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Author's Chapter Notes:
Psych not mine.
Awesome haired, womanizer, lover of pineapples. These were all things Shawn Spencer would easily describe himself as. Until he met Jules, paranoid boyfriend would definitely not fit in that category. Well… he wasn’t really her boyfriend at the moment, but they were getting there. If anything though, he was very, very paranoid, being about to enter their- no her house at ten p.m., just to make sure she was okay after being attacked. Yes, he had made it into a joke, doing a bit with Gus about brain damage, but really most of that had just been him trying to tone down how worried he was.

As Shawn made his way towards the front steps, he froze, realizing there was someone else there, rummaging through the bushes. Someone was breaking into the house, and more importantly, probably aiming to hurt his Jules! A surge of protectiveness coursed through Shawn, and he picked up a nearby garden gnome, aiming to brain the criminal with it.

“AAAAAAAH!” Shawn let out a high pitched scream as the man turned around, and a gun was shoved in his face.

“Spencer?” A familiar voice said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same to you Lassie,” Shawn responded, getting over his shock. “You trying to rob Jules or something?”

“No…” Shawn swore he could see a blush creeping onto the detective’s face. “If you must know, Spencer, I was a bit, um, concerned for O’Hara, seeing as she was acting unusually irritable after she was attacked, which happens to be one of the main signs of a concussion.”

Instead of voicing his very similar fears, Shawn just smiled. “Aw, Lassie, you care for her! Your heart hearts her.”

“I- I do not!” The detective protested. “I was just worried about all the extra paperwork I’ll have to do if O’Hara does end up seriously injured.”

“Really? That’s funny Lassie, ‘cause your pants are on fire.”

Lassiter instinctively looked down, realized the joke, and glared daggers at Shawn. “Cut it out Spencer. Stop jabbering and help me find the spare key.”

Shawn just snorted, holding up his own key to the house. “C’mon son, like I need that. It’s in a hole on the bottom of the doormat, by the way.”

After entering the house, they froze once catching sight of Juliet, who was passed out on the couch, the glow of the T.V. bathing her in dim light. Both knew the dangers of head injuries and sleeping, so when she shifted ever so slightly in her sleep, they let out audible sighs of relief.

After a moment, Lassiter started to laugh dryly, obviously a bit embarrassed, and shook his head. “What was I thinking; she’s fine! I must have not gotten enough sleep last night. Look, Spencer, I’m gonna go home, but if you tell O’Hara about this, I will make things very, very difficult for you, got it?”

“Whoa, Lassie.” Shawn grabbed his arm before he could leave through the open doorway. “Don’t you wanna, you know, check her pulse or something first?”

“Check her pulse?”

“I don’t know, man, I’m not a doctor!”

“Fine,” Lassiter growled, quietly stepping towards his sleeping partner, and putting a hand to her wrist. “It’s steady, can I go now?”

“Not quite yet, Lassie. I’m sensing that, while she seems okay, Jules really wasn’t feeling well tonight,” Shawn said, putting a finger to his head.

“No kidding Spencer, I could have told you that without any spirits and moonbeams. There’s an open bottle of Advil on the table, and she was watching that idiotic child’s film, Dumbo, which is her comfort movie.”

“Good boy, Lassie.”

“But,” the detective continued, “what are we supposed to do about it? Wake her up and take turns giving her hugs?”

“Sounds like an excellent idea.”

“I would rather support global warming.”

“Fine,” Shawn said, wandering over to his sleeping (not quite) girlfriend, “you can start by getting her another ice pack.” He tossed the now warm one he had picked up at Lassiter, who obliged, still grumbling.

Shawn took the opportunity to sit by Jules, rubbing his hand gently over the decently sized bump on her head. He jumped when she rolled over, wrapping an arm around his middle. Shawn tried to scoot away. Jules would kill him if she woke up to find that he had broken in at ten o’clock at night! But she held on, looking up at him with dazed and sleepy blue eyes.

“Shawn… stay.”

She probably had no idea what she was saying in her half asleep state, and Shawn sighed decisively.


A crash and string of curses from the kitchen told Shawn that Lassiter would probably not be back a while, and he relented, slipping on the couch next to Juliet.

The very sleepy detective sighed contently, wrapping her arms around Shawn like he was a giant teddy bear. They were both asleep before Lassiter was even back in the room.

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