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When the doorbell rings, Carlton’s on his third beer; wearing a soft cotton shirt and pants and getting ready to fade out. It had been a long day – the longest he’s had in a while – and when Shawn’s face appears behind his front door, he doesn’t even have the energy to tell him to go away.
“Lassie! Good, you’re still up,” he says too cheerfully, pushing past Carlton and heading for the kitchen. “I was worried you might be asleep on the sofa in front of Hogan’s Heroes or something.”
Carlton swings the door shut, “Is that a crack about my age, Spencer?”
“Well, it’s not one about you being a Nazi sympathiser,” he says into the fridge before re-emerging with orange juice that he swigs from the carton. Carlton closes his eyes with disgust and tells him,
“At least close the fridge.”
Shawn does. “So, what’s with the binge drinking all alone? Do you have a problem? Do we need to talk about this?”
Carlton just rolls his eyes and heads back over to the couch. He ignores Shawn’s continued ramblings to reach for the remote and find something to watch that isn’t Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.
“Are you listening to me?” Shawn asks as he slumps down next to Carlton with the OJ still in hand. Carlton doesn’t even like it all that much, he just keeps it in the house in case … well he just keeps it in the house.
“Am I ever listening to you?” he says drily, clicking buttons until Shawn calls,
“Wait, stop!” swinging out his hand as if Carlton doesn’t understand the directive.
It’s North By Northwest. Cary Grant is running full pelt in an admittedly nice suit as a crop duster chases close behind. When Shawn sighs and says, “God, I love this movie,” Carlton scoffs at him.
“Of course you do.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t try and tell me you don’t like Cary Grant? Seriously? This is like, the James Bond of its time. There is absolutely nothing not to love about this. Villains, babes, epic chases.”
“Lies, mistaken identities, questionable morals,” Carlton adds on, giving Shawn a look that says everything he means it to. Shawn knows what he’s getting at – Carlton can see it on his face – but he’s never given much away before and he’s not about to start now. Why would he?
“Oh, and who do you love? John Wayne?”
“What’s wrong with – “
“My dad loves John Wayne, Lassie,” Shawn hisses at him, almost spilling the orange juice all over his lap with his exaggerated wrath. “So just sit with that fact, okay? Just think about that.”
Carlton does his best not to let his amusement show, while Shawn turns back – transfixed – to the movie. It’s probably the beer, he thinks, that’s making him watch Shawn the way Shawn’s watching Cary Grant. Tracing the angles of his face with lidded eyes, roaming his gaze down over Shawn’s exposed collarbone. The moles on his neck poke out from where his stupid flannel shirt is open, and Carlton clenches his fist tighter around his bottle.
It’s definitely the beer, he knows, but the truth of it doesn’t stop him from leaning over and pressing his mouth to Shawn’s throat.
“Whoah,” Shawn says, a little roughly, but then, “Okay,” and he ducks his head to meet Carlton in a kiss. Carlton opens his mouth, the slick heat of Shawn’s tongue and the warm touch of his hand on Carlton face making him groan into it. They both move to put their drinks down which ends in tangled limbs – Shawn laughing while Carlton impatiently starts pulling at the buttons of his shirt.
“Lassie, Lass,” Shawn gasps, stilling Carlton’s hands with his own and giving him that dark look he does which always means the same thing. Carlton knows – distantly – that he should be worried about all this. That he can’t keep his hands off Spencer, or that Shawn (who has made a career out of hiding from the truth) makes it very clear that he wants the same thing. It’s a mess, a mistake, but. “Take me to bed.”
Carlton is too weak a man.
Soon he has Shawn naked and sprawled out beneath him; open and ready and begging Carlton, “Just do it already.” Shawn’s heels dig into his back as Carlton fucks into him, and he whimpers into Carlton’s ear, these quiet ah-ah-ahs that always shoot straight to Carlton’s toes.
Shawn talks day in and day out, rambles as though he’s swallowed a thesaurus and bathed in every pop-culture reference known to man. Here, though, underneath Carlton and completely bared – he’s something else. Quiet and reverent and almost disbelieving. He’s just a shock of sounds that Carlton can’t get enough of, arching his back and closing his eyes and dragging blunt nails across any part of Carlton he can reach.
“I’m about to,” Carlton warns him as he quickens his pace, moving Shawn’s hips a little higher to get it just right.
“Fuck,” Shawn grits out, reaching for his leaking, desperate dick. “Do it.”
If Carlton does, it’s not because he was listening to Spencer.
*
It’s no secret that Carlton Lassiter enjoys his job. Others might argue he likes it too much, sure, but public opinion has never mattered to him all that much. If he cared about what other people thought he’d probably have hung up his badge and become a tree-hugging, national park ranger who dated climate change activists and voted Green. Carlton kept the streets safe from murderers and gang bangers and drug pushers. He’s not sure what’s more important for the world than that.
“Lassie, I’m pretty sure the term “gang banger” isn’t PC these days,” Spencer says, Carlton hearing Guster mutter, you know that’s right, while the two fist-bump. “I know a lot has changed since back when you first became a cop, a long, long time ago, but - ”
“What are they doing here?” Carlton snaps at the Chief, ignoring Spencer’s ramblings. O’Hara had told him Vick wanted to see them, but never mentioned Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were in on it too.
“I asked them to come. I’ve got a missing child and I need all hands-on deck.”
Carlton sighs and closes his eyes, trying to remember the breathing exercises he was given to help curb his sudden rages. He’s fairly certain those rages only started around the time Shawn Spencer became employed by the SBPD. “Fine,” he acquiesces, because even though he knows Spencer isn’t a psychic he has to admit he has a scarily keen eye for detail.
Carlton still hasn’t figured out the trick to it – but regardless of the how or why, Spencer gets the job done.
“You caved easily,” O’Hara teases once they have their orders and are heading for the car. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on Shawn and Gus?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carlton can’t help but react, feeling his jaw tighten with his anger. “Like the Chief said – it’s a missing kid. Time is crucial on these ones.”
At the boy’s house it’s the usual scenes. Distraught parents, and forensic teams everywhere, and sniffer dogs combing every square inch of the property. Carlton knows he comes off as cold and callous when he interviews those involved in his cases – but it’s too important to let his guard down. Everyone is a suspect and he’d only be doing the victim a disservice if he treated people with kid gloves.
Spencer, on the other hand, comes into every scene as if he’s been best friends with these people for life. He accepts tea and cookies and flails himself about and somehow discovers that the best friend’s boyfriend’s cousin has a lorry truck that would be ideal for committing the crime.
Carlton’s not sure why – after the better part of four years – it still gets under his skin. Shawn gets under his skin.
“Would you just stop,” Carlton hisses when he’s alone with Spencer in a hallway. He has him by the collar, and Spencer just gives him that usual amused look. “There’s a little kid out there, either dead or close to it and you’re here singing ABBA and attempting the splits.”
“First of all, it was Blondie, not ABBA,” Spencer says, removing Carlton’s hand. “B, I know. I’m doing everything I can to help, Lassie. I know you don’t agree with my methods, and I know I make you angry but it’s what I do, and it works. So just, trust me, alright? Can you do that?”
Carlton doesn’t know how he’s supposed to trust someone that has done nothing but lied to him since the day they met but – he lets it go. Spencer’s voice is soft and serious, and Carlton doesn’t hear him use it that often so. He might not trust him, but he will give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Fine. But I swear to God that if we run out of time on this thing because you were too busy with theatrics, I’ll…” Carlton lets his voice trail off. Shawn’s looking at him with eyes that seem hurt, as if Carlton’s words have gotten to him.
There was a time he might have enjoyed the sight of it but now … it’s not as fun as it used to be.
“Just do your job.”
“I’m trying,” Spencer spits out, and walks away.
Carlton doesn’t follow him.
*
Two days later when the kid is back home and safe with his parents, the precinct celebrates with coffee and donuts and unbearable pop music that Carlton is fairly sure is courtesy of Shawn Spencer’s iPod. Carlton understands wanting to celebrate each victory – there aren’t enough of them, in the grand scheme of things – but he also knows that an hour away from his desk is just going to mean more work in the long run.
While the team party on around him, he gets stuck into the reports that Vick is going to be barking for in the morning. Despite the fact she’s also enjoying a latte and a strawberry iced donut while chatting away to O’Hara.
When Carlton hears Spencer’s fake-raucous laugh he looks up to see him flirting with the reporter that had come in earlier for an exclusive. Apparently, she didn’t leave. Carlton watches the way she tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear, the way she angles her body toward Shawn, the way she slaps at his shoulder when he (doubtfully) says something funny.
Carlton looks back down at his work.
It’s stupid. This thing of theirs … it’s not a thing. It’s nothing. They get together sometimes, let out a little tension, and then get on with their lives. They don’t plan it, they don’t talk about it, and they certainly don’t acknowledge it in the workplace.
“Lassikins,” Spencer says a little later as he comes to perch himself on the edge of Carlton’s desk. He picks up something – a paperclip or a split pin, Carlton can’t see – and fiddles with it as he talks. “I can’t say I’m surprised you’re sucking all the fun out of the occasion, but I do know that even you enjoy a certain fried, sugary circular treat favoured by policeman all over the country.”
“What do you want?”
“Hmmm. A million dollars. No, a billion. A Ski-Doo. I guess if I had a billion dollars, I could just buy the Ski-Doo. But if I had a Ski-Doo and the money I’d still be classed a - ”
“Spencer!” Carlton finally shouts impatiently, knowing the only way to stop that train is get in front of it.
“What? Sheesh. I just came over here to invite you to unchain yourself from your desk and join the rest of us in the Chief’s office for a friendly debrief.”
“Did the Chief ask you to come get me?”
“Well, no,” Spencer admits, his voice lilting with the truth of it.
“Then get off my desk and go away.”
When he whines, “Man, you’re nothing but a killjoy,” he sounds like such a petulant child that it makes Carlton’s blood boil. He leans in close to hiss at Shawn,
“I have to finish this report. Then I have to go over that stack of files. Then I have to check in with three separate departments to make sure there’s nothing that I missed and that none of the information we have is contradictory. Because if it is, if I miss something, the scumbag that took that kid could get off on a technicality.”
“Okay, when you put it like that.”
“So why don’t you go back to your reporter friend over there and debrief with her?” he finishes, and regrets it immediately. It sounds pissy. He sounds jealous. And if the look on Spencer’s face is anything to go by, he didn’t miss that fact.
“Oh, you mean Heather?” Shawn says, voice syrupy as he gives Carlton a shrug and thumbs at his nose. “Yeah, she just wanted to know about all my amazing heroics that helped arrest Thompson and find Matthew before he got hurt. No big deal.”
“Well, if you managed to convince her you’re some kind of hero then she must be dumb as rocks. The two of you will be happy together.”
If he’s hoping to deflate even a fraction of Spencer’s ego, Carlton doesn’t think he manages it. Spencer does get off his desk but it’s slow and he doesn’t look away from Carlton as he keeps on smirking like he won something.
“Sure thing, detective,” he drawls, and Carlton doesn’t like it. At all. “I’ll see you later.”
Carlton watches him saunter back across the room to the reporter, putting a hand on her shoulder and leaning close to her ear to whisper something that makes her laugh again. Carlton doesn’t realise he has a death grip on his pen until his hand starts cramping and when he finally tears his eyes away, they somehow meet O’Hara’s.
She’s looking from Carlton to Spencer then back again with her I’m-a-detective-and-I’m-detecting-something face on.
Carlton doesn’t like that either.
*
Carlton’s mother has never had much time to meddle in his love life. To be fair, he’s never given her much of a chance to meddle in his life at all – so the fact that she’s stayed out of it is probably the best he could have hoped for. Sure, she never made a secret out of hating his ex-wife, Victoria; but luckily for him Victoria had thrived on being disliked, especially by her mother in law.
When Carlton had an affair with his partner, it had surprised Carlton to get an absolute, no holds barred telling-off from his mother. She had thrown in every painful cliché she could think of from, no son of mine, and we raised you better than that and if your father was still alive and could see you now.
It might have occurred to him to be offended, if she hadn’t been so right. To this day he’s not sure why he did it – to Victoria, to Lucy, or even to himself. He’d never cheated on any one before, no matter if he’d been tempted. A lot of people teased him that it was some mid-life crisis, while others assumed he was in an unhappy marriage. He’s not sure which of those is true. He’s not sure any of them are.
Since the separation – and subsequent divorce – Carlton hadn’t had much luck with dating.
Which may be why he agreed to go out with his mom’s friend’s daughter.
“Nicole,” Carlton says when the woman arrives, standing from the table to kiss her cheek in greeting. “So nice to finally meet you.”
Carlton pulls out a chair and puts on his usual charms and keeps reminding himself that all of this is fine. The best outcome is he meets someone he really likes; the worst outcome is she storms out of here and leaves him with the bill. Something he’s survived a few times before.
Besides, it’s not like he’s married now. He doesn’t have any … serious ties. There’s nothing holding him back. No thing.
“I hope it’s not off-putting,” Nicole says when they finally have their wine and Carlton can attempt not to gulp it down. “Our moms setting us up like this.”
“Oh, no,” Carlton says with a wave of his hand. “It’s hard to meet people these days, why not take the chances as they come to us?”
Nicole gives him a big smile. “I agree. I mean I didn’t ask mom to set us up, I just. I’d seen your interviews on the television and knew she was friendly with your mom, so I just asked about you, you know.”
“Well, I’m flattered,” Carlton tells her with a smile, tipping his glass to her. “And your just as lovely as my mother said you were.”
Nicole ducks her head as if embarrassed by the sentiment, but then something catches her eye over Carlton’s shoulder and she asks, “Uh, were you on call tonight?”
“Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that – well,” Nicole points across the restaurant and Carlton spins in his seat to see Shawn Spencer jumping and waving his arms about like an absolute lunatic. Carlton closes his eyes and groans, trying to pull himself together so he can face his date.
“Could you excuse me for just a minute?” he says as he gets up, throwing his napkin down on the table. Nicole jumps a little at his clear anger but says,
“Of course.”
Carlton strides over to Spencer as quick as possible, ignoring whatever he says and grabbing his arm to drag him to a corner of the foyer. “Spencer, unless there is a bomb in this building, I don’t want to know what you’re doing here.”
“Yeah, well, jokes on you because there is a bomb in this building.”
“What?!”
“I mean, that woman you’re with? What a smoke-show. Absolute bomb. Shell.”
“Spencer.”
“Okay, there’s no bomb. But there is a problem. Jules went to talk to some witness and things kind of took a turn and now she’s - ”
“What? What are you talking about? Are you saying O’Hara’s in trouble?”
“She might be. She isn’t answering her phone and when we tried to track it, she had it turned off so….”
“Send me all the information,” Carlton tells him as he pulls out his phone. He’d put it on silent and is only now realising that he has a long list of missed calls and messages. Unfortunately, nothing from O’Hara. “I’ll call the Chief and get started on the warrants. You … do whatever it is you do.”
“Gus is waiting in the car. We’re gonna head to the place she was last seen - ”
“Don’t you dare go in there without back up,” Carlton butts in with a pointed finger, Shawn going cross eyed as he stares at it.
“I thought you’d be our back up,” he says, saccharine, making Carlton roll his eyes.
“No. You can be my back up.”
Spencer punches both fists in the air and cries, “Yes! Lassie! The Dude. Let’s do this. Operation Rescue Juliet is underway.”
“Shut up and meet me there.”
Carlton hurries back to the table and apologises endlessly to Nicole, explaining that his partner is in trouble, and he needs to get onto it straight away. If anything, she just seems in awe of the fact he has to run off on police business, so if he wanted another chance, he thinks he’d have it.
It’s a shame Carlton’s never been great with chance.
*
Juliet O’Hara has proven to be a valuable partner. Carlton had always had his doubts – still gets them from time to time, usually when Juliet shows her true, generous self and gives too many people the benefit of the doubt. Usually, Spencer and Guster. That aside, Carlton knows he can trust her. He knows O’Hara has his back, just like he’s got hers.
Which is why seeing her in a hospital bed makes him want to punch something.
“Carlton, I’m fine,” O’Hara tells him for the tenth time, an empty food plate and gossip magazine sprawled on the tray in front of her. “I’m only here for observation.”
“I know that,” he grinds out with frustration, a hand on his hip as he paces the floor. “But I should’ve been there. Why didn’t you call me in?”
“You told me you were busy! Besides, how was I to know the witness was the murderer? Not even Shawn saw that one coming.”
Carlton scoffs at the ceiling, stopping in front of her bed and crossing his arms. “Yeah, right,” he mutters, not remotely impressed by the fact that Spencer somehow managed to figure out O’Hara was walking into a trap before it was too late. If he’d been psychic, he would have told her not to go there in the first place.
Yet here they were again, watching Psych Detective Agency get all the praise.
“What’s with you two lately?” O’Hara asks, and at first Carlton doesn’t catch her meaning.
“Who?”
“You and Shawn. The tensions been … weirder than usual.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carlton spits out, a little too awkwardly, and O’Hara is a shrewd woman, so she doesn’t miss the fumble.
“Yes, you do. You’re hot and cold way more than usual, and I saw the way you were watching him flirt with that news lady.”
Carlton’s not sure how many expressions cross his face as he tries to come up with one that might persuade her. He feels the pressure of it twisting at his gut, nausea bubbling up towards his throat. “O’Hara, just how hard did you hit your head?”
“Oh, don’t treat me like an idiot Lassiter, I know what I saw.”
“What you saw?” he repeats mockingly, raising his eyebrows at her. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become a psychic too? What have you divined?”
“That you and Shawn are sleeping together,” another voice says, Carlton reaching for his gun with shock before realising it’s just Guster standing by the door. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking at Carlton with distinct disapproval. Carlton wonders if he refined that look by growing up with Shawn Spencer all those years.
“Wait, what?” O’Hara says, looking back and forth from Guster to Carlton with a face like a hooked fish. “You’re actually … I just thought you were harbouring some feelings.”
“There are no feelings,” Carlton cries and then quickly goes on. “And no sex. You’re way off base.”
“No, I’m not,” Guster days defiantly. “You think I don’t know the difference between Shawn’s ridiculous fairy tales and when he’s telling me something real? Sure, he was drunk and maudlin when he told me but that’s how I knew he wasn’t lying.”
“Oh, my God.”
Carlton looks at O’Hara and quickly looks away. He’s not sure how hard he can deny it before he become the physical embodiment of “the lady doth protest too much”. Guster is Shawn’s best friend – a brother – there’s no point trying to argue with that.
“Look, this isn’t … this conversation isn’t happening. It didn’t happen.”
“Of course not,” Guster says, smiling without a hint of mirth. “Because then you couldn’t go on dates with other people, or undermine Shawn during a case, or hey, even admit that you like the man. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”
“Guster - ”
“If you want to keep your head in the sand you should probably go,” Gus tells him coldly. “I left Shawn arguing with the woman at the gift shop because she didn’t have a balloon that said, ‘sorry you got knocked unconscious and left for dead by a homicidal maniac’. He’ll probably be here any minute.”
Carlton looks at his partner again, and he can’t tell if she’s disappointed or sad. A mixture of both, probably. There had been a time when he thought she’d get together with Shawn – he’d made his attraction to her very clear – but Carlton knows that Juliet is just worried for her friend.
If he’s lucky, she might even be worried about him too.
*
There’s been a lot of insight into Shawn’s upbringing, over the years. Henry Spencer was a steady presence in Shawn’s life, as well as during their cases – so it wasn’t hard to see where Shawn got his eccentricities. Carlton had been out fishing with the older man a few times, had a few heart-to-hearts about absent fathers and failed marriages. Shawn’s never really opened up about Henry’s parenting skills, or lack thereof – but Carlton thinks he sees it in other ways.
How he can turn any serious moment into a joke. How he clings to Guster like he’s the only real and present family Shawn’s ever known. How he spins around the precinct like it’s his home away from home – floating from office to office and greeting everyone by their first names.
Almost everyone.
“Lassie,” he greets when Carlton shows up at his door. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Wait, don’t tell me.” He puts fingers to his temple and closes his eyes. “A gorilla has escaped from the Santa Barbara Zoo and is terrorising the city. I see it, I see it, he’s captured a woman and he’s currently scaling the side of the Storke Tower.”
“Spencer? Shut up.” Carlton says without any real heat, pushing past Shawn to go inside. The place is a mess as usual, Guster’s desk the only tidy space to be seen.
“Well excuse me for trying to circumvent a tragedy,” Shawn says, going to lean on the edge of his own desk with his arms folded. “Don’t come crying to me when the world turns into The Planet of The Apes and you’re Charlton Heston crying on the shores of Leadbetter Beach because all that’s left of the Courthouse is the clock, the rusted hands no longer moving.”
“That makes no sense. Humans destroyed the earth in that movie.”
“Exactly!”
Carlton just rolls his eyes and closes the space between them, Shawn’s legs seeming to spread wider and welcome him in. The kiss is dry at first, and slow; Carlton’s entire body trembling as Shawn grabs his ass to pull him closer. Carlton tangles his fingers in Shawn’s hair and pulls his head back, his other hand carefully unbuttoning Shawn’s shirt to expose more of the broad chest beneath. Shawn gasps as Carlton lowers his mouth from chin to throat, stopping a moment to take Shawn’s necklace into his mouth.
When he gets to the scar on Shawn’s chest and traces it with his index finger he quietly says,
“You never told me about this.”
Shawn replies, “You never asked,” and pulls him back in for a kiss. This time it’s slick and harried and Shawn hoists himself higher on the desk to wrap his legs around Carlton and pull him down to meet him there. Carlton can feel the hard length of Shawn’s cock against his hipbone, can feel the way he’s rolling up towards him trying to create some friction.
He pulls away from the kiss and looks down at Shawn, hands flat on the desk. “So, you’re not going to tell me?”
Shawn is quiet for a moment, gaze searching Carlton’s face. He looks gorgeous like this, mouth wet and skin flushed – the smell of his cologne so tantalising that Carlton just wants to bury his face in his throat and rut against him like an animal. He wants, he wants too much.
“Seriously?” Shawn eventually says, and gives Carlton a hard shove. He’s not expecting it and he stumbles back a little, putting space between them. “You’re seriously doing this?”
“What?” is all Carlton can think to say as he watches Shawn straighten himself up, and rebutton his shirt.
“You want to know about my scar? You want to make a campfire and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories, too? Share our inner most feelings and make best friend necklaces with those broken hearts that fit together to make one? You want to be friends?”
“Jesus, Spencer, I was only asking. If I’d known you were so sensitive about it - ”
“I had heart surgery for a dodgy valve when I was a kid,” Shawn spits out, and now Carlton knows for sure that he is just flat out angry. “I’m not sensitive about it. This scar on my lip is from when I was trying to learn how to skateboard and fell into barbwire fencing. The scar on my thigh is from when Gus and I thought we could fly, and I went first and jumped off my parent’s roof.”
“Okay.”
“But what do you care? When have you ever cared, Lassiter?”
“I … I mean, it goes both ways,” Carlton protests, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on a hook. “You don’t ask me that stuff either.”
Shawn laughs humourlessly, throwing his head back to let out a little bark. “Yeah, right. I don’t have to ask. I know everything about you. I know how you take your coffee, and what you eat for breakfast and all about your secret blog where you mostly get horny over Guns and Ammo magazine.”
“Oh right, because you’re psychic.”
“No, because I pay attention. Because I like you a lot, Lassie. I like that you’re passionate about what you do, and I like that you’re not afraid of who you are. I like that you don’t back down from a fight or go against your ideals and you’re not ashamed to be different. You’re … you mean something to me.”
“Spencer…” Carlton says in a low voice, his heart slamming against his ribcage as if trying to escape.
“And after all this time I was willing to accept that you won’t feel that way about me. That all I’m going to get is a hasty fuck now and then when you’re in the mood. That you’ll date other people, and hate the fact I work in your precinct, and never, ever like me back.”
There’s silence. Shawn is smiling sadly and scrubbing at his head, Carlton watching him with something a lot like shock. He’s never seen the man like this – even when he’s been in Carlton’s bed and begging for more. This is a different kind of nudity; he’s broken open and he can’t hide the pieces.
“So, don’t start that meaningful chat and pretending to care about my past, okay? I can’t handle it. I can’t … do that.”
Spence disappears from the room, leaving Carlton alone.
In all the times he’s been left by himself, he’s never felt this lonely.
*
Everything has rules. There is always order. From the moment Carlton finished school, he had a clear path. It’s why he got good grades, it’s why he fast tracked, it’s why he became the youngest Head Detective in history. When he doesn’t follow rules – when he neglects his wife and sleeps with his young partner and drops the ball on a case – that’s when things go wrong. That’s when life gets messy.
Falling for Shawn Spencer is possibly the biggest mess he’s ever made.
“You wanted to see me, Chief?” Carlton says as he goes into Vick’s office and closes the door behind him.
“Yes, Lassiter, please,” she motions to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
It’s been over a week since he walked out of Shawn’s office. It’s been over a week since he saw the other man, watched him sashay around the office, watched him bat his eyes at O’Hara or scam McNabb into buying him a coffee. It’s been over a week, and he’s been fine.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Or maybe not fine.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Carlton says in his best, who me?
“Alright, then. Let’s recap,” Vick starts, counting out on her fingers. “You’ve been in three shoot outs in forty-eight hours. You’ve filled in five incident reports in seven days. You’ve had eight co-workers make complaints about your behaviour which, I’ll admit isn’t something new - but that was in one day, Carlton.”
“So I’ve been a little on edge,” he tells her sweetly, shrugging and trying his best aw shucks.
“A little? I watched you track the same fly for two hours this morning before finally swatting it dead. I mean, I have to say, I’m kind of worried.”
“Honestly, there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m just a little stressed. The high workload and long hours, you know, I’m not getting a lot of sleep.”
“Do you need to take a break? You’ve got a lot of vacation time owing.”
“No, no,” Carton says a little too emphatically. The thought of being home all day with only his thoughts for company … no. “I’ll, I’ll just finish up early. I have nothing on the books so I can get to bed and rest up and be right as rain for tomorrow. Okay?”
Vick is still giving him her usual I’m not convinced but I can’t be bothered talking to a brick wall expression as he gets up from his chair and starts towards her office door. He’s almost free with his hand on the handle when she calls out gently,
“Does this have anything to do with the fact that I haven’t seen Shawn Spencer loitering around here for a while?”
Carlton hopes he doesn’t look as shocked as he feels. “No? Why would you think that?”
“I didn’t get to be Chief without learning my own observational skills,” she says wryly, crossing her hands against the desk. “I know you two have your … differences, but if it’s actually getting in the way of work being done then I may have to bring you both in.”
“No, no,” Carlton says with a shake of his head, a lazy wave of his hand. From teachers to trainers to psychologists, he’s had to hone his skills at convincing people he’s a lot less strung out then they think. He hasn’t always succeeded, but … “It’s nothing like that. Don’t you worry, Chief.”
*
There’s moments in life that shape us. Carlton’s started as early as his father walking out and kept coming, from promotion to divorce to accusations of murder. A lot of those moments you can’t control, but pulling Shawn Spencer into an interrogation room was Carlton’s fault and his alone. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t have been hired and Shawn wouldn’t have created Psych and he wouldn’t be missing without a word for almost eleven hours.
“I blame you,” Guster tells Carlton angrily, inches from his face.
“Like I care,” Carlton retorts, deciding – for some reason – that sounds better than join the club. It’s just simpler this way, it always is. Don’t get emotional, don’t stray from the path, don’t think about anything but the facts in front of you. That’s how cases get solved.
“If you hadn’t,” Guster starts, then seems to remember that Vick and Henry Spencer are also in the room.
“If he hadn’t what?” Henry butts in, moving to gently push Guster back. He peers at Carlton suspiciously – untrustingly – as if his son’s location is right there on Carlton’s forehead. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing,” Carlton says, pulling at his stupid tie. “I haven’t seen Spencer since last week. This has nothing to do with me.”
Guster just huffs, turning away from them both with a shake of his head. Juliet is looking harried, hair out of place and her whole body buzzing with nervous energy. She’d been pestering Carlton for days about his relationship with Shawn, but she hadn’t gotten anything out of him and she knew she never would. Not unless he wanted to tell her; and he really, really didn’t.
“Look,” Vick says, breaking the silent tension. “We need to put aside any bad blood right now and focus on getting Shawn back.”
“Absolutely,” Juliet agrees with a violent nod, going to put her laptop down on the Chief’s desk. “So far we tracked him to the Starbucks on State Street but that’s where the trail runs cold. We know McMahon was based out the back of the laundrette across the street but - ”
“He was going after Peter McMahon?” Carlton says with squinting rage. “Why the hell?”
“He wanted to prove that he could,” Guster interrupts. “I told him not to do it, I told him we didn’t have the capabilities, but”
There’s a shrill sound from Carlton’s pocket and he’s too caught up in the anger and guilt and disbelief that Spencer would do something so stupid yet again – that it takes him a moment to realise it’s his phone.
“Lassiter,” he barks into it without thinking to check who’s on the other line. When Shawn’s voice happily calls through saying,
“Gus, my man!” Carlton almost drops it.
“Spencer?” he croaks, making everyone else in the room swarm to him. He hits the speaker button. “What’s going on?”
“No, no, I’m fine, dude,” Shawn goes on, way too casually, everyone exchanging glances as if they’re all thinking the same thing. He’s compromised, and someone’s listening in. “I just went out to Channel Islands for the day. I’ll be back soon.”
“Shawn,” Juliet calls, her pen and pad at the ready. “Can you give us any clues as to where you are?”
“Yeah, yeah, you remember that movie we watched the other day?”
“What movie?” Gus mutters with a furrowed brow, looking at everyone else as if they would know. The two of them watch so much television the reference at hand would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
“Yeah, Gus, the one at your house.”
“We haven’t watched any movies lately Shawn, I don’t - ”
Shawn interrupts him with one of his stupid laughs, the sort he uses to try and talk himself out of situations just like these. “Well of course I watched it with you I called your phone, didn’t I?”
There’s a beat, a time-warp like silence as the group put all the pieces together. Shawn called Carton’s phone; he’s talking about the movie he saw with Carlton.
“Lassiter?” Vick says and Shawn hurriedly goes on.
“Yeah, that movie. Anyway, it looks just like that up here. We should really come together next time.”
“Shawn - ” Juliet tries but he’s talking over them now, obviously getting pressure from whoever is with him.
“Anyway, I gotta go. 2-4 good buddy. See you later!”
When he hangs up there’s another suffocating silence. Carlton can feel a drip of sweat running down his neck as his brain filters through everything it knows like a rolodex. The movie, the scenery, the way Shawn watched Cary Grant like he was the second coming of Christ.
“What the hell was that about?” Henry Spencer shouts, nerves getting the better of him now.
“North by Northwest.” Carlton tells them, still staring at the wall and watching all theinformation file down before his eyes.
“What?”
“That’s the movie Spencer’s talking about.”
“Since when do you and my son watch movies together?”
“That’s not important,” Carlton says, ignoring him as he pulls himself from his stupor. “The movie, it came on during the crop duster scene.”
“You think Shawn’s talking about crop dusters?” Guster cries, both annoyed and incredulous.
“Or an airfield!”
“Yes, O’Hara, good thinking.”
“And what about the two four?” Henry says, apparently shelving the revelation about Carlton and Shawn for now. “He knows it’s ten four, maybe the number is significant.”
“Brilliant, all of you. Let’s get out there and bring Shawn home.”
*
If a cat has nine lives, Shawn Spencer must have at least eighty-one. The man almost died more times in his first week with the SBPD than Carlton probably has in his whole career to date. When he answers the door to some run-down, out-of-the-way apartment, wrapped in a blanket with his hair so unkept he must have been sleeping – he really does look like an old cat running out of chances.
“Lass – what – “ he grumbles, poking his head outside and looking around as if expecting someone else. “How did you know I was living here?”
“Guster told me.”
“Right,” Shawn says slowly with a stupid grin. “Gus told you. And I’m Rick Springfield and I wish that I had Jesse’s girl, sure, Gus told you.”
“He did,” Carlton repeats, an eyebrow up. “Who else knows where you are?”
The grin quickly disappears as Spencer realises the truth of that. In fairness, Guster had only told him with the caveat of “you go over there and fix whatever the hell you did that made him think he could take on McMahon singlehandedly” as if Carlton has any idea of what he’s fixing. Or how to fix it.
“Fine, then. What do you want? If you’ve come here to rip me a new one for what I did yesterday, then don’t bother. I’ve had so many new ones ripped there’s nothing left to rip. I’m just one giant hole of rippedness.”
“I came here to see if you’re alright.”
Shawn sighs, his smile now something grey and sad. “What did I tell you about that, huh? You gotta stop pretending like you care, man, or you’re gonna make me start believing it.”
Carlton folds his arms. In honesty, he has a very small circle of people he does care about. It’s barely a circle, not much more than a triangle really. From his mom, to O’Hara, and yes, more recently, to Shawn Spencer. Which is … it wasn’t something he wanted; it wasn’t part of the plan … but the plan has changed. So damn much as changed.
“Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Well, I hadn’t really planned for guests, y’know, the place isn’t quite up to code, that is, if you could come back in 3 to 5 business days I might - ”
“I already know you’re a slob, Spencer,” Carlton says, pushing past Shawn and into the tiny apartment behind him. “So quit stalling.”
“Stalling? What exactly am I stalling, huh?” Shawn slams the door and turns to Carlton, the two of them face to face in a cramped, dingy foyer. “What, you’re gonna come in here and try to make me feel better with a quick fuck over the back of the couch which – now that I’m saying that out loud does sound pretty appealing and I’m not ruling it out completely, but the problem isn’t - ”
“I have feelings for you,” Carlton hears himself say, both because it’s the truth and because he’s already sick of listening to Shawn talk himself into a bind.
Of course, just because he isn’t talking doesn’t mean Shawn can’t make the stupidest string of noises that would only be outdone if Guster were here doing the same thing beside him. Scoffing and snorting and rolling his head around as if he really were possessed by something otherworldly.
“Would you stop?”
“I’m sorry, but I thought I just heard the word feelings come out of your mouth so excuse me if I need a moment to wait until the world tilts back on its axis.”
“I’m serious.”
“Hi serious, I’m Shawn.”
Carlton sucks in an angry breath, almost moving to lunge at Shawn but thinking better of it. He looks small and frail standing there in socks and wrapped in a duvet that looks like it came from a thrift shop that caters to homeless people and hippies. The sane part of Carlton’s brain wants to end it for good and walk out of here but the rest of him just wants to kiss the crooked curve of Shawn’s mouth.
“I understand why you got angry with me. I’ve been holding back from you because frankly, it seems like a colossal mistake.”
“Wow, Lassie,” Shawn says around a sigh. “And you were doing so well.”
“But … after last time … I realised I was holding back from something I was already too deep in.”
“Oh.”
“So, if you want to … have dinner or watch a movie or do what normal people do then I’m willing to try because …”
“Because you have feelings?” Shawn says with an edge of teasing that makes Carlton’s jaw clench tight.
“Yes. That.”
“Lassie. I didn’t ask for … normal. We don’t have to go on dates if you don’t want to. I just wanted to spend time with you and get to know you better and … I donno … not really have to share you with anyone else if that’s an option that is on the table.”
Carlton walks in close, pulls Shawn in, just a little, by the scruffy edge of the blanket. “I’m not interested in sleeping with other people,” he says quietly, Shawn’s lip curling up with a shy smile.
“That’s good. Me either, for the record. If you were keeping records on that, then make a note. Shawn Spencer, willing and wanting to be exclusive with Carlton Lassiter. Also, is being exclusive the same as being part of a club, I mean, what other perks are we talking about here?”
Carlton kisses him, listens to Shawn moan into it, feeling the blanket fall down around their feet as he lets go to put his hands around Carlton’s waist instead.
“Okay, okay, great perks, sign me up,” he mutters with his eyes still closed and Carlton doesn’t hide his laughter before kissing him again.
*
“You were wrong, you know,” Carlton tells Shawn later that night, pushed deep inside him with Shawn’s legs wrapped around his waist. “When you thought I didn’t pay attention like you do.”
“Oh, yeah?” Shawn pants out, back arching slow with dull fingernails digging into Carlton’s ribs. Carlton loves to watch the red flush of his skin rise to his neck, loves to push his wild hair from his face and drag his teeth along Shawn’s jaw. Loves to pull out really slow and slam back in so that Shawn cries out to the ceiling and to God.
“Yeah. Because I know that you’re really, really good at what you do. You have an amazing skill that is so special.”
Shawn looks at him, strung out and shivering from the sex and the words and the way Carlton is looking at him like he never has before. “That’s - ”
“And I also know that you’re not psychic.”
This time it’s Shawn looking at Carlton like never before -a look that Carlton vows never to see again. “Lass - ”
“And I know that I’ll never breathe a word of it, because you’re worth too damn much. And because I want to keep you right here.”
Shawn lets out a breath, so big it’s like he’s been holding it for years. He pushes up enough to kiss Carlton, fierce and biting and so much that Carlton can’t help but start moving his hips faster to fuck him in earnest.
“Please, please,” Shawn sputters out, lifting his hips and grabbing onto Carlton’s shoulders to anchor himself. “Carlton, please, that feels so, so good.”
Carlton kisses him again, his chin and his throat and his scar – knowing why it’s there and knowing why he’s there and hoping in some way Shawn will bear this scar the same way Carlton does.
Hoping that Shawn’s life is shaped by this moment and many other moments in the future.
With Carlton. “Shawn.”