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No, Nunca (No, Never)

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Summary: (Psych Non-Crossover) You know what they say about Vegas? Yeah, it applies to Mexico too. A little character exploration for Carlton Lassiter.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Psych(Past Donor)VesicaFR1311,0661177418 Jan 0718 Jan 07Yes
Title: No, Nunca (No, Never)
Author: Vesica
Rating: PG-13 for some adult content, drug references and general wild trip-ness
Challenge: Challenge 2: Mexico at psych_flashfic
Word Count: 985
Disclaimer: Just mucking about in other people's sandboxes.
Summary: You know what they say about Vegas? Yeah, it applies to Mexico too.
Author’s Note: Because some of us want to believe that somewhere beneath the condescension and fussy suits, Lassiter is a total wild child. Also, bountiful thanks and eternal gratitude to Jane_Valar for her excellent beta services!



Gus watched Shawn lurch back and forth in front of the chief’s desk.

For a few steps, he would seem to find some sort of rhythm only to lose it again in a flurry of spastic footwork. Gus finally asked, “Is that supposed to be a meringue or some sort of demented salsa?” his tone making it clear he really didn’t care which so long as Shawn stopped.

“Why so glum, Gus? One little loose end to tie up and we are outta here for a weekend of fun, fun and side of fun in Me-hee-co!” Shawn grinned, shaking imaginary maracas at his partner.

Gus frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not so sure this trip is a good idea. You said you already made reservations? Because the last thing I want to do is spend four hours driving just to sleep on the beach tonight.”

“You are such a worry wart,” Shawn said, clucking his tongue at Gus.

“No, I’ve traveled with you before. It’s called ‘well deserved caution’. Could we skip the strip search at the border this time?”

Plopping down on the Chief’s desk, Shawn grinned at his oldest stick-in-the-mud/friend. “Just think about it – clear waters, dazzling beaches, tacos, cerveza, lovely Latin señoritas…Come on Gus, say it with me. ¿Dónde está la fiesta?. Say it!” Shawn demanded, making a sweeping gesture that nearly took out the Chief’s neatly arranged, framed photos.

Lassiter wandered by, a glance into the office stopping him dead in his tracks. “What in God’s name are you doing? Get off the Chief’s desk!”

Shawn quickly slid into a seat, mumbling “Interim Chief” under his breath.

Lassiter’s eyes narrowed but he decided to let it drop, instead glaring wearily at Gus, as if asking why he didn’t just put a leash on his partner, preferably one with a choke collar. “The Chief will be with you in a moment. What has you two so crazed anyway? Is there a Scooby Doo marathon on TV on this weekend and you two thought you would have a slumber party and brush up on your detective skills?”

Shawn’s enthusiasm could not to be dampened and he cheerfully replied, ”Actually, in fifteen minutes we are off to sunny, sinful Mexico! Aye yi yi!!”

He did a little hip wiggling in Lassiter’s direction, but the Charo impression was lost on the humorless detective.

Gus wondered if this was going to be the day Shawn managed to get them arrested for disturbing the peace or interfering with police business or whatever revenge Lassiter was eventually going to dream up. He attempted to defuse the situation before they got started. “So, have you ever been to Mexico, Detective Lassiter? It’s very pleasant, relaxing, great food…”

Carlton Lassiter’s face remained carefully blank as he remembered his last trip to Mexico.



He and two of his frat brothers piling into his cherry red Mustang convertible on the first day of Spring Break.

Speeding down deserted back roads in Texas, top down, a trail of dust rising in their wake as they made for the border

Crossing and stopping to toss back a few at the firstcantin they came across, tossing back a few shots of tequila each before continuing on.

Picking up a hitchhiker, an American ex-pat who preferred to be called Paco, who paid his way by sharing his wealth – some herbal refreshment he referred to assensimill.



After that, the memories became less coherent and more like a frenetic, Technicolor slideshow.


A blur of dark bars, the neon advertisements smearing into streaks of colored light as the room whirled around him.

Raising bottle after bottle of icy cold beer and later peering down at more than a few Mexican gutters as his internal organs threatened to make a break for it.

Waking up naked on a white powder beach, a doe-eyed, angel facedtaconer named Chelo curled by his side.

Lazy afternoons spent with his friends and Chelo’s friends under the shade of palm trees, passing a joint and watching the shadows of the clouds dancing across the waves.

A hazy remembrance of being thrown out of a hotel after a long midnight ‘swim’ with Chelo and a few of her friends.

The subsequent drunken run-in with the local cops when he scaled a local monument and loudly held forth about the sublime beauty of the ladies’ breasts.

Going with Paco to some commune at the foot of the mountains.

Good-natured arguments among his friends about whose turn it was to tend the greenhouses, which usually ended in another hour of lazing in the shade and another round of beer.

Endless hours spent tracing the dappled sunlight filtering down through the palm thatch roof play across Chelo’s skin with his tongue.

Her angry, tearful departure when the weed ran out.

The three-day grief-and-sacred-mushroom fueled bender that followed.

Some very athletic consolation from Chelo’s friend, Lupita.

An exceedingly rare moment of sobriety during which one of his friends managed to figure out what month it was.

The three of them stumbling back to school three weeks before the term ended - tanned, world-weary and ready to swear off partying forever.


He had worked ‘round the clock from then on, the all-nighters and a crushing course load paying off when he managed to complete his degree in Criminal Justice right on time the following spring.



Lassiter looked at the floor, hoping to hide his flushed face, simply mumbled, “No, nunca he estado a México” and hurried off to his cubicle.

Gus studied the spot where Lassiter had been leaning against the doorframe, trying to replay what just happened. “Is it just me or did he just turn beet red and deny ever having been to Mexico in really good Spanish?”.

“That he did, my friend. That he did,” but the Chief came in before Shawn could say more.


END.




A Brief Spanish Lesson:
Cervaza – Beer
Señoritas – Young ladies
¿Dónde está la fiesta?– Just learn this one- “Where’s the party?”
sensimilla – literally, ‘without seeds’. High quality marijuana out of Mexico.
taconera - *ahem* Mexican slang for...shall we say...a lady of financially negotiable virtue.

The End

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