Fic: Psych, "The Best Policy" PG-13 Shawn/Lassiter Part 3/5

[rispacooper]

Title: The Best Policy In Bed
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, Lassiter/other
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, sex talk.
Summary: Jealous Shawn is forced to realize what is damn obvious to everyone else. AKA: The crossover that is not a crossover.
Disclaimer: The characters from Psych aren't mine. Technically, Alan Taylor belongs to me, but I still feel the need to disclaim him somehow anyway.





They went top speed all the way there—which, since it was Gus, meant they'd done the limit, but which had still been alarming.

It had been more alarming to get past the groups of disgruntled cops who looked ready to kick some paparazzi ass and those silly cameraman still outside the station who seemed to have multiplied though it was hardly a Lindsay feeding frenzy, and walk into the station only to have Buzz and Vick and Jules practically run over to him.

“Shawn!”

“Shawn, where have you been?”

“Thank goodness you're here, Mr. Spencer.” The Chief's voice cut through everyone else's and Shawn held up a hand.

“I sense something's wrong...something with Lassieface.” He stopped there but glared at Vick anyway.

“I had no say in this, Mr. Spencer,” she explained and then crossed her arms. “Detective Lassiter didn't do anything wrong and this station stands behind him.”

“Yeah!” Buzz echoed.

“That is good to hear.” Shawn switched on a smile again. “Now...what exactly did happen?”

“Oh, Shawn...” Jules rolled her eyes.

“Sheesh! Okay! I don't read the paper! God! Like that's a crime!” he exclaimed and the Chief put a hand to his shoulder to calm him. She cleared her throat.

“It really isn't that bad.”

“Obstructing justice,” Jules grumbled.

“Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara went to the UCSB campus yesterday afternoon to interview students in the History Department. And apparently, they were followed.”

Jules shook her head.

“Or...” The Chief seemed to sense that though Jules was behind her. “Someone here tipped off a photographer. And believe me, we will find out who.”

“That's why you need me?” Shawn looked around for Lassie, scowled because they hadn't gotten to him yet and yes, he'd been getting ready to leave town, but suddenly he needed to see a cheap suit like now.

“No.” Vick took a deep breath. “This photographer, who is now downstairs on charges of obstruction, took pictures of the crime scene, and of Lassiter with every suspect, and because of...well now, the murder is receiving some national attention and people who were photographed are complaining about their privacy.”

“It wasn't a murder. And what about Lassie's privacy?” Shawn commented, then focused when they all just blinked at him. Even Gus. What? “That's not Lassie's fault.”

“Nonetheless,” the Chief bit out when both Juliet and Buzz opened their mouths, “the brass decided that for the sake of the department, Detective Lassiter should use some of his built-up vacation time.”

“That's it?” Shawn asked, then corrected himself. This was Lassiter. His personal grumpypants. But okay, he could handle this, see why they might all be concerned. “I'm guessing he reacted to that as calmly as he reacts to anything standing between him and justice.”

“He stormed off to the gun range and scared everyone else out,” Jules broke in. “He hasn't come out since. And we're too...well nobody's gone in. Well, I did, but he wouldn't stop firing long enough to let me speak.”

“We were hoping you could have a talk with him, Mr. Spencer.” Vick took over again and Shawn exchanged a look with Gus. Gus shook his head in a nice but very firm “hell no” kind of way.

“Me?” Shawn asked anyway, to stall, worked a lopsided smile. Lassie was mad at him right now, more than usual. It wasn't like Lassie would shoot him, exactly, but seeing Shawn was not going to calm him down.

“Mr. Spencer, I'll admit you have a...peculiar...relationship with Detective Lassiter...” Gus made a rude noise. Shawn smacked his arm. Gus smacked him back. “However,” Vick continued, her mouth briefly curving up, “you can also “read” him, perhaps let us know what he's feeling.”

“He's pissed,” Shawn informed her instantly then looked at his sneakers. “Why didn't you call his...call Alan?”

“Mr. Taylor is giving an interview and can't be reached. In any case, Mr. Spencer, you really are the best person for this. If Detective Lassiter were going to kill you, he would have by now.”

Gus coughed to cover a laugh but didn't look any less freaked out.

“Please, Shawn,” Jules asked, her eyes only a fraction more puppy-like than Buzz's. Shawn turned away from them, knew he was turning in the direction of the gun range. He hadn't had any pineapple today, there was no reason for him to be acting this crazy.

Well, one.

“Then it's settled. Thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Chief Vick smiled tightly and vanished. Shawn looked at everyone else, then swallowed.

He didn't need to “read” Lassiter. He already knew that Lassie was furious and embarrassed, professionally and personally, insulted, and hurt, not that he'd admit to the last part. Maybe lost too, because this station was everything to him. Shawn could even admit to maybe, possibly, despite everything in his entire childhood, being pretty fond of this station too, or at least working here, and the cops he knew by name, and who knew his name, and looked to him for answers.

Gus may have been right about that trust thing. Because they were looking to him again right now and he wasn't even one of them, not like Lassie, who, gay or not, was now the hero of the station.

But it wasn't like Shawn was going to be any use calming Lassie down. That wasn't what he did, or at least Shawn had never tried it, tried deliberately calming Lassiter down instead of revving him up. And they wouldn't talk, they had never had anything in common to talk about except cases and work, and Shawn wasn't a part of those anymore after yesterday.

He looked toward the range again anyway, kind of moved, and Jules seized his arm.

“I knew you'd do it.” She squeezed him and lifted her nose. “So much for Hollywood romance,” she declared loftily.

“Dude, you are so dead,” was all Gus had to say.

“Psh.” Shawn's voice wobbled though as he followed Jules. As he had to follow Jules; the way she had his arm, and Gus, that traitor, stayed with Buzz. “Lassie would never really hurt me.”

“Exactly.” Jules smiled an innocent smile that nobody with a grip like Slyvester Stallone in “Over the Top” should be able to smile.

“What?” Shawn managed as they moved down the long hall to the stairs. Downstairs, Jules only continued to grin.

The hall had been cleared in case of a Lassie-rampage, he noticed, and from behind one door he could barely hear muffled shots.

“I still don't get why you called me,” he tried, for the Spencer name, or pride, or something. Jules patted his shoulder before opening that door and shoving him inside.

“Because this is your chance, Shawn. Don't mess it up,” she told him in one breath. “What?” she added when his mouth fell open. “I caught on eventually. And, oh,” she sucked in her lower lip, “but maybe put on a vest, just in case.”

And like that, she closed the door.

.......


She didn't lock it, but she hardly had to. The moment it was closed and Shawn was alone with the sound of gun shots, he did something incredibly stupid. He moved toward them.

He only stopped when he was past the short hallway filled with protective gear and warning signs, at the inner door, and that was only to grab some earmuffs and dorky plastic eye guards. Some protection was justified after all.

There was only Lassie inside the range itself, at the center lane, positioned straight and tall and focused on emptying a clip into a very sad-looking paper target.

Shawn watched from the doorway for a long time, then made himself come the rest of the way in. There was maybe a second of hesitation between rounds that meant Lassie knew he wasn't alone anymore, and then he kept firing. In front of him was a stack of shot-up targets and some boxes of bullets. If Lass had been at this for over an hour, his arms must be tired.

But he fired until he was spent and then lowered the gun. He breathed out, slowly, then turned to look at Shawn.

“Spencer.” Shawn saw Lassiter form the name and removed his annoying giant ear muffs. After a pause, Lassie lowered his too, but then faced to the target range and hit the button to bring his latest victim up. “You're the last one I expected to see,” he said as he took it down, stared at it for a few moments too long. There wasn't much to see; the big gaping holes where the chest and head were supposed to be were not comforting. But Lass seemed calm...or at least eerily quiet.

Shawn had to fill the silence. The joke was habit.

“Guess who sucks at Rock Paper Scissors.” He took another step in, stopped again when Lassiter looked at him, unfreezing enough to scowl.

“I'm not going to go postal. You can tell those idiots that on your way out.” He stared for another moment and the blue wasn't cold at all, even if his voice was.

Shawn curled his hands into his jeans and when he didn't comment, or move, as he had long since learned to ignore Lassie's orders for him to leave, Lassiter took his gaze away to check his gun.

“Your new 9 mil?” Shawn bounded forward, stopped again at the hitch in Lassie's breathing, the way he half-turned with surprise. Shawn hadn't needed to be psychic for that; Lassie had only been ogling that thing online for weeks.

“You know guns, Spencer?” Lassiter recovered enough not to bother to ask how Shawn knew it was new, cleared his throat, and Shawn hopped another inch closer.

“Please. My father is Henry Spencer. I've probably been to this range more than you have.”

Lassiter snorted, but paused to study him out of the corner of his eye.

“Well...maybe not that much. I have a lif—I mean, I have other methods of getting out my aggression.”

“Xbox?” Lassiter rolled his eyes. “It's nothing to the real thing in your hands.” He ejected the empty clip and caught it before setting it carefully to the side. Then he grabbed a new, cool one.

Shawn snapped his gaze up from Lassie's big, graceful hands and what they were doing when Lassi looked up. Words streamed out, like always, though he tried to tell himself that the object here wasn't to get thrown up against a wall. Nothing was going to happen even if he did, and he was supposed to be keeping Lassie calm...ish.

“First of all, Lass, you know you're a secret Metal Gear Solid fan and an Xbox is nothing to turn up your cute, was-once-broken nose at.” Then he examined his sneakers for the second time that day when Lassiter jerked his head up to study him.

After an awkward pause, Shawn looked back with his eyebrows raised. “Anyway, if you don't believe me, check out the plaques on the wall over there.” His said, “Highest Score in the Junior Detective's Tournament. Shawn Spencer. Age Twelve.”

“Seriously?” Lassie blinked, then shook himself. “Nice try, Spencer. I don't need to be talked down. I'm fine.” He loaded another clip, taking his time. Shawn pursed his lips.

“Yeah, I can see that. You realize that everyone out there is on your side, right?”

“O'Hara and I weren't followed.” Lassiter spoke through his teeth and slammed the new clip in.

“Oh, I promise you, Lassamillion, I will find the person who sold you out. They will know the wrath of...well I don't have a wrath, but the Chief does.”

Lassiter did that half-turn again, angling another look at him. Probably trying to see if Shawn was wired or something. If he was serious. Shawn nodded, because it felt oh so serious.

“You know, Lassie, with those protective glasses on,” he exhaled, “you look like a near-sighted Dirty Harry. I mean...” he added quickly when Lassie instantly turned back to the target and his shoulders were so tense they were almost at his ears. “...that you're a natural.” A sexy beast, whatever, “...Like a movie cop.”

“I am a cop, Spencer,” Lassie snarled and yanked up his ear muffs to squeeze off six shots. They hit dead center. His arms were starting to shake with exhaustion.

“You know, you could warn a guy!” Shawn shouted. He'd barely gotten his muffs up in time. He pointed to them for emphasis and Lassiter stopped, pulled his down again.

“Sorry,” he grunted with a sour face. Evidently, Lassie didn't like apologizing either. Shawn took that as a sign to glide forward another few feet. He was good at reading Lassie, maybe had been the best before Alan—except Alan had known him first, but Shawn wasn't thinking about that. The point was, if Lassie was calm enough to apologize, he wasn't going to shoot.

“It's okay.” Shawn waved it away. “You have a right to be upset...” He peeked over; Lassiter was still again, wary as he watched Shawn, like he'd never seen Shawn this reasonable. Honestly, like Shawn was going to do the Macarena or call out in Little Girl Voice right now. It was tempting, but no. He could do this, he could...he swallowed...have a conversation. With Lassie. “How long anyway?”

“Three weeks—at least.” Lassiter's fingers stroked his Glock. Shawn studied that, then glanced back to the rest of the man himself.

“But it's worth it, right?”

Lassiter's forehead wrinkled.

“What's worth it, Spencer?” He all-the-way turned to face Shawn, left the gun in his hand at his side. Shawn's nose felt itchy.

“You know...Alan... The...love...thing,” he added quietly when Lassiter's face started to darken with big Irish storm clouds, but that one word made his eyes fall away. They came back a moment later, a hard blue.

“What's it to you, Spencer?”

Gus had never said anything about Lassiter being pissed at him when the time came, Shawn reflected briefly in his moment of panic and confusion. And also, he had to complain to Jules later that he hadn't seen one bulletproof vest out there, not that would have done any good in the protecting his heart area of defense.

“I just...” By now he ought to be used to the sandpaper mouth and roller coaster stomach. He wasn't. Being in love sucked. He was supposed to be able to speak. “It's funny...” Lassi was staring at him, with a serious, stern, sexy Lassie frown. “I just...lov—like...a story with a happy ending, birthday cakes on tables and mad dashes through the airport to get to the girl in time,” he finished at last, or so he thought, but his mouth was moving. “And I don't...I've never seen one in real life.”

Carlton shooting him would not be a bad thing right now, even if Henry would probably enjoy the funeral way too much.

Lassiter stared at him a moment longer, the line between his eyes getting worse. Then he pushed out a breath and dropped his shoulders.

“Spencer, that statement explains so much about you.” His mouth twisted.

“What? No, I...” Shawn tried to cover, even though for once he had no idea what Lassie was talking about. Lassie couldn't know things about him, could he? That would mean...something. Something potentially bad. Or awesome, a small voice insisted. Shawn tried to drown it out with babble.

“You know, three weeks isn't that bad.” His voice was getting higher and faster and there wasn't anything he could do about it. “You do deserve a break, Car—Lassiepants, something nice, you...guys...should have fun.” He couldn't believe himself, telling Lassie to have fun with Alan. And he kind of meant it. “Go crazy. And before you know it, you'll be back at work...because you will, you will come back, right? You wouldn't just pack up and leave, I mean, what kind of jerk would just leave and...?” Oh yeah, he would. “I mean, that would be very un-Lassie-like and...”

He slapped a hand over his own mouth. He did not think this was what Gus had been talking about when he'd mentioned being honest.

“Christ, Spencer I'm not going to shoot you. Take a breath.” Lassie ordered and Shawn nodded, took a long, loud gulp of air. Carlton's eyes on him were as sharp as his voice, so Shawn skipped over to the side wall full of wooden plaques covered in tiny, engraved metal strips. Then he tried to get his pulse to something resembling normal. He found the plaque with his name instantly and wiped the dust from it.

“Not that it's any of your business, Spencer, but life is nothing like that. Love like that generally ends in des... Look, despite what those movies say, no, it isn't worth it.”

Shawn spun around, totally surprised. Lassie wasn't looking at him. His back was straight as he attached a new paper target.

“If it's...real...you would never ask a person to give up their calling for you. It never works anyway. No matter how insane that calling is, or dangerous, or much it pisses you off, or how difficult it makes your life to have to deal with something so odd and public and loud.” He stopped short there and Shawn frowned. Obviously Lass was talking about his ex-wife and Alan's acting career. “You wait, and you see if there's any way you could possibly make it work. Maybe sometimes you wait too long...”

“So...” Shawn was relieved that Lassie wasn't leaving and yet he still couldn't breathe. “...You're going to try the long distance thing?” This time Lassie spun around, just for a moment, to stare at him. Then he shook his head.

“I give up,” he muttered finally and twisted to the side so Shawn couldn't see his face.

“Cheer up, Lass.” Shawn swallowed even though he hadn't had any pineapple today to get any stuck in his throat. “A lot of guys would love a three week paid vacation. Henry even invited you over for fishing and very masculine beer. And I'm sure Jules will keep you up to date on your cases, and I think Buzz might be a little bi-curious...”

“I know you take pride in acting like an idiot, Spencer, but try to get it through your head that I'm worried about more than what to do with myself for three weeks.” Lassie sent the target back.

“Obviously you and...Alan...will be busy...” He really had to learn to stop hesitating over that name.

“This isn't about Alan,” Lassiter barked, turned again, all hot blue eyes and a hot gun. “This is about my position and responsibilities. People relying on me. O'Hara needs a partner she can trust at her back and how many times are you and Guster going to run screaming into the arms of some nutjob before it occurs to either of you to stay behind the scenes?”

“You...” Shawn's mouth moved. He forced it to make words, since it was shaping them anyway. Lassie was worried about him? “The nutjobs are part of what I lov—like about my job and,” he fidgeted, then glared across the room, “I can take care of myself. You shouldn't...uh...worry...about...” He couldn't say it, because he wanted that to be true and the truth seemed to suck his air from him. He jerked his thumbs at his chest instead.

Lassiter snorted. Shawn narrowed his eyes, but did his best imitation of a careless shrug.

“Jokes aren't protection, Spencer.” Which was like that thing about mechanisms that Alan had said. Psychology that just made Shawn feel like he was talking to his mother, and he didn't think she would know anything about happy endings either.

Shawn rubbed the dust off his fingers. “They've worked fine so far.” Mostly.

Lassie snorted again, but it was dusty in there. Okay Lassie had had to save him a time or two.

“And when they don't?”

“I have you...and Jules.” Shawn cleared his throat and shoved himself forward. “Anyway, I am Henry Spencer's son, for better or for worse—usually worse.” He reached Lassie but just stopped without touching him. He looked down. “May I?”

“You're asking?” Lassie's voice was rough.

“Hey I know better than to touch a man's gun without permission.” The humor was in his voice even if he kept his gaze on Lassie's fingers on Lassie's Glock, the way they tightened before easing back and bringing the gun up for him, butt first.

Shawn took it just as carefully, holding his breath. It was hot to the touch, and heavy. Lassie had strong arms, but he really had to be tired.

He popped the clip to check it anyway, flicked the safety on and off again, then peered down the sights. “Nice.”

“Thank you.” The quiet rumble was almost better than touching. He wondered if Lassie's face was red. His was. He covered it as well as he always did, lifted his chin and got loud.

“Now let the champion do his thing.”

“Champion?” He could still feel the rumbles even when Lassie stepped back. “How about you try not to kill us both, Spencer.”

“I had the highest score of all the cops' kids... You know what, whatever. The proof's on the wall over there if you don't believe me.” He waved briefly behind him.

“I'll take your word for it.” Shawn only caught a mumble as he put his ear muffs back on, then lined himself up, squinted briefly, and fired.

The first was a surprise. It had been a while. But before Lassie could mock him, Shawn straightened and squeezed the trigger again.

It was weirdly quiet and loud at the same time. He could hear the shots and his heart in his ears, nothing else. It was hot too, and smelly. Warm gun oil and cordite. He hated it, always had, especially the strain on his arms, but he kept them up because this felt important, in a non-psychic way. Something to impress Lassie with that wasn't a lie.

When he was felt he was done he dropped his arms, went still as Lassiter leaned around him to hit the button to bring his target up.

He lifted his head, watched Lassiter's lips part, then quirk up, then flatten, before he turned to look at Shawn. His mouth moved, and Shawn had to push away his protective gear to hear him.

“The shoulders, Spencer?” Lassie pointed to their paper target guy, who now had large holes in each shoulder, where all of Shawn's bullets had gone though in neat circles.

“Well I wasn't going to kill him, Lassie!” Shawn protested. “He could have had kids or a dog! Maybe just a fish or a ferret but I'm not going to judge a man for his pets. The heart wants what the heart wants, as the film, “Say Anything” told us.” Lassie's lips curved up again before he straightened them. He when he leaned back against the narrow dividing wall, his shoulders were a straight, easy line. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“I think killing him might have been less cruel than making him suffer.” From his tone, Shawn had a feeling that was supposed to be a joke, very dry. “And ferrets aren't legal as pets in California.”

“I suppose arms are useful.” Shawn tried to seem surprised and innocent and not like he'd already known that about the ferrets. Then he held the gun out, waiting for Carlton to take it. “Maybe you and Henry ought to have some target practice together. You can shoot and talk about Swiss watches and ways in which I've disappointed you. Ought to relax you in no time.”

“I was upset, Spencer!” Lassiter took a hand to smooth back his hair but didn't take the gun. “People get upset. Then they get over it. It isn't always the end of the world.” Lass frowned, considered him. His tone was a hair shy of butthurt. “Do I really seem like the type to hold grudges to you?”

Shawn really wished he could ask if that was a reference to yesterday. He was pretty sure it was. And also yes. Lassie seemed grudge-ready. He had a black book of people he'd put away so he could drive by their houses in his spare time. Which was mainly proof that Lassie had too much free time. He needed a real boyfriend.

“Not if you have a gun handy,” he tossed back at last with a smile, but he pulled the hand with the gun back toward him, just in case. Though Lassie didn't seem angry. In fact, Lassie seemed...almost mellow now. He wasn't moving to do anything but lean against the barrier and listen to Shawn.

Shawn felt his pulse pick up again. He should have guessed that the way to Lassie's heart was through his Glock.

“So what do you do?” Lassiter was frowning, but it was his normal frown. The default Lassie expression, a scowl above a blue like Mexican waters.

“What?” Shawn had honestly gotten lost in the man's eyes for a moment. Must have, because he didn't get it.

“When you want to get your aggression out? You said...” Lassie paused, and his frown intensified. “Or do you even get upset, Spencer? Because...I...” he pulled at his tie and glanced away. “Sorry,” he grunted. “Obviously, when Guster...” He didn't finish. Didn't need to.

“I don't have aggression, Lass.” Except for when he thought of curly blond hair and crinkly eyes. Shawn clutched at the gun, then turned and yanked down the paper target. “But though I am amazingly good-looking and have fantastic hair as well incredible psych—well, crime-solving abilities, I do get...upset...on occasion.” Shawn cleared his throat. “When that happens, I drown myself in pineapple. Or in movies. Or run aw—I mean leave. For awhile.”

“You leave.” Lassie said flatly, nicely not noticing that Shawn was having problems folding up the paper target.

“Of those I recommend the movies, Lassie.” It was a good thing he was experienced at faking a light tone. “You should try it.” He couldn't quite make himself offer his Alan Taylor collection though.

“I told you, movies aren't real.” Lassie was right behind him, and he had to have noticed Shawn's trouble with the target by now. Even Lass couldn't miss that.

“I know.” Shawn tried to say, only it came out quietly. Maybe it was the room, sound-proofed and locked up tight, dead silent now that no one was firing off rounds.

“Do you?” Lassie snorted, then reached around Shawn to grab a new target and set it up. He hit the button and sent it back to the wall, all the way back. He clearly meant for Shawn to shoot again, but he wasn't moving. Once the target was in place, Shawn could practically feel the frown against the back of his neck.

“Lass?” He had no idea why he was whispering, with the ear protection on he ought to be shouting. Lassie pointed then dropped his hand.

“Aim for the heart, Spencer. Everything else doesn't...” He paused, swore softly, then spoke just above Shawn's ear. Shawn could just hear him. “The heart. Otherwise there's no point.”

“Should I group my shots too?” Shawn thought about asking, maybe even going for sarcasm or wondering why not the head shot, but Lassie was right there, waiting, and the finer points of his joke would be muffled, maybe lost forever. Anyway, this was serious. Paper Man didn't stand a chance.

“The heart, Spencer,” Lassie repeated when Shawn didn't move, leaving Shawn to finish the rest in his head. Lassie's hand brushed his side. Shawn brought the gun up and fired off five shots like he meant them. Then there was more silence, and the smell of a recently fired weapon, and Lassie exhaling, long and slow, as they stared at the perfect, small hole in Paper Man's heart, where Shawn's every shot had gone through.

They were still touching. It was why Shawn couldn't think of anything smug to say, though he would have had every right to brag. Lassie wasn't congratulating him, didn't seem even a little wound up. Which was good, Shawn had done his job and calmed him down, but bad, because Shawn's heart was racing and he was tense and breathless and if this didn't impress Lassie, nothing else he ever did was going to.

He turned suddenly, lifted his head to try to catch any stray expression on Lassie's face, only to end up watching Lassie hit the button to bring the paper target back, then tear it down. He swallowed as Lassie stared down at the evidence of Shawn's marksmanship. For once, Shawn couldn't tell what the man was thinking.

“Not bad.” Lassie's voice was quiet, but it still rumbled. He was impressed. Shawn had impressed him. His head was swimming, his feet light. His heart was pounding like it was trying to break out of his chest. He fell—stepped—back, and Lassie was right there behind him, speaking in a low, intense tone as he finally put down the target and his arms were on either side of Shawn. “Of course you'd hit dead center.”

Lassie seemed almost resigned. Or at least wasn't angry, or fighting.

Wait. That was important. Shawn was touching him but Lassie wasn't fighting, or angry. Shawn almost couldn't grasp it. He sucked in a shaky breath to answer and winced when all that escaped was a squeak.

A squeak. Like he'd suddenly turned into a fourteen year old girl in the presence of the Bieber. He tried again, thought, Lassie is with me, he's mine now, and gave a small laugh.

Lassie immediately shoved himself back. Shawn turned, too slow, his mouth still moving but nothing coming out when he saw Lassie's stern, unhappy face. He held out his hand and without thinking Shawn offered him the gun back. Lassie's fingers were warm. Shawn still couldn't manage a serious word when they brushed his, but he tried.

“Anyway,” Lassie coughed, stopping Shawn on another squeak. “I'm fine, Spencer. But I'll tell those idiots out there myself if it will make them stop. Then you won't be forced to come after me.”

“No, I...” There it was, his voice. Higher than usual, but his voice. Lassie shrugged, then popped the clip, expelling the last cartridge and catching it in one slick, well-practiced move that Shawn didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing. Lassie only scowled at that too, glaring at his hand while Shawn wet his mouth, and then abruptly leaned forward to loom and press the bullet into Shawn's palm.

“Just...try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, would you, Spencer?” Lassie kept his gaze on Shawn's hand, his hand, momentarily wrapped around Shawn's, then swore to himself and turned and walked out of the room.

Shawn stared at the bullet in his hand. Then he swore too.

“Ham and pineapple!”

Now his voice worked.


.........


“You want to know what to do, kid?” Henry, naturally, didn't feel like pussyfooting around. The one time where Shawn had been sure he'd get embarrassed and gruff, Henry was being practically as matter of fact as his mother.

But then, Shawn had stopped by to pick up the movies from his box set over an hour ago and ended up watching Henry wash his truck, had even half-heartedly wiped at the windows with the rag Henry had tossed at him when Henry ordered to make himself useful if he was going to hang around.

He'd stopped wiping whenever Henry had looked away, of course.

After following Henry back inside, and then to the porch, he had still been somewhat taken aback when Henry had sat down and pulled out two beers from a small cooler he'd had ready and given him one.

Apparently, Shawn's ability to speak wasn't just something he only lost around Lassiter. With his father's eyes on him, he opened his mouth, then shut it, then made a face.

“Light beer? Since when are you on a diet?” he said, because he had totally only showed up to collect his movies, just in case he felt like watching them in the near future.

“I'm not getting any younger, Shawn, and you aren't exactly in the best shape you've ever been in. I thought you joined the department's softball team. You should run some laps.” He patted Shawn's belly and ignored his gasp of outrage.

“I am in the prime of my life, in peak physical condition thank you very much, unlike someone else I could name who spent most of his afternoon napping on the couch and watching the Game Show Network.”

“That was you, Shawn,” Henry didn't even miss a beat. “And don't worry about me, I'm not the one who has to compete with Hollywood.” When Shawn froze, his father leaned over, patted his stomach again, but then his shoulder, softer and slower.

It was so well-meaning that Shawn had to fight his urge to shudder dramatically and ask if Henry was taking his medication. He only didn't because he wasn't in the mood, and because last week when he'd controlled himself around Lassie he was willing to swear it had almost, almost, worked.

“I have no idea what you're talking about” wasn't going to fly with Henry either. He opened his mouth again, just in time to catch the look of concern on his dad's face.

“What?”

He immediately got a wrist to his forehead before he swatted it away.

“You sure you're okay, kid? Not sick?”

“I'm fine! Why would you even ask that?” Shawn scoffed, took a swig of light beer, then put it down.

“Why would I...?” Henry shook his head. “It's Saturday afternoon, Shawn. You are sitting on my porch. With me. How many more clues do I need to know that you have something you want to talk about?”

“Fine. Dad, I've been meaning to have this talk for a while now, but I can't hold it in anymore. I'm gay.”

“Oh knock it off.” Henry rolled his eyes. “You made that more than clear when you sent me those pictures of you with that man at that pride parade a few years ago. Not to mention having known you for your teenage years. And you're bisexual. I remember the girls too.”

“That was celebrity Grand Marshal Jim J. Bullock and it was a honor just to have my picture taken with Monroe from Too Close for Comfort.” Shawn shifted, considered getting up, but Henry poked him in the arm until he sat back. “Ow! I am so sick of the man, always keeping me down!”

“Shut up, Shawn,” Henry sighed. He drank some beer, then burped, then looked over. “You want me to tell you why you're here, is that it? You want me to spell it out for you so you don't have to? Nope, kid, sorry, but I'm not going to play that game.”

“Oh sure, it's fine for you and the donut guy to gossip, but when it comes to your son you can't manage one conversation...”

“You want to talk about the weather, Shawn? Football? Exchange recipes? Because I do have things I could be doing.”

Shawn's head went back but before he could say anything, Henry sighed again. “But I'm not, I'm sitting here with you, listening to you bitch about my beer instead of whatever it is you want to bitch about.”

Shawn snorted. “You already know what I want to bitc—talk about. And light beer? Why not just drink water?”

Just like Gus predicted, Gus who was psychic now, Henry refused to engage him on the beer issue. Or any other issue. He just smiled with an irritating patience and leaned back. And waited.

Shawn shuffled his feet, picked at his jeans, considering the cuff length of his blue flannel shirt, and considered that it had been a week since Lassie had been to the station, a week since he'd talked to Lassie if not seen him, and the seeing him part was only because Shawn had Extra! set up on his DVR now and because he had years of experience in stalk—trying to date—Lassie.

He exploded.

“I've done everything I can think of to get Lassie's attention! I've solved his cases! I've solved his cases and not even told him it was me!” He still couldn't believe that one. “I've solved his cases for free, for nothing!” Henry gave him a look, so Shawn dropped his voice to amend his statement. “...And only teased him a little about it. I was even serious so he wouldn't get mad at me and it worked, I swear it did. Okay, I wasn't serious, but I didn't ask about his stuffed animal collection or if he was going to that Sci-Fi convention dressed as Sydney from Alias, or smack his ass in front of everyone...again... I actually listened to him, and talked, and it was nice. Nice.” He breathed in, got quieter for a moment. “Really nice. But he didn't...”

Henry's look was uncomfortable. Both to see and to have aimed in his direction. Shawn glanced over the porch for no reason at all. Thought for half a second and then kept going.

“And that's another thing, he doesn't throw me against walls anymore! And he invites me in on cases! Invites me in! What's that supposed to mean? Sure, I know what I thought it meant, but clearly I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? That I was wrong. Well I was. There I was, with a gun in my hands and shooting again, and there he was telling me to...”

Aim for the heart, Spencer. For a moment he could feel Lassie at his back again and shivered. It sounded so final. Unchangeable. But simple. Like one stop shopping for...

His voice dropped because no matter how he thought about it, something was missing and that's what Henry was for, filling in pieces. And dad stuff. Annoying dad stuff he was never going to let Shawn live down. “There he was...and it's all there. I can't be wrong, because I know...I mean...” He looked up and ventured a grin. “I mean how could he possibly resist me?”

Henry stared back at him, then directed his eyes out to the water.

“Okay, sure,” Shawn's voice went right back up, “Lassie has...Alan...now.” He slouched down, did not look at his little belly though his posture was making it worse. “Alan with his good—all right, great—hair and his crinkly smiling eyes that know everything and his stupid suits and his fame and his talent and his money. Not to mention his fancy sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches?” It at least made Henry say something.

“And they've known each other since the Stone Age when Lassie was a hot and impetuous young Lassiter. And he makes Lassie smile—or at least not frown so much. And Lassie has probably never ever threatened to arrest him or slammed him into the side of a car and held him there with his seriously fit body or one time handcuffed him to the steering wheel of a Crown Vic while on a stakeout so he wouldn't leave the car and get into trouble, not realizing that you have way too much experience at getting out of handcuffs...”

“What?” Henry was starting to sit up. Shawn sucked in air and kept going. It was almost easy now that he'd gotten started.

“Lassie says he's not going to leave, but it's been a week and he hasn't even called the station according to Jules and that's just not like him. Sure, okay, he called Jules, but not the station. He's either going to go crazy and vigilante like Batman, or Alan is convincing him right this second to leave Santa Barbara and go to Hollywood with him and I'm telling you, Lass will hate that. Being a cop is his calling, he said so. He said nothing should make someone give up their calling, not even love, no matter how odd or loud or public...”

“He is going to leave. I know it. And it would be a mistake. A mistake so obvious that even Lassie should see it. I could spell it out for him, but he's not exactly super impressed with my abilities right now.”

“Shawn...” Henry tried to interrupt.

“Gus says it shouldn't matter as long as Lassie is happy. But I don't think that would make him happy. Honestly. He should trust me on this.”

“Honestly?” The flat stare made him lose his train of thought for a moment, but just for a moment.

“Have you seen Lassie get excited about a gun? And his face during arrests...it's practically orgasmic.”

“Not something I need to hear or imagine, son,” Henry muttered, scrubbing his cheek with his hand.

“If Alan is his...if he... He should know that about Lass,” Shawn finished, trailing off. His father blinked a few times, then cleared his throat.

“Is that it? You aren't leaving anything out, are you, Shawn?”

Shawn rubbed at his chest, at his front pocket, where he'd put Lassie's bullet today. Yes, he was carrying it with him every day. You never knew when you'd need spare ammo, he'd told Gus a few days ago, when Gus had discovered it. Gus had dared to smirk at him. Shawn had taken his cereal box prize in retaliation. He'd needed that hologram sticker.

“I...”

“Kid, if you can't say it to me...”

“I get where you are going with this, Henry, and I have no intention of saying anything to Lassie, because there isn't any point.” Shawn crossed his arms. Henry took a drink.

“I didn't raise you to be a coward, Shawn.”

“No, you raised me to be a perfect detective with trust issues that Gus and Mom agree are a mile wide.” He said it, then looked over when Henry went quiet. Shawn's chest did a twisty thing, like he'd messed up again, but he'd only said the truth. Everyone kept telling him to be honest.

He grabbed his watery light beer and took a long drink. Henry wasn't looking at him.

“Pop. Dad, I didn't...”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Henry lifted his chin and glared at him.

“What?”

“Do you want...Carlton...?” Okay, so Henry wasn't as cool as with the gay/bisexual thing as he liked to pretend, he still said it. In fact, he said the name the way Shawn pronounced Alan, but Shawn was kind of willing to let it go. For now. Maybe the beer was going to his head. He did suddenly feel lighter for some reason. Dizzy, like he could almost smile.

“I...”

“Then you are going to have to try. If it's worth having, it's worth trying for. What's the worst that can happen...aside from divorce or painful rejection or finding yourself in a love triangle on an E! True Hollywood Story?”

“Okay, don't ever give pep talks again.” Shawn inhaled. Then shuddered. E!...“And I've been trying. Haven't you heard a word I've said? Of course you weren't listening, you were probably counting the things I've done wrong or thinking of new vegetables to sneak into meatloaf...”

“I heard, kid. I heard a lot. You've done everything short of sitting on his lap in the station and...” He put up a hand when Shawn started to speak. “...If you have done that, I don't want to know about it.” Henry turned his stare on his beer. “Is Carlton happy with this...actor?”

Shawn flashed to that image of the two of them on the beach. That kiss by the car.

“Yeah.” He admitted, out loud, and wow, did it suck to say. “Yeah, he is. But if Alan asks him to leave the work, he might do it, no matter what he says. And he'll hate it.” He rubbed at his chest where there was this pang, and then gaped when Henry ismiled. “I just want him to have fun, and be better at his job, not leave it.”

“This actor...” Henry was refusing to say Alan's name in a move Shawn would have admired at any other time. “He a good guy?”

“Of course you'd take his side!” Shawn hopped up and his dad grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into his seat.

“Answer the question, Shawn.”

“He's...kind of perfect.” Shawn crossed his arms. He was pouting and he didn't care who knew it.

“And you think Carlton deserves perfect...” It was a good thing Henry wasn't asking, because Shawn didn't think he could answer that. A few sips of beer wasn't enough to drown out the hollow feeling that gave him. All the pineapple in the world wouldn't matter either. He frowned and nodded.

Henry was smiling again. It was just cruel, except...

“Go see him, Shawn. Do what you have to as long as Carlton is happy.” His father burped and then settled back like he needed a rest and this was a job well done. Shawn's mouth fell open but Henry beat him to his next protest. “And try harder. I didn't raise a quitter either.”


.......

Shawn wasn't sure about that. But he waited uncertainly outside Lassie's house for about two hours in the hot mid-morning sun the next day, well, by the trees in the distance, beyond the scope of the one or two paparazzi that had stayed to watch Carlton and not Alan when Alan had left early that morning for the airport to go to some event or something in LA.

He was just...making sure Lass was alone. And once Lassie was and Shawn realized the cameramen might notice him here after all, he hurried to the house and knocked on the front door so pictures of him hovering like a nervous date wouldn't end up being dissected by Slater.

It was still uncomfortable standing there. Waiting, with the world...two guys with cameras...watching while Lassie studied him through the peephole...while Shawn considered that Lassie might not let him in.

But after a long thirty seconds, the door opened and Lassie was there, just out of sight of the cameras, frowning down at him. In a shirt and tie.

“You know you're on vacation, right?” It just fell out of his mouth. It wasn't his fault.

It wasn't a bad look though. Blue shirt, new tie, dark stripes. Alan had picked it out, Shawn could tell. He hated it. Lass looked amazing.

“Forced vacation,” Lassie bit out, but didn't exactly invite him in. Shawn could feel photographers getting more interested and scratched the back of his neck. He'd put on a clean shirt, taken extra time with his hair, but he wasn't Alan Taylor, that was obvious.

He nodded, because, well, Lassie didn't exactly do casual, though Shawn had a distinct memory of Lassie wearing Shawn's plaid shirt, with adorably scruffy hair and faint stubble along his jaw. He licked his mouth.

“Not gonna invite me in?” he wondered. He had a bribe in his pants if necessary. Sadly, he did not mean that in a sexual way. Lassie's eyes swept over him, again, Shawn realized, they already had, and a line formed between his eyes. “Come on, Lass, I thought we were at least friends...”

Lassie's gaze settled on his face. Shawn scratched again, decided to study the tie. “Frenemies?” he tried. Lassie sighed. Shawn felt his shoulders droop. “Guys who work together? Two people not actively trying to kill each other?” If meep was a real sound, it was the sound he made as he said that.

He glanced up, Lassie's frown was still there, but he sighed again and stepped aside. “Come on in, Spencer. And I never tried to kill you,” he added as Shawn practically leapt inside.

“Ah, but you wanted to once or twice,” Shawn shook a finger at him, grinning widely at his first victory of the day and Lassie's mouth actually twitched, like he wanted to smile too.

“Only at the beginning.” Lassie closed the door then crossed his arms. Shawn ignored this unwelcoming posture and wandered briefly around the living room. It was as he remembered it, though the plants he'd snuck in months and months ago were still alive. He'd been waiting for Lassie to comment on those, but he never had. Maybe he should have left a note, but Lassie had to know where they'd come from.

Shawn had thought, even with Drimmer's gun in his face, that the place could use some living up. Henry's garden had too many plants anyway.

“Why are you here, Spencer?” The question brought Shawn's attention from the two hundred dollar leather loafers under the coffee table and socks shoved into the couch cushions.

“I...” He wasn't picturing couch cuddles. Not at all. He yanked the files from under his shirt, and out of his pants, and offered them. He spoke when Lassie looked down and took them. “Things are kind of slow down there. Without you. And I thought you might be bored, and...”

“You stole files.”

“Honestly, Lass, if you know already, then why even say it?” A few years ago, that would have meant a fist in his shirt and his back to the wall. But Lassie was just glaring. Shawn was sure being thrown against the wall would have felt better.

“I'm not supposed to touch any cases right now.” Like Shawn hadn't said anything, Lassie went on. But his fingers were already stroking the tabs with the number and name written on them. Shawn knew that Jules had, not very stealthily, already snuck him those same case files yesterday.

“As though you haven't...” Shawn started, then realized, too late, that if he admitted that he already knew that Lassie had copies of those files, that he had no reason to be here except that he had just really, really wanted to see Lass, and he was never, ever that obvious. Except to Alan.

What if Alan had said something? It was a nightmare scenario suddenly come to life.

“Did you look at these?” Lassie didn't exactly look fooled though. He looked considering, and stayed silent, letting Shawn stew, panic, mentally flail at the idea that Alan had told Lassie everything about him, and then he stepped in in an interrogation move that Shawn should have seen coming. “What did you think? I told O'Hara to look at the vendor, but she's insisting it was the guard. So far she can't find anything to even show a connection.”

“That's the thing about conspiracies. More than one person means way too many lies to keep track of.” Shawn hopped, wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed or just happy when Lassie's expression sharpened. “Or so I've been told by many well-informed dead people.”

“Why would it be both of them?” Lassie's chin was up and Shawn's came up to match, and a few hundred pictures of imaginary visions that might convince Lass came to mind, but Lassie jerked a hand at him and then stalked over to his kitchen. He had a glass of what looked like juice and he finished it while waiting. He was waiting. For Shawn to explain.

Shawn hopped again, followed him into the kitchen. He didn't care if it was only because Lassie was bored and stir-crazy. He hadn't talked to Lass in a week. His heart was doing somersaults. His feet were a little unsteady. If Lass had been seated, Shawn would have plopped in his lap.

“Why wouldn't it be?” He couldn't express it better than that. Lassie gave him another sharp look. He shrugged. “What can I say? I see things differently from other people.”

“I'm beginning to see that.” He was pretty sure it was another dry joke. Or Lassie was saying Shawn was crazy. Shawn pouted, mostly for effect. Lass rolled his eyes.

It was the sweetest thing ever. Next to, of course, how Lassie opened up the file and laid it out in front of him. Shawn barely glanced at it. Lassie was studying him, not quite suspicious. More like...he was curious.

“Henry taught you to shoot,” Lassie commented casually. Shawn nodded, scooting closer. He'd told Lassie that. “He made you take the detective's exam, and you got a perfect score,” Lass added, only this time Shawn had the sense to blink, to take a step back in alarm.

“So? Henry is...well Henry had a lot of free time after Mom le...after the divorce, and...”

“Uh huh.” Was all Lassie said. Shawn opened his mouth, held back his questions about what Alan must have said just in time. Alan hadn't said anything, Shawn had let Lassie see everything. Almost everything. Enough.

“I told you I was gifted.” A non-lie. The best kind.

Lassie snorted, not amused.

“Forced vacation really gives you time to think, huh?” If Lass made a single move toward his handcuffs, for once, Shawn was running the other way. Lass didn't seem especially surprised though. He tapped the file again. If he'd been playing cards, it would have meant “Hit me”.

“You would have seen it too!” Shawn's voice was getting a skoch high. “Eventually, I mean. Sometimes cases get routine and you get used to routine. But sometimes they aren't, and it just takes you a while longer to...um...think outside the trapezoid. You were really fond of that trapezoid, for a long time. But now you...seem to like being outside the lines too.”

Shawn wanted to smash his face into the counter. Whatever would make him stop talking.

“I guess we have Alan to thank for that, huh?” He officially hated Alan. Especially the way Lassie said the name. “Alan?” Innocently. Like he didn't know what Shawn was talking about.

And then especially-er when Lassie's cell phone rang and he could tell from the way Lassie's face changed that it was Alan on the phone. Lassie didn't even apologize, he just partly turned away and lowered his voice.

It sounded intimate.

Shawn didn't pretend that he wasn't listening. Not even when Lassie spared a moment to wave and growl at him.

“No, no I'm not alone, how did you...? Yes. Yes, it's Sh—Spencer.” Lassie turned more, but whatever Alan was saying made him flush pink to his ears. “My tone doesn't... Christ, does everyone think I'm that obvious?”

If he'd been saying that to Shawn, he would have actually been angry. Shawn drooped, closed the file because there wasn't any point in that anymore. He wasn't impressing Lassie, or not enough anyway. And work was the one thing they for sure had in common. Now that Lassie knew the truth...all that meant was Shawn had no excuse to fondle him at the station anymore. He ought to be grateful that he wasn't getting arrested but he didn't feel grateful. He didn't feel anything but squashed. Maybe like he had a wine cooler hangover the likes of which he hadn't known since he was fourteen and he and Gus and gotten their hands on three cases. Fruit-flavored malt liquor was always a bad idea.

He didn't even feel surprised that Alan knew he was here, though he did think of his dad long enough to raise his voice and call out, “Hey, Alan. How's L.A.? Miss it already?” He hoped. Lassie gave him a look like he hadn't expected Shawn to do that, and then was right back to Alan.

“I do not have a type. Not for men or women,” Lassie hissed that last bit, and Shawn actually heard Alan laugh right as he did. Though Shawn's was more bitter, and he said, “Yeah, blond and stunning,” afterward, but Alan said something else he couldn't hear. Then Lassie hiccuped and pulled at his tie.

“It's not even noon...” he exclaimed breathlessly and Shawn actually felt sick. “Yes, I have been thinking about it...how did you?” He slanted a look at Shawn and this time Shawn spun on his heel and stared at the wall. The boring off-white wall with the pretty shelf with the green plant that was looking a little yellow. Maybe it was sick too.

Lovesick. If it would have worked, he would have sniffled loudly. But Lassie was practically having phone sex right in front of him, with Alan, and didn't notice.

Boring phone sex at least. All whispers and blushing and growls that Alan wasn't funny. Shawn would have had Lassie panting into the phone and touching himself by now, audience or no audience. Well, maybe no audience. The police station was a little different. That was more like...staking a claim.

Which hadn't worked, he reminded himself. And ouch. Ouch though. He rubbed at his jean pocket, at the bullet, and frowned. Lassie and Alan had only been apart for a few hours. If they were like this after hours of separation then what would happen when Alan left for good?

“I have to go,” Lassie cut Alan off, his voice getting lower and lower. Private. Relaxed. And Alan's easy laugh as he ended the call carried across the room.

“You guys seem...” Shawn tried to finish it, he really did, then shook his head, heading toward the door. He stopped at one word from Lass.

“What?” He didn't seem relaxed anymore. Shawn rolled a hand.

“Really comfortable together. I didn't know...it could be like that.” He never felt comfortable around Lass. Well, sometimes, like when he'd been handcuffed to that steering wheel and Carlton had seemed strangely satisfied as they'd sat in silence for five whole minutes. But that was rare. Mostly he felt like his clothes were too small and his feet were too big. “Easy and stuff.” He scratched.

“I am not a guinea pig or some kind of example for you, Spencer. I'm getting picked apart enough right now.” Lassie seemed pissed. Shawn looked up.

“No I... That must suck. Cameras and stuff.” He had to stop saying “and stuff”. Alan wouldn't say that. Lassie looked at him though, then gave a shrug that meant he accepted Shawn had meant it. He wasn't any less pissed though. Shawn considered, then took a step back toward him.

“Outed is one thing. But outed on TV...”

“Victoria wasn't too happy.” Lassie clenched his jaw. Shawn had forgotten about Victoria. But...wow. “But it wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't so afraid to go online now.” Lassie turned bright, flaming red. “It's nobody's goddamn business what I'm like in bed.”

Shawn decided not to mention the ladies room, or that most of the rumors were in Lassie's favor.

“So you weren't...out...when you knew him before?” He had no idea why his soft question made Lassie eye him warily, then sigh and pull at his tie.

“No. But he keeps telling me it's for the best. I'd been thinking about...” He glared, glared, at Shawn, though Shawn hadn't done anything recently that he could think of. “Let's just say it's been on my mind for a while now and Alan knew that. Unlike you, Spencer, we haven't all been out and proud since our teenage years.”

“Someone's been talking to Henry,” Shawn snipped. Lassie's jaw clenched more.

“It was only college. And...I wanted to be a cop and I couldn't ask him to stay hidden. He wants to be, deserves to be, open, and at the time I thought public gestures were...would...ruin me. My career. Police work was all I ever wanted to do. But times are different, and now I... I guess I've gotten used to them. The groping...touching...gestures.” He glared at Shawn again.

Shawn tried to gasp, but oh did that hurt. If Shawn had tried that move on the beach, he didn't have to fake a vision to know that he would have gotten shoved away. After all, Lassie was always pushing him away at crime scenes.

With Lassie looking at him, he shivered and walked over to one of the plants, petting some seriously dry leaves. “Now you can have it all. I don't know if you've heard of them, Lass, but they have cops in L.A.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Spencer.” He could feel the “Are you crazy?” look. Shawn shook his head, did a loose “I'm psychic” gesture back at him. Habit.

“You said you'd been waiting. You know, to not make him give up his calling, or yours. And he is...he makes you...happy.” And with that, Shawn forced himself up, onto the balls of his feet, moving from flower to flower like a butterfly with awesome hair. He even smiled. It hurt. Love sucked. “You're like a whole new Lassie the world has never seen before. Happy-in-love, Lassie, with reversible work suit and real articulating arms. You should stay with that.”

He meant that too. It was so stupid. Love. Making him say things like that when he didn't want Lassie to go anywhere.

“You are such a freak, Spencer.” Lassie snorted. “I didn't... I'm not leaving. Why do you keep...?” Shawn imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'll try to explain, in small words, just for you. I love my job. This is my home. Trust me on this and stop talking about Los Angeles before I do decide to shoot you.”

From cold panic to warm need in under two seconds. Shawn's heart sprang back like a Slinky. He wanted to believe that. But...

“Trust?” Shawn hummed playfully. “Is that like accepting something without proof? Because that's a funny statement coming from a man with guns hidden all over his house.”

“Are you saying you don't trust me? Are you insane, Spencer? That's...there aren't words for how ludicrous that is.”

“Your mom is ludicrous,” Shawn mumbled. His face was hot. He spun around then blinked when Lassie was closer than he'd thought. So Shawn was the liar here, that didn't mean he wasn't right about Lassie leaving. “You don't believe me, I get it, despite, you know, how I'm like always right, but why believe Alan?”

He'd said that too loud. Lassie's head went back.

“Alan takes me seriously.” Wow that was unbelievably painful too. Lassie already took himself too seriously, he needed someone who didn't. Who made him have fun.

“Really?” Shawn went louder to cover that vibrato that really was a tell when he was upset. He wondered if Lassie could hear it and went higher. “You don't think Alan “I'm so perfect with my curly hair and my crinkly smile” Taylor could fool you, just a little bit?”

“I'm not an idiot, Spencer, even if you think I am. I didn't buy your act either.” Oh man. Lassie got in his face in a way he hadn't for over a year. Shawn's breathing went wonky. Pissed blue eyes and heat and memories of bruises shaped like Lassie's hands meant he had to squeeze out the words.

“He's better than I am!” He tossed it out desperately and didn't realize what he'd said until Lassie's eyes went wide. There was a moment, a moment, of oops, and holy Banana Boat sunscreen, and then his back hit the wall and Lassie's hands were on him again. Hot. Shawn arched his back. He kind of had to. His breathing went wonkier. Lassie's wasn't too even either.

“Is that what this is?” It had been a long time since Shawn had gotten Lassie this mad. Since Shawn had been treated like a suspect and not like...like however Lassie thought of him. Pest. Sidekick. Partner. Friend. But Lassie wasn't hurting him, wasn't even holding him tight, was just leaning, leaning. Down.

It was... Shawn opened his mouth, let out a weak, confused noise. Lass was talking.

“...Years of your games, but I never thought you'd do this because I was with someone else.” Carlton's eyes narrowed, but he was still close. His face. His mouth. Were close. And then he paused, as though there was something Shawn was supposed to do. Shawn tried shaking his head. Lass didn't seem convinced. “I know you live to torment me, Spencer, but I'm not allowed to be happy? Is that it?”

“Are you?” Just like that, Shawn could speak. He didn't know his voice, but Lassie's mouth wasn't moving. That meant it was Shawn talking. Lassie jerked back at the question, scowling like someone just ate the last Twizzler.

“Am I what?” He demanded.

“Happy?” Shawn's Slinky was falling flat, utterly crushed. It had no interest in stairs. Or anyone else. Lassie didn't want to play.

Shawn stayed where he was, because that was true, he could read it in how Lassie's hands left him, how tense Lassie got. Those eyes met his, then Lassie turned away.

“You're the psychic,” he reminded Shawn, when they both knew he wasn't, and Shawn looked at his shoes. His fifty dollar Roos. With Velcro. “Is there any reason why I shouldn't be?” Lassie's voice was getting rough, challenging, like Lassie was trying to trick him again but this time Shawn was on it.

“Because I...” Mother of all Smoothies, it was right there on his tongue. Right there, and Shawn sucked in a long breath. Because I really, really like you, Lassie. And please read that as I love you in a way that makes me do things that even I know are stupid when I'm around you and I all ever manage to do is piss you off but I really just want to be next to you a lot so I can see if I do it long enough I'll be able to not mess up or be too obnoxious around you. But I don't think that will ever happen because you make my stomach all flip floppy which should not be a good thing, fyi, but it is and I want to know if I make yours do that too. I want to love you up and have couch cuddles and know that if I touch you at the station, you'll let me, because you want me to. I mean, I could try, try to be less open for you, if you want, but I don't want. And if you want to grope me back, that might be nice. We could be crime-solving, couch-cuddling boyfriends and I can't help thinking that would be totally awesome because like I said, I love you. I, Shawn Spencer, am totally butt-crazy in love with you, Carlton Lassiter, and it's the most awful, amazing thing ever.

Lassie didn't move and Shawn realized he hadn't actually said any of that out loud. He exhaled and saw stars.

“Well, Spencer?” Lassie was quiet too. Shawn could, if he didn't look up, think about saying that again and not see images of Lassie and Alan on the beach and wonder if that speech would make Lassie as relaxed as that walk in the sand had made him. Or as happy as he'd looked at the station, being fed sandwiches with no crusts. He...touched Alan back. All the time. He even, sort of, smiled, and blushed an adorable pink. No angry red. No defiant stares or shouts for Alan to be serious.

Lassie was wrong, this was kind of exactly like a movie. Just the kind of movie Shawn didn't usually watch. Lassie was happy with Alan. Perfect, TV star, old friend and current lover Alan. Would he even want it if Shawn just said it, just said “I love you” and kissed him?

“That's what I figured,” Lassie cut off Shawn's thought and made him look up. “When it comes down to it, Spencer...” He didn't finish, just shook his head. “...I'm an idiot. Thank you...for the files.” Lassie headed to the kitchen with his shoulders straight and his back to Shawn, which was pretty obvious body language for “I want to be alone/get out.”

Shawn stayed for another second, staring after Lassie with his mouth hanging open and all those words right there, unsaid. Then he got out.

........

Part Four