Archive of Our Own ^beta

Santa Barbara – Present

Shawn tapped a contemplative finger to his chin, appearing for all the world to be listening intently to the man seated in front of him. He nodded his head at the appropriate times as the man told Shawn his sob story, occasionally pretending to scribble something on the pad of paper he had perched on his thigh, under the guise of taking case notes.

In all actuality, he was doodling Gus as Magic Head with his free hand, thoughts not on a paying client but instead revolving around the dinner plans he had with a certain special someone. The dopey smile that spread across his face broke the façade of a deeply concerned psychic.

"Do you think this is funny? I go against my better judgment and hire a psychic, and you laugh at me?"

Shawn set the pencil down and waved his hands in the air to calm him down. "Forgive me. Sometimes the spirits are feeling jocular and I heard one whisper something very witty."

Shawn sized up the man quickly, not only trying to get their meeting back on track, too distracted by romantic dinner plans, but to remember his name.

Clopp, Shawn recalled triumphantly, replaying their introduction in his mind. It was also the sound their handshake made as Shawn had greeted him, taking note of his sweaty palms and frustrated demeanor as Shawn motioned for him to take a seat.

He had come into the Psych office saying that money kept disappearing from the electronics store he managed, but no matter how many times he tried to figure out how it was being stolen, he couldn’t find a culprit. He had gone over every frame of security footage multiple times and could find no one pocketing cash from the tills. He refused to involve the police however, because he was afraid news of the thefts would drive off business, or worse, attract the wrong kind of clientele, thinking the store an easy target for more theft. Hiring a psychic had been his last resort.

Gus should have been there taking notes as well, getting all the pertinent details down while Shawn read him during the interview, but when Shawn had texted Gus about their new, walk-in client, he’d replied back quickly, saying he was off on a delivery, but promised he would be in as soon as possible to help out.

Almost an hour later, Shawn recalled that Gus’ route that day included the upscale private practice with the busty secretary and fancy cappuccino machine, and that Gus had definitely been too distracted to put some pep in his step.

Hence the Magic Head doodle. Let it never be said he couldn’t multitask, solve a case, moon over Lassie, and take out his petty grievances on Gus all in one go.

Shawn already had a good idea how the money was disappearing, but knew he’d have to make a trip to the store and meet with the employees to confirm his suspicions before he fingered the culprits.

Apropos of nothing, he threw the notepad to the floor and shot to his feet, causing Clopp to flinch back in his chair in shock.

Placing his fingers to his temples in his signature move, Shawn closed his eyes. "I can see a vague outline of your thief..." Making a noise somewhere between a dying giraffe and a yak during mating season, he wildly jerked his body back, as if he’d been punched. "Curses! The spirits won't let me get a clear view!" Opening his eyes, he grinned maniacally down at the startled man, who seemed to be suddenly afraid for his life.

"Since the spirits aren’t gonna be any help... I guess I’ll just have to meet with your staff." Shawn swung his whole body around, pointing at the front entrance of the office and shouted dramatically for effect. “Hi-ho, Silver! Awaaaaaaay!”

Pulling into the parking lot of the electronics store, Shawn set the kickstand on his bike down and cut the engine off. Mr. Clopp had already exited his car and was waiting impatiently on the sidewalk for him. Shawn unzipped his leather jacket and walked up to him calmly, not wanting to spook the man any more than he already had.

"Before we go in, Mr. Spencer, could you please be a little discreet? I don't want my customers getting a whiff of..." He waved a hand at Shawn, indicating his very presence and general vibe, "what's going on here."

Shawn pursed his lips and nodded his head in mock understanding, as he’d never really been too good with discreet. Not only was discreet not in his wheelhouse, it definitely shouldn’t have been in his vocabulary. Unless it was discreet come-hither glances at Lassie from across the bullpen, then Shawn considered himself a professional discreet-er. 

It seemed genuine enough to fool Mr. Clopp though, who turned to enter the store, Shawn trailing behind in him.

The place was moderately busy, a few customers on the floor, the staff milling around to answer any questions they had, or not-so-casually direct them toward some fancier, higher-priced model than their customers had intended to purchase. Shawn didn’t miss commission sales for once instant. 

He spied two cashiers standing behind the large raised counter ringing up sales. As if reading his mind, Mr. Clopp led Shawn behind the counter, keeping his eye on the registers like a hawk.

A woman with flaming red hair and freckles stood next to the bank of registers, leaning against the counter and muttering silently to herself as she filled out some paperwork, neither she nor the two other cashiers perturbed with the presence of their unannounced guest.

Shawn glanced down at their feet, blinking as he catalogued their shoes. After a quick second, he turned his gaze toward the wall of big screen TV's, different makes and models all broadcasting the same benign store advertisements, casting an unnaturally bright hue over the sales floor. Pursing his lips in contemplation, Shawn nodded his head approvingly at the decent selection. He then walked from the registers and over to one of the larger model screens, ignoring the calls of Mr. Clopp.

Coming to a stop in front of the television, he placed both hands on the screen. Shawn put on his best creepy voice, pitched like that of a small child and spoke loudly to the whole store. "They're heeeeere!"

Several customers and a few of the employees swiveled their heads around to stare at him in shock for his behavior, but said nothing.

Mr. Clopp was on him in the blink of an eye. “Mr. Spencer, what are you doing?!” He hissed at him, flapping his arms wildly in the air in an attempt to make Shawn lower his voice and stop disturbing the customers.

Shawn flat-out ignored him, and now that he had the rapt attention of the entire store, he moved to the center of the sales floor, motioning to the employees that they should join him. They were all men, some just barely out of their teens, and they gathered around him, not even trying to disguise their mirth at the situation.

Satisfied with their arrangement, Shawn went to each one in turn, sweeping his hands a few inches from their faces. Their eyes widened in confusion, looking to their boss for an explanation. Mr. Clopp just shrugged helplessly at the charade, not wanting to make an even bigger scene trying to rein in the apparently psychotic psychic.

Shawn started making circles around them, checking them up and down, using his hands like metal detecting wands. At one point, he even made beeping noises, just to mess with their heads. Finally, Shawn dropped his hands to his sides in defeat. "Nope, not them. They're clean."

Clopp nodded at this, relieved that the spectacle was over, though somewhat put-out that the thief still hadn’t been identified. Shawn made his way back toward the manager, then stopped mid-stride. He held up his hand once more, aiming it toward the redhead. She was the only one who hadn't joined the kumbaya circle, intent on finishing up her paperwork. Shawn resumed his pace, and with each step he beeped, increasing steadily as he approached her.

She stared at him like he was a freshly released mental patient, but began shifting nervously on her feet when she noticed her boss, her coworkers, and a smattering of customers all staring at her.

Stopping at the counter, Shawn lowered his hand, tsking softly. "It must really get to you."

"What must get to me?" She asked with a glare, defensively crossing her arms over her chest.

Shawn smirked, huffing out a laugh through his nose. Sometimes, it really was just that easy.

Mirroring her posture, even the slight tilt of her hips, and began speaking in a high pitched voice. "I work hard every day, doing all the paperwork and the banking because the manager thinks it’s a woman’s job. Yet he still refuses to give me a raise. I bat my eyes and ask nicely, but he says there's no room in the budget for a pay increase. But I found out that’s because he's been skimming off the company for months! And if he can do it and get away with it, then so can I. That'll show that sexist prick."

By the end of his diatribe, Shawn had one hand on his hip, flipping his pretend hair around with the other.

The girl and Mr. Clopp were both staring at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. The other employees and the customers were wearing similar looks. All at once, they began whispering to one another.

Grinning from ear to ear, Shawn turned back to Clopp, who had gone beet red in anger, the veins in his forehead bulging. "Seriously, you find out that someone is stealing from your business and you don't want the cops called? Kinda screams that you were doing some stealing of your own and didn't want the police to catch you cooking the books when they sicced their forensic accountants on the case. Not to mention that you being nervous about having me here was another dead giveaway."

He spun on his heel, eyes landing on the redhead.

"As for you, you've been working here longer than anyone. You know this place inside and out. When Clopp refused to show his appreciation monetarily, the discrepancies in the store reports that you've been ignoring for ages, you used the same methods he was using to line your own pockets. It also helps that you know where all the blind spots are in the surveillance system, to sneak the money out unseen. You're both liars. Capital L, capital I, capital A, capital R. Period!" Shawn clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly as he glanced between the both of them.

There was a short pause and then simultaneously, they began screaming profanities at each other.

Shawn smiled at a job well done and sauntered out of the store, whistling a jaunty tune as he walked toward his motorcycle. Good thing he’d asked Clopp pay him up front for his services, fairly certain he wouldn’t have seen a dime of their fee otherwise.

He made a quick mental note to give the police station a call, to have them send a unit out for theft, embezzling, and most likely assault, given how the manager and the redhead had been at each other’s throats.

Shawn hopped back onto his bike, pushing the peg back and kickstarted it to life. He decided to treat himself to a pineapple smoothie for a job well done.

"How did you know that the girl was the one stealing from the store?"

Shawn was regaling Gus with the story and of course he couldn't just listen in awe at his mental prowess. He had to nitpick Shawn's every notion.

"Dude, her uniform shirt was five shades lighter than the rest of the employees there. Obviously, she's been working there forever and doesn't use color protection detergent. She wasn't willing to fork over the dough for new shirts but was wearing new Melos. C'mon... And, she was adding up the shift totals in her head. I saw it when I walked in. You work behind a register long enough, you learn to do it in your sleep. Treated like a glorified secretary, low pay, no appreciation, and stuck working with a bunch of immature high school guys as the only woman? Hell, I’d want to stick it to the man, too.”

Gus made a noise and turned his chair to face his laptop, clicking away at the mouse. "Just shows you people won’t tolerate being unappreciated forever. But they should have known that eventually, lying and sneaking around will come back to bite you in the ass."

Plopping down in the chair behind his desk, Shawn turned to face Gus, eyeing the other man’s posture. "What's that supposed to mean? And you need to call or fold, before you lose your shirt."

Fingers that had been clacking away on the keyboard suddenly stopped. Gus cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing. "You need to stop doing that, Shawn! I know how to play poker!”

“Obviously not, with that losing streak...”

“Shush!” Groaning loudly when he lost the hand, Gus angrily closed out the game and slumped down in his chair. He glared angrily across the room at Shawn, who simply grinned back at him smugly.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gus continued to glare at Shawn. “For your information," He continued in a sulking tone, "I meant that Clopp had been skimming off the top for however long, certain he was gonna get away with it. But when someone else discovered what he was doing, he got scared. More so when more money started disappearing. He tried to keep the theft under wraps, but ended up painting himself into a corner. If he’d been a little less greedy, he never would have been caught. But in the end, he brought it upon himself, and he deserves whatever he gets."

Shawn pondered that for a while, entertaining himself by breaking his personal record in trashcan basketball. Perhaps if Clopp had been more generous with his employees, and been a little less of a sexist ass, him cooking the books would have gone unnoticed for who knows how long. But he’d gotten cocky, too sure of the idea that he’d never get caught, and that had proved to be his undoing.

Mid-toss, something hit Shawn with the force of a Mack truck. His shot ended up too high, completely missing the basket.

Gus whipped his head up, eyes growing wide. He pointed to the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor and stammered. "Did you-?" Realization that Shawn had actually missed a basket washed over him, and Gus began to do a victory jig in his chair. When he noticed the thousand yard stare on his friend's face, however, he quickly stopped, eyebrows creased in concern. "Dude, are you okay?"

When Shawn didn’t answer, he knew something was seriously wrong.

"Okay, Shawn, you’re starting to scare me." Gus got to his feet and walked around his desk, moving to stand over his friend. He waved his hand in front Shawn’s face.

Shawn then bolted upright, nearly giving Gus a heart attack as he stumbled back out of Shawn's way.

"Dammit,” he cried out, “why do you always have to be right?" He began pacing around the office erratically, radiating nervous energy. "I need to think... Gah! How could I be so stupid?"

Gus watched him pace in silent confusion, waiting for him to explain what in the hell was going on with him.

"Oh, man! You are so right. I have to make a plan. I have to break the news gently..."

Turning to his best friend in the whole wide world, Shawn gazed into Gus’ eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, said something Gus never would have expected to come out of his mouth.

"I have to tell Lassie I'm not a psychic."

The buzz of his cell phone in his pocket made Carlton jump lightly in surprise. He quickly scanned the bullpen to see if anyone had seen him react like a little girl at the unexpected sensation. Satisfied that his folly had gone unnoticed, Carlton slipped the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Hiding a smile, Lassiter opened the message from Shawn, but instead of the usual sweet-nothings he sent throughout the day, it was a simple, two line text.

We need to talk.

See you when you get home.

H's & K's

The smile abruptly fell from his face, stomach sinking straight to the floor. Carlton stared down at the text for a moment before snapping the phone shut with a loud click. His mind began racing, going over anything and everything he could have done over the past few days that might have warranted Shawn's message.

They hadn't argued recently, save for their typical morning bickering about being out of coffee and clothes left strewn on the floor, but nothing so catastrophic to warrant that kind of text. He’d not been burying himself in his work as much as he had used to, leaving the precinct at a decent hour whenever he could manage, so it couldn't be anything related to being a former unrepentant workaholic.

Carlton must have had a far-off look on his face, because when O'Hara walked up to his desk, snapping her fingers to get his attention, he startled again, not registering her presence beside him.

He glared up at her menacingly. "What could you possibly need right now?" It came out way harsher than he intended, and he made a quiet noise of apology when he saw O'Hara's slumped expression at his outburst.

Chalking the moment up to a case of the grumps, Juliet visibly relaxed, handing him a file folder with a wavering smile. "Shawn, he called the tip line... something about a manager and employee embezzling money from an electronics store. We sent over a black and white to check into it, and they ended up breaking up a fight between the two suspects. They're down in lock-up now, waiting to be processed."

Carlton took the folder, careful not to appear like he was snatching it from her, and perused through it, hoping against hope that the text had been in someway related to this tip from Shawn.

Dispatch had logged the tip-line call about forty minutes before Shawn had sent the text and Carlton desperately tried to think of what possibly could have happened in that brief window of time to explain the cryptic message, but he couldn’t come up with anything that made sense.

He peered down at his watch. Still more than half a day before he could clock out, assuming no big cases landed on their desks. Sighing, Lassiter stood up, mentally girding himself to deal with the perps Shawn had collared. He walked out from behind the desk and wordlessly made his way down to the interrogation rooms, Juliet in tow.

Halfway to the interrogation room, he felt O'Hara's hand on his shoulders, smoothing down any creases in his suit jacket and clearing away any stray lint as they walked. It was times like this, when she could somehow sense that he needed a helping hand, that he thanked the powers that be -namely, Chief Vick- for assigning her to be his partner.

She had absolutely forgiven him for not telling her about his relationship with Shawn and remembered the little things that were important to him, like his obsession for confronting suspects with a completely impeccable business approach. Aside from Shawn, O'Hara was one of the best things that had happened in his life.

Lassiter suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, for not returning the favor and showing her just how much he appreciated her. He’d have to do something nice, like get her flowers or finagle a way to let her have a half-day off. He idly wondered when her birthday was, maybe he could treat her to lunch if it was coming up. He was certain he’d heard her mention it before, but he generally didn’t concern himself with such things. He then wondered if that that made him a bad person, because he didn’t know much about his partner, whereas she knew so much about him.

Coming to a stop outside the heavy metal door, O’Hara stepped in front of him, straightening his jacket lapels, deft fingers wrapping around his tie to tighten the knot. Lassiter shoved aside his stray thoughts, putting on his game face, focusing his mind on the task at hand.

"Don't worry, Lassiter,” she said softly, nodding in approval at his appearance, “whatever is going on with Shawn, I’m sure it will all be just fine."

Lassiter whipped his head down so quickly that he nearly broke his neck. He stared at her, agog at her intuition.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I've been in enough relationships to recognize that expression you had on your face earlier." He’d been holding his phone with a white-knuckle death grip when she’d approached his desk, and the way he’d taken the jacket of Shawn’s case from her with forced ease, only to devour every scrap of information as if it held some clue, it screamed to her that something unexpected had happened between them.

She knew damn well Lassiter held a high opinion of her skills, if not a high opinion of herself as a person, but sometimes, it surprised her when she pointed out things he hadn’t thought she’d been paying attention to. The little victories were sweet, though, and she wouldn’t give them up for the world, especially if it meant she could throw him for a loop every now and again. Juliet dropped her hands to her side and returned his gaze with a calm, collected one. "Now c’mon, let's get in there and bust some bad guys."

“Detective O’Hara, I suspect you’re a treasure.” He said, still a little bewildered by how easily she saw through him.

Beaming from ear to ear, O'Hara opened the door to the interrogation room, and in an instant, their expressions changed, morphing into the façade of angry, no nonsense cops, ready to bust skulls if need be.

Shawn paced around the apartment, anxious waves flowing off him like heat from scorched pavement. He had decided against trying to sugarcoat the evening, wining and dining Carlton before oh-so delicately dropping the bomb on him, so instead of a pleasant meal together, he had purchased a lot of beer and hid all of Carlton's spare guns. It had taken him a fair amount of time, too, because they were stashed all over the place, secret hidey holes where a normal, well-balanced person wouldn’t ever think to hide a gun, like taped to the underside of the garbage disposal.

Shawn loved Carlton, he truly did, but damn.

His nervous thoughts were distracting him and he sat down at the kitchen table, practicing for the umpteenth time exactly what he was going to say. He knew he’d screwed up when he sent Carlton that text, but he’d only realized after it was too late to do anything about it. Shawn knew how awful it was to tell someone you were dating that you needed to talk. The phrase had become so loaded, had taken on such a life of its own that people would be better off just coming out and saying you need a lawyer, instead of pussyfooting around the issue.

Lassie's ex-wife had started off the drawn-out divorce process with those four words –eight, actually, as she’d said we need to talk and you need a lawyer, a double smackdown- and he knew Carlton had most likely been a wreck the entire day, imagining all sorts of bad scenarios. The guilt just kept piling on and Shawn buried his face in his hands, a frustrated groan escaping his throat. The sound echoed off the walls, his anguish coming back at him in stereo.

He had no real basis on which to judge how Carlton would react. The only fight they’d every really had was after Carlton had asked him to move in, but after just being ignored for a single day, he’d apologized and they’d worked out their problems. Of course, he’d been accused of murder right afterward, because of the method he’d chosen to apologize, but that was beside the point. The point was they'd never had a major blowout in all the time they'd been dating, so Shawn hadn't a single clue what Lassie was like when he was truly enraged. He’d only ever caught brief glimpses of Carlton when he was presented with things that took him out of his comfort zone, like surprise birthday parties, but this wasn't in any way a similar situation and he couldn't use that as a jumping off point for predicting how the evening would unfold. Thank God Shawn didn't know him around the time he and his wife had first separated, thinking it must have been ten times worse dealing with that particular kind of stress.

This was uncharted waters and Shawn hated the feeling of being adrift in his uncertainty.

This, telling Carlton the truth, was on a whole other level and Shawn was actually afraid of the rift it could potentially cause between him. Shawn had always tried to be honest with Carlton when he could, but for him to reveal the truth about his abilities might cause Carlton to reevaluate their entire relationship. If they still had a relationship after the bomb was dropped. He didn’t want to risk losing Carlton, but Gus had been right. If he didn’t clear the air now, somehow, someway, the truth would come back to bite him in the ass and the longer the lie was kept up, the more catastrophic the fallout would be. Shawn was doing the right thing, he knew it in his heart, but dammit, why did the right thing feel so wrong?

When trying to wish his problems away didn’t work, nor did trying to push his fingers into his eyeballs to end his suffering sooner, Shawn sighed and scrubbed at his face. He glanced over at the beer bottles he'd meticulously arranged on the table. When Lassiter had texted to say he would be home soon, Shawn had set them out, hoping they would serve as a peace offering.

The sound of Lassie’s keys jingling as they turned the doorknob caused Shawn to jump like a frightened horror movie bimbo, and he barely managed not to scream in fright. He recovered as gracefully as he could manage, leaning back nonchalantly in his chair, smiling up at Carlton when he entered the apartment.

The smile was returned, somewhat dimmed by the specter of what was coming, but at least it was genuine. That gave Shawn some hope. Carlton set his keys on the stand by the door and Shawn spied the locket his father had given them for their anniversary dangling on the key ring. A renewed sense of guilt washed through Shawn so violently, he began seriously regretting his decision to spill the beans to Carlton. He sat unnaturally still as Lassiter took of his suit jacket and unhooked his figure-eight holster, hanging them up in the closet.

Shawn spied the detective's hands shaking slightly as he put his jacket on a coat hanger, betraying just how nervous he was about the whole situation, but it was too late to abort. He was just going to have to go through with it.

Once he had put everything away, Carlton joined Shawn at the kitchen table. At the sight of the beer bottles, he sighed heavily. This was going to be long night. "So...” He started tentatively, reaching for a beer to twist the cap off and take a long pull. Swallowing, he set the bottle down and fixed his gaze on Shawn. “What's happening?"

Following Lassie's lead, Shawn opened his own bottle and drank from it. The hops and barley did nothing to wash the bad taste from his mouth. Licking his lips, Shawn thumbed at the condensation idly for a brief second before realizing he was just stalling for time. His mouth open and closed on a false start, but he chickened out and refocused his efforts on finishing off his beer. For a long while, the only sound in the apartment was that of glass scraping on the table top as they took turns plying themselves with Dutch courage.

After the silence became too much for him bear, Shawn took a deep breath, girding himself for Armageddon.

"Okay. I have to tell you something and you might not... you definitely won’t like it, but before I do, you need to know that I love you. I love you and I hope nothing will ever change how you feel about me, not even this." Shawn saw something like fear flash through Carlton's eyes and he realized it sounded like he was getting ready to confess to infidelity. “I didn’t cheat on you.” He added quickly, almost slurring his words with how fast he forced them out. “I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but I’d never do anything that stupid..."

A massive weight lifted off Carlton's shoulders, knowing Shawn hadn’t strayed, but it only increased his worry, as that was the absolute worst thing he’d imagined their conversation could be about. If it wasn’t that, what else was there? Nodding sharply, Lassiter motioned for Shawn to continue, before he got off track.

Shawn hung his head for a second, trying to find the strength buried somewhere inside of him before he glanced back up, staring deeply into Lassiter’s bright blue eyes.

"I'm not a psychic."

Carlton blinked. "Excuse me?"

Shawn bit his lower lip and tried again. "I. Am Not. A. Psychic. You were right, all this time, I have never been one. And unless I get into a car accident and magically gain powers after spending six years in a coma, I doubt I ever will be. But I wanted to tell you because... I didn't want you to find out about it from anyone else, someone who might twist it all up and give you the wrong idea. I thought it was best you heard the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. Though right now, I feel more like a horse’s ass..."

He huffed out a weak laughing, not really believing a joke would cut through the tension, but it didn't hurt to try. Shawn schooled his features back to something more serious as silence filled the apartment, the tension growing even thicker as Carlton's white-hot gaze bored holes into his head. Shawn's earlier panicked thoughts of how Carlton would react went from an abstract concept to something frightening real, almost tangible, as the man refused to speak a single word. He took that as a bad sign. A bad sign, a bad omen, just plain bad. He expected yelling, arguing, something, but the silence was somehow worse. Shawn was now seeing a whole new aspect of Carlton, one that validated all of his growing fears.

Suddenly, the hush of the room was broken by the crash of shattering glass.

Shawn recoiled violently as Carlton hurled his beer into the air, sending the bottle careening into the adjacent wall. Shards of glass flew in every direction, tinkling to the floor loudly. Stray flecks of liquid splattered across Shawn’s face, stinging his eyes. Alcohol foamed as it ran down the walls, the sound of bubbles popping audible in the absolute quiet that followed. Cursing, Shawn rubbed at his eyes frantically, not seeing Carlton bolt out of his chair and storm out of the house. He slammed the door shut behind him with such force that the walls shook.

Shawn sat there numbly, stunned into his own silence, staring blearily at the empty space where Carlton had been. After several moments, he wordlessly stood up, walked over to the sink and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the cupboard.

Crouching down, he carefully cleaned up the broken glass and beer, wiping the residue off his face with his free hand, all the while telling himself it was just the beer causing his eyes to water.

The sound of someone pounding at the front door made Gus glance away from the TV screen. Beside him, Jules craned her head around, her eyes narrowing. "Who in the hell would knock that loud this late?" She asked, recognizing the sort of knock as one officers used when responding to a call, but the person hadn’t identified themselves as the police. Perhaps it was a drunk, mistakenly confusing Gus’ apartment for their own.

Gus stood up, carefully making his way over to the door. He closed one eye to peer through the peephole. When he saw who it was, he swallowed thickly, tossing a glare over his shoulder at Juliet before he opened the door.

All Jules saw was a hand shoot out from behind the door when it opened, viciously grabbing the front of Gus' shirt to pull him out into the hallway. Gus yelped in surprise, the door closing with an earsplitting slam. Juliet leapt up from the couch, racing over to the door in a panic. She wrenched it open, but stopped short when she saw her partner holding her boyfriend up against the wall, the tight grip on Gus' shirt causing Lassiter's knuckles to turn white.

"It’s okay, O’Hara, just go back inside and close the door. I will only be taking up a few moments of Mr. Guster's time." It was one thing for Shawn to reveal his secrets to him in private, it was another for him to go around broadcasting the truth to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. Carlton nodded his head toward the apartment, motioning for her to do as he bade. "I promise, it's fine. Go on."

Juliet was dumbfounded by the outrageous display of force, but deep down, she trusted Lassiter implicitly. Lassiter took his oath as a peace officer seriously, and she knew he would never intentionally hurt an innocent person, no matter how intimidating he made himself out to be with all his alpha male posturing. She nodded at his request, slowly returning to the interior of Gus' apartment. As soon as the door clicked behind her, she loudly walked back into the interior of the apartment, letting her bare feet slap against the floor dramatically, but very quickly and very quietly snuck back over to the door. Standing up on her tiptoes, she watched them through the peephole, ready to rush to Gus’ defense if need be.

With O'Hara gone, Carlton turned his head back to Guster. He released his grip on the man and with hands held up in a placating gesture, took a step back, wanting only to scare him into telling the truth, nothing more. He’d worked with the man long enough to know just how fast Gus folded under duress, having witnessed the sight more than once. "How has he been doing it?" He hissed quietly, well aware that O’Hara was on the other side of the door, listening in on their conversation, as he would be, if their situations were reversed.

Straightening up, Gus stared wide-eyed at the unhinged detective, a crease furrowing his brow. "You know, when you're threatening someone for answers, it helps to let them know what the hell you’re talking about."

Carlton gritted his teeth and tried again. "How has Shawn been snowing the Santa Barbara Police Department by..." He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, "parading around as a psychic?" He used his hands to make air quotes.

Gus' eyes widened. "Oh, that..."

Carlton made a sarcastic noise. "Yeah, that. How has he been doing it?"

He guessed Shawn must have gone through with his plan to tell Lassiter the truth, and it was more than obvious he hadn’t taken the news well. “I told him it was a bad idea to tell you, but does he listen to me? No. He has to be all like it's the right thing to do," Gus pitched his voice high and nasally, face scrunched up as he pantomimed his earlier conversation with Shawn, "and if I don't tell him now, what if he finds out from someone else. I used to think you two had a positive effect on one another, but now I’m not so sure... I think now that instead of dumb ideas that involve the Mexican border patrol, it's dumb ideas that involve certifiably deranged detectives!"

Carlton at least had the good decency to appear ashamed of himself as Guster chastised him. He knew he was overreacting and taking it out on whoever he could was beyond childish, but the hurt and angry part of him couldn't see any reason to react in any other way. Of course he’d had his suspicions of Shawn since the beginning and after they'd started dating, he'd dealt with everything Shawn did in his capacity as department psychic by simply turned a blind eye to it.

When they'd moved in together and Carlton began learning all of Shawn's habits and tics firsthand, he'd also started picking up on a few other things, whether Shawn had wanted him to or not. But hearing it directly from the source, having the comfort of plausible deniability unceremoniously tossed out the window...

"Look,” Gus said, his tone gentle, “I know Shawn loves you. I can tell even when he isn't anywhere near you. And the reason why he kept putting off telling you was because he was afraid this is how you would react." The gentleness vanished, replaced by something bitter. "Turns out he was right."

Guilt painted Lassiter's features, replacing the anger that had been fueling him since he'd stormed out of the apartment. He turned his head to the side, knowing he deserved Guster's vitriol but too embarrassed to face it head-on. "But how...?" He asked, hating how desperate he sounded for answers.

Sizing up the detective, Gus sighed once more, taking pity on the hangdog expression on his face. "Henry." He said matter-of-factly. "He wanted Shawn to follow in his footsteps, to become a cop like he was and create some kind of... Spencer legacy at the department. So he began teaching Shawn on how to observe people, keep track of objects, everything, down to the smallest detail. When I first met him, he could walk into the classroom for thirty seconds, walk back out and tell you what everyone was wearing that day, what the teacher had written on the chalkboards, even who was passing notes back and forth."

Arching a brow, Carlton turned back to Guster. "Total recall? Like Rain Man?"

Gus shook his head. "Not quite to that extent, but of the say... two or three percent of the population that can do what he can, Shawn's definitely ranked in the top ten. But Henry was treating him like a machine, never stopping with the drilling, not even when it started pushing Shawn away. He wanted to make Shawn into the best there was, but you know what they say about good intentions... It was hard for Shawn to live up to the perfection Henry wanted out of him, so Shawn ran, skipped town the first chance he got."

“But Henry told Chief Vick that Shawn was a psychic. Why go to bat for him if Henry saw him as such a disappointment?"

Gus rolled his eyes at Lassiter. “Probably because he’s not evil. Henry didn't tell Vick the truth about what Shawn could do was because he saw it as some kind of test, to see if Shawn could clean up his own mess, force him to better himself. Don’t get me wrong, Henry got stuck in the lie, too, he either had to play ball with you guys or go to jail along with Shawn. So he did what he thought was best for the both of them." Gus hesitated for a moment before he continued, not wanting to throw salt in the wound, but given Lassiter's full-blown man-tantrum, it needed saying. "For what it's worth, his so-called test worked. When Shawn left, he couldn't hold down a job for more than a few weeks, couldn't keep a relationship going... now he's patched up things with his dad, he likes working with department, he settled down with you, of all people." Putting his hands in his pockets, Gus just stared pointedly at Lassie for a few moments, watching him process all the new information.

Lassiter scrubbed his face with his hands, wheels turning in his head. "Oh, man..." He groaned, panic growing inside him as he realized he’d royally screwed things up, but after what he’d done to Shawn, he didn’t have the faintest idea what he could do to make up for it. Was there anything he could do?

Moving around the detective to his front door, Gus waved a finger at him. "You understand now why he waited so long to tell you...?"

Carlton didn't respond, instead spinning on his heel and marching down the hallway without so much as a goodbye.

Gus shook his head in dismay as he opened his door. It connected with something solid and he heard Jules cry out in pain. Her hand appeared on the door, pulling it open. She stood there, clutching her forehead with her free hand. He could only see one eye, but that one eye spoke volumes, telling Gus that he was in serious trouble.

“So... Shawn’s not a psychic, huh?”

“Oh, heh... about that...”

Carlton raced home, navigating the streets with more speed than he was normally comfortable with, but he had to talk to Shawn, to apologize to him, to somehow make it right. When he pulled up to their apartment, however, he saw that the ever-present motorcycle was missing. Shawn had left, probably not too long after his own ignominious exit. He banged his head on the steering wheel, thinking hard of where Shawn might have gone. He couldn't have gone to Guster's, they would have passed each other on the way at some point. Shawn didn't frequent the bars like he used to, so any one of his old haunts was unlikely. If Vick had called him with a case, she would have called all of them, so the station was out.

That left only one other place Shawn would go to seek respite and Carlton prayed with all his might that he hadn't gone there.

After he and Shawn had told Henty about their relationship, Carlton liked to think they were on fairly good terms with one another, but he doubted that would remain true, not after the night's events. He knew that if Shawn had gone to his dad's house, Henry would know exactly what he'd done and would play the overprotective father all too well.

Even without the knowledge of what had really caused Shawn and Henry's strained relationship, Carlton never once, in all the years he'd known the man, thought Henry didn't love Shawn. That would mean taking Shawn's side -he'd be right to, Carlton was definitely in the wrong and deserved whatever beatdown Henry would serve up- and forbidding him from talking to his son, not until Shawn was good and ready to hash it out on his own terms. He could always wait until Shawn came to him, but if he waited that long, the wound would just fester and there would be no salvaging their relationship. No, if he wanted to keep Shawn, he'd have to make the first move and he'd have to make it now.

Left with no other alternative, Carlton bit the bullet and put the car into drive. The nighttime traffic was blessedly light and there were no patrol cars around to stop him for speeding. Thank goodness for small mercies, Carlton thought to himself as the car crept down Henry's street in a slow drive-by.

The gleam of the handlebars in the moonlight confirmed Carlton's fears as to his lover's whereabouts. Steeling his resolve, Carlton made a U-turn and pulled his Crown Vic into the driveway behind Shawn's motorcycle. Slowly making his way around to the back, Carlton could vaguely see a silhouette sitting at the patio table, but it was too bulky to be Shawn. Just as he'd guessed, Henry was playing guard dog for his son. Carlton cursed himself for being right, but figuring it was best to just rip the band-aid off, he continued slowly making his way up the walk. Coming to a halt, Carlton placed one foot on the step leading up to the porch and leaned forward against his knee, regarding the figure solemnly.

"Henry."

"Lassiter."

He only spoke the one word, but it was laced with enough to fury to send a shiver down Carlton's spine. He held his ground against the tone, determined to speak with Shawn despite the threat that had been naked in Henry's voice. "May I see him?"

The older man released a heavy sigh. "That depends. Are you finished throwing shit around? I have some mismatched cups and plates lying around, if smashing them up will make you feel better about yourself." The words were sarcastic but there was no subtext to divine from them. Henry was less than impressed by his macho posturing and wasn't shy about voicing his opinion on the matter. "Or would you rather punch some holes in the wall?"

Carlton grimaced at that. He hadn't forgotten about his stupid reaction to Shawn’s confession, how his bottle had missed Shawn's head by mere inches. He hadn't intended to hit Shawn, he truly hadn't, but in his blind anger, his aim hadn’t exactly been spectacular. It wasn't one of his finer moments and he'd regretted it the instant he saw Shawn flinch out of the line of fire. Instead of stopping himself the moment it happened, though, he'd decided removing himself from the situation was the only logical recourse, leaving Shawn alone in the wake of his rage. The only night had been a string of one poor choice after another, but he needed Shawn to know, needed Henry to know, that it had all been an outburst of unchecked emotion, not a show of retaliation or an attempt at domestic violence. Lassiter would never. He'd sooner die than lay hands on someone he loved.

Palms open at his sides in a sign of passivity, Carlton walked up the rest of the steps and stopped. "It honestly was an accident, Henry, you have to believe me."

Henry leaned forward in his seat, half his features still obscured in the dark and Carlton couldn’t help but think he looked more terrifying that way than he had completely obscured in shadow.

”The only person I have to believe is Shawn.” Henry replied flatly, the one eye Carlton could see narrowed in reproach.

Swallowing thickly, Carlton switched tactics. “Look, I've had some time to think about what I did, how... poorly I behaved. I’m not here to start more problems, I just came to apologize."

When Henry didn't respond one way or the other, Carlton took it as silent permission to enter the premises, which turned out to be yet another mistake. Carlton moved towards the sliding glass door, fingers wrapping around the handle to pull it open. He heard a chair scrape across wood, and faster than he ever would have thought the older man could move, Henry was behind him, hand tightening on his shoulder like a vice. Carlton could feel Henry's breath on the back of his neck and a very real sense of terror shot through the detective.

"I haven't seen Shawn cry about anything in years... You don't have kids, so I know you don't know what it is like to see your own flesh and blood cry, to feel their pain like it’s your own. I’m going to make one thing abundantly clear and it’s the only warning you’ll get. Send my son here in tears again and no one will ever find your body. I've lived a long life and I have no problem whatsoever doing time for cold-blooded murder. Assuming they ever catch me... do you understand?"

Those fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulder, pinching a nerve that was apparently connected to whatever gave him the ability to keep his knees from buckling, and it was all Carlton could do to nod through the lancing pain. “Yes, I understand!” He said through gritted teeth.

In a flash, the hand was gone, Henry seated in his chair once more, like he hadn’t moved at all.

All the misgivings Carlton had about Henry after what Gus had told him earlier vanished in a puff of smoke, and he made a mental note to never again underestimate the retired officer.

Sucking in a deep breath to shake off the lingering pain of Henry's death grip, Carlton opened the glass door and walked through into the living room. Shawn was sitting on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his chest as though it were a shield. The television cast a pale white light across his face and though he was in profile, Carlton could clearly see the anguish marring his features.

Walking up behind him, Lassiter placed a gentle hand on Shawn's shoulder. Startled at the unexpected touch, Shawn wrenched his head around wildly, arms flying up to defend himself, his shield pillow tumbling to the floor without a sound.

When he saw it was Carlton behind him, Shawn jumped up to stare wide-eyed at him. "How did you get in here?" He asked, glancing back at the sliding glass door as if he were expecting to see his dad come storming in after Carlton.

His reaction, along with the accusing tone in Shawn's voice cut through Carlton like a blade to the heart, serving as another reminder of just how badly he'd screwed the pooch. He was the one Shawn came to for love and comfort, but now he was backing away from his touch like his fingers were a hot brand. Edging around the couch, he approached Shawn carefully, fully aware of how he could channel a nervous park squirrel when necessary. Carlton reached out to him, silently asking to take his hand when he saw three band-aids covering his fingertips, little dots of pooled blood showing through the material. He lowered his hand, the sight of the injury making Carlton feel like the scum of the earth.

“I am,” he started, voice trembling, "a complete and utter jackass. You have to know I would never intentionally hurt you, but I... overreacted." That was the understatement of the year. Carlton licked his lips and tried again. "I lashed out like a child when you were only trying to do what was right, and you didn't deserve it, and for that, I am so sorry."

Carlton then did something he hadn’t done since he proposed to his wife. He dropped down to his knees in front of Shawn, utterly horrified at what he’d done to the person he claimed to love most in the world. He didn't care if he looked like a fool, because he had been foolish. He was about to lose everything he'd ever wanted because he'd lost control for an instant and destroyed Shawn's trust in him in the process. He had to prove that he was willing to do whatever it took to regain that trust and stop Shawn from ending their relationship right then and there. What made it worse was that Carlton knew he deserved to be kicked to the curb like trash, because that's exactly what he was for behaving the way he had, but that didn't stop him from trying to make amends.

"I was asshole for not acting like an adult about this. It was childish and cruel, the way I hurt you, but I am here now begging you to forgive me. Please, God, I'm on my knees begging for another chance."

Shawn regarded Carlton for a long moment, internally debating himself.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that while the detective had his faults, he was a good, upstanding man, one of the few truly decent people he'd ever met. Carlton had never struck anyone in anger, not even resisting perps, a fact almost too hard to believe, given his somewhat caustic temperament. He was trained to take on criminals, to fight tooth and nail for his life and the lives of the civilians he'd sworn to protect, and he'd only ever used his skills for good. Hell, he didn’t even like to speed while driving unless he absolutely had to, refusing to use his privileges as a cop to even so much as turn on his sirens to get through a red light.

Carlton lived by the letter of the law, even more so than he lived by God's law, the irony of it always making Shawn laugh. For as much as Carlton liked to think of himself as a good ol' Catholic boy, he lived in sin as a divorced man dating another man, and was more willing to break a few biblical tenets than he was to go a few miles over any posted speed limit. Hence the laughter any time Carlton spoke of his faith. But despite all that, he was faithful, and dutiful, and it was one of the many reasons Shawn loved him so much.

But he'd also grown up watching the cheesy, poorly produced PSAs warning people about the dangers of abusive relationships, how insidious they were and how difficult it was to get free of them. Vick kept him and Gus on cases for major crimes, but hearing tales about domestic violence cases from his dad, seeing abusers perp-walked into the precinct, Shawn had some fairly decent knowledge on the matter.

Shawn knew that wasn’t Carlton, but behavior like what he'd witnessed earlier didn't exist in a vacuum. The raw anger and pent-up aggression he'd seen in Carlton's eyes came from somewhere, somewhere deep and ugly. Yes, it was a rare moment of weakness and vulnerability, and Shawn could see how much he obviously regretted it, but nonetheless, he’d reacted violently and there was no putting the toothpaste back in that tube.

It laid there between them like a vast gulf, keeping them apart, even as Carlton pleaded with him. If there was one thing Shawn did exceptionally well, it was spotting a liar, and Carlton was not lying, not about this. The clues were all there on his face, flashing like a neon sign in Shawn's observant gaze. He'd messed up in one of the worst ways possible and he hated himself for it.

Carlton hadn’t intended to hurt him and he was truly remorseful for his actions, but Shawn still hesitated. Over the years, how many partners and spouses had he seen talking to the desk sergeant, making excuses for their abusers, unwilling or unable to escape their situations? How many times were the police unwilling or unable to do anything about those situations when they responded to those calls? Unfortunately, Shawn knew the exact number -his skills weren't always a blessing- and he didn't know if he wanted throw himself into that tally. One part of him refused to just blindly throw himself back into Lassie’s arms, the other part rationalizing that one incident didn't automatically make Carlton an unrepentant criminal.

“I thought that you... all the lies... I was afraid-” Shawn said quietly, cutting himself off when he couldn't properly verbalize his thoughts.

Carlton shifted on his knees, feeling his age more than ever. “I'm so sorry, Shawn. I'm the one person you should never be afraid of, but now I'm gonna be the person you'll always second-guess yourself about. I will spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, as long as it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you."

He shook his head at that. "Even if you dump my ass and refuse to ever speak to me again, I'll still spend the rest of my life apologizing. Please, don't let this be the reason you leave me. I was only angry because... I honestly don't know what to do now. I don’t want to ruin this thing we have going, but by telling me the truth, you've now stuck me between a rock and a hard place. I can't allow you keep working on cases, but a part of me knows we can't afford to stop you from working with us... I mean, I always knew you weren't really a psychic-"

In spite of himself, Shawn snorted out a laugh, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "You didn't know."

Carlton cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "Really? I've known you for years, hell, I live with you. You honestly think I didn't know?"

"Nu-uh, no way, that's not knowing, that's suspecting. Big difference. And I should know, because I pretend to know. Y'know." Shawn furrowed his brow, not quite certain that made sense to anyone else but him. 

"Fine," Carlton conceded, sidestepping Shawn's bizarre logic with practiced ease, "I always suspected you weren't a psychic who knew secrets from beyond the veil, but as long as you never actually told me...”

“Yeah, yeah, plausible deniability, I get it. So, what do I-” Shawn rolled his eyes when he saw Carlton’s discomfort. “Okay, you made your point, you can stand up now.”

“Thank God.” He mumbled, pushing himself up. When he had a bit of trouble getting his long limbs underneath him, Shawn stuck out a hand to help him up. Carlton gratefully took it, but once he was upright, he refused to let go.

Shawn stared down at their joined hands. "You tricksy bastard..."

“I learned from the best.” Carlton replied, thumb rubbing gentle circles over Shawn’s bandaged fingertips.

Chuckling softly, Shawn had to give him points. It was definitely the kind of slick maneuver that he would have pulled, were their situations reversed. He sobered up from the thought quickly, remembering they were in the middle of a serious conversation. “What do I do now?” He asked. “I always told you I would never make you choose between me and the job, and I don't intend to start now. But this is... this is big."

Lassiter pursed his lips into a moue of contemplation. Though Vick and everyone else at the station would be none the wiser about Shawn, he would still know. It was one thing to be willfully blind to the oblivious, but it was another to be complicit in a lie. “You could take the private investigators exam,” he said after a beat of silence, “get a license and go legit. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof...”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt. Gus and my dad have been telling me I should do that for a while now. It just seemed like more fun to live dangerously, y’know, play the rebel... but if I got my license, then there wouldn’t be any reason for you to tell Vick or anyone else, right? Rebel or not, I really don't want to end up in jail if she finds out."

Carlton gave Shawn’s hand a reassuring squeeze. "If you had your license, I see no reason why I would. Don't expect me to lie for you, but I don’t see why I couldn’t keep playing along, to keep up appearances. I know how important Psych is to you, just like you know how important the job is to me..." It would be monumentally unfair to ask Shawn to give up something he loved, when he was so willing to make sure he didn't have to choose between his badge and his lover.

Nodding his head, Shawn worried at his lower lip, eyes taking stock of Carlton. "And what do we do?" He asked quietly. "If we just chalk it up to a mistake, a misunderstanding-” He got an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu, thinking back to their first night together. He couldn’t help but laugh, causing Carlton to look at him as though he were mental. Shawn shook his head clear, knowing it would only be amusing to him. His expression became solemn once more. “We can't just go home and sweep it under the rug like it never happened."

Carlton wanted nothing more in the world than exactly that, go to their home, curl up in bed with Shawn, and figure out what they were going to do moving forward. Talk like real adults and come up with a way to actually fix this. It wasn't going to be easy, or comfortable, but a first step had to be taken, it was just a matter of figuring out what that first step was going to be. "If you don't want that, you could stay here tonight, and we could get together tomorrow morning? Or you can go home, and I can get a hotel, whatever you want. I am your mercy, Shawn, I'm the one in the doghouse here."

Moving his hand to lace their fingers together, Shawn peered up at Carlton intently. "You're definitely not staying at a hotel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get rid of bedbugs?" Carlton barked out a laugh. The deadpan statement just came from so far out of left field that he couldn't help himself, and Shawn found himself laughing along with him. Waving his free hand, motioning for Carlton to keep it down, Shawn shot a glance back at the sliding glass door, half-expecting his dad to come storming in after hearing the ruckus. "Okay, okay, ssshh!" it took a moment to get a hold of themselves and in that moment of shared childish laughter, seeing how that even during an earth-shatteringly important conversation about a serious subject, the witty banter and jokes still came to them so easily, Shawn thought he'd found a good solution.

As the giggles subsided, Shawn tapped his thumb against Carlton's in a soothing gesture. "Let's compromise. We'll go home tonight, but you're sleeping on the couch. Probably for the foreseeable future. There's gonna be a Lassie-shaped dent in the cushions before I let you back into bed. We do it this way, neither of us has to live out of a suitcase or... see my dad in his robe every morning. Just his robe." The man had definitely been living alone for too long. Shawn shivered.

Carlton blinked at that. "You're sure? Not about your dad, nobody should ever have to see that, but about coming home?" He'd sleep in that bathtub with nothing but a towel for a pillow if that's what Shawn wanted, but he wanted to make sure Shawn was comfortable and not compromising because he thought he had to.

"Yeah, I'm sure. This way, it's easier to sit down together when we can and figure out what's what, instead of meeting in a McDonald's parking lot during our lunch break, like some kind of custody drop-off. It's a lot easier to get back to normal when you, y'know, act normally." Releasing his hold on Carlton's hand, Shawn bent down to retrieve the pillow he'd dropped on the floor. Retrieving the remote to turn the television off, Shawn shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I can't promise I won't be jumpy around you or anything, or freak out if you go to toss me my keys or wallet, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Feeling two feet tall, Carlton just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear entirely. "I'm sorry, Shawn." He said, knowing it was going to be his mantra from now until he went into the grave, and even then, it wouldn't have been enough.

"I know you are, Lassie." Shawn replied, pointedly not accepting the apology or offering forgiveness, merely acknowledging that it had been said. "C'mon, let's make like a tree and get out of here." Snatching his leather jacket off the back of his dad's armchair, he made his way toward the back door, Carlton in tow. Carefully sliding the door open, he stepped outside and looked over at his dad as he wormed his arms into his jacket sleeves. Henry wasn’t moving and it was too dark to tell if he was sleeping or not. It was probably a good thing, at least for Carlton. It's why he'd been caught off-guard when Carlton appeared in the living room, as he hadn't expected his dad to let him within a thousand yards of the house, let alone allow him to enter the house, not without threatening to shoot him full of rock-salt.

Perhaps, like everything his dad did, letting them hash it out was just another one of his tests, of Shawn's resolve or Carlton's sincerity. Either way, if they managed to leave without waking him, they could escape without Henry calling his son weak-willed or Carlton a wife-beater, he'd consider it a win. Shawn pressed a finger to his lips, telling Carlton to keep quiet, in the hopes of making a clean getaway, but just before they hit the bottom step...

"Don’t ever let this happen again." Henry called out gruffly. 

Cursing under his breath, Shawn turned to face his father. "Goodnight, dad." He said, waving a hand sarcastically.

Henry harrumphed, unimpressed. "Remember what I said, Lassiter."

Shawn looked at Carlton in confusion, but the terrified expression on the detective's face said that perhaps it was best if he didn’t ask. Not that he didn't have a good idea. His dad could be scary when he wanted to be.

With that, they continued down and around to the driveway, Carlton walking Shawn to his bike. Plucking his helmet from where it dangled off one of the handlebars, Shawn twisted around to lean against the seat.

Carlton stared at him, the thin thread of fear that Shawn would up and vanish from his life still coiled low in his stomach. "So, we're gonna get through this?"

Shawn returned his gaze and it was just gentle enough to reassure Carlton. "Yeah... with some work, I think we will be." He smiled as he put his helmet on. Fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket, Carlton stepped away, moving toward his car.

"You're the psychic, so I'll just have to take your word for it."

Shawn snorted out a laugh. Yeah, he thought, we’re gonna be just fine.