FIC: "Between the Lines" by Regann - PG-13 - Shawn/Lassiter
Title: Between the Lines
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Stand-alone fic. No specific S2 spoilers.
Summary: Lassiter can't help but be disgusted by the idea of Spencer and O'Hara dating, just like he can't help it that he and O'Hara have the same bad taste in men. But maybe Lassiter's not seeing what he thinks he is. ~7,000 words
Between the Lines
Despite the unsavory subject matter and the fact that it was costing him several hundred dollars an hour, Lassiter's dinner meeting with his divorce lawyer had went well.
He liked his attorney -- she was one of the few things that he'd liked about the divorce in general -- but she was starting to gently coax him into accepting that a settlement was inevitable since his wife had little desire to reconcile. Lassiter knew she was only telling him truth but he was having trouble accepting it -- not so much the divorce itself but the failure it represented.
Still, they'd talked strategy and possible scenarios over quiche and salad greens and Lassiter decided that it had been a positive step toward a solution.
The night was cool and clear; Lassiter had walked to the quaint restaurant not far from his new apartment and had declined Madeline's offer of a lift home. He liked walking, enjoyed the quietness of it, the way it let him work through his thoughts. It wasn't the same as sitting alone in his apartment or being hunched over his desk at work or even emptying a clip into an unsuspecting target on the range. The combination of the space and the exercise seemed to sharpen his senses, open up his mind.
On his route home, Lassiter passed several restaurants louder and more crowded than the one he'd left, trendier little spots that overflowed with light, people and sound. One of the most popular was Salamandra, a little salsa dance and dinner club that remained busy well into the early hours of the morning. As he passed by, he slowed, having to dodge the outside tables and the milling patrons, dancers trickling off the dance floor and onto the patio. Lassiter glanced through the crowds, a cursory, automatic action after years on the force but his gaze faltered when it honed onto a familiar face -- O'Hara.
His partner was on the dance floor, wearing a slinky red number that suited her and went well with the place's atmosphere. She looked nice, hair loose and makeup heavier than usual and Lassiter spared a moment to be glad for her. O'Hara was a nice enough young woman and he was glad that she was getting out more; she was always bothering him to expand his life outside of work but, from where he sat, she was as guilty of being as workaholic as he was.
Lassiter was just about to move on, eyes skidding away from O'Hara when the dancing crowd shifted and he got an eyeful of the man responsible for bringing such a bright smile to his partner's face -- Spencer.
Spencer was dressed much like he'd been during the Sandra Panitch trial -- jeans, dress shirt, hair artfully mussed, look completed by the grin creasing his stubbled face. They were dancing close, both smiling as they talked, Spencer's arm wrapped tightly around O'Hara's waist. He knew it wasn't very professional of him but Lassiter wished for a moment that he could hear their conversation; it was an impossible desire, given the music and the glass and the distance that separated them. Instead he watched for a few more beats, their mouths and bodies moving, until he saw O'Hara give Spencer a coy, flirty look from beneath her lashes, causing Spencer to laugh and nod vigorously.
O'Hara seemed pleased -- more like ecstatic -- at Spencer's agreement and she threw her head back laughing. Spencer was still talking as her laughter faded and one of her arms wrapped around Spencer's neck in a quick hug. When she released him, Spencer grabbed her up again and planted his mouth right on hers, covering the action by dipping her extravagantly, drawing attention from nearby dancers.
Lassiter didn't watch anymore. Instead, he turned away sharply, pointedly turning his back on the scene as he hurried home. Suddenly the night didn't feel as freeing it had moments before and he wanted nothing more than to get home and lose himself in some mindless old movie on cable until he could finally fall asleep. But even as he put distance between him and the restaurant, the image of O'Hara and Spencer wouldn't leave his mind, the sight of them in each other's arms haunting him even as he stormed through the small courtyard of his complex and up to his second-floor apartment.
He slammed the door shut behind him, ripping the loosened tie from his neck, his jacket following. Lassiter switched on the television as he passed, paying little attention to the black-and-white figures moving across the screen. The swelling noise of the music from the classic movie was nothing but white noise against his thoughts, thoughts that left him angry and frustrated for reasons he'd never wanted to admit or examine.
Of course, ignoring or denying feelings hadn't changed them or gotten rid of them but Lassiter had never expected them to sucker-punch him like they had at the sight of Spencer and O'Hara kissing. Though Spencer flirted shamelessly with just about everyone who crossed his path, he'd never taken the supposed psychic's interest in his partner very seriously and he'd never expected O'Hara to let it be. But there they'd been, laughing, dancing, talking -- kissing. Lassiter couldn't seem to erase that particular image from his mind, not even with the burning sweetness of the scotch he'd allowed himself, hoping it would help him unwind.
Drink in hand, Lassiter sank down onto his sofa, trying to force his tense muscles to relax. He leaned back, clinking the ice in his old fashioned, trying to get the sound of the salsa music out of his head, along with the images he couldn't shake. O'Hara's flirty look, Spencer's smile -- it was like a feedback loop, over and over, and he wanted it to stop.
Unfortunately, if he'd always got what he wanted, his life would've never led him to that moment and Lassiter was resigned to the sleepless night he knew he'd be having. He passed most of the night in front of the television, watching as Claudette Colbert first married and divorced Joel McCrea, then went on in the second feature to romance John Wayne on a train. He finally nodded off just before the movie's end, waking up a few hours later at the blaring sound of his alarm.
In the cold light of morning, it was hard to believe that he'd let seeing O'Hara with Spencer bother him. If O'Hara was stupid enough to fall for Spencer's cheesy and changeable charm, well -- it was her heartbreak, not his. He had thought she was smarter than that but Lassiter had been wrong about women before.
He arrived at the station early, a cup of good coffee to fortify him against the negative effects of little sleep, an extra sugar mixed in for good measure. By the time O'Hara arrived over an hour later, Lassiter was hard at work, feeling as if he'd put the displeasing display of the night before behind him.
"Good morning, Lassiter," she said, smiling.
"O'Hara," he returned in greeting, glancing up as she sat down at her desk. She was glowing, he noted, a little dewy-eyed from what he assumed was a late night but her smile was as bright as he'd ever seen it at work, and she seemed almost poised on the verge of laughter, she had so much bubbliness inside.
Lassiter felt something cold clutch in his chest. "We've got an interview in an hour," he continued neutrally. "You need to go over the preliminaries before then."
"Sure thing," she chirped, hurrying away to grab the relevant files. With work as the focus of their interaction, Lassiter could ignore O'Hara's happiness and excessive perkiness and could almost ignore the part of his mind that hated its cause.
They'd just about finished up their notes and were about to leave for the interview when the Chief came by their desks.
When her usual good morning greeting was met with such a profound and sincere return from O'Hara, both Vick and Lassiter turned to stare at the young woman.
"What?" she asked when they both looked at her curiously.
"Pardon me for saying so, O'Hara, but you're even more -- enthusiastic than usual," Vick pointed out. "Have you been following Lassiter's lead and mainlining caffeine?"
Lassiter snorted and O'Hara giggled.
"No, not caffeine," she assured them both. She seemed shy, almost, eyes lowered. "But, actually, something very...nice happened last night. So I'm guess I'm just in a good mood."
It was the last thing that Lassiter had wanted to hear and he couldn't help the scowl that suddenly blanketed his features.
"A really good mood," Vick clarified, a half-grin on her face that said she was amused by O'Hara's youthful exuberance. "Carry on, then, just -- not try to look too happy while interviewing your witness, hmm?"
"Sure thing, Chief," O'Hara called after her as Lassiter pushed her out the door. "I'll do my best!"
The sobering events of their case tempered O'Hara's euphoria for awhile but it was back in full force after lunch, setting Lassiter's teeth on edge. It didn't help but that Spencer showed up later that afternoon.
"Jules!" Spencer called out once he'd cleared the front desk. "Just the girl I was looking for!"
"Shawn!" she gushed, grinning like she'd been the night before. Lassiter glared at both of them from over the top of his papers.
Spencer reached her desk and grabbed her hands. "I've got a surprise for you!" he sing-songed.
"Really?" she asked, eyes wide and curious. "What?"
"We have a very special appointment tomorrow for lunch," he told her. "Clear your schedule."
"Okay," she conceded, confused. "But that's our standing date for..."
"It's going to be extra special," he promised. "Because you'll want to look your best Saturday night."
"Saturday?" she squeaked, sounding more like a junior-high student than a police detective.
"Saturday," he confirmed, grinning.
O'Hara squeezed his hands affectionately, then released them as she stood up. "I need to go talk to the Chief," she told him, almost apologetically.
Lassiter was struck with the horrifying thought that he might have to witness something disgusting like Spencer kissing her again.
"Yeah, of course, go," Spencer said instead, stepping away from her -- much to Lassiter's relief. "I just wanted to stop by, say hello."
O'Hara's smile was still blinding. "Thanks, Shawn," she told him. "I'll see you later?"
"Of course!"
As soon as O'Hara left, Spencer sidled his way over. "Hey, Lassy."
"Spencer."
Spencer peered over his shoulder. "What's up?"
Lassiter sighed. "I'm working, Spencer. Maybe you should try it sometime."
"Nah," Spencer said, leaning against his desk in his usual slouch. "It's too much work. It's not very fun, either."
Lassiter thought that perhaps ignoring him would make Spencer leave him alone but he was wrong: Spencer just stood there, fidgeting with a glass paperweight, switching it from hand to hand. He glanced up from his work and glared. "Look, O'Hara's going to be in that meeting for awhile, so how about you just leave?"
"Huh?" was Spencer's brilliant reply. "Oh...what makes you think I didn't come here to see you?"
Spencer was smiling at him winningly, flashing teeth. Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Get out of here, Spencer, before I have you arrested for something."
"As kinky as that sounds," Spencer began, straightening up. "I have entirely too much to get done."
"Thank god."
"Later, Lassy!"
"Don't threaten me like that."
Spencer laughed, grinning. "You know you look forward to seeing me," he said. "Don't even lie." With that, Spencer disappeared and Lassiter was left alone to finish his reports in peace before O'Hara emerged from her meeting with the chief.
Instead of using that time to work, though, Lassiter found his attention wondering off-course, dwelling on O'Hara and Spencer and the thing that had obviously developed between them. He hadn't noticed any signs of it before he'd caught sight of them the night before and he certainly didn't think it was a good idea. O'Hara was nice and much too gullible for Spencer who, in Lassiter's opinion, was the exact opposite. Spencer was manipulative, underhanded, obviously capable of lying indefinitely, if this psychic crap was any example of his usual behavior. He was also irresponsible, completely irreverent, untrustworthy and perpetually immature.
Not any of that stopped Lassiter from wanting him.
He laid aside a handful of files with a little more force than necessary, drawing wary glances from a younger detective and amused head-shaking from an old veteran to his right. He glared at both of them but tamped down on his anger, staring blindly down at the papers on his desk until he could read the print writ across them.
In some way, Lassiter considered his current state a fitting punishment for ever entertaining less-than-irritating thoughts about Spencer in the first place. If he was stupid enough to lust after him and insane enough to actually care beyond that, he deserved his suffering. Maybe it would help him get over it.
Or maybe it would just send him over the edge finally, having to look at O'Hara's beaming face every day, knowing why she was so damn happy.
He wasn't sure which was more likely.
Hell, he wasn't even sure which he preferred.
Lassiter actually breathed a sigh of relief next day when Spencer finally showed up to whisk O'Hara away for her "surprise." His partner had been on pins and needles all morning, driving him even crazier than she had the day before. He could also tell by looking at her face that she had some big news she wanted to spill; every time he looked up, he'd catch her watching him, biting her lip as she debated whether to tell or not. So far, he'd cut off all confessions with a well-timed glare or delegated task but he knew one day she'd finally work up the nerve to tell him anyway -- and that was one conversation he didn't want to have.
He'd been hoping that she'd come back from lunch more relaxed but when she waltzed back into the station, skin glowing, eyes bright and hips swaying, Lassiter gritted his teeth and wished she hadn't been returned quite so loose. It left him all sorts of bad ideas about what kind of surprise Spencer had planned for the two of them and 'afternoon delight' was the tamest option his tortured imagination conjured up.
It became obvious that God was punishing him later that day when he and O'Hara ended up pulling the short stick on stakeout duty, relieving Loggins and Messina who'd been at it all day. Stuck within the confining quarters of his car with a dying-to-share O'Hara had to be the closest thing to hell he could imagine.
O'Hara did well for the first few hours but as the night fell into the stillness of early morning, he could see that she was struggling not to speak. Finally Lassiter's impatience with her fidgety, fretful state overtook even his resistance of hearing what she had to say.
"Spit it out, O'Hara," he announced into the silence. "Whatever it is you have to say, whatever it is that has you so wound up, just say it so we can move on."
O'Hara flushed scarlet. "Sorry," she told him. "I'm just -- it's personal. I didn't think you'd want to hear."
"If it's affecting your job -- like now -- it's professional," he told her. "Just say whatever it is and get it over with."
O'Hara shot him a timid look, measuring, then relaxed a little. "It's -- I haven't done much socializing since I moved here," she revealed. "But I've been interested in someone for awhile now. We have this big date on Saturday and I'm a little nervous." She ended her confession with a faint, self-deprecating smile.
"So I heard," Lassiter admitted, trying to keep his anger from his voice. It wasn't O'Hara's fault that they shared the same bad taste in Spencer.
She looked up sharply. "You heard? I...oh, you mean when Shawn stopped by."
"Yeah."
She was smiling again, that same damned smile she'd had for days. "He's been really wonderful about everything," she told him softly, like she was sharing a secret. "He's done all of the work, too."
"I find that -- surprising."
"So did I," she laughed. "But it's true."
Lassiter made a non-committal noise, mostly to fill the silence.
"I really like him," she said. "I don't want to mess it up, especially since...I guess it could affect the job, either way."
It was already affecting the job, Lassiter thought sourly. In more ways than the fact they were having that conversation.
Out loud, he said, "It's not easy to deal with personal relationships in the workplace."
"And you would know, wouldn't you?"
He glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing!" she swore, wincing from her gaffe and Lassiter kept up the disapproving look until she looked sufficiently cowed. He hoped that one day he'd be able to have a conversation about workplace ethics that didn't come back to him and Berry. "Just -- I know this might change things around work." She twisted to face him. "I don't...um, what's the protocol, here? The partner protocol? What and when do you need to know if...?"
He wanted to say never; he wanted to say now, so he could try and talk her out of it. Instead, he thought about the question seriously for a moment before he said, "It's still your life, O'Hara. And I'm not your father. Just if you ever think we're going to walk into a situation where I need to know something's changed, tell me. If not..." He leaned back in his seat, using some innocuous movement from across the street as an excuse to look away from her earnest expression. "I don't do locker room talk. Not with the men and definitely not with the ladies."
"Locker room? I..." She trailed off as she realized what he meant. "Ew! No!"
Her surprise and horror were so comical that it almost made up for the conversation. "As long as we understand each other, O'Hara."
"We do," she promised. "Perfectly."
"Good," he said, some humor still in his voice. "Can we get back to the stakeout now?"
The talk seemed to mollify O'Hara and the rest of the night passed in quiet. Their relief didn't show up until almost dawn and they both staggered home for a few hours' rest and a change of clothes. It was Lassiter's third straight sleepless night but at least this one hadn't involved any late-night marathons on TCM.
Both he and O'Hara were too tired for much more than paperwork the next morning, though O'Hara managed to perk up as soon as Spencer and Guster came around to sniff for cases. Lassiter quickly made himself scarce, not wanting to sit around and watch O'Hara moon over Spencer any more than he had to.
When he came back from loitering down in the evidence locker, he saw Guster had been dragged into conversation with one of the uniforms, a hypochondriac if Lassiter had ever met one. He figured that Collins must've gotten wind of Guster's day job because he had several bottles of prescription pills in his hands as he fired question after question into the man's face.
Around the other side of the bullpen, almost hidden from view by a pillar, Lassiter caught sight of O'Hara and Spencer all cozied up, talking intently. Lassiter knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but it didn't mean he wouldn't strain his ears as he passed.
"Are you serious, Shawn?" O'Hara was asking. "Please tell me you're serious!"
"Jules..." Spencer's voice was uncharacteristically soft, free of any affectation. It surprised Lassiter. "Of course, I'm serious! This is your heart we're talking about and I don't toy with people's hearts. Their hair, yes, their money, sure, and occasionally their affections if they ask nicely but never their hearts. You got me?"
"Yeah," she said and Lassiter could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm just so ---"
"I know," he told her soothingly. "Psychic, remember? That's also how I know everything's going to be perfect. Trust me!"
Lassiter didn't wait to hear O'Hara's reply before he stomped off again, this time taking a quick walk around the station, ostensibly to check in with a few of his detectives. In reality, it was in order to cool down before he had to face O'Hara or Spencer again.
He was going to have to deal with this, he told himself. He couldn't have his jealousy rearing its ugly head every time Spencer came around or O'Hara had a smile on her face. It was ludicrous that he even allowed it this much power over him. It wasn't as if Lassiter had ever thought that his -- feelings -- for Spencer would ever amount to more than a few late-night masturbatory fantasies and the occasional awkward moment when Spencer's outrageous behavior hit a little too close to home. He'd always known that it was a hopeless scenario, on all sides. He'd thought that all his logical reasoning had prepared him to deal with anything that came up connected to it.
But Lassiter had never expected this.
Spencer and Guster were long gone when he came back to his desk and he was far too resigned to be angry or irritated by O'Hara's bouncy cheerfulness. The rest of the day passed quietly and Lassiter was glad that he'd have the weekend away from O'Hara and Spencer in order to work through the things eating at him. He needed to have it dealt with before, like he'd warned O'Hara, it spilled over into his work and made him sloppy.
He didn't know whether to be thankful or not but he had a message waiting for him from Henry Spencer, telling him that the former cop was planning to go fishing early the next morning. Lassiter called him back to confirm his interest and then happily found that three days of little-to-no sleep meant he was down hours before midnight.
The early-morning fishing helped clear his head a little, though all the quiet time with the elder Spencer gave him time to dwell on how the younger Spencer was slowly driving him insane. First it had been professional, then Lassiter had developed his unfortunate fascination with him, and now he was consumed by his uncharitable thoughts about the so-called psychic and his apparently serious interest in O'Hara.
Lassiter realized belatedly that it had been that last conversation that had convinced him of it. Spencer, sounding so honest and unlike himself, not performing for attention -- in that moment, he'd shown both Lassiter and O'Hara how sincere he actually was.
After he managed to beg off a meal with Spencer, Lassiter headed back to his apartment and tried to stay busy. He puttered around his bathroom, finishing up a grouting project he'd been putting off and then he attacked the unsorted boxes he still had stacked in his spare room from his hasty move.
Organizing kept his busy until early evening, when he finally had to declare his tasks finished. As nice as it was to get so much accomplished on his day off, his busy hands hadn't kept his mind busy enough and he'd had to work at keeping his thoughts from O'Hara, Spencer or what could be happening since it was Saturday night.
Finally, Lassiter realized that the hours would continue to trickle by if all he did was stare at the bland walls of his apartment, so he grabbed his keys and headed out. He ended up at Callahan's, an Irish pub that had been a favorite hangout for cops in his rookie days but had long since fell out of that favor. But Lassiter had always liked it and so he parked his car and followed the stairs down into the tucked-away pub. He ordered a scotch which the bartender immediately poured, then went off in search of a dark corner where he could be...contemplative in relative obscurity.
He'd already promised himself that that would be the last night he spent thinking about Spencer in any way that didn't involve professional irritation; but if he were going to limit himself, he wanted to make the night count.
Lassiter spotted a nice prospect of a table in the back corner and had started moving in its direction when he passed another quiet table where a lone man was drinking.
And that lone man was Spencer.
Lassiter stiffened in shock and quickly looked around, waiting to see O'Hara's cute blond head coming through the crowds to join him. When it didn't immediately happen, he swept his eyes over Spencer and his table, nothing the significant lack of another drink glass on the aged wood, Spencer's casual, even sloppy attire, the loose, slouching posture.
He couldn't help himself. "Spencer."
Spencer looked up, obviously surprised. "Lassy!" he said. "It's like deja vu all over again."
"Where's O'Hara?" he demanded.
Spencer seemed taken aback but he set down his drink and checked his watch. "Since it's getting close on to 9:30 and the dinner reservations were for 8:45, I'd say she's somewhere between her entree and her dessert."
"Why are you here?" His voice was harsh and demanding even to his own ears and he saw Spencer's eyebrows rise.
"Because I like the atmosphere?"
Lassiter shook his head, setting his glass down on Spencer's table with an audible clink of ice, glass and wood. "I mean why are you here," he gestured, "instead of with O'Hara at the restaurant!"
Spencer leaned forward, peering up at Lassiter with a considering look on his face. "Are you wasted again?"
"No," he snapped. "I haven't even drank anything yet. Just answer the question, Spencer."
He shrugged, still looking worried. "Well, three tends to be a crowd and the last time I followed Gus on a date, he wasn't too happy with me afterward, so I figured I shouldn't push my luck by trying it again."
Lassiter suddenly felt like he had had too much to drink as his mind tried to catch up with what Spencer was saying. He sank down into the empty seat at Spencer's little table. "She's off on a date with Guster?"
"Yeah," Spencer nodded. "How could you not know this? She's been on cloud nine over it all week. She told me she even talked to you about it!"
O'Hara and Guster? It was like an answer to every desperate wish that had passed through Lassiter's head all week but he didn't trust his good fortune -- not yet. "I thought her date was with you," he explained.
Spencer laughed, incredulous. "Me? Me? No way!" He knocked back his drink before continuing. "Dating Jules is -- that'd be like dating my sister. Well..." he paused. "My hot sister. Well, more like dating that totally hot cousin that you'll make out with even though you know it's a little dirty, but ---"
"Spencer!" Lassiter cut him off, a little dazed by his tangential babbling.
"Yeah, Lassy?"
"I saw you two together," he revealed. "You were kissing her."
"What?" Spencer asked. "When?"
"The other night, at Salamandra," Lassiter grudgingly admitted.
A smile lit Spencer's face. "Were you tailing us?" He sounded delighted by the prospect.
"No," Lassiter said, glaring. "No, I was passing by and I noticed you two. You were kissing her, Spencer."
Spencer waved a dismissive hand. "That was nothing," he explained. "It wasn't a kiss-kiss. That was a "Welcome to the Guster-Spencer tribe!" kiss. It's like a rite of passage. It meant nothing!"
"Nothing?" he echoed.
"Yes," Spencer nodded. "Nothing but welcome to the Guster-Spencer tribe. Didn't I say that already?" He shook his head. "Jules has been a little shy about approaching Gus and, well, Gussy Pants has some weird notions about 'nice girls' and Jules would've been forty before he made the first move, so I did a little matchmaking. No biggie."
Lassiter didn't know what to say, so he took a sip of his scotch while he tried to fit the bits of information he had together into a cohesive portrait of the situation. While all his initial conclusions had made sense -- that O'Hara was starting something up with Spencer -- Spencer's added insights changed the landscape dramatically even though everything still made perfect sense. Except...
"What about your "surprise" for her?"
"A facial," Spencer explained, raising a hand to touch his face. "And a massage to go with our usual mani-pedis. Help her relax and look her best."
Lassiter supposed that a massage and a facial sounded logical, but...he looked speculatively back at Spencer. "Our?" he asked.
Spencer lifted the same hand, fanned out his fingers and wiggled them in Lassiter's face. "Do you think I have these great cuticles naturally?"
Lassiter couldn't help but laugh and he noticed Spencer's smile broaden. "Well, you two had me fooled," he admitted. "I thought O'Hara was dating you."
"And you seemed very unhappy about it," Spencer pointed out and Lassiter cursed his own transparency as well as Spencer's perception. "Was I going to have to put up with a big brother Carlton routine if it had been true?"
Lassiter stared down at his glass, suddenly overwhelmed -- with relief, with his own stupidity, with the knowledge of the danger he was in from Spencer's damnable ability to ferret out things better left uncovered. "No," he finally said. "But Guster might."
"And what makes me different from Gus?" Spencer wanted to know, a little inflection to his voice that Lassiter had never heard before. He thought maybe it was -- questioning, unsure, even shy.
He glanced over at Spencer, feeling punchy even though he hadn't even finished one drink, eyes raking over his messy hair and perpetual stubble, down the lines of his hideous lime-green shirt, tanned arms and manicured nails before they trailed back up to meet his wide blue-gray eyes.
Spencer blinked. "Oh."
Carlton held his breath, waiting to see what Spencer would say about what he thought might have seen in Lassiter's face.
"Well?" Spencer said softly, pushing his drink to the side. "Still waiting on that answer."
He knew he had to get out of there or he was going to do something incredibly stupid, like drag Spencer into the alcove and kiss him within an inch of his life. Ignoring the dangerous part of his mind telling him to do just that, Lassiter stood. "Keep on waiting," he told him. "I'm leaving."
It was a good thing he hadn't drunk anything because he was unsteady enough on his feet just from the rush of adrenaline that propelled him from the pub, up the stairs and to his car. He didn't immediately start the ignition; he just sat there for a moment, cursing his stupid feelings or hormones or whatever had lead him to his thing for Spencer.
After a moment, Lassiter started the car and drove back to his apartment in silence. Once he was safe behind his own front door -- and hopefully far enough away from Spencer to keep from making a huge mistake -- Lassiter decided to head to bed. He was exhausted from his early morning excursion with Henry and the emotional fallout of the evening, too tired to even bother with his almost-tradition of surfing the classic movie channels to unwind.
As he lay awake in the dark, staring at his supremely uninteresting ceiling, he couldn't help but be angry at himself. He'd felt for Spencer for awhile now but it had never bothered him like this, not until he thought that he'd taken up with O'Hara. Now that he knew that wasn't the case, he'd hoped that his feelings could just go back to whatever corner of his head they liked to hide in and everything would be back to normal. But it hadn't. He still had echoes of the reckless desperation, still wanted to take chances that he'd only entertained in the "What might have been" moments of the last few days. Lassiter didn't understand why his attraction wouldn't just go back to the annoying hum it had once been, instead of the constant pounding it had become...
It took Lassiter a full minute to realize that he'd drifted off sometime during the night and that the pounding he heard wasn't some figment of his overactive imagination but someone knocking rather loudly on his front door. After glaring at his clock and wondering who the hell would be at his door at six in the morning on a Sunday, Lassiter hustled into a pair of pants, stumbled into the living room and wrenched the door open.
The angry question he'd been planning to ask died on his lips when he saw who was slouching against his doorjamb.
Spencer.
Lassiter recovered amiably. "Spencer? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Looking for answers," he admitted, uncharacteristically serious-looking, painted in shadow by the sun rising over the courtyard behind him.
Lassiter made a noise of derision in his throat. "It's six o'clock in the morning. Go home, get some sleep. Leave me alone."
"No can do," Spencer told him. "See, I've been up all night, doing some thinking."
"I know that's a rare occurrence for you, Spencer, but it's hardly my problem."
"Well, see, the thing is..." Spencer trailed off. "I was thinking about you. And me. And Gus and Jules, though not necessarily in that order."
When Lassiter didn't say anything, Spencer peered around his body blocking the doorway. "Um, any chance I can come in?"
"Absolutely none."
"Fine," Spencer shrugged. "We can do this here -- where all your neighbors can hear!" His volume rising on each word until he was almost shouting the word "hear."
Lassiter winced, glancing around guiltily. "Fine," he snapped, stepping back. "But this better be quick."
"That all depends on you, Lassy," Spencer told him as he sauntered in. Lassiter shut the door with a bang and watched as his "guest" loitered in the living room, seemingly unsure of what to do next. It was obvious to Lassiter's trained eye that Spencer hadn't slept: his eyes were glassy and his hair was chaotic and he was still wearing the ugly lime-green shirt.
"Let's get this over with," Lassiter sighed. "Spit it out."
"So, I was thinking..." Spencer began, looking almost everywhere but at Lassiter. "About our little talk last night. About what I think you think about me."
"I think I've been pretty clear about what I think about you."
"Well, you were last night, at least," Spencer retorted, eyes finally meeting Lassiter's. He didn't like the searching, serious quality in the gaze. Spencer was pacing a little, idly shaking one hand in a way that Lassiter had seen him do when he worked cases. "See, you were upset last night and I think it had something to do with me and Juliet. With me and Jules, if you know what I mean."
"I don't," Lassiter ground out, arms folded.
Spencer stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Yeah, you do," he sighed. "You weren't too keen on the idea of me and Jules. Which could mean that either your habit of falling for young, blonde junior detectives continues or..."
"How much did you drink last night, Spencer?"
He raised a hand, a warning finger he pointed at Lassiter. "Don't try and act like I'm crazy," he said. "Last night, you were pissed off by the idea of me hooking up with Jules which means that you were either jealous of me or jealous of her. And since you didn't seem to care once you found out she was making time with Gus, I think I have my answer."
Lassiter suddenly knew what it was like to be one of the criminals Spencer caught, the terrible feeling of having all one's crimes laid bare before them, spelled out and delineated one-by-one. Spencer was watching him closely, waiting for some clue to his reaction.
"What is it you want me to say, Spencer?"
Spencer closed the distance between them until they were almost nose-to-nose. Lassiter felt himself dropping his defensive cross-armed stance which let Spencer move in closer, until they were so close that Lassiter could feel the heat off Spencer's body, smell the slight taint of alcohol on his breath.
"You were jealous." It wasn't a question.
"And if I was?" Suddenly, he couldn't breathe properly and he just wanted Spencer to be far, far away -- or very much closer, he couldn't decide.
"Carlton," Spencer -- Shawn -- said, and it sounded strange on his tongue but Lassiter liked it. His lips were only a breath away. "Just admit it."
"You sure that's what you want?" Lassiter asked and he hadn't been so serious in a long time.
Spencer licked his lips, a quick slide of tongue over his slightly-chapped lips. "Lay it on me," he nodded.
Lassiter didn't need to be told twice. He leaned forward and captured Shawn's mouth, swallowing the gasp he made as Carlton pulled him closer. Shawn's arms wound around him, and Lassiter took advantage of the position, stealing a hand under that hideous shirt to stroke the warm, firm skin of his back. He could taste the alcohol and the lime Shawn had had in his drink the night before and feel the scratch of his stubble against his face and Lassiter decided that he was sincerely grateful to O'Hara for her appalling lack of clarity over the last few days.
When air finally became necessary, Lassiter gentled the kiss and pulled back. Shawn was still holding onto him, his head forehead resting against Lassiter's cheek.
"You were jealous," Spencer -- Shawn -- stated, grinning gleefully. "I swear Lassy, I didn't know you cared."
"I could say the same," Lassiter pointed out.
"That's because you're blind," Shawn grinned and kissed him again, quick and hard. "I've only been throwing myself at you for months!"
"Is that what you call it?" Lassiter asked wryly, tightening his hold on him to soften the rebuke.
Shawn didn't look offended; he just gave him a flirty look, still smiling. "If I'd known all it took was a little jealousy, I'd have been making eyes at the whole station a long time ago."
"You mean you haven't been?" he said, causing Shawn to roll his eyes and kiss him again.
"Keep all this sweet talking up and this may be shortest relationship I've ever had," Shawn teased. "And coming from me, that's saying something!"
Lassiter sobered a little. "Relationship?" he asked.
Shawn batted his eyes, using the coy gesture as a cover to glance away. "Well, I'm just not that kind of girl, Carly," he explained. "If you've got a problem with that..."
Lassiter could see the doubt in Shawn's eyes as he waited, chin tilted stubbornly in spite of it. "I'm not asking nicely, Shawn," he told him seriously. "I'm not looking to be toyed with."
"You heard that, did you?" he asked.
Lassiter nodded.
Shawn paused, obviously thinking. "No toys," he promised. "Not even the occasional yo-yo or koosh ball. On the level."
The words sounded glib but Lassiter had only heard Shawn use that tone once before, in order to convince O'Hara of his sincerity. He'd believed that tone then and he believed it now. Choosing action over deed, Lassiter captured Shawn's mouth again.
"Okay, okay," Shawn grinned as he pulled away. "As loathed as I am to interrupt this, I've got to be somewhere in, like, twenty minutes."
"At 6:30 on a Sunday morning?" Lassiter asked. "I didn't figure you for the church type."
"That's because I'm not," Shawn assured him. "Unless one can ascribe to the worship of stuffed French toast at IHOP, in which case? I'm there."
Lassiter rolled his eyes but let him arms fall away as Shawn stepped back.
He glanced at his watch. "Go, run, shower, change, whatever. I'll wait."
"For what?"
Shawn grinned. "For you, so you can come with me, for the eating of sickeningly sweet breakfast foods."
"That's your appointment?"
"Uh huh," he nodded. "I'm sure Gus and Jules won't mind you tagging along."
Lassiter was going to protest but Shawn stopped him with another quick kiss. "Hurry it up!"
Lassiter could hardly believe how quickly things had changed, how different this morning was from the last. Yes, he was up at a hideous hour of the morning and he'd be spending the next few hours with a Spencer -- but fishing with Henry and breakfast with Shawn couldn't be more different if he'd tried.
He decided he needed to do something nice for O'Hara. Maybe buy her flowers if Guster didn't have it covered already.
Coming out of the bedroom after a quick shower, he found Shawn on his couch, idly flicking channels with the remote. When Shawn saw him standing there, he grinned widely, as if the sight of him made him ecstatically happy. The thought that it could made Lassiter return the smile.
They finally arrived at the pancake house, only a few minutes late -- not because of Lassiter's shower but because Shawn had decided that their schedule permitted several more minutes of mouth-to-mouth action even when it actually hadn't. Lassiter wasn't complaining, though, even though he was sure that Shawn's grabby hands had left his hair in a state he didn't want to contemplate.
Guster and O'Hara were already there when they arrived, both looking less awake than either him or Shawn. O'Hara, in particular, had the smudged-eyed look of a woman who'd slept in her makeup but she was smiling and dressed casually in jeans which meant that she, at least, had stopped at home for a few hours.
Her smudged eyes widened as the sight of Lassiter trailing behind Shawn. Guster looked surprised but not shocked and Lassiter wondered how much the man knew about his best friend's leanings.
"Carlton!" O'Hara said. "I didn't know Shawn invited you, too."
"What? I can't bring a date?" Shawn asked as he and Lassiter sat down. "Jules, you got to bring Gus. I think it's only fair."
"Date?" she echoed, nervously looking between them. Lassiter assumed she expected him to make some vehement denial.
"Remind me to thank you later, O'Hara," Lassiter said mildly, gaining confused looks from his three companions.
"Okay?" she agreed uncertainly.
Shawn's confusion melted into a grin as he signaled for their waitress. "Speaking of dates, I want to hear all about yours," he announced. "Come on, spill!"
"We have a lovely time," O'Hara volunteered, smiling at Guster who immediately smiled back. "Thanks for all your help."
"Anything for my little Gussy," Shawn said.
"Call me that again? And you'll be wearing the syrup instead of eating it," Guster warned him, though Lassiter could tell that it was more affectionate than angry.
"Gus, don't make me embarrass you in front of your lady," Shawn advised, "I'd hate to show her how easily I can kick your ass."
The friendly banter continued through the arrival of their food and Lassiter was content to concentrate on his food and the feeling of Shawn's leg pressed against his under the table. Guster had accepted his presence without a word, another sign that Shawn had been sincere and it was enough for him at the moment.
He glanced up to notice O'Hara watching him eat. "What?" he asked her.
"I just..." she trailed off. "Date?"
He could tell that she mostly thought it was a joke but there was a tiny sliver of doubt in her question. Under the table, he felt Shawn brush a hand over his thigh.
"I told you before, O'Hara," he said around a mouthful of pancakes. "I don't do locker room talk."
The End.
Notes: I reference two old movies starring Claudette Colbert. One is The Palm Beach Story with Joel McCrea and the other is Without Reservations with John Wayne.
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Stand-alone fic. No specific S2 spoilers.
Summary: Lassiter can't help but be disgusted by the idea of Spencer and O'Hara dating, just like he can't help it that he and O'Hara have the same bad taste in men. But maybe Lassiter's not seeing what he thinks he is. ~7,000 words
Between the Lines
Despite the unsavory subject matter and the fact that it was costing him several hundred dollars an hour, Lassiter's dinner meeting with his divorce lawyer had went well.
He liked his attorney -- she was one of the few things that he'd liked about the divorce in general -- but she was starting to gently coax him into accepting that a settlement was inevitable since his wife had little desire to reconcile. Lassiter knew she was only telling him truth but he was having trouble accepting it -- not so much the divorce itself but the failure it represented.
Still, they'd talked strategy and possible scenarios over quiche and salad greens and Lassiter decided that it had been a positive step toward a solution.
The night was cool and clear; Lassiter had walked to the quaint restaurant not far from his new apartment and had declined Madeline's offer of a lift home. He liked walking, enjoyed the quietness of it, the way it let him work through his thoughts. It wasn't the same as sitting alone in his apartment or being hunched over his desk at work or even emptying a clip into an unsuspecting target on the range. The combination of the space and the exercise seemed to sharpen his senses, open up his mind.
On his route home, Lassiter passed several restaurants louder and more crowded than the one he'd left, trendier little spots that overflowed with light, people and sound. One of the most popular was Salamandra, a little salsa dance and dinner club that remained busy well into the early hours of the morning. As he passed by, he slowed, having to dodge the outside tables and the milling patrons, dancers trickling off the dance floor and onto the patio. Lassiter glanced through the crowds, a cursory, automatic action after years on the force but his gaze faltered when it honed onto a familiar face -- O'Hara.
His partner was on the dance floor, wearing a slinky red number that suited her and went well with the place's atmosphere. She looked nice, hair loose and makeup heavier than usual and Lassiter spared a moment to be glad for her. O'Hara was a nice enough young woman and he was glad that she was getting out more; she was always bothering him to expand his life outside of work but, from where he sat, she was as guilty of being as workaholic as he was.
Lassiter was just about to move on, eyes skidding away from O'Hara when the dancing crowd shifted and he got an eyeful of the man responsible for bringing such a bright smile to his partner's face -- Spencer.
Spencer was dressed much like he'd been during the Sandra Panitch trial -- jeans, dress shirt, hair artfully mussed, look completed by the grin creasing his stubbled face. They were dancing close, both smiling as they talked, Spencer's arm wrapped tightly around O'Hara's waist. He knew it wasn't very professional of him but Lassiter wished for a moment that he could hear their conversation; it was an impossible desire, given the music and the glass and the distance that separated them. Instead he watched for a few more beats, their mouths and bodies moving, until he saw O'Hara give Spencer a coy, flirty look from beneath her lashes, causing Spencer to laugh and nod vigorously.
O'Hara seemed pleased -- more like ecstatic -- at Spencer's agreement and she threw her head back laughing. Spencer was still talking as her laughter faded and one of her arms wrapped around Spencer's neck in a quick hug. When she released him, Spencer grabbed her up again and planted his mouth right on hers, covering the action by dipping her extravagantly, drawing attention from nearby dancers.
Lassiter didn't watch anymore. Instead, he turned away sharply, pointedly turning his back on the scene as he hurried home. Suddenly the night didn't feel as freeing it had moments before and he wanted nothing more than to get home and lose himself in some mindless old movie on cable until he could finally fall asleep. But even as he put distance between him and the restaurant, the image of O'Hara and Spencer wouldn't leave his mind, the sight of them in each other's arms haunting him even as he stormed through the small courtyard of his complex and up to his second-floor apartment.
He slammed the door shut behind him, ripping the loosened tie from his neck, his jacket following. Lassiter switched on the television as he passed, paying little attention to the black-and-white figures moving across the screen. The swelling noise of the music from the classic movie was nothing but white noise against his thoughts, thoughts that left him angry and frustrated for reasons he'd never wanted to admit or examine.
Of course, ignoring or denying feelings hadn't changed them or gotten rid of them but Lassiter had never expected them to sucker-punch him like they had at the sight of Spencer and O'Hara kissing. Though Spencer flirted shamelessly with just about everyone who crossed his path, he'd never taken the supposed psychic's interest in his partner very seriously and he'd never expected O'Hara to let it be. But there they'd been, laughing, dancing, talking -- kissing. Lassiter couldn't seem to erase that particular image from his mind, not even with the burning sweetness of the scotch he'd allowed himself, hoping it would help him unwind.
Drink in hand, Lassiter sank down onto his sofa, trying to force his tense muscles to relax. He leaned back, clinking the ice in his old fashioned, trying to get the sound of the salsa music out of his head, along with the images he couldn't shake. O'Hara's flirty look, Spencer's smile -- it was like a feedback loop, over and over, and he wanted it to stop.
Unfortunately, if he'd always got what he wanted, his life would've never led him to that moment and Lassiter was resigned to the sleepless night he knew he'd be having. He passed most of the night in front of the television, watching as Claudette Colbert first married and divorced Joel McCrea, then went on in the second feature to romance John Wayne on a train. He finally nodded off just before the movie's end, waking up a few hours later at the blaring sound of his alarm.
In the cold light of morning, it was hard to believe that he'd let seeing O'Hara with Spencer bother him. If O'Hara was stupid enough to fall for Spencer's cheesy and changeable charm, well -- it was her heartbreak, not his. He had thought she was smarter than that but Lassiter had been wrong about women before.
He arrived at the station early, a cup of good coffee to fortify him against the negative effects of little sleep, an extra sugar mixed in for good measure. By the time O'Hara arrived over an hour later, Lassiter was hard at work, feeling as if he'd put the displeasing display of the night before behind him.
"Good morning, Lassiter," she said, smiling.
"O'Hara," he returned in greeting, glancing up as she sat down at her desk. She was glowing, he noted, a little dewy-eyed from what he assumed was a late night but her smile was as bright as he'd ever seen it at work, and she seemed almost poised on the verge of laughter, she had so much bubbliness inside.
Lassiter felt something cold clutch in his chest. "We've got an interview in an hour," he continued neutrally. "You need to go over the preliminaries before then."
"Sure thing," she chirped, hurrying away to grab the relevant files. With work as the focus of their interaction, Lassiter could ignore O'Hara's happiness and excessive perkiness and could almost ignore the part of his mind that hated its cause.
They'd just about finished up their notes and were about to leave for the interview when the Chief came by their desks.
When her usual good morning greeting was met with such a profound and sincere return from O'Hara, both Vick and Lassiter turned to stare at the young woman.
"What?" she asked when they both looked at her curiously.
"Pardon me for saying so, O'Hara, but you're even more -- enthusiastic than usual," Vick pointed out. "Have you been following Lassiter's lead and mainlining caffeine?"
Lassiter snorted and O'Hara giggled.
"No, not caffeine," she assured them both. She seemed shy, almost, eyes lowered. "But, actually, something very...nice happened last night. So I'm guess I'm just in a good mood."
It was the last thing that Lassiter had wanted to hear and he couldn't help the scowl that suddenly blanketed his features.
"A really good mood," Vick clarified, a half-grin on her face that said she was amused by O'Hara's youthful exuberance. "Carry on, then, just -- not try to look too happy while interviewing your witness, hmm?"
"Sure thing, Chief," O'Hara called after her as Lassiter pushed her out the door. "I'll do my best!"
The sobering events of their case tempered O'Hara's euphoria for awhile but it was back in full force after lunch, setting Lassiter's teeth on edge. It didn't help but that Spencer showed up later that afternoon.
"Jules!" Spencer called out once he'd cleared the front desk. "Just the girl I was looking for!"
"Shawn!" she gushed, grinning like she'd been the night before. Lassiter glared at both of them from over the top of his papers.
Spencer reached her desk and grabbed her hands. "I've got a surprise for you!" he sing-songed.
"Really?" she asked, eyes wide and curious. "What?"
"We have a very special appointment tomorrow for lunch," he told her. "Clear your schedule."
"Okay," she conceded, confused. "But that's our standing date for..."
"It's going to be extra special," he promised. "Because you'll want to look your best Saturday night."
"Saturday?" she squeaked, sounding more like a junior-high student than a police detective.
"Saturday," he confirmed, grinning.
O'Hara squeezed his hands affectionately, then released them as she stood up. "I need to go talk to the Chief," she told him, almost apologetically.
Lassiter was struck with the horrifying thought that he might have to witness something disgusting like Spencer kissing her again.
"Yeah, of course, go," Spencer said instead, stepping away from her -- much to Lassiter's relief. "I just wanted to stop by, say hello."
O'Hara's smile was still blinding. "Thanks, Shawn," she told him. "I'll see you later?"
"Of course!"
As soon as O'Hara left, Spencer sidled his way over. "Hey, Lassy."
"Spencer."
Spencer peered over his shoulder. "What's up?"
Lassiter sighed. "I'm working, Spencer. Maybe you should try it sometime."
"Nah," Spencer said, leaning against his desk in his usual slouch. "It's too much work. It's not very fun, either."
Lassiter thought that perhaps ignoring him would make Spencer leave him alone but he was wrong: Spencer just stood there, fidgeting with a glass paperweight, switching it from hand to hand. He glanced up from his work and glared. "Look, O'Hara's going to be in that meeting for awhile, so how about you just leave?"
"Huh?" was Spencer's brilliant reply. "Oh...what makes you think I didn't come here to see you?"
Spencer was smiling at him winningly, flashing teeth. Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Get out of here, Spencer, before I have you arrested for something."
"As kinky as that sounds," Spencer began, straightening up. "I have entirely too much to get done."
"Thank god."
"Later, Lassy!"
"Don't threaten me like that."
Spencer laughed, grinning. "You know you look forward to seeing me," he said. "Don't even lie." With that, Spencer disappeared and Lassiter was left alone to finish his reports in peace before O'Hara emerged from her meeting with the chief.
Instead of using that time to work, though, Lassiter found his attention wondering off-course, dwelling on O'Hara and Spencer and the thing that had obviously developed between them. He hadn't noticed any signs of it before he'd caught sight of them the night before and he certainly didn't think it was a good idea. O'Hara was nice and much too gullible for Spencer who, in Lassiter's opinion, was the exact opposite. Spencer was manipulative, underhanded, obviously capable of lying indefinitely, if this psychic crap was any example of his usual behavior. He was also irresponsible, completely irreverent, untrustworthy and perpetually immature.
Not any of that stopped Lassiter from wanting him.
He laid aside a handful of files with a little more force than necessary, drawing wary glances from a younger detective and amused head-shaking from an old veteran to his right. He glared at both of them but tamped down on his anger, staring blindly down at the papers on his desk until he could read the print writ across them.
In some way, Lassiter considered his current state a fitting punishment for ever entertaining less-than-irritating thoughts about Spencer in the first place. If he was stupid enough to lust after him and insane enough to actually care beyond that, he deserved his suffering. Maybe it would help him get over it.
Or maybe it would just send him over the edge finally, having to look at O'Hara's beaming face every day, knowing why she was so damn happy.
He wasn't sure which was more likely.
Hell, he wasn't even sure which he preferred.
Lassiter actually breathed a sigh of relief next day when Spencer finally showed up to whisk O'Hara away for her "surprise." His partner had been on pins and needles all morning, driving him even crazier than she had the day before. He could also tell by looking at her face that she had some big news she wanted to spill; every time he looked up, he'd catch her watching him, biting her lip as she debated whether to tell or not. So far, he'd cut off all confessions with a well-timed glare or delegated task but he knew one day she'd finally work up the nerve to tell him anyway -- and that was one conversation he didn't want to have.
He'd been hoping that she'd come back from lunch more relaxed but when she waltzed back into the station, skin glowing, eyes bright and hips swaying, Lassiter gritted his teeth and wished she hadn't been returned quite so loose. It left him all sorts of bad ideas about what kind of surprise Spencer had planned for the two of them and 'afternoon delight' was the tamest option his tortured imagination conjured up.
It became obvious that God was punishing him later that day when he and O'Hara ended up pulling the short stick on stakeout duty, relieving Loggins and Messina who'd been at it all day. Stuck within the confining quarters of his car with a dying-to-share O'Hara had to be the closest thing to hell he could imagine.
O'Hara did well for the first few hours but as the night fell into the stillness of early morning, he could see that she was struggling not to speak. Finally Lassiter's impatience with her fidgety, fretful state overtook even his resistance of hearing what she had to say.
"Spit it out, O'Hara," he announced into the silence. "Whatever it is you have to say, whatever it is that has you so wound up, just say it so we can move on."
O'Hara flushed scarlet. "Sorry," she told him. "I'm just -- it's personal. I didn't think you'd want to hear."
"If it's affecting your job -- like now -- it's professional," he told her. "Just say whatever it is and get it over with."
O'Hara shot him a timid look, measuring, then relaxed a little. "It's -- I haven't done much socializing since I moved here," she revealed. "But I've been interested in someone for awhile now. We have this big date on Saturday and I'm a little nervous." She ended her confession with a faint, self-deprecating smile.
"So I heard," Lassiter admitted, trying to keep his anger from his voice. It wasn't O'Hara's fault that they shared the same bad taste in Spencer.
She looked up sharply. "You heard? I...oh, you mean when Shawn stopped by."
"Yeah."
She was smiling again, that same damned smile she'd had for days. "He's been really wonderful about everything," she told him softly, like she was sharing a secret. "He's done all of the work, too."
"I find that -- surprising."
"So did I," she laughed. "But it's true."
Lassiter made a non-committal noise, mostly to fill the silence.
"I really like him," she said. "I don't want to mess it up, especially since...I guess it could affect the job, either way."
It was already affecting the job, Lassiter thought sourly. In more ways than the fact they were having that conversation.
Out loud, he said, "It's not easy to deal with personal relationships in the workplace."
"And you would know, wouldn't you?"
He glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing!" she swore, wincing from her gaffe and Lassiter kept up the disapproving look until she looked sufficiently cowed. He hoped that one day he'd be able to have a conversation about workplace ethics that didn't come back to him and Berry. "Just -- I know this might change things around work." She twisted to face him. "I don't...um, what's the protocol, here? The partner protocol? What and when do you need to know if...?"
He wanted to say never; he wanted to say now, so he could try and talk her out of it. Instead, he thought about the question seriously for a moment before he said, "It's still your life, O'Hara. And I'm not your father. Just if you ever think we're going to walk into a situation where I need to know something's changed, tell me. If not..." He leaned back in his seat, using some innocuous movement from across the street as an excuse to look away from her earnest expression. "I don't do locker room talk. Not with the men and definitely not with the ladies."
"Locker room? I..." She trailed off as she realized what he meant. "Ew! No!"
Her surprise and horror were so comical that it almost made up for the conversation. "As long as we understand each other, O'Hara."
"We do," she promised. "Perfectly."
"Good," he said, some humor still in his voice. "Can we get back to the stakeout now?"
The talk seemed to mollify O'Hara and the rest of the night passed in quiet. Their relief didn't show up until almost dawn and they both staggered home for a few hours' rest and a change of clothes. It was Lassiter's third straight sleepless night but at least this one hadn't involved any late-night marathons on TCM.
Both he and O'Hara were too tired for much more than paperwork the next morning, though O'Hara managed to perk up as soon as Spencer and Guster came around to sniff for cases. Lassiter quickly made himself scarce, not wanting to sit around and watch O'Hara moon over Spencer any more than he had to.
When he came back from loitering down in the evidence locker, he saw Guster had been dragged into conversation with one of the uniforms, a hypochondriac if Lassiter had ever met one. He figured that Collins must've gotten wind of Guster's day job because he had several bottles of prescription pills in his hands as he fired question after question into the man's face.
Around the other side of the bullpen, almost hidden from view by a pillar, Lassiter caught sight of O'Hara and Spencer all cozied up, talking intently. Lassiter knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but it didn't mean he wouldn't strain his ears as he passed.
"Are you serious, Shawn?" O'Hara was asking. "Please tell me you're serious!"
"Jules..." Spencer's voice was uncharacteristically soft, free of any affectation. It surprised Lassiter. "Of course, I'm serious! This is your heart we're talking about and I don't toy with people's hearts. Their hair, yes, their money, sure, and occasionally their affections if they ask nicely but never their hearts. You got me?"
"Yeah," she said and Lassiter could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm just so ---"
"I know," he told her soothingly. "Psychic, remember? That's also how I know everything's going to be perfect. Trust me!"
Lassiter didn't wait to hear O'Hara's reply before he stomped off again, this time taking a quick walk around the station, ostensibly to check in with a few of his detectives. In reality, it was in order to cool down before he had to face O'Hara or Spencer again.
He was going to have to deal with this, he told himself. He couldn't have his jealousy rearing its ugly head every time Spencer came around or O'Hara had a smile on her face. It was ludicrous that he even allowed it this much power over him. It wasn't as if Lassiter had ever thought that his -- feelings -- for Spencer would ever amount to more than a few late-night masturbatory fantasies and the occasional awkward moment when Spencer's outrageous behavior hit a little too close to home. He'd always known that it was a hopeless scenario, on all sides. He'd thought that all his logical reasoning had prepared him to deal with anything that came up connected to it.
But Lassiter had never expected this.
Spencer and Guster were long gone when he came back to his desk and he was far too resigned to be angry or irritated by O'Hara's bouncy cheerfulness. The rest of the day passed quietly and Lassiter was glad that he'd have the weekend away from O'Hara and Spencer in order to work through the things eating at him. He needed to have it dealt with before, like he'd warned O'Hara, it spilled over into his work and made him sloppy.
He didn't know whether to be thankful or not but he had a message waiting for him from Henry Spencer, telling him that the former cop was planning to go fishing early the next morning. Lassiter called him back to confirm his interest and then happily found that three days of little-to-no sleep meant he was down hours before midnight.
The early-morning fishing helped clear his head a little, though all the quiet time with the elder Spencer gave him time to dwell on how the younger Spencer was slowly driving him insane. First it had been professional, then Lassiter had developed his unfortunate fascination with him, and now he was consumed by his uncharitable thoughts about the so-called psychic and his apparently serious interest in O'Hara.
Lassiter realized belatedly that it had been that last conversation that had convinced him of it. Spencer, sounding so honest and unlike himself, not performing for attention -- in that moment, he'd shown both Lassiter and O'Hara how sincere he actually was.
After he managed to beg off a meal with Spencer, Lassiter headed back to his apartment and tried to stay busy. He puttered around his bathroom, finishing up a grouting project he'd been putting off and then he attacked the unsorted boxes he still had stacked in his spare room from his hasty move.
Organizing kept his busy until early evening, when he finally had to declare his tasks finished. As nice as it was to get so much accomplished on his day off, his busy hands hadn't kept his mind busy enough and he'd had to work at keeping his thoughts from O'Hara, Spencer or what could be happening since it was Saturday night.
Finally, Lassiter realized that the hours would continue to trickle by if all he did was stare at the bland walls of his apartment, so he grabbed his keys and headed out. He ended up at Callahan's, an Irish pub that had been a favorite hangout for cops in his rookie days but had long since fell out of that favor. But Lassiter had always liked it and so he parked his car and followed the stairs down into the tucked-away pub. He ordered a scotch which the bartender immediately poured, then went off in search of a dark corner where he could be...contemplative in relative obscurity.
He'd already promised himself that that would be the last night he spent thinking about Spencer in any way that didn't involve professional irritation; but if he were going to limit himself, he wanted to make the night count.
Lassiter spotted a nice prospect of a table in the back corner and had started moving in its direction when he passed another quiet table where a lone man was drinking.
And that lone man was Spencer.
Lassiter stiffened in shock and quickly looked around, waiting to see O'Hara's cute blond head coming through the crowds to join him. When it didn't immediately happen, he swept his eyes over Spencer and his table, nothing the significant lack of another drink glass on the aged wood, Spencer's casual, even sloppy attire, the loose, slouching posture.
He couldn't help himself. "Spencer."
Spencer looked up, obviously surprised. "Lassy!" he said. "It's like deja vu all over again."
"Where's O'Hara?" he demanded.
Spencer seemed taken aback but he set down his drink and checked his watch. "Since it's getting close on to 9:30 and the dinner reservations were for 8:45, I'd say she's somewhere between her entree and her dessert."
"Why are you here?" His voice was harsh and demanding even to his own ears and he saw Spencer's eyebrows rise.
"Because I like the atmosphere?"
Lassiter shook his head, setting his glass down on Spencer's table with an audible clink of ice, glass and wood. "I mean why are you here," he gestured, "instead of with O'Hara at the restaurant!"
Spencer leaned forward, peering up at Lassiter with a considering look on his face. "Are you wasted again?"
"No," he snapped. "I haven't even drank anything yet. Just answer the question, Spencer."
He shrugged, still looking worried. "Well, three tends to be a crowd and the last time I followed Gus on a date, he wasn't too happy with me afterward, so I figured I shouldn't push my luck by trying it again."
Lassiter suddenly felt like he had had too much to drink as his mind tried to catch up with what Spencer was saying. He sank down into the empty seat at Spencer's little table. "She's off on a date with Guster?"
"Yeah," Spencer nodded. "How could you not know this? She's been on cloud nine over it all week. She told me she even talked to you about it!"
O'Hara and Guster? It was like an answer to every desperate wish that had passed through Lassiter's head all week but he didn't trust his good fortune -- not yet. "I thought her date was with you," he explained.
Spencer laughed, incredulous. "Me? Me? No way!" He knocked back his drink before continuing. "Dating Jules is -- that'd be like dating my sister. Well..." he paused. "My hot sister. Well, more like dating that totally hot cousin that you'll make out with even though you know it's a little dirty, but ---"
"Spencer!" Lassiter cut him off, a little dazed by his tangential babbling.
"Yeah, Lassy?"
"I saw you two together," he revealed. "You were kissing her."
"What?" Spencer asked. "When?"
"The other night, at Salamandra," Lassiter grudgingly admitted.
A smile lit Spencer's face. "Were you tailing us?" He sounded delighted by the prospect.
"No," Lassiter said, glaring. "No, I was passing by and I noticed you two. You were kissing her, Spencer."
Spencer waved a dismissive hand. "That was nothing," he explained. "It wasn't a kiss-kiss. That was a "Welcome to the Guster-Spencer tribe!" kiss. It's like a rite of passage. It meant nothing!"
"Nothing?" he echoed.
"Yes," Spencer nodded. "Nothing but welcome to the Guster-Spencer tribe. Didn't I say that already?" He shook his head. "Jules has been a little shy about approaching Gus and, well, Gussy Pants has some weird notions about 'nice girls' and Jules would've been forty before he made the first move, so I did a little matchmaking. No biggie."
Lassiter didn't know what to say, so he took a sip of his scotch while he tried to fit the bits of information he had together into a cohesive portrait of the situation. While all his initial conclusions had made sense -- that O'Hara was starting something up with Spencer -- Spencer's added insights changed the landscape dramatically even though everything still made perfect sense. Except...
"What about your "surprise" for her?"
"A facial," Spencer explained, raising a hand to touch his face. "And a massage to go with our usual mani-pedis. Help her relax and look her best."
Lassiter supposed that a massage and a facial sounded logical, but...he looked speculatively back at Spencer. "Our?" he asked.
Spencer lifted the same hand, fanned out his fingers and wiggled them in Lassiter's face. "Do you think I have these great cuticles naturally?"
Lassiter couldn't help but laugh and he noticed Spencer's smile broaden. "Well, you two had me fooled," he admitted. "I thought O'Hara was dating you."
"And you seemed very unhappy about it," Spencer pointed out and Lassiter cursed his own transparency as well as Spencer's perception. "Was I going to have to put up with a big brother Carlton routine if it had been true?"
Lassiter stared down at his glass, suddenly overwhelmed -- with relief, with his own stupidity, with the knowledge of the danger he was in from Spencer's damnable ability to ferret out things better left uncovered. "No," he finally said. "But Guster might."
"And what makes me different from Gus?" Spencer wanted to know, a little inflection to his voice that Lassiter had never heard before. He thought maybe it was -- questioning, unsure, even shy.
He glanced over at Spencer, feeling punchy even though he hadn't even finished one drink, eyes raking over his messy hair and perpetual stubble, down the lines of his hideous lime-green shirt, tanned arms and manicured nails before they trailed back up to meet his wide blue-gray eyes.
Spencer blinked. "Oh."
Carlton held his breath, waiting to see what Spencer would say about what he thought might have seen in Lassiter's face.
"Well?" Spencer said softly, pushing his drink to the side. "Still waiting on that answer."
He knew he had to get out of there or he was going to do something incredibly stupid, like drag Spencer into the alcove and kiss him within an inch of his life. Ignoring the dangerous part of his mind telling him to do just that, Lassiter stood. "Keep on waiting," he told him. "I'm leaving."
It was a good thing he hadn't drunk anything because he was unsteady enough on his feet just from the rush of adrenaline that propelled him from the pub, up the stairs and to his car. He didn't immediately start the ignition; he just sat there for a moment, cursing his stupid feelings or hormones or whatever had lead him to his thing for Spencer.
After a moment, Lassiter started the car and drove back to his apartment in silence. Once he was safe behind his own front door -- and hopefully far enough away from Spencer to keep from making a huge mistake -- Lassiter decided to head to bed. He was exhausted from his early morning excursion with Henry and the emotional fallout of the evening, too tired to even bother with his almost-tradition of surfing the classic movie channels to unwind.
As he lay awake in the dark, staring at his supremely uninteresting ceiling, he couldn't help but be angry at himself. He'd felt for Spencer for awhile now but it had never bothered him like this, not until he thought that he'd taken up with O'Hara. Now that he knew that wasn't the case, he'd hoped that his feelings could just go back to whatever corner of his head they liked to hide in and everything would be back to normal. But it hadn't. He still had echoes of the reckless desperation, still wanted to take chances that he'd only entertained in the "What might have been" moments of the last few days. Lassiter didn't understand why his attraction wouldn't just go back to the annoying hum it had once been, instead of the constant pounding it had become...
It took Lassiter a full minute to realize that he'd drifted off sometime during the night and that the pounding he heard wasn't some figment of his overactive imagination but someone knocking rather loudly on his front door. After glaring at his clock and wondering who the hell would be at his door at six in the morning on a Sunday, Lassiter hustled into a pair of pants, stumbled into the living room and wrenched the door open.
The angry question he'd been planning to ask died on his lips when he saw who was slouching against his doorjamb.
Spencer.
Lassiter recovered amiably. "Spencer? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Looking for answers," he admitted, uncharacteristically serious-looking, painted in shadow by the sun rising over the courtyard behind him.
Lassiter made a noise of derision in his throat. "It's six o'clock in the morning. Go home, get some sleep. Leave me alone."
"No can do," Spencer told him. "See, I've been up all night, doing some thinking."
"I know that's a rare occurrence for you, Spencer, but it's hardly my problem."
"Well, see, the thing is..." Spencer trailed off. "I was thinking about you. And me. And Gus and Jules, though not necessarily in that order."
When Lassiter didn't say anything, Spencer peered around his body blocking the doorway. "Um, any chance I can come in?"
"Absolutely none."
"Fine," Spencer shrugged. "We can do this here -- where all your neighbors can hear!" His volume rising on each word until he was almost shouting the word "hear."
Lassiter winced, glancing around guiltily. "Fine," he snapped, stepping back. "But this better be quick."
"That all depends on you, Lassy," Spencer told him as he sauntered in. Lassiter shut the door with a bang and watched as his "guest" loitered in the living room, seemingly unsure of what to do next. It was obvious to Lassiter's trained eye that Spencer hadn't slept: his eyes were glassy and his hair was chaotic and he was still wearing the ugly lime-green shirt.
"Let's get this over with," Lassiter sighed. "Spit it out."
"So, I was thinking..." Spencer began, looking almost everywhere but at Lassiter. "About our little talk last night. About what I think you think about me."
"I think I've been pretty clear about what I think about you."
"Well, you were last night, at least," Spencer retorted, eyes finally meeting Lassiter's. He didn't like the searching, serious quality in the gaze. Spencer was pacing a little, idly shaking one hand in a way that Lassiter had seen him do when he worked cases. "See, you were upset last night and I think it had something to do with me and Juliet. With me and Jules, if you know what I mean."
"I don't," Lassiter ground out, arms folded.
Spencer stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Yeah, you do," he sighed. "You weren't too keen on the idea of me and Jules. Which could mean that either your habit of falling for young, blonde junior detectives continues or..."
"How much did you drink last night, Spencer?"
He raised a hand, a warning finger he pointed at Lassiter. "Don't try and act like I'm crazy," he said. "Last night, you were pissed off by the idea of me hooking up with Jules which means that you were either jealous of me or jealous of her. And since you didn't seem to care once you found out she was making time with Gus, I think I have my answer."
Lassiter suddenly knew what it was like to be one of the criminals Spencer caught, the terrible feeling of having all one's crimes laid bare before them, spelled out and delineated one-by-one. Spencer was watching him closely, waiting for some clue to his reaction.
"What is it you want me to say, Spencer?"
Spencer closed the distance between them until they were almost nose-to-nose. Lassiter felt himself dropping his defensive cross-armed stance which let Spencer move in closer, until they were so close that Lassiter could feel the heat off Spencer's body, smell the slight taint of alcohol on his breath.
"You were jealous." It wasn't a question.
"And if I was?" Suddenly, he couldn't breathe properly and he just wanted Spencer to be far, far away -- or very much closer, he couldn't decide.
"Carlton," Spencer -- Shawn -- said, and it sounded strange on his tongue but Lassiter liked it. His lips were only a breath away. "Just admit it."
"You sure that's what you want?" Lassiter asked and he hadn't been so serious in a long time.
Spencer licked his lips, a quick slide of tongue over his slightly-chapped lips. "Lay it on me," he nodded.
Lassiter didn't need to be told twice. He leaned forward and captured Shawn's mouth, swallowing the gasp he made as Carlton pulled him closer. Shawn's arms wound around him, and Lassiter took advantage of the position, stealing a hand under that hideous shirt to stroke the warm, firm skin of his back. He could taste the alcohol and the lime Shawn had had in his drink the night before and feel the scratch of his stubble against his face and Lassiter decided that he was sincerely grateful to O'Hara for her appalling lack of clarity over the last few days.
When air finally became necessary, Lassiter gentled the kiss and pulled back. Shawn was still holding onto him, his head forehead resting against Lassiter's cheek.
"You were jealous," Spencer -- Shawn -- stated, grinning gleefully. "I swear Lassy, I didn't know you cared."
"I could say the same," Lassiter pointed out.
"That's because you're blind," Shawn grinned and kissed him again, quick and hard. "I've only been throwing myself at you for months!"
"Is that what you call it?" Lassiter asked wryly, tightening his hold on him to soften the rebuke.
Shawn didn't look offended; he just gave him a flirty look, still smiling. "If I'd known all it took was a little jealousy, I'd have been making eyes at the whole station a long time ago."
"You mean you haven't been?" he said, causing Shawn to roll his eyes and kiss him again.
"Keep all this sweet talking up and this may be shortest relationship I've ever had," Shawn teased. "And coming from me, that's saying something!"
Lassiter sobered a little. "Relationship?" he asked.
Shawn batted his eyes, using the coy gesture as a cover to glance away. "Well, I'm just not that kind of girl, Carly," he explained. "If you've got a problem with that..."
Lassiter could see the doubt in Shawn's eyes as he waited, chin tilted stubbornly in spite of it. "I'm not asking nicely, Shawn," he told him seriously. "I'm not looking to be toyed with."
"You heard that, did you?" he asked.
Lassiter nodded.
Shawn paused, obviously thinking. "No toys," he promised. "Not even the occasional yo-yo or koosh ball. On the level."
The words sounded glib but Lassiter had only heard Shawn use that tone once before, in order to convince O'Hara of his sincerity. He'd believed that tone then and he believed it now. Choosing action over deed, Lassiter captured Shawn's mouth again.
"Okay, okay," Shawn grinned as he pulled away. "As loathed as I am to interrupt this, I've got to be somewhere in, like, twenty minutes."
"At 6:30 on a Sunday morning?" Lassiter asked. "I didn't figure you for the church type."
"That's because I'm not," Shawn assured him. "Unless one can ascribe to the worship of stuffed French toast at IHOP, in which case? I'm there."
Lassiter rolled his eyes but let him arms fall away as Shawn stepped back.
He glanced at his watch. "Go, run, shower, change, whatever. I'll wait."
"For what?"
Shawn grinned. "For you, so you can come with me, for the eating of sickeningly sweet breakfast foods."
"That's your appointment?"
"Uh huh," he nodded. "I'm sure Gus and Jules won't mind you tagging along."
Lassiter was going to protest but Shawn stopped him with another quick kiss. "Hurry it up!"
Lassiter could hardly believe how quickly things had changed, how different this morning was from the last. Yes, he was up at a hideous hour of the morning and he'd be spending the next few hours with a Spencer -- but fishing with Henry and breakfast with Shawn couldn't be more different if he'd tried.
He decided he needed to do something nice for O'Hara. Maybe buy her flowers if Guster didn't have it covered already.
Coming out of the bedroom after a quick shower, he found Shawn on his couch, idly flicking channels with the remote. When Shawn saw him standing there, he grinned widely, as if the sight of him made him ecstatically happy. The thought that it could made Lassiter return the smile.
They finally arrived at the pancake house, only a few minutes late -- not because of Lassiter's shower but because Shawn had decided that their schedule permitted several more minutes of mouth-to-mouth action even when it actually hadn't. Lassiter wasn't complaining, though, even though he was sure that Shawn's grabby hands had left his hair in a state he didn't want to contemplate.
Guster and O'Hara were already there when they arrived, both looking less awake than either him or Shawn. O'Hara, in particular, had the smudged-eyed look of a woman who'd slept in her makeup but she was smiling and dressed casually in jeans which meant that she, at least, had stopped at home for a few hours.
Her smudged eyes widened as the sight of Lassiter trailing behind Shawn. Guster looked surprised but not shocked and Lassiter wondered how much the man knew about his best friend's leanings.
"Carlton!" O'Hara said. "I didn't know Shawn invited you, too."
"What? I can't bring a date?" Shawn asked as he and Lassiter sat down. "Jules, you got to bring Gus. I think it's only fair."
"Date?" she echoed, nervously looking between them. Lassiter assumed she expected him to make some vehement denial.
"Remind me to thank you later, O'Hara," Lassiter said mildly, gaining confused looks from his three companions.
"Okay?" she agreed uncertainly.
Shawn's confusion melted into a grin as he signaled for their waitress. "Speaking of dates, I want to hear all about yours," he announced. "Come on, spill!"
"We have a lovely time," O'Hara volunteered, smiling at Guster who immediately smiled back. "Thanks for all your help."
"Anything for my little Gussy," Shawn said.
"Call me that again? And you'll be wearing the syrup instead of eating it," Guster warned him, though Lassiter could tell that it was more affectionate than angry.
"Gus, don't make me embarrass you in front of your lady," Shawn advised, "I'd hate to show her how easily I can kick your ass."
The friendly banter continued through the arrival of their food and Lassiter was content to concentrate on his food and the feeling of Shawn's leg pressed against his under the table. Guster had accepted his presence without a word, another sign that Shawn had been sincere and it was enough for him at the moment.
He glanced up to notice O'Hara watching him eat. "What?" he asked her.
"I just..." she trailed off. "Date?"
He could tell that she mostly thought it was a joke but there was a tiny sliver of doubt in her question. Under the table, he felt Shawn brush a hand over his thigh.
"I told you before, O'Hara," he said around a mouthful of pancakes. "I don't do locker room talk."
The End.
Notes: I reference two old movies starring Claudette Colbert. One is The Palm Beach Story with Joel McCrea and the other is Without Reservations with John Wayne.