Psych fic - 'Steak and Potatoes' - 1/1
May. 14th, 2011 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
azombiewritesTitle: Steak and Potatoes
Rating: PG
Fandom: Psych
Genre: Humor
Summary: Do you think it's possible cows could be dangerous, seriously dangerous, possibly evil?
Main Characters: Detective Carlton Lassiter, Chief Karen Vick, Shawn Spencer, and Burton Guster.
Disclaimers: All things Psych owned by Steve Franks and the USA networks.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
strangevisitor7 and my wonderful comma wrangling-ninja-whacking-spyentist virtual spouse winks7985 .
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 1,148
Status: Complete
Steak and Potatoes
Detective Lassiter stood just inside the office of Chief Vick, his back close enough to the closed door behind him to feel the blinds against his shoulders. He could sense people gathering into a small group on the other side of the door, no doubt waiting for the Chief to shout at him, accuse him of being a gun-happy idiot. And just like them, he wondered if today were the day Chief Vick would finally take his weapon. Put him on desk duty for the rest of his career. That is if she left him one because it was a distinct possibility that he could leave this office, not only without his gun, but also without his badge and his job.
Lassiter couldn’t understand the reaction others were having to the situation he’d found himself in earlier in the day. With his life threatened, he had reacted just as any other officer would. He fired his weapon – twice – eliminating the threat and now here he was, about to be punished for saving not only his own life, but also O’Hara’s. She had been there, knew the situation, knew they both could have lost their lives if he hadn’t reacted quickly and with such accuracy.
Crossing his arms, he looked down at his shoes, no longer able to watch as the Chief read his detailed report. Her muttered words – words that he was sure would cause a truck driver to blush – gave him an indication of what was going through her mind. She was not happy.
“Detective!”
Lassiter’s head snapped up at the tone of her voice; a tone that told him he was in serious trouble. He was sitting on top of a pile of crap with no way off. He uncrossed his arms, lifted them away from his sides as a sign of surrender and tried to explain his actions.
“Chief, my life was being threatened. I had no choice but to arm myself and--”
“What were you thinking?” Vick shook her head and raised a hand before he could answer. “No. You couldn’t have been thinking, Detective, because to think, you would have to have a brain and right at this moment ... I don’t believe you have one.”
“Chief, that’s not true. I have a brain. A very competent one,” Lassiter didn’t think he was helping his situation, only heaping more crap onto the pile but he had to try, “it’s why I’m Head Detective.”
“Not for much longer, Detective!” Vick snapped.
“Chief?”
“If you continue to do things as stupid as this, you will not only lose your position as Head Detective but I will fire your ass! Are we clear?”
“Yes, Chief. Very clear.”
“Leave,” said Vick, “before I change my mind.”
The Detective nodded, placed his hands in his trouser pockets and shuffled his feet as he turned toward the door. He stopped, turned back and before he could stop himself, said, “Chief, you do realize that both O’Hara and I could have died this morning?”
“Detective, if you die today, it will be by my hands.”
Lassiter blinked in surprise and smiled at the joke but his smile fell flat when he realized the Chief wasn’t joking. In fact, he was sure the Chief of the SBPD had just threatened him. He was considering cautioning the Chief, to remind her that threatening the life of a police officer was against the law, when the office door slammed into his back, forcing him to take a few steps forward. He spun around, ready to abuse the person responsible but the words stuck in his throat. The sight of Shawn Spencer, standing in the doorway and bursting into one of his so-called-psychic-fits, caused a dull ache to begin throbbing at the back of his skull. Lassiter rolled his eyes in disgust and turned away.
Chief Vick stood up and put her hands, palm down, on her desk and said, “Mr. Spencer! Unless you have something important to say, you can turn around and leave before I have someone throw you out of this building.”
“I could do that, Chief,” Lassiter raised his right hand. “I can escort Spencer from--”
“What you can do, Detective, is--”
“Chief!”
Lassiter, grateful for once for Spencer’s interruption, lowered his hand and took a couple of steps closer to the second door in the office. If he could make a strategic retreat...
“Mr. Spencer!”
“I’m having a vision, Chief,” Spencer continued as he moved further into the office with his ever-present-less-irritating sidekick by his side. “The spirits are showing me the green green grass of home--”
“Tom Jones?” Chief Vick asked.
“Who?” Spencer dropped his hands and frowned at the Chief.
“Kenny Rogers,” Gus nodded.
“Dude? No,” Spencer frowned at his friend. “Johnny Cash, the man in black.”
“You’ve got that right,” said Gus.
Lassiter shook his head and took another step closer to the exit.
“Gentlemen! Please.”
Spencer lifted the fingers of his left hand back to his temple and closed his eyes. “On the grassy plains of the prairie I see a little house--”
Vick interrupted with, “Michael Landon?”
“Chief, please,” said Spencer. “Although, Michael Landon, Bonanza ... cows.”
Gus elbowed Spencer in the back.
At the mention of cows, Lassiter narrowed his eyes and glared at Spencer.
Spencer returned to his trance. “And near that little house on the prairie are cows, wait, now I see an innocent life being cut down in its prime . . . steaks,” he tilted his head to the right, an expression of painful concentration on his face. “The spirits are showing me a plate of prime steaks, with a side dish of potatoes. I see ... I see a dead cow and a strapping Irish fellow.” Understanding appeared on Spencer’s features and he sent Lassiter a look of empathy, “Lassie, you killed a cow?”
Lassiter straightened his shoulders and extended his jaw slightly and said, “I had no choice, Spencer. It was moving toward O’Hara and me at an incredible speed. I fired my weapon and removed the threat.” He leaned his upper body forward before adding, “I hate cows.”
“You couldn’t have just run away?”
The Detective smiled. “You mean scream like a girl and then run away?”
Spencer shook his head and laughed. “Manly screams, Lassie. Manly screams.”
Guster was nodding in agreement. “Very manly screams.”
“Get out of my office!” Chief Vick snapped as she pointed to the door. “All of you!”
Detective Lassiter didn’t argue. He moved quickly. Turning and opening the side door of the office, he slipped out into the hallway. As he made his way toward his desk, snickers of laughter followed him. He ignored the laughter and the stuffed cow sitting on his desk as he passed it, walking promptly out of the building.
He had a 6:30pm reservation at the Ruth’s Chris Steak House.
Master Fan Fiction List
Rating: PG
Fandom: Psych
Genre: Humor
Summary: Do you think it's possible cows could be dangerous, seriously dangerous, possibly evil?
Main Characters: Detective Carlton Lassiter, Chief Karen Vick, Shawn Spencer, and Burton Guster.
Disclaimers: All things Psych owned by Steve Franks and the USA networks.
Beta:
strangevisitor7 and my wonderful comma wrangling-ninja-whacking-spyentist virtual spouse winks7985 . Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 1,148
Status: Complete
Detective Lassiter stood just inside the office of Chief Vick, his back close enough to the closed door behind him to feel the blinds against his shoulders. He could sense people gathering into a small group on the other side of the door, no doubt waiting for the Chief to shout at him, accuse him of being a gun-happy idiot. And just like them, he wondered if today were the day Chief Vick would finally take his weapon. Put him on desk duty for the rest of his career. That is if she left him one because it was a distinct possibility that he could leave this office, not only without his gun, but also without his badge and his job.
Lassiter couldn’t understand the reaction others were having to the situation he’d found himself in earlier in the day. With his life threatened, he had reacted just as any other officer would. He fired his weapon – twice – eliminating the threat and now here he was, about to be punished for saving not only his own life, but also O’Hara’s. She had been there, knew the situation, knew they both could have lost their lives if he hadn’t reacted quickly and with such accuracy.
Crossing his arms, he looked down at his shoes, no longer able to watch as the Chief read his detailed report. Her muttered words – words that he was sure would cause a truck driver to blush – gave him an indication of what was going through her mind. She was not happy.
“Detective!”
Lassiter’s head snapped up at the tone of her voice; a tone that told him he was in serious trouble. He was sitting on top of a pile of crap with no way off. He uncrossed his arms, lifted them away from his sides as a sign of surrender and tried to explain his actions.
“Chief, my life was being threatened. I had no choice but to arm myself and--”
“What were you thinking?” Vick shook her head and raised a hand before he could answer. “No. You couldn’t have been thinking, Detective, because to think, you would have to have a brain and right at this moment ... I don’t believe you have one.”
“Chief, that’s not true. I have a brain. A very competent one,” Lassiter didn’t think he was helping his situation, only heaping more crap onto the pile but he had to try, “it’s why I’m Head Detective.”
“Not for much longer, Detective!” Vick snapped.
“Chief?”
“If you continue to do things as stupid as this, you will not only lose your position as Head Detective but I will fire your ass! Are we clear?”
“Yes, Chief. Very clear.”
“Leave,” said Vick, “before I change my mind.”
The Detective nodded, placed his hands in his trouser pockets and shuffled his feet as he turned toward the door. He stopped, turned back and before he could stop himself, said, “Chief, you do realize that both O’Hara and I could have died this morning?”
“Detective, if you die today, it will be by my hands.”
Lassiter blinked in surprise and smiled at the joke but his smile fell flat when he realized the Chief wasn’t joking. In fact, he was sure the Chief of the SBPD had just threatened him. He was considering cautioning the Chief, to remind her that threatening the life of a police officer was against the law, when the office door slammed into his back, forcing him to take a few steps forward. He spun around, ready to abuse the person responsible but the words stuck in his throat. The sight of Shawn Spencer, standing in the doorway and bursting into one of his so-called-psychic-fits, caused a dull ache to begin throbbing at the back of his skull. Lassiter rolled his eyes in disgust and turned away.
Chief Vick stood up and put her hands, palm down, on her desk and said, “Mr. Spencer! Unless you have something important to say, you can turn around and leave before I have someone throw you out of this building.”
“I could do that, Chief,” Lassiter raised his right hand. “I can escort Spencer from--”
“What you can do, Detective, is--”
“Chief!”
Lassiter, grateful for once for Spencer’s interruption, lowered his hand and took a couple of steps closer to the second door in the office. If he could make a strategic retreat...
“Mr. Spencer!”
“I’m having a vision, Chief,” Spencer continued as he moved further into the office with his ever-present-less-irritating sidekick by his side. “The spirits are showing me the green green grass of home--”
“Tom Jones?” Chief Vick asked.
“Who?” Spencer dropped his hands and frowned at the Chief.
“Kenny Rogers,” Gus nodded.
“Dude? No,” Spencer frowned at his friend. “Johnny Cash, the man in black.”
“You’ve got that right,” said Gus.
Lassiter shook his head and took another step closer to the exit.
“Gentlemen! Please.”
Spencer lifted the fingers of his left hand back to his temple and closed his eyes. “On the grassy plains of the prairie I see a little house--”
Vick interrupted with, “Michael Landon?”
“Chief, please,” said Spencer. “Although, Michael Landon, Bonanza ... cows.”
Gus elbowed Spencer in the back.
At the mention of cows, Lassiter narrowed his eyes and glared at Spencer.
Spencer returned to his trance. “And near that little house on the prairie are cows, wait, now I see an innocent life being cut down in its prime . . . steaks,” he tilted his head to the right, an expression of painful concentration on his face. “The spirits are showing me a plate of prime steaks, with a side dish of potatoes. I see ... I see a dead cow and a strapping Irish fellow.” Understanding appeared on Spencer’s features and he sent Lassiter a look of empathy, “Lassie, you killed a cow?”
Lassiter straightened his shoulders and extended his jaw slightly and said, “I had no choice, Spencer. It was moving toward O’Hara and me at an incredible speed. I fired my weapon and removed the threat.” He leaned his upper body forward before adding, “I hate cows.”
“You couldn’t have just run away?”
The Detective smiled. “You mean scream like a girl and then run away?”
Spencer shook his head and laughed. “Manly screams, Lassie. Manly screams.”
Guster was nodding in agreement. “Very manly screams.”
“Get out of my office!” Chief Vick snapped as she pointed to the door. “All of you!”
Detective Lassiter didn’t argue. He moved quickly. Turning and opening the side door of the office, he slipped out into the hallway. As he made his way toward his desk, snickers of laughter followed him. He ignored the laughter and the stuffed cow sitting on his desk as he passed it, walking promptly out of the building.
He had a 6:30pm reservation at the Ruth’s Chris Steak House.
Master Fan Fiction List