

"Brenda here? She's m'fa'rite nurse. Very…pretty. Good a' sponge baths."

Henry thought his son was probably trying to leer, but the meds must have been numbing the muscles in his face, because he didn't know how to describe the look on Shawn's face. "I'll be sure to fill out a request form," he said dryly. Shawn nodded again and flopped back against his pillows.

"You gonna yell a' me now?"

"Nah, kid, not until you're lucid enough to understand what I'm yelling at you for."

Shawn's eyes had already slid closed again and he looked on the verge of falling back asleep, but he hummed happily. "Tha's nice o' you. Love you too, da'."

Henry snorted and a corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. "Now I really know you're out of it. Just sleep, kid. I'll be here when you wake up."

*

19. Gray

Karen Vick wasn't hiding, because Karen Vick wasn't the sort of person who did hiding. She was simply…making a strategic retreat so that she wouldn't have to deal with anyone. It wasn't the same thing, really, because everyone knew she was in her office. The blinds were just a little less open than they usually were.

She'd never considered herself to be a vain woman, but there were certain things that she'd come to expect. She was, well, she was young enough that this shouldn't be an issue yet. Neither of her parents had started going gray until they were in their forties, so she'd always assumed that she had good genetics on her side. Which had to mean that the gray hair she was currently examining in her compact had been caused by something else.

Karen jumped at a sudden, loud shout from outside her office that sounded suspiciously like Shawn Spencer having one of his visions.

Something like stress…

She pursed her lips together to keep from scowling and peeked between the blinds, catching the tail end of Spencer's performance, which seemed to consist of flopping like a fish on her head detective's desk while Guster 'translated'. Lassiter was yelling and Karen could see his hand twitching toward his gun. She made a note to schedule another psychological evaluation for him. Just in case.

Karen frowned and wound the gray hair around her finger, trying to remember if pulling it out would really make several more grow back in it's place or if that was just an old wives tale. Guster would probably know, but there was absolutely no way she would ever ask him.

She wondered if it would be ethically or legally sound to skim some money off of Spencer's next consultation fee to buy herself some hair dye.

Still, she finally decided, it could always be worse. After all, she'd seen what dealing with Shawn Spencer had done to Henry's hair.

*

79. Starvation

He tells himself that he's been expecting it, but if he's really honest, he knows that he hasn't for a while now. Things had been going so well. It was so easy to get lured into a false sense of security. Too easy to let pretty words and a prettier mouth convince him that it would work out.

He's had enough psychological evaluations over the course of his career to know that he has 'abandonment and self worth issues'. And the last psychologist had suggested that he was carrying out some self-fulfilling prophecy.

Victoria had never been a real partner in their marriage. She was used to being catered to and obeyed, and most days he'd felt more like a servant than a husband. Deep down he had always suspected that she would leave when he was no longer able to comply with her every demand.

Lucinda was a coworker, which was never a smart choice. Their relationship had an immediate, unnecessary strain on it. And she had always been so distant, even when they were alone together. Spencer's outing them had been the catalyst, but their relationship had started with a countdown already running.

And Spencer…God, Spencer. He had been the biggest disaster of them all. Who in their right mind would ever think it was a good idea to take a man with abandonment issues and another man with a phobia of commitment and throw them together in any sort of romantic entanglement?

But…

He had needed that human contact. In the beginning, it was easy enough to pretend that that was all it was. Nothing but pure, physical gratification. But he has never been good at keeping things simple. At separating the physical from the emotional. He wants, needs, so much more than just a body in his bed. Once he's had part of someone, he craves the rest of them. Casual sex is fine for some people, but he wants it all.

Not that he has anything against touching, provided that the right person is doing said touching. His mother hasn't ever been an overly affectionate woman by any definition of the word, and as a result he both craves and shies away from physical contact. He is touch starved, but even when all he wants to do is lean in closer, something makes him draw away.

And then came Shawn, who saw him drawing away and seemed to take that as his cue to press closer. Shawn, who is beautiful and intelligent and infuriating and damaged. Shawn, who uses his humor as a defense mechanism to keep everyone emotionally distant, even as he crowds into their personal space to distract them from the fact that his gaiety is a facade.

Shawn, who makes him feel and hope and hunger.

And when Shawn finally realizes that what had started out as a 'thing' is quickly turning into an actual relationship and takes to the road almost before he understands why his captivating young lover is freaking out, he tells himself that he's been expecting it, that he isn't surprised. What could he possibly have to offer that would ever compel someone like Shawn to stay?

*

37. Eyes

Gus was the first person to figure it out. Well, he figured it out in a manner of speaking. When he woke up to an excited Shawn Spencer jumping on his bed, babbling that he needed Gus to "drive me to the pet store! I have to buy a leash and a bowl and a collar and find some place that will give me a license because his ass is mine now. Also, how hard is it to legally change your name? Because how awesome would it be if I changed my name to Timmy?" it didn't require much in the way of deductive reasoning to figure out that Lassiter had finally succumb to his best friend's 'charms'. Of course, it helped that he had been speaking Shawnese pretty much his entire life, had his own built in best friend decoder, and had been privy to Shawn's Super Amazing Plan to Woe Lassie-ie get him drunk and jump him.

Juliet was next. Lassiter was her partner. She spent so much time around him that it was just inevitable. At first she thought he was sick or something, what with the fatigue and dark circles under his eyes. Only most people aren't that happy or satisfied looking when they're sick, so it had to be something else. She'd had her theories, but she had no idea how off the mark they were until he stumbled into the station late one morning. There was something off about the way he looked.

Her eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline when she recognized Shawn's belt-a belt she herself had helped him pick out-around Lassiter's waist. After a little wheedling, she'd gotten a confession and had been sworn to secrecy.

She tapped a pencil against her desk and frowned thoughtfully at Lassiter. "Does this mean you're going to be less of a pain about him consulting on cases now?"

Lassiter glared. "No."

They never did figure out how Henry knew. Shawn maintained that his father probably really was psychic-'See! It's hereditary, Lassie!' 'Spencer, you've already admitted you're not psychic.' 'So?'-but they never asked and Henry never offered, so it stayed a mystery.

Lassiter had been out on the boat with him, figuring that it would probably be considered rude to turn down a friendly invitation from the man whose son he was sleeping with. Of course, it probably wasn't the best of manners to go fishing with someone when you were 'involved' with their child and had no intention of telling them. And that train of thought was just giving Lassiter a headache.

He was glaring at his bobber when Henry cleared his throat and glanced over at him, looking a little too casual for Lassiter's comfort. He tensed.

"So, you and Shawn, huh?"

Lassiter tried to swallow, but just choked. He coughed to clear his throat and stared intently at a chip in the boat's paint. "Yes, sir."

Henry hummed in response, and Lassiter really had no idea how to interpret that, so he sat back and concentrated on slowly, methodically relaxing his body starting with his toes and working his way up. He had reached his shoulders when Henry shifted and cleared his throat again.

"You do know that I didn't get rid of my pistol when I left the force, right?"

And there went his relaxation.

"Yes, sir."

It shouldn't have been surprising that Vick knew. Lassiter had been half asleep, his limbs tangled around Shawn, with a good two hours to go before his alarm clock went off when his phone rang. He'd grumbled and grumped, but answered it with a mostly coherent 'Lass'ter'.

"Lassiter, I need you at the station ten minutes ago." A pause. "And bring Mr. Spencer with you."

Once they knew Vick knew, Shawn decided it was ridiculous to keep pretending that they were a secret, and, even though it was only May, he passed out joint Christmas cards from him and Lassie to everyone at the station. And he didn't care what Lassie said, the picture he used was pure class. After all, he'd censored all the really racy bits.