![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Continued from Part One
All the same warnings apply.
“Do you know what ‘spread out’ means, Spencer?” Lassi wonders without turning or even slowing down, and he has some seriously long legs. Shawn could ask Lassiter to slow down, but that would be like admitting he’s chasing after Lassi again.
“Do you know what crazy psycho kidnapper means, Lassi?” Shawn wonders smartly instead, just a little out of breath, and nearly walks into Lassiter’s back when Lassi stops. They’re close, close and alone this time, and it’s been a month but Shawn can feel the tension in Lassiter’s body as he breathes out.
“Do you know what crazy psycho kidnapper means, Lassi?” Spencer wonders in response to the question Carlton did ask, distractingly out of breath. Carlton stops and Spencer nearly runs into his back. Now he’s breathing hard and too close. Even Spencer has to take a moment.
“It’s quiet out here,” Spencer shatters the same quiet to point out, but Carlton follows his meaning, amazingly. It is quiet, beyond isolated. Even if the girls had been screaming, no one would have been around to hear it, and there wasn’t anything but trees for the sounds to echo from.
Telling him to hush is a waste of time. Carlton does it anyway. The need to speak is nearly overwhelming; it’s been far too long since he last told Spencer to be quiet.
He starts walking again when Spencer points out the obvious. Of course they have no proof. This is all for Spencer’s crazy “vibe”, his supposed feelings. But Carlton keeps scanning the ground, looking for crushed wheat, a cigarette butt, anything.
He doesn’t have to fake a sneer this time. It’s just not aimed at Spencer.
They walk for a while with just the noise of the bugs, and Lassiter is making it clear he’s not going to talk to him, not even to make conversation, not even with Shawn being just as careful and silent behind him. His back is a straight line, tense and annoyed. Not that He’s ever really seen Lassiter relaxed. There had been a moment there, they had been pressed close, but the hands on him had felt gentle, and Lassiter had been breathing slowly. He could have been relaxed, he could have been at ease, and even with the idea almost unimaginable, Shawn couldn’t quite shake it.
Every look at Lassiter’s back just reminds him that he smashed it into little pieces by not paying attention, by slipping up and asking something that—truly, sadly—was undeniably a mistake, a mistake he still can’t believe he made.
Not that he’s about to apologize to Lassiter’s back. He’ll just…buy Lassi lunch or solve another case for him or something.
“It’s quiet out here.” And yes, perhaps there is no reason to point out something so obvious, but he’s got to say something. At least Gus isn’t around to hear him.
Lassi just grunts and nods, like what Shawn said makes sense. Which, well, it does, since it’s the kind of place where a person could scream their head off and no one would hear, but that’s pretty obvious too, to a trained detective. Then he flicks an extremely disgruntled look in Shawn’s direction anyway right before Shawn can add something about how Lassi probably already knew that.
“Shut up, Spencer.” Lassi’s words are practically a whisper and not at all the kind of forceful talk that had gotten them both into this mess. Well, Shawn into this mess. It’s more like Shawn had dragged Lassiter into his mess with him than any sort of shared messiness. At least he’s pretty sure, but he can’t seem to stop himself, so he’s not really going to question it until he has to.
That would be like saying he’s alone in this and Shawn’s shivering at just the idea, all alone in his chair with a hot stripper plastered to Lassiter’s lap.
But Lassiter has stopped again so Shawn stops walking and stops thinking and just studies Lassiter as he frowns and angles his head. He’s listening and Shawn bites his lip to keep the words in and tries to listen too. There’s…something…like an echo of a beat and Shawn drops his eyes to Lassiter’s chest, wondering if he’s just hearing his heart.
“We really don’t have any proof,” he remarks and Lassiter blinks and stops trying to pretend he’s got Super Hearing abilities. Then he blinks again and his mouth curves up.
“Not even a feeling?” Lassi starts with a sneer and Shawn holds still as Lassiter’s gaze sweeps up and down his body. His eyes flick away in the next second and Lassiter presses his lips together in a flat line. Shawn opens his mouth.
Just like before his tongue gets stuck and after a pause he tries again.
“Don’t tell me the great Shawn Spencer doubts himself.” For the first time ever, Lassiter is quicker than he is and turns around after grunting the words. He’s not striding through the field anymore, but stepping carefully and scanning the ground for traces of…anything…that might back up Shawn’s theory.
Shawn watches him and then pops into motion behind him. He’s not really looking for anything small. It will be big, once they do find it, he knows that much, but Gus isn’t here to tell him to stop, and he likes prowling around at Lassiter’s back. If Lassiter notices Shawn mimicking his cop-walk, he doesn’t say anything about it.
Shawn’s getting really warm, and it’s so not because of his flannel.
He hadn’t felt like this around Lindsey and it isn’t anything at all like the warmth he feels around Jules. Not that he’s sure he wants to be thinking about Jules now. This is the first time he’s been alone with Lassiter since…since then. Since the mind-blowingly hot sex. Since opening his big mouth and asking the question that Lassiter still hasn’t answered, not that Shawn needs to know or anything.
Shawn has had sex with Hornstock. He’s 93% certain he’s better at it. What he’s unsure on, what he’s kind of figuring out now, is why he slipped enough to ask at all. And figuring out things is supposed to be what he’s good at. If he starts to suck at it now, his father is going to be even more disappointed.
Spencer is frowning, Lassiter can see the unfamiliar expression on the other man’s face whenever he glances back. A year ago he would have been dancing with joy to see Spencer that off-balance. The man clearly doubts himself, and in all likelihood it’s because of that woman.
He’d certainly thrown himself at her fast enough to set most heads spinning. And definitely without thinking a damn thing through, without once stopping to look around, mooning as much as O’Hara over some handsome, charming, incredibly capable Federal agent. Spencer had just given in to temptation like he had never heard of resisting, as though he’d never held on tooth and nail to what was left of his self-restraint and dignity, never known what it was to let himself go and have it tossed back in his face with one careless sentence.
It is a stupid way to operate, Carlton reminds himself again, his stomach clenching. It is about time Spencer learned to keep his guard up.
That…woman…had betrayed him, and then literally put his life on the line.
Anyone would doubt themselves after that. He’d just never thought to see Spencer beating himself up over it, but it just proved there were real feelings down beneath all that smartass remarks, and it’s almost more upsetting to think that perhaps Spencer had already had his guard up, and he’d let that woman past it for some unknown and insane reason.
Telling himself that somehow only makes his stomach clench tighter. He could still see the scene at the airport when he closes his eyes; still feel shaky and ill like he had when he’d learned where she’d spent the night, the moments when all he could think of was Spencer’s mouth, his hands, on her.
“Everyone plays the fool sometimes, Spencer,” he hears himself, rough and low, and then makes a point of not turning around or stopping. The truth of it burns through him like the scotch he wishes he were drinking.
“Everyone plays the fool sometimes, Spencer,” Lassiter says, out of nowhere, and even though Lassiter is still walking, Shawn stops.
Lassiter’s shoulders are down and he’s breathing heavily. They aren’t walking that fast and Lassi likes to work out. They are easy signs to read, even without factoring in Lassiter’s tight words, his short hair, the Tums. Lassiter is upset, something pressing on him again. Something in the last month, and just as Lassiter seems to notice that Shawn hasn’t stayed with him, Shawn runs to catch up.
He walks on for a while before he realizes that Spencer has stopped, but by then Spencer is hurrying back toward him, trying a flashy smile.
Of course, once he’s there, Lassiter is frowning defensively at him and words, the kind of brilliant words that get Shawn in trouble just as much as they get him out of it, come flying out of his mouth. His hands are out though, palms up, and that should count for something.
“I didn’t know you liked Aaron Neville songs, Lass.” Judging from the moment in which Lassi’s mouth falls open and then snaps closed, Shawn doesn’t think it does. He drops them back to his sides and tries a smile from habit even though it’s not going to work.
He’s never going to learn. His smiles don’t work on him. Carlton can feel the fire spreading out from his gut to his legs, his arms, his face. He works his jaw once or twice and doesn’t think that counting is going to help this time. He thinks, dimly, that the last time he’d been this angry there had been when he’d come home to an empty house after days at a motel to avoid yet another fight, and found a note from his father-in-law telling him what a bad husband he was.
“Shut up,” he breathes the words and when Spencer swallows and tries anyway, he reaches out and clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shut up for once,” he growls. “And that’s not an Aaron Neville song.” He’s as bad as Spencer, babbling out meaningless crap when he ought to be saying something important.
Spencer’s breath is hot and damp on his palm, and Spencer must have licked his lips recently, because they’re wet. Above his fingers are Spencer’s eyes, shifting color as much as Spencer shifts his mood. For now they seem green, which puts Carlton strangely in mind of green M&M’s even though the shade is completely different.
He snatches his hand away.
Spencer is being quiet. That should be enough to distract him. He’s not even going to try to deny that he needs the distraction now.
“Did you drag us out here for nothing, Spencer, or do you really have something?” He’s facing Spencer with his hands at his sides. He’s close enough it would only take a step, and even though he’d thought Spencer was done with him, Spencer isn’t moving either, isn’t even talking.
“Do you even have a clue to lead us in the right direction or is this another monumental mistake like your last one…?” Carlton’s teeth click he shuts his mouth so quickly. He thinks he’s internalized the Chief’s voice telling him to behave himself. That’s a hell of a lot better than realizing that seeing Spencer so silent and confused has him a little thrown. He hadn’t even known Spencer could be this silent for this long, even sucking his dick Spencer had seemed to be talking.
Spencer pulls in a breath and Carlton makes himself hold his gaze and clears all his inappropriate thoughts, just in case. He’s not about to be as careless as Spencer is becoming.
Lassiter is thinking about Leikin. Her name slides across Shawn’s consciousness, stinging and rough, but hardly noticeable after this, the stream of realizations as he replays the past weeks, the past few minutes, with picture-perfect clarity. If Lassiter is going to blame him for that one, he should have done it then. Besides, it should have been obvious that if Shawn hadn’t been so thrown off his game by…everything else…than he never would have fallen for her at all.
Shawn can clench his jaw and look tense too. Next thing he’d be going bald and complaining about his bad back. He shudders a little at thought, no matter how surprisingly angry he is. He’s not just warm, he’s hot now, sweating and red in probably a really unattractive way, and that’s Lassiter’s fault. Lassiter had had plenty of chances to ask him instead of just leaving, but that’s exactly what he had done, walked out.
“What do you want, Lassi?” Shawn steps back up into the mix in a way he hasn’t done since a grade school fight—Jimmy Smith, age ten, and that time Shawn had realized his mistake and run away a second later. This possibly isn’t the wisest decision he’s ever made either, considering how big a fan Lassiter is of physical violence. But other than slamming him into things in a way that Shawn found not a little kinky and enjoyable, Lassiter had never once really hurt him or held him upside down over a toilet.
So he stays where he is and hears his voice getting higher. Lassiter stays where he is too, though he narrows his eyes and cocks his head. Shawn licks his mouth which is dry from Lassi’s hand, tastes salt. Lassiter still isn’t speaking, and Shawn would wonder about that if he weren’t so pissed. “Do you want me to say that I don’t always know how things will turn out? That I was wrong?”
And wow. That knocks the air out of him, because it’s never come out like that…ever.
His own thought stops him. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Spencer to really get careless. He stops, knowing it’s awkward, that he’s staring, but Spencer reads something from his expression, and then he frowns, looking genuinely pissed off.
“What do you want, Lassi?” he demands and Carlton grins tightly and steps into his space, letting Spencer go on, his voice rising as he asks if he should admit that he was wrong, because yes, Carlton would like exactly that. He’d love to hear Shawn Spencer say he doesn’t have all the answers. He’d get down on his knees the very second that Spencer admitted he doesn’t always know how things will turn out.
Spencer finishes snapping at him then freezes, scratching at his neck before letting his hands fall down. For a long thirty seconds he is silent, his gaze traveling up and down Carlton’s body, finally settling on his face. His eyes get wider than Carlton has ever seen them get, and then he backs up and shakes his head so hard he ought to have whiplash.
His neck itches and Shawn hates being this sweaty unless sex is involved and that just brings him right back to Lassiter. For one moment he is, he realizes with faint shock, so angry he can’t see anything beyond Carlton’s fiery blue eyes, because he had been on his knees there, and then in his arms, and he’d called him Carlton when just the sound of that name was normally enough to make Shawn curse Lassi’s parents. Carlton, out loud and begging, and what kind of detective couldn’t see something so freaking obvious? What kind of detective couldn’t tell from that how much Shawn wanted him, how much he loved him?
Oh sweet justice.
Carlton’s expression pops into his head with an ease that's possibly even scarier than his previous thought.
Nonono. Shawn shakes his head and backs up even while the pieces are locking together into a Hi-Def liquid plasma picture.
It’s quite possible he’s been kidnapped by aliens who have been messing with his brain. Or that he’s on drugs, that Gus has been slipping him some of those little yellow pills he wasn’t supposed to have yet. Because Carlton Lassiter is a Civil War reenacting, uptight, freaky dork and there’s no way that Shawn would ever l…lov… There’s just. There’s just no. No way. Uh uh. He’s supposed to sleep with Lassi, get over it, play around, fly to the moon, then maybe settle down and marry Jules. Someday. Not…this.
He’s not sure at all about this.
“I didn’t know…” Spencer mumbles weakly right before he trips over his own feet and falls onto his ass.
Except that if he had…if he does…when Lassiter pushed him away, it hurt. It hurt so much worse than getting lied to, or left, or full on punched in the face. And Shawn would never allow anything like that to happen again, not ever, not unless, he actually, really does…like like Lassiter.
“I didn’t know it would end up…like that…” he finishes because Lassiter is still waiting and he can just hear his dad yelling at him to stop mumbling, but he can’t look up anymore. He really hadn’t known how it would end. He hadn’t even wanted to think about it. The knowledge that had carried him into that bathroom at Bootycall after Carlton had only been that he had wanted it, and that Carlton had wanted it too. If he’d thought about it at all, which hadn’t been for long with the vodka and tight fit to his pants, it just been the hope that once would be enough to make it go away.
Which was clearly just…wrong.
Shawn takes another step backward and flails for a second when his heel hits something. He falls anyway despite his windmilling arms and hisses when he lands ass first on something very, very hard. He slides off it and onto his knees, trying not to hear Lassiter’s amused snort, trying not to wonder just when he’d forgotten everything his dad ever taught him and gotten so careless.
A moment later a hand is in front of his eyes and he jerks away from it even as he looks up.
Carlton snorts out a laugh at Spencer’s shocked expression and smiles even more when this only makes Spencer give him a wounded, disbelieving look. His smile fades when Spencer slides forward to his knees.
Even enjoying the sight of Spencer making a fool of himself without an audience, Carlton’s hand is out, reaching to help him up, but then Spencer lifts his head and looks up at him. His mouth is open before he swallows. Spencer is flushed and hungry and everything he was before, practically offering himself in his field, after everything, with a case still unsolved, and when his mouth falls open again Carlton makes a noise in his throat.
Lassiter is tall and buttoned up and just a little damp from the heat. His eyebrows are in their usual unhappy slant but his eyes are bright and his mouth is almost soft. The look fades when Shawn doesn’t move and they both realize that case or no case, Shawn only has to push forward a few inches to have his face in Lassi’s lap again and oh Mylanta how he wants to.
Lassiter takes his hand back and Shawn looks to the side. He is in serious trouble here, and just to back him up his heart thumps hard against his ribs, though he almost can’t hear it over the floating, tinny sound of music playing in the distance.
The sound is startling in a field with just their heavy breathing and some quiet background melody to disguise it.
Spencer jerks away from his hand and then they both lift their head, angling it toward the undeniable sound of music playing from somewhere nearby.
Spencer’s hands flex, then curl into fists, and Carlton drags his eyes up over the man’s heaving chest, to his pink cheeks and eyes which are shining and wet in a way that makes it seem like someone has just sucker-punched him. It’s a thought, but Carlton knows he’s innocent this time. He pushes out a heavy breath of his own and aside from the breeze moving the grain around them and the faint strain of music it could be the only sound for miles.
Spencer lifts his head again and they both frown.
“That is not a voice from the spirit world,” Spencer comments pretty calmly for a man still on his knees and Carlton nods. When he puts his hand out this time Spencer takes it, all business as he gets to his feet and they both stare down at the ground. Carlton can’t even muster up some fake surprise.
“Guess you were right after all,” Carlton admits the obvious because it is so damn obvious. The circle of thick metal leading into the ground looks like the entrance to a pill box bunker, without the pill box bunker attached. It’s just a slightly raised circle, marked with military designations and the handles used to open it. There’s no sign of rust or even dirt. It doesn’t even look locked.
It couldn’t have lasted of course. It never does. Spencer always figures out the answer eventually.
Though there’s some comfort in just how stunned Spencer still looks, gazing from Carlton to the entrance and back again like the case is the last thing on his mind.
“I was right in handing this case over to you,” Carlton remarks. “I mean… Oh never mind.” It hardly matters anyway, Spencer doesn’t seem to be listening.
That is so what they have been longing to hear.
“That is not a voice from the spirit world,” he points out, in case Lassi has forgotten but Lassiter is giving him a half-assed frown at best. He holds out his hand before saying anything and Shawn takes it this time, brushing off his ass distractedly the moment Carlton lets go and his hand is empty.
“Guess you were right after all,” Lassi’s voice is flat and unsurprised, at least until Shawn blinks over at him. Then it lifts up and breaks.
“Spencer…” Lassiter warns him and there it is again, the warm, scrunchy feeling that makes Shawn grin even knowing it’s going to make Lassi angry. It’s weird. Definitely weird. His dad likes Lassiter. On the other hand, announcing this at the next dinner with Henry ought to at least get him out of washing the dishes.
“You sent me this case?” Shawn says it out loud anyway, listening to Lassiter cough and watching him reach in his pocket for his cell phone. He frowns down at it for a moment while Shawn drops down to the man-hole cover…bunker entrance…thing and listens for the strange music again. He keeps his eyes on Carlton, taking in everything, mostly the fidgeting that says Carlton is aware that Shawn is watching him.
“O’Hara!” Lassi barks into his phone and wrinkles his forehead. “There are no bars out here. No bars! No I don’t what to get dru…O’Hara…” Shawn’s smiling again and this time Lassiter pauses to throw an exasperated frown his way too. He has a feeling that he’s always been smiling like this when Lassiter frowns at him. No wonder Gus had decided to talk to him. Dude. It’s just…embarrassing. It’s like having mustard on his face for an entire day, except instead of mustard it was love and it had been there for weeks if not months. Couldn’t Gus have been a little more direct? “Listen, get back to the car and radio for that team. Then get back to the field, Spencer found something.”
Shawn cocks his head and Lassiter’s face gets sour. Which just makes Shawn think of ways to make it not so sour, which is not helpful, overall, in his general freak-out and then with this case.
But he wonders if Lassi would stop him this time.
“O’Hara?” Lassiter tries again and then closes his phone. Shawn looks down and shuts his mouth. He manages to stay quiet until Lassi snaps at him again, and then it’s like he can’t help it, he’s got his head angled to one side and he’s tossing out his best and worst lines at Lassiter just to see Lassi get all flushed and riled.
Lassiter opens the heavy door with a nice eye roll at Shawn’s attempt at flirting and then he’s reaching for his gun, not even hesitating.
The blast of music just makes him frown. Not a Cure fan, obviously. Shawn shuts his eyes, pictures the girls again and at least the eyeliner makes sense, even if he had never once thought someone who liked a song like “Charlotte Sometimes” would be capable of violence toward anyone other than themselves and the basic rules of fashion. Even Depeche Mode had had more of an edge.
“The Cure?” Carlton wonders when Shawn mentions angst, then shakes his head and digs a penlight out of a pocket.
“Hey!” It’s like his heart gets louder, faster, the kind of adrenaline rush that meant Shawn ought to be running hard in another direction, except he’s not, he’s in Lassi’s face and scowling because he knows Lassiter enjoys the arresting part, but this is ridiculous. “You said no stupid heroics.” He even manages to do a pretty good Lassiter impression. Lassi just sets his jaw like big sexy TV cop and shrugs and Shawn’s still talking because Fearless Guster is one thing, Fearless Lassiter is another. Gus knows when to run. Lassiter likes fights. “It’s big and dark and scary down there.”
Lassiter just waves his gun at him as he flicks off the safety. Shawn almost grabs it, since he’s pretty sure he’s a better shot anyway. But then he’d have to go down there in the dark and that is just insane.
“He’s going to know you’re there if he heard the door over the music,” he tries again, closing his eyes for a second to reason out the facts in a way that would make Henry proud. Lassi just uses that to climb into the hole and find the ladder.
“Then be very, very quiet,” Lassiter tells him and Shawn can’t help himself.
Spencer’s already got his hands on the handle when he turns back, staring with too much concentration on the metalwork.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks gruffly, bending down and shoving Spencer to the side, not that it does anything to knock the sudden, uncomfortably annoying grin off Spencer’s face.
“Helping you save the day?” Spencer responds playfully, frowning distractedly for a moment like he can’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth either. It’s a good thing Carlton has long since learned to ignore most of the crap Spencer says. He can just roll his eyes and put his hands over Spencer’s and try not to notice how close they are, the way the other man’s breath hitches when they touch, or to remember how Spencer’s hand splayed over the stall door had been one of the sexist things he had ever seen.
It takes both of them pull the thing at first and then Shawn scoots back as the heavy metal slides apart and they are peering carefully over the edge into a dark hole in the ground.
There will be a ladder along the wall under the entrance, Carlton knows that. He just wishes he could see it. There’s a shaft of daylight that reveals of a section of floor and very little else.
The noise from inside is louder. He can call it music only because of the fact that it seems to have a sort of rhythm, but Spencer hums for a moment like he recognizes the song playing.
“What is it?” He doesn’t bother to feel embarrassed about asking. Spencer wrinkles his nose and Carlton watches his eyes turn inward again. As always, he wants to know what’s behind that look, what exactly Spencer is seeing because he knows it’s not any kind of ghost or vision. But Spencer refocuses back on him in a second and at least his usual triumphant smirk has returned.
“Eyeliner…black hair…the angst… Dude! It’s all very The Cure. It’s so obvious now, but I guess I was heading in more of a Depeche Mode direction…” That last part is almost to himself. At least Carlton thinks it is.
“The Cure?” Carlton remembers The Cure, or at least, he remembers busting more than one pair of teenagers in their cars on abandoned roads listening to that music. Whiny, overly sentimental crap was what he’d thought at the time. Spencer just shrugs.
“Must be one of their newer songs,” he says right as the music changes into something slightly more familiar. Carlton shakes his head after a pause and digs around in his pocket until he finds his keys and the small flashlight attached to them. His other one is in the car and he should have asked O’Hara to bring that with her.
“You stay out here.” He says as reaches for his gun too. He means it, not joking about Spencer’s ability to find trouble. But then Spencer is in his face and practically vibrating he’s moving so fast.
“You said no stupid heroics!” Spencer whispers furiously then shuts his mouth and pulls back. He waves at the black abyss below them and then licks his bottom lip. He opens and shuts his mouth one more time and Carlton actually blinks to see Spencer hesitating this much. “Lassi…” he points out in another whine. “…It’s big and dark and scary down there.”
“That’s why I have my big, dark, scary gun, and why you’re staying out here.” Carlton answers like he’s talking to a child. He’s not about to leave that girl down in the dark any longer. Especially if that sicko is down there with her. Spencer nods, like he gets all of that, but he’s still frowning.
“But Lassi, he’s going to know you’re there if he heard the door over the music,” Spencer reasons, taking a breath, and being that close to this much serious Shawn Spencer makes him at least pause. Then Carlton sets his jaw and moves. He takes the safety off his gun and holsters it again. It won’t do him any good to hold it on a ladder with his back to the room.
As for Spencer, once again, he’s not even going to ask.
“Then be very, very quiet,” he orders through his teeth and Spencer leans in and breathes out softly against his cheek. Carlton makes the mistake of meeting his eyes and then Spencer speaks, his expression entirely serious.
“Are you hunting wabbit?”
For several minutes almost all Carlton is aware of is the sound of his own teeth grinding.
Lassiter starts climbing down without even giving him a narrow-eyed, threatening stare.
“Lassi,” Shawn whispers again as Lassi slides down and hangs his feet over the edge.
“Christ, Spencer, what now?” Lassi hisses back at him as he apparently feels around and finds the first rung. Shawn sits back and crosses his arms.
“Well I was going to tell you to be careful, but now I’m not going to,” Shawn tells him and Lassiter drops down another few feet. He rolls his eyes again right before his head drops out of view and Shawn really, really wishes he wasn’t leaning forward to look over the edge after him, but he can’t stop himself.
“Spencer, for the love of…” He hears and then a muffled thump. A moment later the tiny light from Lassi’s keychain breaks through the blackness and Shawn exhales. He hadn’t known he was even holding his breath.
“Lassi…” he tries again.
“Spencer, what do I have to do to make you be quiet?” Lassiter’s voice is between a shout and a whisper, but Shawn can practically feel the blush that follows his words it’s so hot.
He grins down into the darkness for a moment and then narrows his eyes as the penlight moves.
“Oh for Pete’s…” Lassiter swearing is strangely reassuring and Shawn sees a dim light flickering from somewhere inside. He slides his hand along the metal rim and glances over his shoulder once, but there’s no sign of Jules or Gus. Lassi is going to be all alone down there
But not even the shadows can silence Shawn. Carlton can still hear him, urgently repeating his name in low tones until Carlton snaps at him to shut up again. He’s not asking, he’s not going to ask, he’s going to slam Spencer against the nearest hard surface the moment he gets the chance and demand to know just when he lost his mind. Thinking about it is almost enough to make him smile, at least until he runs into the first spider web.
The freak must have bought his decorations at a party store during a post-Halloween sale, Carlton decides as he runs into his second thick, sticky wall of fake spider-web complete with plastic spiders. It’s still in his hair, and he swears quietly again and pulls out his gun, aiming it forward with the light on top, though he can actually see a dim trace of light ahead.
There’s no sound from behind him, and Carlton can’t help getting nervous at the silence.
“Spencer?” he whispers once, but he can’t be sure if the other man can’t hear him or if there’s actual trouble. If there is, he knows it will be drawn to Spencer the same way Carlton seems to attract every psycho dating nightmare there is.
He hesitates, but the kidnap victim is his priority, and O’Hara should be on the way.
The music is louder in front of him too, something with purring sounds now, and he snaps a frown into place and keeps it there. The light is candles, cheap ones, some that smell like lemon and cinnamon, and Carlton peers around a corner and sees a round room, filled with more candles that remind him of Victoria’s love for potpourri. It has to be a fire hazard. In the exact center of the room is a girl tied to a chair, a blindfold obscuring most of her face. She’s alive and physically whole, but breathing hard. Even with that he can still see her dyed hair, her black lips, and the traces of eyeliner on her tear-streaked cheeks.
The boots are pretty much to be expected.
He hears a scrape of noise and a soft, high, feminine squeal behind him and spins in time to point the small line of light right into Spencer’s face.
Climbing down the ladder after him into the dark is very, very stupid. Lassiter had told him to stay outside. So Shawn should stay outside, and direct Juliet in.
Yet somehow he’s clinging to a ladder as his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness beneath the entrance and listening to the soft scrape of Lassi’s shoes ahead of him. Then Lassi swears again, in a quiet, frustrated altar boy kind of way, and Shawn lets go of the ladder and creeps up after him.
It’s cold and smelly and worst of all, dark, and if it weren’t for the thin light that meant Lassiter is up ahead, he’d turn around and run all the way back to the car. Then of course he sees the thousand extremely girly and sensitive candles and thinks he ought to throw away any Cure tapes that might still be in his old room.
His stomach is one big, tight knot, and when he feels the light touch along his arm that a second later he realizes is a fake cobweb, Shawn jumps and muffles his manly exclamation of excitement. Lassiter swings around anyway and for a second he’s blinded by the light, though not in fact, cut loose like a deuce, or a douche, or whatever that line is.
Lassiter is in full Dirty Harry mode, a tall, gangly sweaty hero with his gun out and his eyes narrowed. As hot as that is, Shawn can also see that he’s covered in so much spider-web he kind of looks like a stick of cotton candy and that he’s about to yell, or at least demand what the hell Shawn’s is doing down here when he told Shawn to stay back, when Shawn should have stayed back, as though Shawn has any idea why he didn’t, or at least any idea that can tell Lassiter.
He’s debating between two equally fun excuses when he sees the blur of shadow move away from the wall behind Lassiter. He follows it with his eyes and maybe gets a hand up. It’s like Lassiter can read minds too, or maybe just Shawn’s, because his eyes widen and then he spins with his gun up just in time to get tackled.
Spencer winces at the light but Carlton doesn’t lower it. He’s knows he’s glaring, and opens his mouth to rip that idiot a new one for coming right down in the middle of a place so dangerous without a light or a gun only Shawn’s eyes suddenly dart behind him.
Carlton turns on his heel at the clear warning and his gun is up but the guy is too close. He gets a flash of a large figure all dressed in black and then the guy is on him.
“Oh my God, it’s like Kubiac went Goth!” All he can see is a mess of limbs and Shawn’s scurrying forward even though, hello, there’s danger up ahead. The light is easy to find and he grabs it just so he can see, maybe, offer Lassi words of encouragement or something.
He hits the ground hard, and he’d swear if he had his breath, but he doesn’t. The freak on top of him seems a little out of breath too, and Carlton knees him hard in the gut before the guy can make a real move for the gun and gets momentarily blinded by his own flashlight being aimed into his face.
“Shawn!” he yells out over the sound of the music that is still playing and the light is immediately taken away.
Lassiter has his gun, and the guy on him doesn’t really seem to know what he’s doing now that he’s tackled Lassi to the ground. He doesn’t even seem to notice Shawn at all, and praise whatever saint protects uptight Irish-American detectives with bad haircuts for the fact that emo boys were possibly the only people in the world that even Shawn could take in a fight. But he can’t look away, and he can’t see anything to help unless Lassi wants him to throw a Mom’s Apple Pie scented Glade candle.
He should get Jeni out of here. That’s why they’re down here, that’s what his dad would tell him to do, after telling him to get the hell out too. He makes himself bolt in that direction, then stops, looking back again to make sure Lassi is all right.
“What’s going on?” There’s someone, a girl, probably the victim, asking questions in a high voice, but Carlton is blind for the moment. It’s why he doesn’t see what is probably a fist or at least an elbow coming at his face.
His head hits the ground with a definite crack and the right side of his face is hot and throbbing. Carlton swears and moves, because he can’t open that eye and that means a black eye at least and that is totally and completely Shawn Spencer’s fault for distracting him with his…for distracting him.
His vision has gone double so he settles for kneeing the perp on top of him for a second time and then shoving all the weight off him while the guy is groaning. He might be using more force than is strictly necessary, but he’s not swearing to anything. Besides, it feels good.
He still has his gun and he cocks it as he scoots back. He lifts his other hand to his eye. “Stay down,” he pants and squints around, his heart pounding double time until he finds Spencer with the victim, alive and well if looking anxiously over at him as he peels off the duct tape that was holding the girl’s wrists to the arms of the chair.
Lassi arches one eyebrow at him—probably all he can do, considering he’s covering his other eye—but Shawn nods, trying for a smile right before Jeni rips off the last of the tape in one move like a girl who knows her way around a bikini wax. Shawn winces, then has to look away from Lassi to catch her as she stumbles out of her chair and into his arms.
Lassiter is swearing again, and Shawn catches a word or two, and his name, in between listening to Jeni’s weepy announcement and dodging her hands as she points to the cheap makeup kit on a table, next to the paperback with “Raven” and “Dark” and “Soul” written on it. All it needs were some rubber bracelets and a t-shirt with the Crow on it and Shawn would swear that their guy works at Hot Topic, or used to.
“Shawn! I knew you’d save me!” the girl exclaims the moment the blindfold is off and Lassiter blinks his one good eye and drops his head tiredly. “He made me read!” she complains a moment later, standing up only to fall weakly against Spencer, who’s regarding her with all evidence of seriousness.
“The big bad man made you read?” It’s probably the candlelight that makes him think that Spencer’s eyes are twinkling at him when the man looks back up. Carlton quickly directs his eyes down at the whining lump on the floor that’s just starting to move.
“Get her out of here,” he orders Spencer and hears the first sounds in the distance of what is likely O’Hara swearing about the cobwebs.
Okay, so three parts. Damn I need to learn to shut up.
Onto to Part Three (which is much shorter).
All the same warnings apply.
“Do you know what ‘spread out’ means, Spencer?” Lassi wonders without turning or even slowing down, and he has some seriously long legs. Shawn could ask Lassiter to slow down, but that would be like admitting he’s chasing after Lassi again.
“Do you know what crazy psycho kidnapper means, Lassi?” Shawn wonders smartly instead, just a little out of breath, and nearly walks into Lassiter’s back when Lassi stops. They’re close, close and alone this time, and it’s been a month but Shawn can feel the tension in Lassiter’s body as he breathes out.
“Do you know what crazy psycho kidnapper means, Lassi?” Spencer wonders in response to the question Carlton did ask, distractingly out of breath. Carlton stops and Spencer nearly runs into his back. Now he’s breathing hard and too close. Even Spencer has to take a moment.
“It’s quiet out here,” Spencer shatters the same quiet to point out, but Carlton follows his meaning, amazingly. It is quiet, beyond isolated. Even if the girls had been screaming, no one would have been around to hear it, and there wasn’t anything but trees for the sounds to echo from.
Telling him to hush is a waste of time. Carlton does it anyway. The need to speak is nearly overwhelming; it’s been far too long since he last told Spencer to be quiet.
He starts walking again when Spencer points out the obvious. Of course they have no proof. This is all for Spencer’s crazy “vibe”, his supposed feelings. But Carlton keeps scanning the ground, looking for crushed wheat, a cigarette butt, anything.
He doesn’t have to fake a sneer this time. It’s just not aimed at Spencer.
They walk for a while with just the noise of the bugs, and Lassiter is making it clear he’s not going to talk to him, not even to make conversation, not even with Shawn being just as careful and silent behind him. His back is a straight line, tense and annoyed. Not that He’s ever really seen Lassiter relaxed. There had been a moment there, they had been pressed close, but the hands on him had felt gentle, and Lassiter had been breathing slowly. He could have been relaxed, he could have been at ease, and even with the idea almost unimaginable, Shawn couldn’t quite shake it.
Every look at Lassiter’s back just reminds him that he smashed it into little pieces by not paying attention, by slipping up and asking something that—truly, sadly—was undeniably a mistake, a mistake he still can’t believe he made.
Not that he’s about to apologize to Lassiter’s back. He’ll just…buy Lassi lunch or solve another case for him or something.
“It’s quiet out here.” And yes, perhaps there is no reason to point out something so obvious, but he’s got to say something. At least Gus isn’t around to hear him.
Lassi just grunts and nods, like what Shawn said makes sense. Which, well, it does, since it’s the kind of place where a person could scream their head off and no one would hear, but that’s pretty obvious too, to a trained detective. Then he flicks an extremely disgruntled look in Shawn’s direction anyway right before Shawn can add something about how Lassi probably already knew that.
“Shut up, Spencer.” Lassi’s words are practically a whisper and not at all the kind of forceful talk that had gotten them both into this mess. Well, Shawn into this mess. It’s more like Shawn had dragged Lassiter into his mess with him than any sort of shared messiness. At least he’s pretty sure, but he can’t seem to stop himself, so he’s not really going to question it until he has to.
That would be like saying he’s alone in this and Shawn’s shivering at just the idea, all alone in his chair with a hot stripper plastered to Lassiter’s lap.
But Lassiter has stopped again so Shawn stops walking and stops thinking and just studies Lassiter as he frowns and angles his head. He’s listening and Shawn bites his lip to keep the words in and tries to listen too. There’s…something…like an echo of a beat and Shawn drops his eyes to Lassiter’s chest, wondering if he’s just hearing his heart.
“We really don’t have any proof,” he remarks and Lassiter blinks and stops trying to pretend he’s got Super Hearing abilities. Then he blinks again and his mouth curves up.
“Not even a feeling?” Lassi starts with a sneer and Shawn holds still as Lassiter’s gaze sweeps up and down his body. His eyes flick away in the next second and Lassiter presses his lips together in a flat line. Shawn opens his mouth.
Just like before his tongue gets stuck and after a pause he tries again.
“Don’t tell me the great Shawn Spencer doubts himself.” For the first time ever, Lassiter is quicker than he is and turns around after grunting the words. He’s not striding through the field anymore, but stepping carefully and scanning the ground for traces of…anything…that might back up Shawn’s theory.
Shawn watches him and then pops into motion behind him. He’s not really looking for anything small. It will be big, once they do find it, he knows that much, but Gus isn’t here to tell him to stop, and he likes prowling around at Lassiter’s back. If Lassiter notices Shawn mimicking his cop-walk, he doesn’t say anything about it.
Shawn’s getting really warm, and it’s so not because of his flannel.
He hadn’t felt like this around Lindsey and it isn’t anything at all like the warmth he feels around Jules. Not that he’s sure he wants to be thinking about Jules now. This is the first time he’s been alone with Lassiter since…since then. Since the mind-blowingly hot sex. Since opening his big mouth and asking the question that Lassiter still hasn’t answered, not that Shawn needs to know or anything.
Shawn has had sex with Hornstock. He’s 93% certain he’s better at it. What he’s unsure on, what he’s kind of figuring out now, is why he slipped enough to ask at all. And figuring out things is supposed to be what he’s good at. If he starts to suck at it now, his father is going to be even more disappointed.
Spencer is frowning, Lassiter can see the unfamiliar expression on the other man’s face whenever he glances back. A year ago he would have been dancing with joy to see Spencer that off-balance. The man clearly doubts himself, and in all likelihood it’s because of that woman.
He’d certainly thrown himself at her fast enough to set most heads spinning. And definitely without thinking a damn thing through, without once stopping to look around, mooning as much as O’Hara over some handsome, charming, incredibly capable Federal agent. Spencer had just given in to temptation like he had never heard of resisting, as though he’d never held on tooth and nail to what was left of his self-restraint and dignity, never known what it was to let himself go and have it tossed back in his face with one careless sentence.
It is a stupid way to operate, Carlton reminds himself again, his stomach clenching. It is about time Spencer learned to keep his guard up.
That…woman…had betrayed him, and then literally put his life on the line.
Anyone would doubt themselves after that. He’d just never thought to see Spencer beating himself up over it, but it just proved there were real feelings down beneath all that smartass remarks, and it’s almost more upsetting to think that perhaps Spencer had already had his guard up, and he’d let that woman past it for some unknown and insane reason.
Telling himself that somehow only makes his stomach clench tighter. He could still see the scene at the airport when he closes his eyes; still feel shaky and ill like he had when he’d learned where she’d spent the night, the moments when all he could think of was Spencer’s mouth, his hands, on her.
“Everyone plays the fool sometimes, Spencer,” he hears himself, rough and low, and then makes a point of not turning around or stopping. The truth of it burns through him like the scotch he wishes he were drinking.
“Everyone plays the fool sometimes, Spencer,” Lassiter says, out of nowhere, and even though Lassiter is still walking, Shawn stops.
Lassiter’s shoulders are down and he’s breathing heavily. They aren’t walking that fast and Lassi likes to work out. They are easy signs to read, even without factoring in Lassiter’s tight words, his short hair, the Tums. Lassiter is upset, something pressing on him again. Something in the last month, and just as Lassiter seems to notice that Shawn hasn’t stayed with him, Shawn runs to catch up.
He walks on for a while before he realizes that Spencer has stopped, but by then Spencer is hurrying back toward him, trying a flashy smile.
Of course, once he’s there, Lassiter is frowning defensively at him and words, the kind of brilliant words that get Shawn in trouble just as much as they get him out of it, come flying out of his mouth. His hands are out though, palms up, and that should count for something.
“I didn’t know you liked Aaron Neville songs, Lass.” Judging from the moment in which Lassi’s mouth falls open and then snaps closed, Shawn doesn’t think it does. He drops them back to his sides and tries a smile from habit even though it’s not going to work.
He’s never going to learn. His smiles don’t work on him. Carlton can feel the fire spreading out from his gut to his legs, his arms, his face. He works his jaw once or twice and doesn’t think that counting is going to help this time. He thinks, dimly, that the last time he’d been this angry there had been when he’d come home to an empty house after days at a motel to avoid yet another fight, and found a note from his father-in-law telling him what a bad husband he was.
“Shut up,” he breathes the words and when Spencer swallows and tries anyway, he reaches out and clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shut up for once,” he growls. “And that’s not an Aaron Neville song.” He’s as bad as Spencer, babbling out meaningless crap when he ought to be saying something important.
Spencer’s breath is hot and damp on his palm, and Spencer must have licked his lips recently, because they’re wet. Above his fingers are Spencer’s eyes, shifting color as much as Spencer shifts his mood. For now they seem green, which puts Carlton strangely in mind of green M&M’s even though the shade is completely different.
He snatches his hand away.
Spencer is being quiet. That should be enough to distract him. He’s not even going to try to deny that he needs the distraction now.
“Did you drag us out here for nothing, Spencer, or do you really have something?” He’s facing Spencer with his hands at his sides. He’s close enough it would only take a step, and even though he’d thought Spencer was done with him, Spencer isn’t moving either, isn’t even talking.
“Do you even have a clue to lead us in the right direction or is this another monumental mistake like your last one…?” Carlton’s teeth click he shuts his mouth so quickly. He thinks he’s internalized the Chief’s voice telling him to behave himself. That’s a hell of a lot better than realizing that seeing Spencer so silent and confused has him a little thrown. He hadn’t even known Spencer could be this silent for this long, even sucking his dick Spencer had seemed to be talking.
Spencer pulls in a breath and Carlton makes himself hold his gaze and clears all his inappropriate thoughts, just in case. He’s not about to be as careless as Spencer is becoming.
Lassiter is thinking about Leikin. Her name slides across Shawn’s consciousness, stinging and rough, but hardly noticeable after this, the stream of realizations as he replays the past weeks, the past few minutes, with picture-perfect clarity. If Lassiter is going to blame him for that one, he should have done it then. Besides, it should have been obvious that if Shawn hadn’t been so thrown off his game by…everything else…than he never would have fallen for her at all.
Shawn can clench his jaw and look tense too. Next thing he’d be going bald and complaining about his bad back. He shudders a little at thought, no matter how surprisingly angry he is. He’s not just warm, he’s hot now, sweating and red in probably a really unattractive way, and that’s Lassiter’s fault. Lassiter had had plenty of chances to ask him instead of just leaving, but that’s exactly what he had done, walked out.
“What do you want, Lassi?” Shawn steps back up into the mix in a way he hasn’t done since a grade school fight—Jimmy Smith, age ten, and that time Shawn had realized his mistake and run away a second later. This possibly isn’t the wisest decision he’s ever made either, considering how big a fan Lassiter is of physical violence. But other than slamming him into things in a way that Shawn found not a little kinky and enjoyable, Lassiter had never once really hurt him or held him upside down over a toilet.
So he stays where he is and hears his voice getting higher. Lassiter stays where he is too, though he narrows his eyes and cocks his head. Shawn licks his mouth which is dry from Lassi’s hand, tastes salt. Lassiter still isn’t speaking, and Shawn would wonder about that if he weren’t so pissed. “Do you want me to say that I don’t always know how things will turn out? That I was wrong?”
And wow. That knocks the air out of him, because it’s never come out like that…ever.
His own thought stops him. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Spencer to really get careless. He stops, knowing it’s awkward, that he’s staring, but Spencer reads something from his expression, and then he frowns, looking genuinely pissed off.
“What do you want, Lassi?” he demands and Carlton grins tightly and steps into his space, letting Spencer go on, his voice rising as he asks if he should admit that he was wrong, because yes, Carlton would like exactly that. He’d love to hear Shawn Spencer say he doesn’t have all the answers. He’d get down on his knees the very second that Spencer admitted he doesn’t always know how things will turn out.
Spencer finishes snapping at him then freezes, scratching at his neck before letting his hands fall down. For a long thirty seconds he is silent, his gaze traveling up and down Carlton’s body, finally settling on his face. His eyes get wider than Carlton has ever seen them get, and then he backs up and shakes his head so hard he ought to have whiplash.
His neck itches and Shawn hates being this sweaty unless sex is involved and that just brings him right back to Lassiter. For one moment he is, he realizes with faint shock, so angry he can’t see anything beyond Carlton’s fiery blue eyes, because he had been on his knees there, and then in his arms, and he’d called him Carlton when just the sound of that name was normally enough to make Shawn curse Lassi’s parents. Carlton, out loud and begging, and what kind of detective couldn’t see something so freaking obvious? What kind of detective couldn’t tell from that how much Shawn wanted him, how much he loved him?
Oh sweet justice.
Carlton’s expression pops into his head with an ease that's possibly even scarier than his previous thought.
Nonono. Shawn shakes his head and backs up even while the pieces are locking together into a Hi-Def liquid plasma picture.
It’s quite possible he’s been kidnapped by aliens who have been messing with his brain. Or that he’s on drugs, that Gus has been slipping him some of those little yellow pills he wasn’t supposed to have yet. Because Carlton Lassiter is a Civil War reenacting, uptight, freaky dork and there’s no way that Shawn would ever l…lov… There’s just. There’s just no. No way. Uh uh. He’s supposed to sleep with Lassi, get over it, play around, fly to the moon, then maybe settle down and marry Jules. Someday. Not…this.
He’s not sure at all about this.
“I didn’t know…” Spencer mumbles weakly right before he trips over his own feet and falls onto his ass.
Except that if he had…if he does…when Lassiter pushed him away, it hurt. It hurt so much worse than getting lied to, or left, or full on punched in the face. And Shawn would never allow anything like that to happen again, not ever, not unless, he actually, really does…like like Lassiter.
“I didn’t know it would end up…like that…” he finishes because Lassiter is still waiting and he can just hear his dad yelling at him to stop mumbling, but he can’t look up anymore. He really hadn’t known how it would end. He hadn’t even wanted to think about it. The knowledge that had carried him into that bathroom at Bootycall after Carlton had only been that he had wanted it, and that Carlton had wanted it too. If he’d thought about it at all, which hadn’t been for long with the vodka and tight fit to his pants, it just been the hope that once would be enough to make it go away.
Which was clearly just…wrong.
Shawn takes another step backward and flails for a second when his heel hits something. He falls anyway despite his windmilling arms and hisses when he lands ass first on something very, very hard. He slides off it and onto his knees, trying not to hear Lassiter’s amused snort, trying not to wonder just when he’d forgotten everything his dad ever taught him and gotten so careless.
A moment later a hand is in front of his eyes and he jerks away from it even as he looks up.
Carlton snorts out a laugh at Spencer’s shocked expression and smiles even more when this only makes Spencer give him a wounded, disbelieving look. His smile fades when Spencer slides forward to his knees.
Even enjoying the sight of Spencer making a fool of himself without an audience, Carlton’s hand is out, reaching to help him up, but then Spencer lifts his head and looks up at him. His mouth is open before he swallows. Spencer is flushed and hungry and everything he was before, practically offering himself in his field, after everything, with a case still unsolved, and when his mouth falls open again Carlton makes a noise in his throat.
Lassiter is tall and buttoned up and just a little damp from the heat. His eyebrows are in their usual unhappy slant but his eyes are bright and his mouth is almost soft. The look fades when Shawn doesn’t move and they both realize that case or no case, Shawn only has to push forward a few inches to have his face in Lassi’s lap again and oh Mylanta how he wants to.
Lassiter takes his hand back and Shawn looks to the side. He is in serious trouble here, and just to back him up his heart thumps hard against his ribs, though he almost can’t hear it over the floating, tinny sound of music playing in the distance.
The sound is startling in a field with just their heavy breathing and some quiet background melody to disguise it.
Spencer jerks away from his hand and then they both lift their head, angling it toward the undeniable sound of music playing from somewhere nearby.
Spencer’s hands flex, then curl into fists, and Carlton drags his eyes up over the man’s heaving chest, to his pink cheeks and eyes which are shining and wet in a way that makes it seem like someone has just sucker-punched him. It’s a thought, but Carlton knows he’s innocent this time. He pushes out a heavy breath of his own and aside from the breeze moving the grain around them and the faint strain of music it could be the only sound for miles.
Spencer lifts his head again and they both frown.
“That is not a voice from the spirit world,” Spencer comments pretty calmly for a man still on his knees and Carlton nods. When he puts his hand out this time Spencer takes it, all business as he gets to his feet and they both stare down at the ground. Carlton can’t even muster up some fake surprise.
“Guess you were right after all,” Carlton admits the obvious because it is so damn obvious. The circle of thick metal leading into the ground looks like the entrance to a pill box bunker, without the pill box bunker attached. It’s just a slightly raised circle, marked with military designations and the handles used to open it. There’s no sign of rust or even dirt. It doesn’t even look locked.
It couldn’t have lasted of course. It never does. Spencer always figures out the answer eventually.
Though there’s some comfort in just how stunned Spencer still looks, gazing from Carlton to the entrance and back again like the case is the last thing on his mind.
“I was right in handing this case over to you,” Carlton remarks. “I mean… Oh never mind.” It hardly matters anyway, Spencer doesn’t seem to be listening.
That is so what they have been longing to hear.
“That is not a voice from the spirit world,” he points out, in case Lassi has forgotten but Lassiter is giving him a half-assed frown at best. He holds out his hand before saying anything and Shawn takes it this time, brushing off his ass distractedly the moment Carlton lets go and his hand is empty.
“Guess you were right after all,” Lassi’s voice is flat and unsurprised, at least until Shawn blinks over at him. Then it lifts up and breaks.
“Spencer…” Lassiter warns him and there it is again, the warm, scrunchy feeling that makes Shawn grin even knowing it’s going to make Lassi angry. It’s weird. Definitely weird. His dad likes Lassiter. On the other hand, announcing this at the next dinner with Henry ought to at least get him out of washing the dishes.
“You sent me this case?” Shawn says it out loud anyway, listening to Lassiter cough and watching him reach in his pocket for his cell phone. He frowns down at it for a moment while Shawn drops down to the man-hole cover…bunker entrance…thing and listens for the strange music again. He keeps his eyes on Carlton, taking in everything, mostly the fidgeting that says Carlton is aware that Shawn is watching him.
“O’Hara!” Lassi barks into his phone and wrinkles his forehead. “There are no bars out here. No bars! No I don’t what to get dru…O’Hara…” Shawn’s smiling again and this time Lassiter pauses to throw an exasperated frown his way too. He has a feeling that he’s always been smiling like this when Lassiter frowns at him. No wonder Gus had decided to talk to him. Dude. It’s just…embarrassing. It’s like having mustard on his face for an entire day, except instead of mustard it was love and it had been there for weeks if not months. Couldn’t Gus have been a little more direct? “Listen, get back to the car and radio for that team. Then get back to the field, Spencer found something.”
Shawn cocks his head and Lassiter’s face gets sour. Which just makes Shawn think of ways to make it not so sour, which is not helpful, overall, in his general freak-out and then with this case.
But he wonders if Lassi would stop him this time.
“O’Hara?” Lassiter tries again and then closes his phone. Shawn looks down and shuts his mouth. He manages to stay quiet until Lassi snaps at him again, and then it’s like he can’t help it, he’s got his head angled to one side and he’s tossing out his best and worst lines at Lassiter just to see Lassi get all flushed and riled.
Lassiter opens the heavy door with a nice eye roll at Shawn’s attempt at flirting and then he’s reaching for his gun, not even hesitating.
The blast of music just makes him frown. Not a Cure fan, obviously. Shawn shuts his eyes, pictures the girls again and at least the eyeliner makes sense, even if he had never once thought someone who liked a song like “Charlotte Sometimes” would be capable of violence toward anyone other than themselves and the basic rules of fashion. Even Depeche Mode had had more of an edge.
“The Cure?” Carlton wonders when Shawn mentions angst, then shakes his head and digs a penlight out of a pocket.
“Hey!” It’s like his heart gets louder, faster, the kind of adrenaline rush that meant Shawn ought to be running hard in another direction, except he’s not, he’s in Lassi’s face and scowling because he knows Lassiter enjoys the arresting part, but this is ridiculous. “You said no stupid heroics.” He even manages to do a pretty good Lassiter impression. Lassi just sets his jaw like big sexy TV cop and shrugs and Shawn’s still talking because Fearless Guster is one thing, Fearless Lassiter is another. Gus knows when to run. Lassiter likes fights. “It’s big and dark and scary down there.”
Lassiter just waves his gun at him as he flicks off the safety. Shawn almost grabs it, since he’s pretty sure he’s a better shot anyway. But then he’d have to go down there in the dark and that is just insane.
“He’s going to know you’re there if he heard the door over the music,” he tries again, closing his eyes for a second to reason out the facts in a way that would make Henry proud. Lassi just uses that to climb into the hole and find the ladder.
“Then be very, very quiet,” Lassiter tells him and Shawn can’t help himself.
Spencer’s already got his hands on the handle when he turns back, staring with too much concentration on the metalwork.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks gruffly, bending down and shoving Spencer to the side, not that it does anything to knock the sudden, uncomfortably annoying grin off Spencer’s face.
“Helping you save the day?” Spencer responds playfully, frowning distractedly for a moment like he can’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth either. It’s a good thing Carlton has long since learned to ignore most of the crap Spencer says. He can just roll his eyes and put his hands over Spencer’s and try not to notice how close they are, the way the other man’s breath hitches when they touch, or to remember how Spencer’s hand splayed over the stall door had been one of the sexist things he had ever seen.
It takes both of them pull the thing at first and then Shawn scoots back as the heavy metal slides apart and they are peering carefully over the edge into a dark hole in the ground.
There will be a ladder along the wall under the entrance, Carlton knows that. He just wishes he could see it. There’s a shaft of daylight that reveals of a section of floor and very little else.
The noise from inside is louder. He can call it music only because of the fact that it seems to have a sort of rhythm, but Spencer hums for a moment like he recognizes the song playing.
“What is it?” He doesn’t bother to feel embarrassed about asking. Spencer wrinkles his nose and Carlton watches his eyes turn inward again. As always, he wants to know what’s behind that look, what exactly Spencer is seeing because he knows it’s not any kind of ghost or vision. But Spencer refocuses back on him in a second and at least his usual triumphant smirk has returned.
“Eyeliner…black hair…the angst… Dude! It’s all very The Cure. It’s so obvious now, but I guess I was heading in more of a Depeche Mode direction…” That last part is almost to himself. At least Carlton thinks it is.
“The Cure?” Carlton remembers The Cure, or at least, he remembers busting more than one pair of teenagers in their cars on abandoned roads listening to that music. Whiny, overly sentimental crap was what he’d thought at the time. Spencer just shrugs.
“Must be one of their newer songs,” he says right as the music changes into something slightly more familiar. Carlton shakes his head after a pause and digs around in his pocket until he finds his keys and the small flashlight attached to them. His other one is in the car and he should have asked O’Hara to bring that with her.
“You stay out here.” He says as reaches for his gun too. He means it, not joking about Spencer’s ability to find trouble. But then Spencer is in his face and practically vibrating he’s moving so fast.
“You said no stupid heroics!” Spencer whispers furiously then shuts his mouth and pulls back. He waves at the black abyss below them and then licks his bottom lip. He opens and shuts his mouth one more time and Carlton actually blinks to see Spencer hesitating this much. “Lassi…” he points out in another whine. “…It’s big and dark and scary down there.”
“That’s why I have my big, dark, scary gun, and why you’re staying out here.” Carlton answers like he’s talking to a child. He’s not about to leave that girl down in the dark any longer. Especially if that sicko is down there with her. Spencer nods, like he gets all of that, but he’s still frowning.
“But Lassi, he’s going to know you’re there if he heard the door over the music,” Spencer reasons, taking a breath, and being that close to this much serious Shawn Spencer makes him at least pause. Then Carlton sets his jaw and moves. He takes the safety off his gun and holsters it again. It won’t do him any good to hold it on a ladder with his back to the room.
As for Spencer, once again, he’s not even going to ask.
“Then be very, very quiet,” he orders through his teeth and Spencer leans in and breathes out softly against his cheek. Carlton makes the mistake of meeting his eyes and then Spencer speaks, his expression entirely serious.
“Are you hunting wabbit?”
For several minutes almost all Carlton is aware of is the sound of his own teeth grinding.
Lassiter starts climbing down without even giving him a narrow-eyed, threatening stare.
“Lassi,” Shawn whispers again as Lassi slides down and hangs his feet over the edge.
“Christ, Spencer, what now?” Lassi hisses back at him as he apparently feels around and finds the first rung. Shawn sits back and crosses his arms.
“Well I was going to tell you to be careful, but now I’m not going to,” Shawn tells him and Lassiter drops down another few feet. He rolls his eyes again right before his head drops out of view and Shawn really, really wishes he wasn’t leaning forward to look over the edge after him, but he can’t stop himself.
“Spencer, for the love of…” He hears and then a muffled thump. A moment later the tiny light from Lassi’s keychain breaks through the blackness and Shawn exhales. He hadn’t known he was even holding his breath.
“Lassi…” he tries again.
“Spencer, what do I have to do to make you be quiet?” Lassiter’s voice is between a shout and a whisper, but Shawn can practically feel the blush that follows his words it’s so hot.
He grins down into the darkness for a moment and then narrows his eyes as the penlight moves.
“Oh for Pete’s…” Lassiter swearing is strangely reassuring and Shawn sees a dim light flickering from somewhere inside. He slides his hand along the metal rim and glances over his shoulder once, but there’s no sign of Jules or Gus. Lassi is going to be all alone down there
But not even the shadows can silence Shawn. Carlton can still hear him, urgently repeating his name in low tones until Carlton snaps at him to shut up again. He’s not asking, he’s not going to ask, he’s going to slam Spencer against the nearest hard surface the moment he gets the chance and demand to know just when he lost his mind. Thinking about it is almost enough to make him smile, at least until he runs into the first spider web.
The freak must have bought his decorations at a party store during a post-Halloween sale, Carlton decides as he runs into his second thick, sticky wall of fake spider-web complete with plastic spiders. It’s still in his hair, and he swears quietly again and pulls out his gun, aiming it forward with the light on top, though he can actually see a dim trace of light ahead.
There’s no sound from behind him, and Carlton can’t help getting nervous at the silence.
“Spencer?” he whispers once, but he can’t be sure if the other man can’t hear him or if there’s actual trouble. If there is, he knows it will be drawn to Spencer the same way Carlton seems to attract every psycho dating nightmare there is.
He hesitates, but the kidnap victim is his priority, and O’Hara should be on the way.
The music is louder in front of him too, something with purring sounds now, and he snaps a frown into place and keeps it there. The light is candles, cheap ones, some that smell like lemon and cinnamon, and Carlton peers around a corner and sees a round room, filled with more candles that remind him of Victoria’s love for potpourri. It has to be a fire hazard. In the exact center of the room is a girl tied to a chair, a blindfold obscuring most of her face. She’s alive and physically whole, but breathing hard. Even with that he can still see her dyed hair, her black lips, and the traces of eyeliner on her tear-streaked cheeks.
The boots are pretty much to be expected.
He hears a scrape of noise and a soft, high, feminine squeal behind him and spins in time to point the small line of light right into Spencer’s face.
Climbing down the ladder after him into the dark is very, very stupid. Lassiter had told him to stay outside. So Shawn should stay outside, and direct Juliet in.
Yet somehow he’s clinging to a ladder as his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness beneath the entrance and listening to the soft scrape of Lassi’s shoes ahead of him. Then Lassi swears again, in a quiet, frustrated altar boy kind of way, and Shawn lets go of the ladder and creeps up after him.
It’s cold and smelly and worst of all, dark, and if it weren’t for the thin light that meant Lassiter is up ahead, he’d turn around and run all the way back to the car. Then of course he sees the thousand extremely girly and sensitive candles and thinks he ought to throw away any Cure tapes that might still be in his old room.
His stomach is one big, tight knot, and when he feels the light touch along his arm that a second later he realizes is a fake cobweb, Shawn jumps and muffles his manly exclamation of excitement. Lassiter swings around anyway and for a second he’s blinded by the light, though not in fact, cut loose like a deuce, or a douche, or whatever that line is.
Lassiter is in full Dirty Harry mode, a tall, gangly sweaty hero with his gun out and his eyes narrowed. As hot as that is, Shawn can also see that he’s covered in so much spider-web he kind of looks like a stick of cotton candy and that he’s about to yell, or at least demand what the hell Shawn’s is doing down here when he told Shawn to stay back, when Shawn should have stayed back, as though Shawn has any idea why he didn’t, or at least any idea that can tell Lassiter.
He’s debating between two equally fun excuses when he sees the blur of shadow move away from the wall behind Lassiter. He follows it with his eyes and maybe gets a hand up. It’s like Lassiter can read minds too, or maybe just Shawn’s, because his eyes widen and then he spins with his gun up just in time to get tackled.
Spencer winces at the light but Carlton doesn’t lower it. He’s knows he’s glaring, and opens his mouth to rip that idiot a new one for coming right down in the middle of a place so dangerous without a light or a gun only Shawn’s eyes suddenly dart behind him.
Carlton turns on his heel at the clear warning and his gun is up but the guy is too close. He gets a flash of a large figure all dressed in black and then the guy is on him.
“Oh my God, it’s like Kubiac went Goth!” All he can see is a mess of limbs and Shawn’s scurrying forward even though, hello, there’s danger up ahead. The light is easy to find and he grabs it just so he can see, maybe, offer Lassi words of encouragement or something.
He hits the ground hard, and he’d swear if he had his breath, but he doesn’t. The freak on top of him seems a little out of breath too, and Carlton knees him hard in the gut before the guy can make a real move for the gun and gets momentarily blinded by his own flashlight being aimed into his face.
“Shawn!” he yells out over the sound of the music that is still playing and the light is immediately taken away.
Lassiter has his gun, and the guy on him doesn’t really seem to know what he’s doing now that he’s tackled Lassi to the ground. He doesn’t even seem to notice Shawn at all, and praise whatever saint protects uptight Irish-American detectives with bad haircuts for the fact that emo boys were possibly the only people in the world that even Shawn could take in a fight. But he can’t look away, and he can’t see anything to help unless Lassi wants him to throw a Mom’s Apple Pie scented Glade candle.
He should get Jeni out of here. That’s why they’re down here, that’s what his dad would tell him to do, after telling him to get the hell out too. He makes himself bolt in that direction, then stops, looking back again to make sure Lassi is all right.
“What’s going on?” There’s someone, a girl, probably the victim, asking questions in a high voice, but Carlton is blind for the moment. It’s why he doesn’t see what is probably a fist or at least an elbow coming at his face.
His head hits the ground with a definite crack and the right side of his face is hot and throbbing. Carlton swears and moves, because he can’t open that eye and that means a black eye at least and that is totally and completely Shawn Spencer’s fault for distracting him with his…for distracting him.
His vision has gone double so he settles for kneeing the perp on top of him for a second time and then shoving all the weight off him while the guy is groaning. He might be using more force than is strictly necessary, but he’s not swearing to anything. Besides, it feels good.
He still has his gun and he cocks it as he scoots back. He lifts his other hand to his eye. “Stay down,” he pants and squints around, his heart pounding double time until he finds Spencer with the victim, alive and well if looking anxiously over at him as he peels off the duct tape that was holding the girl’s wrists to the arms of the chair.
Lassi arches one eyebrow at him—probably all he can do, considering he’s covering his other eye—but Shawn nods, trying for a smile right before Jeni rips off the last of the tape in one move like a girl who knows her way around a bikini wax. Shawn winces, then has to look away from Lassi to catch her as she stumbles out of her chair and into his arms.
Lassiter is swearing again, and Shawn catches a word or two, and his name, in between listening to Jeni’s weepy announcement and dodging her hands as she points to the cheap makeup kit on a table, next to the paperback with “Raven” and “Dark” and “Soul” written on it. All it needs were some rubber bracelets and a t-shirt with the Crow on it and Shawn would swear that their guy works at Hot Topic, or used to.
“Shawn! I knew you’d save me!” the girl exclaims the moment the blindfold is off and Lassiter blinks his one good eye and drops his head tiredly. “He made me read!” she complains a moment later, standing up only to fall weakly against Spencer, who’s regarding her with all evidence of seriousness.
“The big bad man made you read?” It’s probably the candlelight that makes him think that Spencer’s eyes are twinkling at him when the man looks back up. Carlton quickly directs his eyes down at the whining lump on the floor that’s just starting to move.
“Get her out of here,” he orders Spencer and hears the first sounds in the distance of what is likely O’Hara swearing about the cobwebs.
Okay, so three parts. Damn I need to learn to shut up.
Onto to Part Three (which is much shorter).