This was supposed to be less than 500 words. It was a prompt challenge and I wish I had gotten literally ANY OTHER prompt for this pairing. Shawn's such an upbeat character and I got something somber.

Prompt: Grave

Lassiter watched with crossed arms and a stern frown as the flatfoots dug up the grave. Three CSI's carefully bagged and tagged every bill and gold brick that were unearthed, three more of their colleagues taking meticulous pictures for their log books. Since it was his case, the Head Detective had been ordered to observe procedure to make sure no one pocketed any of the treasure. Even with the Chief's promise of a closing press conference and an interview for the newspaper, he couldn't help but be surly.

It had started out with a robbery. He'd had such high hopes for an open and shut case with him at the foreground. But no – it couldn't be so simple. After a couple run-arounds and the horrible but inevitable 'psychic' intervention, they'd discovered that the business man's oldest son had used his key to rob his parents blind. Apparently his father hadn't been able to accept his sexual orientation and he'd taken his rightful inheritance by force.

And then stashed it in his father's burial plot.

I could have done this on my own.

Lassister wanted to grouch out loud but he knew no one would appreciate it. Everyone was still sketchy after things had gotten violent when they'd confronted the son. He hadn't predicted someone so slender and soft-spoken would pull a gun on a group of officers. If the detective hadn't acted so quickly, they may have lost someone.

"Stone-cold busted, if I do say so myself." Lassister rolled his eyes as the ever-obnoxious voice chimed in just behind his shoulder. A hand smacked his arm and he knew it couldn't be anyone else. "Get it? 'Stone'? Gravestone?"

"Shut up, Spencer."

"Don't be a grumpy cat just because fate paired us up on a case again," Spencer stepped up beside him and struck his signature psychic pose, "The spirits know we have a good energy flow, Lassie-face. You can't deny those in the Great Beyond. They are, you know, beyond and...stuff. Anyway." He cleared his throat, gesturing at the set up. "Pretty good work, right?"

"He was about to escape," Lassiter tisked, "He was going to shoot his father in the head. And he would've succeeded if we'd been even one minute late."

Shawn gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Next time I'll give the spirits a Red Bull to speed things up."

Lassiter's jaw jumped under his skin.

"Your 'spirits' are going to get us all shot," he bit out in a cool, clear voice.

Shawn clammed up. Lassiter enjoyed it for as long as he could before he turned to tell the kid to suck it up. When he saw his face he stopped, words lodged in his throat. The fake psychic was stared at the grave with wide, fearful eyes. There was nothing supernatural flickering through his mind. It was all too human. He was probably going over all the scenarios of the day and how they could've gone sour.

"Hey," his voice softened up, catching the younger man's attention, "Don't do that. Mulling it over only makes it worse."

"I'm not." Shawn tried a grin but it quickly dropped, the mirth draining out of him. "I'm just, you know, channeling. I'm going to go see how Jules is holding p. Later, Lassie."

Lassiter held his breath and tried to count to ten but he didn't make it to six before he was calling the man's name out. Shawn paused and turned back, frowning thoughtfully.

"Spencer," he said again, scratching nervously at the back of his neck, "Do you want to, uh, go get a drink later. We'll take O'Hara and celebrate our win here."

" 'Our'?" Shawn parroted.

"The SBPD," Lassiter glared fiercely, "Are you in or out, Spencer?"

"In. Totally in." And it was like a light went off in the man's face, shining out of his bright eyes and broad grin. "You're picking me up. I'm buying the first round."

The tips of his ears burned. "Whatever."

Shawn shot him a wink before taking off toward his partner, a spring in his step..

Lassiter was left with a flopping stomach and a new flutter of nerves.

That little, flirty shit.