FIC: "Right Place, Wrong Time" by Regann - PG-13/R - Shawn/Lassiter (13/??)
Title: Right Place, Wrong Time (13/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Nothing new.
Summary: 17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.
Past Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11 | 12
Right Place, Wrong Time (Part 13)
For the first time in a very long time, Carlton's work problems took a backseat to the personal issues that had been plaguing him for almost a week. It had all started with his horrific epiphany at the end of the Nelson Poe case, that terrible moment in which he'd realized why Shawn Spencer rattled him so much.
Carlton was attracted to him.
It didn't sound earth-shattering, even as he repeated it in his own mind, but it was -- at least, for Carlton. Although he'd experimented in college, he'd met his wife at a picnic right when he'd been finishing up his Master's degree and they'd started dating before the summer had been over. Not since the last -- experiment -- just before that had Carlton looked or thought about another man in a sexual way and, even though he didn't quite believe it, he figured he'd just been "cured" of his bisexuality by the love of a good woman.
Unfortunately, that good woman's love had soured in the last few years, which was the other personal issue preying on his mind: his wife's birthday was approaching. Carlton knew he needed to do something to mark the occasion, use it as proof that all the counseling and therapy had paid off and he acknowledged the issues she'd brought up about his inattention and dedication to his job. He wanted to prove to Jennifer that they could make it work if she'd give him another chance.
Even when he'd been involved with Lucinda, Carlton's goal had always been to repair his marriage. For almost two years, he -- and, to a lesser extent, Jenny -- had been trying to figure out a way to revive what, in the beginning, had been a good relationship and a great marriage. He hadn't been looking for either when he'd met her through Lorraine Fenich, his mentor's wife, but Jennifer had been everything he'd ever wanted in a woman and he'd had surprised by how quickly they'd both realized that they were perfectly suited. They had chosen to wait a little on marriage but they'd eventually tied the knot and had had several happy years before the cracks had started to show.
It was a strange situation for Lassiter to be in turmoil over two such disparate problems: the love for his wife and the sinking certainty that there was nothing he could do to save their marriage and the lust he suddenly had for someone he could barely stand on a normal basis. The fact that he'd fixated on Spencer of all people only made his shame more acute, more horrifying but even Carlton no longer had enough denial in him to continue to lie to himself about what he wanted -- and what he wanted was to have sex with Spencer.
Work wasn't the haven it had once been, especially not with Spencer showing up whenever he pleased. He had some luck left in him because some private case had kept most of Spencer's attention away from the station, leaving him and O'Hara free to deal with Dr. Blinn's murder without his interference. Their paths had still crossed in the course of the investigation and Carlton had been gripped with the insane need to snap Spencer's neck every time. He supposed his therapist would call it sublimation or misplaced anger but Carlton was quite happy with it being right where it was -- directed at Spencer, instead of himself.
He'd also been sure to send Jenny a birthday present, those figurines she'd been collecting ever since she was a child, something she'd once said her grandmother had started her on. Carlton hoped she accepted it for what it was -- a gift, a sign, a chance. Their last sessions had been far from productive and it had been several months she had spoken to him, other than the occasional call from her attorney. After the last spurn, he'd tried to give her room she needed and it hadn't been too long after that that he'd started his relationship with Berry.
The case and the conundrum of the missing Regina Kane managed to keep him distracted from most of his problems even though he occasionally spared a stray thought to wonder how Jenny liked her gifts or to speculate as to why Spencer had suddenly disappeared from the case. Mostly, though, he focused on Blinn and his case files and hoped that his canvassing of the neighborhood would pay off.
When his present for Jenny arrived back at the station with her oh-so-succinct note, Carlton was surprised by the blanket of calm fury that came over him. It wasn't even hurt, which he would've expected, but instead a kind of determined grimness he hadn't felt in a long time. With that feeling building inside him, a trip to the shooting range to demolish those ugly little figurines had been the best idea he'd had in days.
It was like his universe felt the need to converge in catastrophic ways because he'd been finishing up a satisfying round of target practice when O'Hara burst in to let him know that Spencer and Guster had come looking for him. Carlton couldn't believe that O'Hara had been thoughtless enough to leave them anywhere near his desk and files without supervision and he cursed under his breath as he hurried to the bullpen -- only to be subject to another one of Spencer's "episodes." Although he didn't believe that Spencer was psychic, he'd learned to heed his warnings in life-or-death situations and so Lassiter sprinted out of the station with O'Hara, Spencer and Guster on his heels.
A few days later he was going over the psychiatric evaluations that went with the case, adding them to file along with the note that Robert Dunn/Martin Brody/Regina Kane would be sent to the highly respected Ace T. Windsor Center for treatment. It wasn't exactly how he'd expected to see the murder wrapped up, but at least it was closed and Dunn would get the help he needed; Carlton almost empathized with the problem. Sometimes he felt like he had two different people inside him, wanting two entirely different things but it was only an analogy for him -- he was glad that he'd never suffered the kind of trauma it took to make it a literal problem.
Carlton had also made a decision about Jenny sometime in those few days. It was obvious that his overtures weren't helping; her note had been the height of irritation and, now that the anger had faded, he felt some of its intended sting. It was a long time coming but he realized that he was no longer in control of the situation. There was nothing he could do but give her the space she wanted and hope for the best, hope that those months of therapy and counseling would work and she'd come back to him. He realized how unlikely that hope was, especially after all that time, but he let himself hold onto it anyway. It was enough of a chance to let his mind rest easy and he found it frightening as well as exhilarating to let himself be content with his decision.
That only left him with the other problem -- Spencer.
His computer chose that moment to beep and announce that he had a new piece of mail in his office email account. Frowning, Lassiter clicked through until he could see the name in the "FROM" box.
Shawn Spencer.
Carlton rolled his eyes but clicked to open the email anyway.
"Hey, Lassy," the email began, much like Spencer usually did. "First off, no need to thank us for solving your murder case, it's all in a day's work for your favorite head psychic! Of course, I've got this parking ticket that could be taken care of, just so you know. Second off, I want to say thanks to whoever got it fixed for Robert to go to that Ace place for treatment, it's real cool of you guys."
It closed with nothing more than "SHAWN" typed in all capitals a few lines down from the last sentence.
Unfortunately, Spencer -- and Carlton's attraction to him -- wasn't a problem he could lay aside, like he had his problems with Jenny. Spencer was there, in his face, almost every day, underfoot, bothering him like little else could. Now that he'd admitted it to himself, Carlton almost felt stupid to have ignored it so long: the way he watched him, the way he thought about him, the way Spencer pissed him off -- it was so obvious. He'd known from early on that he didn't deal with Spencer the way he usually did with people he didn't like and that should've been his first clue.
The fact was that he was definitely attracted to Spencer. The problem was he didn't want to be.
Sighing, Carlton hit reply on the email and quickly typed out a message: "Spencer, who told you that you could email me at work? You bother me enough as it is. Don't add virtual harassment to your list of crimes."
He didn't sign it but his email signature stating his name, position and cell-phone number was automatically attached.
No sooner than he'd turned back to the Dunn case file, he was alerted to a new email, again from Spencer.
"Actually, you were the one who told me to email you, Lassy, back when we were working on the Nelson Poe case. I just assumed it was an open invitation. And I don't know what list of crimes you're talking about because I seemed to be the one SOLVING the crimes, not committing them."
Before Carlton could think about what he was doing, he was hitting reply again. "You don't consider fraud and perjury a crime?"
Another quick answer. "Of course I do! I just don't remember doing either of those -- unless you've been in touch with the Federales. Then I've probably done that and more."
"Spencer, thoughts of the damage you could do in Tijuana could keep a man up nights. Thank God, it's out of my jurisdiction."
"Okay, Lassy, should a Catholic boy be typing GOD? Isn't that sacrilegious? You know, LIKE THROWING BIBLES AT PYSCHICS? And you think about me all night? That's sweet, Detective, really it is."
It shouldn't have been funny, least of all to Carlton, but something about Spencer's insanity -- as apparent in email as it was in person -- managed to charm him enough that he smiled, shaking his head at the computer screen as he decided to be act his age and decease with the juvenile note-passing. Carlton had just minimized his Outlook when O'Hara came by to leave a few more files with him.
"You're looking better today," she noted happily. "Not nearly so cranky."
He was tempted to snap at her if only to divert the discussion away from his recent bad mood, but when he glanced up at her, O'Hara's eyes were shining with concern and he just didn't have it in him. "Personal crap," he explained, as if it explained anything.
"So it's better now?"
"Handled," he offered.
O'Hara smiled. "Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. You really look very...not grumpy today, Carlton."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment, O'Hara?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
O'Hara didn't reply; instead she just nodded and headed over to her desk, leaving Carlton to wonder what exactly about the day had miraculously changed him from "cranky" to "not grumpy."
**
The day of the McNab-Falconeri wedding dawned clear and bright, not a cloud in the sky and Shawn Spencer was grateful for that fact.
The marriage of two of his newest favorite people had already seen its share of hardships: first, there had been Buzz's brush with death at Hiltonbock's hand; then problems with Nonna Falconeri flying in from Italy; and, most disheartening, an unavoidable postponement due to a mix-up with double bookings at their chapel of choice.
Ironically, Shawn had been able to help out the last one, pulling a few strings with some old friends to find the couple another -- and, dare he say it -- nicer chapel that they'd been able to book at the last minute. So the wedding was on again, set for only two weeks later than its original date. Shawn was just glad that the Falconeri women were doing their own cooking; he didn't know any caterers who owed him big time like Father Bernardo 'Bernie' Caselli did and a change in the date would've been disastrous.
The only disappointment for the otherwise perfect day was that baby Vick's precipitous arrival during her mother's trip to the police seminar meant that the Chief would be unable to attend the blessed occasion. Instead she'd be at home with the new little girl baby that, in Shawn's estimation, already had the supremely good taste of having a crush on him.
The last time Shawn had attended a wedding, it had been the Maxwell wedding where he'd working a case. This time, though, he was attending strictly for the fun and excitement of watching Nabby and the lovely Francie Falconeri get hitched and he was actually excited about it. Food, music, fun -- what more could a guy want on a bright Saturday afternoon?
Juliet, who had no date to call her own, had agreed to be escorted to the shindig by "the two coolest turkeys in Santa Barbara County." After way too much girly fretting, Jules had decided to wear a soft pink dress and had her hair all twisted up, making her look much more dainty and fragile than she did when she was flashing her badge and sporting her piece.
Gus -- ever the fashion maven -- was appropriately stylish in a nice gray suit with a purplish tie and coordinating shirt. Shawn was wearing the same suit he'd bought and hadn't been able to return after the Maxwell wedding but he'd swapped that tie for another silvery-striped one.
Shawn had to admit that they made a very striking trio, sitting on the groom's side of the aisle as they watched the beaming bride be escorted to the altar by her equally proud papa. Lassiter was there, too, by himself at the back of the church, looking more like a pall bearer than a wedding guest. Shawn was almost surprised he even showed; the breakdown of Lassy's marriage was the worst kept secret at the station and everyone had been waiting for McNab's nuptial haze of happiness to piss the head detective off again.
Shawn shot Lassiter a look and a little wave before turning around to watch the actual ceremony.
When it came time for the reception, Shawn found that he and Gus were sharing a table with Juliet, Lassiter, and the two empty seats that had been intended for the Vicks. Lassiter didn't seem pleased with the seating arrangements, scowling at all of them as he sat down.
"It was such a nice ceremony," Juliet commented when no one else seemed inclined to talk. "Really beautiful."
"Yes, it was," Shawn nodded. "My favorite part was when Buzz couldn't find the rings and had to turn out all his pockets."
Gus smothered a laugh into his napkin as Juliet shot Shawn a reproving look.
She tried to draw Lassiter into their chitchat but he was even more uncommunicative than usual. Shawn knew a lot about tells and Lassiter was presenting every tick imaginable for stressed, tense, uncomfortable. His grip around his dinner fork left him white-knuckled and the tension in his jaw made Shawn's ache in sympathy. He didn't understand why Lassy had even bothered to show up if he was going to sit there and look miserable all afternoon.
Gus eventually showed his good sense and escaped the uncomfortable silence by asking Juliet to dance. As they moved to join the other couples mingling on the dance floor, Shawn found himself left alone with a thoroughly unhappy Lassiter who was still holding onto his fork for dear life.
As the detective reached for his water goblet, Shawn couldn't help but say something. "Better watch it," he advised. "Hold that like you've been holding your fork and it'll shatter in your hands and that'll be whole different kind of mess and I'm just not that good with blood."
Lassiter glared at him as usual. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Shawn laughed, taking a sip of his own water. "You're a very bad liar, Lassy. I guess it's a good thing you became a cop."
"Spencer, you don't know anything about me, so just keep your 'psychic' opinions to yourself, hmm?" Lassiter busied himself with pushing his salad around on his plate.
He didn't have much willpower but Shawn used all he had to bite his tongue -- literally -- to keep himself from revealing anything. He hated when his good sense got in the way of messing with Lassiter and while it would almost be worth it to use his inside track from years ago to play the psychic card with Lassiter, he refrained.
But just barely. He actually tasted blood.
"Okay," Shawn conceded. Lassiter looked surprised, then horrified as Shawn continued. "So how about we take this unexpected though not unappreciated together time to change that?"
"Change what?"
"The fact that I don't know anything about you," Shawn said. "Well -- I know things, of course, but I try to keep my third eye away from friends and colleagues as much as possible, unless you want me to make an exception?"
He was vaguely concerned when Lassiter almost choked on a radish.
"What exactly do you have in mind, Spencer?"
"Twenty questions," he said immediately. "We go back and forth, one question at a time. You back out of a question, you have to do something totally crazy to make up for it."
"Isn't that called Truth or Dare?"
"Not at all," Shawn promised. "Because here you don't get to pick exactly. And...we'll be stopping at twenty! Make sense?"
"You rarely make sense," Lassiter told him.
Shawn grinned. "Coming from you, I take that as a compliment."
Lassiter just shook his head.
"Game? Okay, good, I'll start," Shawn began. "How about...hmm...maybe..."
"Just ask a damn question already."
"Do you still have your face wig from the Civil War thing?"
Lassiter looked like he wasn't going to answer and Shawn was about to repeat the question when the detective finally said, "Yes, I do."
"Oh really?" Shawn asked, grinning, eyebrows raised.
Lassiter ignored him.
"Okay, your turn," Shawn told him, making a "gimme" motion with his hands. "Lay it on me, Lassy."
"This is a waste of time," Lassiter said.
"Oh, come on now, be a sport! Ask me a question."
"No."
"Fine," Shawn told him, leaning back in his chair. "Then I'm just going to have to give you a dare."
"What? That's not in the rules of either Twenty Questions or Truth or Dare."
"Well, them's my rules and they're much more fun than the usual boring ones."
When Shawn glanced back, Lassiter was looking at him strangely -- not meanly, just intently, a contemplative sternness to his face that usually meant he was trying to figure something out.
"What?" Shawn wanted to know, loosening the knot of his tie, suddenly restrictive around his neck.
Lassiter looked away. "Nothing," he mumbled but Shawn could sense something was wrong. He glanced over his shoulder toward the dance floor where the bride and groom were sharing their first dance as man and wife. He decided that Lassy's discomfort must have had something to do with that.
Shawn was trying to figure out something else to say when Gus and Juliet returned to the table, Juliet flushed and beaming.
"Well, someone looks like they've been having a good time," Shawn smirked, wagging his eyebrows.
"Gus is a very good dancer," Juliet announced as she sat down, Gus holding her seat for her.
"He owes it all to me," Shawn explained.
"No, I don't," Gus argued as he took his seat.
"Yes, you do."
"Shawn, I took Promenade all during junior high!"
"Yes, but why?" he asked meaningfully.
"Because my mom wanted me to!"
"Exactly!" Shawn crowed. "Who do you think talked her into it?"
Gus shot his friend a dark look and it was Juliet's turn to stifle a laugh behind her napkin. Their easy conversation still seemed to exclude the dour detective seated with them and Shawn didn't have any idea on how to include Lassiter when he was working so hard to be left out.
Juliet looked as if she wanted to ask a question but before she could open her mouth, the band started up with the first unmistakable strains of a song. As if one, everyone at the table turned toward the dance floor, watching as Buzz led a laughing Francie onto the dance floor to a smattering of clapping.
"Is that that annoying Lou Bega song?" Gus asked aloud, watching as Buzz and Francie did something that bore a passing resemblance to the mambo.
"With a little bit of Rita, even," Shawn nodded, rolling the "R" in "Rita" dramatically.
"Mambo No. 4?" Juliet tentatively guessed.
"No. 5," Lassiter said, surprising them all as they whipped around to look at him. "What?"
"Never thought Lou Bega was your speed," Shawn admitted.
Lassiter snorted. "Just because you damage your eardrums with that kind of bubblegum crap doesn't mean everyone does, Spencer. Mambo No. 5 happens to be a classic by Perez Prado, despite what later imitators did to it."
"I didn't know you liked music, Carlton," Juliet said in delight.
Lassiter rolled his eyes but remained silent.
"This is a whole new smoking side of you," Shawn said approvingly. "No wonder you didn't take me up on those private lessons I offered." He added a little wink to the end of his statement, knowing...
"What private lessons?" Gus demanded to know, shooting Shawn a warning look.
"Whaddya say, Lassy?" Shawn said, ignoring Gus. "You, me, the mambo? I'll even let you lead!" He moved his foot fast enough to keep Gus from trodding on it.
Lassiter just glared. "I'll pass."
Shawn shrugged. "Your loss," he told him, rising from his seat. He turned his smile onto Juliet. "Come on, Jules. You know you want to. I hear it in my mind, your secret wishes..." He affected the 'fake Juliet' voice he'd used at their first meeting. "Oh, please, oh, please, Shawn, ask me to mambo with you! I need to mambo with you."
Juliet was almost laughing too hard to reply. "I think something's off with your psychic powers, today."
He tilted his head and gave her his best adorably pleading look. "Fair Juliet, I ask for your hand. Please do me the honor of this dance." He half-bowed for effect.
She nodded and stood. "Why not?"
"She's a good sport," he said, taking her hand. As he led the pretty detective out onto the floor and got their bodies moving in a fair representation of the dance, Shawn couldn't help but shoot a quick glance over Jules's shoulder back at his table.
What he saw almost made him falter but he covered quickly. Gus was frowning at him, glaring -- which Shawn had expected. Gus never liked when Shawn said provocative things around Lassiter and was never impressed when he flirted shamelessly with Juliet and he'd just done both in less than two minutes.
But Lassiter...Lassiter was glaring at them with more animosity than he'd been able to muster for Shawn in the last case or two, staring them down with a kind of vengeance that made Shawn want to duck behind the bandstand to get away from it. Shawn looked from Lassiter to Juliet, thoughts racing, coming up with explanations.
For some reason, the conclusion he drew about Lassy's propensity to fall for his pretty, blonde junior partners left Shawn with a sick feeling in his stomach that he couldn't explain away, no matter how much he tried.
To Be Continued...
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Nothing new.
Summary: 17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.
Past Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10| 11 | 12
Right Place, Wrong Time (Part 13)
For the first time in a very long time, Carlton's work problems took a backseat to the personal issues that had been plaguing him for almost a week. It had all started with his horrific epiphany at the end of the Nelson Poe case, that terrible moment in which he'd realized why Shawn Spencer rattled him so much.
Carlton was attracted to him.
It didn't sound earth-shattering, even as he repeated it in his own mind, but it was -- at least, for Carlton. Although he'd experimented in college, he'd met his wife at a picnic right when he'd been finishing up his Master's degree and they'd started dating before the summer had been over. Not since the last -- experiment -- just before that had Carlton looked or thought about another man in a sexual way and, even though he didn't quite believe it, he figured he'd just been "cured" of his bisexuality by the love of a good woman.
Unfortunately, that good woman's love had soured in the last few years, which was the other personal issue preying on his mind: his wife's birthday was approaching. Carlton knew he needed to do something to mark the occasion, use it as proof that all the counseling and therapy had paid off and he acknowledged the issues she'd brought up about his inattention and dedication to his job. He wanted to prove to Jennifer that they could make it work if she'd give him another chance.
Even when he'd been involved with Lucinda, Carlton's goal had always been to repair his marriage. For almost two years, he -- and, to a lesser extent, Jenny -- had been trying to figure out a way to revive what, in the beginning, had been a good relationship and a great marriage. He hadn't been looking for either when he'd met her through Lorraine Fenich, his mentor's wife, but Jennifer had been everything he'd ever wanted in a woman and he'd had surprised by how quickly they'd both realized that they were perfectly suited. They had chosen to wait a little on marriage but they'd eventually tied the knot and had had several happy years before the cracks had started to show.
It was a strange situation for Lassiter to be in turmoil over two such disparate problems: the love for his wife and the sinking certainty that there was nothing he could do to save their marriage and the lust he suddenly had for someone he could barely stand on a normal basis. The fact that he'd fixated on Spencer of all people only made his shame more acute, more horrifying but even Carlton no longer had enough denial in him to continue to lie to himself about what he wanted -- and what he wanted was to have sex with Spencer.
Work wasn't the haven it had once been, especially not with Spencer showing up whenever he pleased. He had some luck left in him because some private case had kept most of Spencer's attention away from the station, leaving him and O'Hara free to deal with Dr. Blinn's murder without his interference. Their paths had still crossed in the course of the investigation and Carlton had been gripped with the insane need to snap Spencer's neck every time. He supposed his therapist would call it sublimation or misplaced anger but Carlton was quite happy with it being right where it was -- directed at Spencer, instead of himself.
He'd also been sure to send Jenny a birthday present, those figurines she'd been collecting ever since she was a child, something she'd once said her grandmother had started her on. Carlton hoped she accepted it for what it was -- a gift, a sign, a chance. Their last sessions had been far from productive and it had been several months she had spoken to him, other than the occasional call from her attorney. After the last spurn, he'd tried to give her room she needed and it hadn't been too long after that that he'd started his relationship with Berry.
The case and the conundrum of the missing Regina Kane managed to keep him distracted from most of his problems even though he occasionally spared a stray thought to wonder how Jenny liked her gifts or to speculate as to why Spencer had suddenly disappeared from the case. Mostly, though, he focused on Blinn and his case files and hoped that his canvassing of the neighborhood would pay off.
When his present for Jenny arrived back at the station with her oh-so-succinct note, Carlton was surprised by the blanket of calm fury that came over him. It wasn't even hurt, which he would've expected, but instead a kind of determined grimness he hadn't felt in a long time. With that feeling building inside him, a trip to the shooting range to demolish those ugly little figurines had been the best idea he'd had in days.
It was like his universe felt the need to converge in catastrophic ways because he'd been finishing up a satisfying round of target practice when O'Hara burst in to let him know that Spencer and Guster had come looking for him. Carlton couldn't believe that O'Hara had been thoughtless enough to leave them anywhere near his desk and files without supervision and he cursed under his breath as he hurried to the bullpen -- only to be subject to another one of Spencer's "episodes." Although he didn't believe that Spencer was psychic, he'd learned to heed his warnings in life-or-death situations and so Lassiter sprinted out of the station with O'Hara, Spencer and Guster on his heels.
A few days later he was going over the psychiatric evaluations that went with the case, adding them to file along with the note that Robert Dunn/Martin Brody/Regina Kane would be sent to the highly respected Ace T. Windsor Center for treatment. It wasn't exactly how he'd expected to see the murder wrapped up, but at least it was closed and Dunn would get the help he needed; Carlton almost empathized with the problem. Sometimes he felt like he had two different people inside him, wanting two entirely different things but it was only an analogy for him -- he was glad that he'd never suffered the kind of trauma it took to make it a literal problem.
Carlton had also made a decision about Jenny sometime in those few days. It was obvious that his overtures weren't helping; her note had been the height of irritation and, now that the anger had faded, he felt some of its intended sting. It was a long time coming but he realized that he was no longer in control of the situation. There was nothing he could do but give her the space she wanted and hope for the best, hope that those months of therapy and counseling would work and she'd come back to him. He realized how unlikely that hope was, especially after all that time, but he let himself hold onto it anyway. It was enough of a chance to let his mind rest easy and he found it frightening as well as exhilarating to let himself be content with his decision.
That only left him with the other problem -- Spencer.
His computer chose that moment to beep and announce that he had a new piece of mail in his office email account. Frowning, Lassiter clicked through until he could see the name in the "FROM" box.
Shawn Spencer.
Carlton rolled his eyes but clicked to open the email anyway.
"Hey, Lassy," the email began, much like Spencer usually did. "First off, no need to thank us for solving your murder case, it's all in a day's work for your favorite head psychic! Of course, I've got this parking ticket that could be taken care of, just so you know. Second off, I want to say thanks to whoever got it fixed for Robert to go to that Ace place for treatment, it's real cool of you guys."
It closed with nothing more than "SHAWN" typed in all capitals a few lines down from the last sentence.
Unfortunately, Spencer -- and Carlton's attraction to him -- wasn't a problem he could lay aside, like he had his problems with Jenny. Spencer was there, in his face, almost every day, underfoot, bothering him like little else could. Now that he'd admitted it to himself, Carlton almost felt stupid to have ignored it so long: the way he watched him, the way he thought about him, the way Spencer pissed him off -- it was so obvious. He'd known from early on that he didn't deal with Spencer the way he usually did with people he didn't like and that should've been his first clue.
The fact was that he was definitely attracted to Spencer. The problem was he didn't want to be.
Sighing, Carlton hit reply on the email and quickly typed out a message: "Spencer, who told you that you could email me at work? You bother me enough as it is. Don't add virtual harassment to your list of crimes."
He didn't sign it but his email signature stating his name, position and cell-phone number was automatically attached.
No sooner than he'd turned back to the Dunn case file, he was alerted to a new email, again from Spencer.
"Actually, you were the one who told me to email you, Lassy, back when we were working on the Nelson Poe case. I just assumed it was an open invitation. And I don't know what list of crimes you're talking about because I seemed to be the one SOLVING the crimes, not committing them."
Before Carlton could think about what he was doing, he was hitting reply again. "You don't consider fraud and perjury a crime?"
Another quick answer. "Of course I do! I just don't remember doing either of those -- unless you've been in touch with the Federales. Then I've probably done that and more."
"Spencer, thoughts of the damage you could do in Tijuana could keep a man up nights. Thank God, it's out of my jurisdiction."
"Okay, Lassy, should a Catholic boy be typing GOD? Isn't that sacrilegious? You know, LIKE THROWING BIBLES AT PYSCHICS? And you think about me all night? That's sweet, Detective, really it is."
It shouldn't have been funny, least of all to Carlton, but something about Spencer's insanity -- as apparent in email as it was in person -- managed to charm him enough that he smiled, shaking his head at the computer screen as he decided to be act his age and decease with the juvenile note-passing. Carlton had just minimized his Outlook when O'Hara came by to leave a few more files with him.
"You're looking better today," she noted happily. "Not nearly so cranky."
He was tempted to snap at her if only to divert the discussion away from his recent bad mood, but when he glanced up at her, O'Hara's eyes were shining with concern and he just didn't have it in him. "Personal crap," he explained, as if it explained anything.
"So it's better now?"
"Handled," he offered.
O'Hara smiled. "Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. You really look very...not grumpy today, Carlton."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment, O'Hara?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
O'Hara didn't reply; instead she just nodded and headed over to her desk, leaving Carlton to wonder what exactly about the day had miraculously changed him from "cranky" to "not grumpy."
**
The day of the McNab-Falconeri wedding dawned clear and bright, not a cloud in the sky and Shawn Spencer was grateful for that fact.
The marriage of two of his newest favorite people had already seen its share of hardships: first, there had been Buzz's brush with death at Hiltonbock's hand; then problems with Nonna Falconeri flying in from Italy; and, most disheartening, an unavoidable postponement due to a mix-up with double bookings at their chapel of choice.
Ironically, Shawn had been able to help out the last one, pulling a few strings with some old friends to find the couple another -- and, dare he say it -- nicer chapel that they'd been able to book at the last minute. So the wedding was on again, set for only two weeks later than its original date. Shawn was just glad that the Falconeri women were doing their own cooking; he didn't know any caterers who owed him big time like Father Bernardo 'Bernie' Caselli did and a change in the date would've been disastrous.
The only disappointment for the otherwise perfect day was that baby Vick's precipitous arrival during her mother's trip to the police seminar meant that the Chief would be unable to attend the blessed occasion. Instead she'd be at home with the new little girl baby that, in Shawn's estimation, already had the supremely good taste of having a crush on him.
The last time Shawn had attended a wedding, it had been the Maxwell wedding where he'd working a case. This time, though, he was attending strictly for the fun and excitement of watching Nabby and the lovely Francie Falconeri get hitched and he was actually excited about it. Food, music, fun -- what more could a guy want on a bright Saturday afternoon?
Juliet, who had no date to call her own, had agreed to be escorted to the shindig by "the two coolest turkeys in Santa Barbara County." After way too much girly fretting, Jules had decided to wear a soft pink dress and had her hair all twisted up, making her look much more dainty and fragile than she did when she was flashing her badge and sporting her piece.
Gus -- ever the fashion maven -- was appropriately stylish in a nice gray suit with a purplish tie and coordinating shirt. Shawn was wearing the same suit he'd bought and hadn't been able to return after the Maxwell wedding but he'd swapped that tie for another silvery-striped one.
Shawn had to admit that they made a very striking trio, sitting on the groom's side of the aisle as they watched the beaming bride be escorted to the altar by her equally proud papa. Lassiter was there, too, by himself at the back of the church, looking more like a pall bearer than a wedding guest. Shawn was almost surprised he even showed; the breakdown of Lassy's marriage was the worst kept secret at the station and everyone had been waiting for McNab's nuptial haze of happiness to piss the head detective off again.
Shawn shot Lassiter a look and a little wave before turning around to watch the actual ceremony.
When it came time for the reception, Shawn found that he and Gus were sharing a table with Juliet, Lassiter, and the two empty seats that had been intended for the Vicks. Lassiter didn't seem pleased with the seating arrangements, scowling at all of them as he sat down.
"It was such a nice ceremony," Juliet commented when no one else seemed inclined to talk. "Really beautiful."
"Yes, it was," Shawn nodded. "My favorite part was when Buzz couldn't find the rings and had to turn out all his pockets."
Gus smothered a laugh into his napkin as Juliet shot Shawn a reproving look.
She tried to draw Lassiter into their chitchat but he was even more uncommunicative than usual. Shawn knew a lot about tells and Lassiter was presenting every tick imaginable for stressed, tense, uncomfortable. His grip around his dinner fork left him white-knuckled and the tension in his jaw made Shawn's ache in sympathy. He didn't understand why Lassy had even bothered to show up if he was going to sit there and look miserable all afternoon.
Gus eventually showed his good sense and escaped the uncomfortable silence by asking Juliet to dance. As they moved to join the other couples mingling on the dance floor, Shawn found himself left alone with a thoroughly unhappy Lassiter who was still holding onto his fork for dear life.
As the detective reached for his water goblet, Shawn couldn't help but say something. "Better watch it," he advised. "Hold that like you've been holding your fork and it'll shatter in your hands and that'll be whole different kind of mess and I'm just not that good with blood."
Lassiter glared at him as usual. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Shawn laughed, taking a sip of his own water. "You're a very bad liar, Lassy. I guess it's a good thing you became a cop."
"Spencer, you don't know anything about me, so just keep your 'psychic' opinions to yourself, hmm?" Lassiter busied himself with pushing his salad around on his plate.
He didn't have much willpower but Shawn used all he had to bite his tongue -- literally -- to keep himself from revealing anything. He hated when his good sense got in the way of messing with Lassiter and while it would almost be worth it to use his inside track from years ago to play the psychic card with Lassiter, he refrained.
But just barely. He actually tasted blood.
"Okay," Shawn conceded. Lassiter looked surprised, then horrified as Shawn continued. "So how about we take this unexpected though not unappreciated together time to change that?"
"Change what?"
"The fact that I don't know anything about you," Shawn said. "Well -- I know things, of course, but I try to keep my third eye away from friends and colleagues as much as possible, unless you want me to make an exception?"
He was vaguely concerned when Lassiter almost choked on a radish.
"What exactly do you have in mind, Spencer?"
"Twenty questions," he said immediately. "We go back and forth, one question at a time. You back out of a question, you have to do something totally crazy to make up for it."
"Isn't that called Truth or Dare?"
"Not at all," Shawn promised. "Because here you don't get to pick exactly. And...we'll be stopping at twenty! Make sense?"
"You rarely make sense," Lassiter told him.
Shawn grinned. "Coming from you, I take that as a compliment."
Lassiter just shook his head.
"Game? Okay, good, I'll start," Shawn began. "How about...hmm...maybe..."
"Just ask a damn question already."
"Do you still have your face wig from the Civil War thing?"
Lassiter looked like he wasn't going to answer and Shawn was about to repeat the question when the detective finally said, "Yes, I do."
"Oh really?" Shawn asked, grinning, eyebrows raised.
Lassiter ignored him.
"Okay, your turn," Shawn told him, making a "gimme" motion with his hands. "Lay it on me, Lassy."
"This is a waste of time," Lassiter said.
"Oh, come on now, be a sport! Ask me a question."
"No."
"Fine," Shawn told him, leaning back in his chair. "Then I'm just going to have to give you a dare."
"What? That's not in the rules of either Twenty Questions or Truth or Dare."
"Well, them's my rules and they're much more fun than the usual boring ones."
When Shawn glanced back, Lassiter was looking at him strangely -- not meanly, just intently, a contemplative sternness to his face that usually meant he was trying to figure something out.
"What?" Shawn wanted to know, loosening the knot of his tie, suddenly restrictive around his neck.
Lassiter looked away. "Nothing," he mumbled but Shawn could sense something was wrong. He glanced over his shoulder toward the dance floor where the bride and groom were sharing their first dance as man and wife. He decided that Lassy's discomfort must have had something to do with that.
Shawn was trying to figure out something else to say when Gus and Juliet returned to the table, Juliet flushed and beaming.
"Well, someone looks like they've been having a good time," Shawn smirked, wagging his eyebrows.
"Gus is a very good dancer," Juliet announced as she sat down, Gus holding her seat for her.
"He owes it all to me," Shawn explained.
"No, I don't," Gus argued as he took his seat.
"Yes, you do."
"Shawn, I took Promenade all during junior high!"
"Yes, but why?" he asked meaningfully.
"Because my mom wanted me to!"
"Exactly!" Shawn crowed. "Who do you think talked her into it?"
Gus shot his friend a dark look and it was Juliet's turn to stifle a laugh behind her napkin. Their easy conversation still seemed to exclude the dour detective seated with them and Shawn didn't have any idea on how to include Lassiter when he was working so hard to be left out.
Juliet looked as if she wanted to ask a question but before she could open her mouth, the band started up with the first unmistakable strains of a song. As if one, everyone at the table turned toward the dance floor, watching as Buzz led a laughing Francie onto the dance floor to a smattering of clapping.
"Is that that annoying Lou Bega song?" Gus asked aloud, watching as Buzz and Francie did something that bore a passing resemblance to the mambo.
"With a little bit of Rita, even," Shawn nodded, rolling the "R" in "Rita" dramatically.
"Mambo No. 4?" Juliet tentatively guessed.
"No. 5," Lassiter said, surprising them all as they whipped around to look at him. "What?"
"Never thought Lou Bega was your speed," Shawn admitted.
Lassiter snorted. "Just because you damage your eardrums with that kind of bubblegum crap doesn't mean everyone does, Spencer. Mambo No. 5 happens to be a classic by Perez Prado, despite what later imitators did to it."
"I didn't know you liked music, Carlton," Juliet said in delight.
Lassiter rolled his eyes but remained silent.
"This is a whole new smoking side of you," Shawn said approvingly. "No wonder you didn't take me up on those private lessons I offered." He added a little wink to the end of his statement, knowing...
"What private lessons?" Gus demanded to know, shooting Shawn a warning look.
"Whaddya say, Lassy?" Shawn said, ignoring Gus. "You, me, the mambo? I'll even let you lead!" He moved his foot fast enough to keep Gus from trodding on it.
Lassiter just glared. "I'll pass."
Shawn shrugged. "Your loss," he told him, rising from his seat. He turned his smile onto Juliet. "Come on, Jules. You know you want to. I hear it in my mind, your secret wishes..." He affected the 'fake Juliet' voice he'd used at their first meeting. "Oh, please, oh, please, Shawn, ask me to mambo with you! I need to mambo with you."
Juliet was almost laughing too hard to reply. "I think something's off with your psychic powers, today."
He tilted his head and gave her his best adorably pleading look. "Fair Juliet, I ask for your hand. Please do me the honor of this dance." He half-bowed for effect.
She nodded and stood. "Why not?"
"She's a good sport," he said, taking her hand. As he led the pretty detective out onto the floor and got their bodies moving in a fair representation of the dance, Shawn couldn't help but shoot a quick glance over Jules's shoulder back at his table.
What he saw almost made him falter but he covered quickly. Gus was frowning at him, glaring -- which Shawn had expected. Gus never liked when Shawn said provocative things around Lassiter and was never impressed when he flirted shamelessly with Juliet and he'd just done both in less than two minutes.
But Lassiter...Lassiter was glaring at them with more animosity than he'd been able to muster for Shawn in the last case or two, staring them down with a kind of vengeance that made Shawn want to duck behind the bandstand to get away from it. Shawn looked from Lassiter to Juliet, thoughts racing, coming up with explanations.
For some reason, the conclusion he drew about Lassy's propensity to fall for his pretty, blonde junior partners left Shawn with a sick feeling in his stomach that he couldn't explain away, no matter how much he tried.
To Be Continued...