affects me
Pairing: Shawn Spencer x fem!wife!historian!reader
Summary: A murder case involving historic artifacts draws your attention. Your husband pulls you into the case, flirting with you nearly everytime he speaks. One of the SBPD detectives fails to convince Shawn to control himself, and you remind your husband that you love him the way he is.
Warnings/Word Count: flirting, cuddling, fluff, canon typical case details, Shawn hits on his wife, Lassie threatens Shawn. 2.2k+ words, requested
Psych Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Info | Taglist
“Are you listening to me?”
You blink, thinking back to one of the first times you were alone with your father-in-law.
“You seem like a good person; responsible, well put-together,” he had complimented. “My son will be a terrible influence on you. You’ll wake up one day and poof! The good qualities are gone, filed down to nothing.”
You hadn’t believed him then, but as your mind urges you to say No, why would I when I know more than you? you realize that he was right. Your husband really is a bad influence. He’s lucky he’s cute.
Your coworker snaps in front of your face. “Are you listening?” he repeats.
“Yes, I’m listening,” you sigh. Yet, when your phone buzzes, you lift a finger to ask him to wait. The alert on the screen is far more interesting than whatever Carl was telling you. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“What kind of emergency can a historian have mid-day on a Tuesday?” he calls after you.
You wave over your shoulder and leave the office. You’re to your car before you remember that Carl quit last month, and you don’t know the new guy’s name.
“Wow, he really is a bad influence,” you murmur to yourself as you start your car.
Shawn is pacing in the Psych office, crime scene photos strewn over his desk and Gus’s. He taps a ceramic vase sitting on the fridge, then steps over a clay tray half-tucked beneath his desk.
“You’ve got nothing,” Gus accuses, smiling as he links his fingers behind his head. “You have no idea what happened in that locker.”
“I have an idea,” Shawn argues. He drops his voice to add, “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Great, I’ll call Juliet and tell her you can’t come up with an answer that’s translatable to this realm. That sounds like something you’d say, right?”
“Wait!” Shawn yells, stomping his foot. “I just… I need to make a call.”
“To whom?” Gus wonders. “The original owner of the collection? No, wait, the sculptor? Why not see if you can contact the models?”
Shawn rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, or this mountain made of women whose husbands have died,” he mumbles, tapping his forehead.
“It’s called a widow’s peak, Shawn.”
“Is that not what I just said? You gotta listen, Guster.”
“Fine. Then who are you calling?”
Shawn smiles, his shoulders straight as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “My wife.”
He taps the screen, then flinches when someone knocks on the wall of the office. Gus waves before Shawn gasps excitedly.
“You’re so hot,” Shawn sighs, blinking slowly as he looks at your outfit.
“Okay,” you reply with a nod. “I heard about the murder. Are you on the case?”
“How’d you hear about it?” Gus wonders.
“Because she’s brilliant!” Shawn answers for you. “She’s beautiful, and smart, and so hot.”
“You already said that part,” you point out. Walking toward his desk, you tap one of the crime scene photos. “So, the crime scene is a private storage locker filled with historic artifacts, right?”
“Mostly pottery,” Gus adds. “There was a kiln in the back corner.”
You nod, lifting the photo of the kiln. “It hasn’t been used.”
“What?” Shawn asks, pressing his chest to your side and looking at your face rather than the picture.
You tip your chin and smile at him. “I’ve seen a lot of kilns. This one hasn’t been used.”
“Then that makes Lassie’s theory about making fake artifacts as stupid as I thought it was,” Shawn mumbles. “Hey, let’s go tell him.”
Gus stands, used to Shawn's antics when he drags you toward the door. You sigh, accepting his direction.
“I’m sorry,” Detective Lassiter interrupts. “Who are you exactly? Why should we trust anything you say?” He turns toward Shawn to warn, “Your advocating for her isn’t enough.”
“I’d never cause advocation for her,” Shawn scoffs. “She deserves all the good things.”
“Advocate means to support the fact that she can do it; you’re thinking of adversity,” Gus interjects.
“You are an adversity!”
“I’m a historian,” you answer. “Wrote my thesis on historical artifacts. Given the state of the crime scene, I thought I might be able to offer something.”
Lassiter nods, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Shawn’s head tips as he evaluates the detective’s body language. He’s hesitant to accept your help – or even to believe you – purely because you walked into the station with Shawn Spencer.
“Not to mention she’s gorgeous,” Shawn flirts, winking at you. “I mean, I don’t hear most of what she says because it’s more fun to watch her talk.”
Lassiter shifts, his jaw twitching. You don’t react to Shawn’s comments; instead, you walk to the case board and tap the inventory of the scene.
“These vases are part of a set. There’s one missing,” you explain. “No way someone would separate a singular part of it. Something with this value, they’re not splitting it at all.”
“What’s the value?” Juliet asks.
Exhaling, you estimate, “Two million? Only if it’s complete.”
“If you’re offering your services, we’ll compensate you for any useful consultation you can provide,” Chief Vick offers.
You nod, then turn back to the case board. Detective O’Hara and the Chief can see your abilities, but it’s clear that Lassiter will remain skeptical. It’s the least of your concerns, even when you feel Shawn’s eyes following your every step.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” you whisper.
“That body doesn’t-” Shawn begins.
“Will you please stop?” Gus pleads, pointing to the box of evidence bags on Juliet’s desk. “Focus, Shawn.”
“Someday, you’ll meet a beautiful woman, and you’ll understand, Gus,” Shawn sighs, patting his back.
“You’re about to understand my fist in your teeth.”
“The violence has to stop, Gus.”
Behind Shawn, Lassie steps closer to the board, his eyes flittering between you and the photos taped up.
“What doesn’t make sense?” he inquires.
“This is a large production kiln,” you say, tapping the picture of it. “28-inch diameter, I think… Retail for these is $3,500 to $7,000. Why pay that much for something and then put it in a locker where it just collects dust? I mean, it’s surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of historic artifacts and everything is reduced to trinkets.”
“Could you sell this stuff?” Lassie asks. “Legally, I mean.”
“Yeah. Get it appraised and prove that it’s all legitimate and yes, you can sell it.”
“Well, there’s one thing,” Lassie begins carefully. He looks over his shoulder, ensures that Shawn isn’t looking, then pulls a folder off his desk. “The true owner of the locker was retired, doesn't get out much. He mentioned that the kiln was a gift. He paid his neighbor’s son to put it in storage for him; had no idea what else was in the locker.”
Your brows draw together at that information. “But the items weren’t reported stolen?”
“No, they weren’t.”
“Could you get the bills of sale for everything?” you inquire. “Find out if the same person acquired all of them?”
Shawn walks to your side, his fingers dragging from your wrist up to your elbow. He inhales deeply, then presents an evidence bag. “What is this?” he asks.
Lassiter scolds him, trying to take the bag from him.
“Crazing,” you murmur.
“What?” Lassie asks, while Shawn says, “Crazy for you.”
“Crazing,” you repeat, carefully taking the bag. “These cracks in the glaze, where it kind of looks like a- a map or a network. It’s caused by moisture expansion over the years. This isn’t modeling clay; it’s earthenware.”
“Which means what?” Gus asks.
“Earthenware is heavy... What was the murder weapon?”
“Your beauty could be a weapon,” Shawn flirts.
“Zip it, Spencer,” Lassie snaps. “According to the autopsy, blunt force, crushed… blah, blah, here. Murder weapon believed to be flattened disk-shaped object with force over 2,300 Newtons of force.”
“Can I see the scene?” you request. “I’m not making guarantees, but I think you might have your murder weapon.”
Shawn nods and takes your hand. “Shotgun!”
“No, Spencer,” Lassie replies. “You and Guster go with O’Hara. We’ll meet you there.”
Shawn gasps, pressing his hand to his chest. “You would separate me from my one true love? The woman who, through time, space, and lifetimes-”
“Go.”
You nod, then follow Lassiter to his car. He taps his fingers on the wheel as he drives, glancing at you as you read the case report in the passenger seat.
“I can make him stop,” Lassiter blurts out.
“Who? What?” you question, looking away from the papers.
“You haven’t responded to a single one of Spencer’s advances. If he won’t stop with asking, I can make him.”
“Hmm…” You return your attention to the responding officers’ evaluation of the crime scene. “He’ll keep flirting,” you argue. “If he’s still doing it five years into marriage, I don’t think he’ll stop any time soon.”
The car pulls to the right, leading Lassie to pull it back into the lane quickly. He’s wide-eyed, his jaw slack as he slows at a stop sign. “You- he- marriage?” he stutters.
A knock on the window precedes the passenger door being pulled open.
“Hi, honey,” Shawn greets, bending at his waist and offering his hand.
“You’re married?” Lassie exclaims, fighting with his seatbelt to get out. He points at Shawn over the top of the car. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“We’re not really… What part of our relationship was supposed to make me think you wanted to know?” Shawn questions, his arm around your waist.
“Should we maybe solve the case?” you remind them. “And then you can do whatever this is later?”
“Right, yeah, sure,” Lassie mumbles. “Uh, sorry for confronting you, I guess.”
“Confronting?” Shawn whispers as you walk to the storage locker.
“He offered to make you stop flirting with me,” you explain.
“Immmmmmpossible,” Shawn argues.
“Trust us,” Gus interrupts, “we know.”
You step into the open locker and pull the tray out of the kiln. It’s spotless on top, but when you flip it, scratches and a deep red substance beneath the seam draw the attention of every cop here with you.
Your husband sighs after Lassie takes the murder weapon. “I think you just got prettier,” he sighs.
“Does that mean the guy who moved the kiln in here did it?” Jules asks.
“Where did all the historic artifacts come from?” you remind them. Carefully, you flip a bagged vase and examine the bottom. “They’re real, but… maybe not as old as they first appeared.”
“Forgeries?” Gus clarifies. “White collar to murder is a bit of a leap.”
“Not if you feel entitled to the profits,” you hum. On your knees, you point to the base of the kiln. “Name on the storage locker is Peter Trumbell. Trumbell kiln, Trumbell pottery from the nineteenth century. The vase set isn't complete because he hasn't finished it.”
“Reverse nepotism,” Shawn says. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet. “You're so smart.”
“I’ll write up an arrest warrant and send it to the judge,” Jules offers. “Thanks for your help.”
“Thank you,” Lassie agrees. He nods, pulling his hands out of his pockets just to slide them back in. “Sorry again.”
“What do you think he was going to do to me?” Shawn asks after Lassie leaves.
“Nothing I haven’t thought of doing,” Gus groans. “Are you guys making dinner?”
“You’re going to invite yourself over either way, why bother asking?”
You bump Shawn’s ribs with your arm. “Yes, Gus. And you’re always welcome.”
Gus fist bumps you, drops his hand before Shawn can participate, and leaves the storage locker. Left alone in the crime scene, you turn toward your husband.
“Why do you act so uninterested?” Shawn asks.
“Say the fourth word again.”
“The fourth word again.” You frown, and Shawn pulls your joined hands toward his face, tipping his chin like he was punched. “Sorry. Act.”
“It’s an act,” you say, leaning into his space. “Of course your flirting affects me, my love.”
Shawn giggles, bouncing in place. “Do you want to make out in this crime scene now?”
“No. Let’s go home.”
“Here,” Gus says, passing you an envelope on his way to your kitchen.
“What’s that?” Shawn asks.
“A letter from Detective Lassiter,” you murmur as you read it. “Generic thank you, apology for doubting me… and another offer to keep my husband in line.”
“I’m in your line,” Shawn says against your shoulder.
“You’re in her personal space,” Gus argues around a spoon.
“Our personal space,” Shawn corrects. “You’ll understand when you’re married.”
“You know I’d stop if you asked, right?” Shawn asks.
“Stop what?” you reply.
He looks down, squinting at the blanket over you both. His arms and legs are wrapped around you, his chin on your shoulder.
Brushing a kiss over his cheekbone, you answer, “I know. That’s why I’ve never asked.”
Shawn takes a deep breath, squeezing you tighter. “I’m going to kiss your face now,” he warns.
You nod seriously. “I’m ready.”
“Yeah, you are.”
Your laugh dies against his lips, your hand pushing beneath his shirt as you move together. While you may not rush to work another case with him anytime soon, you’ll never get tired of this. If this is where it leads, Shawn can flirt with you every chance he gets.
