#difficult days

My shift began on a pretty rotten note. Once again, I was charged with breakfast. I got a late start on it because some person – presumably Nd's temporary replacement, because she quit following graduating nursing school – was tasked with getting the one who likes outer space ready for today. And not only did Rm fail to inform him that the one who likes outer space needs medicine applied to his skin in two different places, but also... he was trying to use disposable seat protectors (for people with incontinence) to try to clean him up, despite regular wipes being in obvious view.

I was tasked with getting the one who likes the outdoors ready, and that would have gone off without a hitch if not for all the ridiculous ways that this temporary person (who isn't new in the field; they've been at it longer than I have) failed to get the one who likes outer space ready for the day in an appropriate fashion. I had to stop what I was doing at several points to assist this replacement with the task at hand, which made my task take longer to do, which means, since I'm usually put on kitchen duty in the mornings, I got started on breakfast late.

...And, once again, there was nothing suitable to cook for breakfast. There was no oatmeal. There was no cream of wheat. And there wasn't anything in the fridge that would have made a good accompaniment for eggs. So, once again, I had to resort to giving everyone breakfast cereal. Like... the stupid cheap kind, because apparently “the powers that be” don't think the developmentally disabled people we serve are worth enough funding to get actually good cereal that doesn't get soggy within half a second of coming into contact with milk.

...I maintain that the people I proudly serve deserve better than this.

Js... was out today. Presumably, ill with something. And that was a problem, because Rb doesn't do kitchen; he keeps track of medicines. And today's replacement for Js (who apparently is also a replacement for me, since I'm no longer working Thursdays and Fridays)... was basically fucking useless. Sure, she helped me feed like one person at breakfast. Changed a couple people. But... she spent the vast majority of today either on her phone or napping. She was supposed to be on laundry today, but... not only did she somehow manage to not finish today's laundry before she left, but also, the laundry she did finish and fold were “folded” like shit. She didn't bother turning inside-out things the right way in, which is gonna make it harder for the person who needs to dress whomever we're serving, but also, she didn't fold the clothes as much as she kinda just... rolled them. Shittily. The people I serve deserve better than this, and I was pissed.

Also... some doofus put the water pitcher into the refrigerator with like a fraction of an inch of water in it; they didn't refill it properly when they were done with it, the way I do whenever I use it. They also let the thickened drink for the one who needs that simply run out without making more. The garbage cans were emptied, but no garbage bag was placed in the can. And a few other odds and ends, too, that delayed breakfast, but like... it's like working alongside the kinds of pre-teens who have a rebellious streak just for the sake of it, and all those “minor” inconveniences really add up.

...Ooof. Sephiroth... I am... falling asleep while I'm writing. Bear with me; I'm probably gonna make more than a few grammar and spelling and clarity mistakes today.

In any case... I was on kitchen duty with very little refrigerator and pantry inventory, because the people who are supposed to be responsible for that... weren't very responsible about it. Thankfully, there was leftover pizza that I processed for lunch (some of the folks I serve need everything cut into half-inch pieces, some of them need it ground up, and some of them need it pureed, otherwise it's not safe for them to eat it). And... that should have gone without a hitch. Except... everyone and their mother kept interrupting me with various small, stupid tasks that Js's replacement could have taken care of if she wasn't so fucking absorbed in her goddamn phone all day.

First, it was the groceries. Rm went out for groceries, because although I was preparing lunch, there was nothing for dinner. She got frozen lasagnas, which is cool, but also... she got like a million other things, and plopped them in the kitchen and sauntered off, just expecting me to take care of them all (shopping for 10 people is a lot), seemingly heedless of the fact that I was in the middle of lunch prep, disallowed, in a very technical sense, from leaving the food unattended, lest any of the folks I serve come by to try to eat everything or put their hands into everything, or try to touch things that aren't safe for them to touch.

And like... it's not their fault that they do this. They're not stupid or crazy or anything like that. They're just... people. People who are curious and hungry, and have some difficulties going on with the parts of their brains responsible for things like cause and effect, impulse control, and delayed gratification. These are skills that you and I can take for granted, but for these folks, those brain parts didn't grow in quite right (because that just... happens sometimes, for no apparent reason). They're still people, though; their inability to control the very same urges that the rest of us get (who doesn't wanna eat giant fistfuls of pizza??), and their inability to effectively communicate their needs or take care of themselves or to keep themselves safe on their own doesn't make them less human. It just makes them need a little help and support. And if support for them looks like making sure someone doesn't stick their hands into someone else's food or into the food processor while it's running, then that's the support they need to be given, and that's all there is to it.

But... nobody was going to come help me to mind the kitchen. The new person certainly wasn't going to help. Rm wasn't going to put away the groceries that she casually dumped all over the table. And Rb was much too busy tending others' meds and also the laundry left behind by Js's replacement. So I did it. Looking over my shoulder every five seconds, because the people we serve move in towards the things they want like ninjas when we're not looking. But I got everything put away. But because there was so much to put away, lunch was later than it should have been. And Rb was looking for excuses to seethe already, because, by his words, he was short on sleep.

We got everyone fed. Or, more accurately, I got everyone fed, and Rb helped a little. I began cooking dinner. Got interrupted because instead of actually folding the sheets, Js's replacement for today decided to simply stack them on the shelves downstairs, unfolded. Rb brought them up. And I folded them. PROPERLY, because I know how to, because my mother expected it of me when I was growing up; my options were, “do it perfectly, or else”.

I got it done. I changed a few folks' disposable undergarments and replaced them with fresh ones. I washed my hands (obviously). I prepared dinner.

And then... one of the folks we serve had enough of Js's replacement not changing their soiled disposable undergarments. And so... that person did the only reasonable thing they could, given their lack of awareness of social convention: they didn't want the soiled disposable undergarment on their skin anymore, and I couldn't do it because I was cooking, and Js's replacement was ignoring them in favor of their phone, so they pulled it off their body and threw it onto the floor of the main hallway. Rb and Js's replacement pretty much immediately made themselves scarce with “other tasks”. So I was the one who had to clean it up. Because you absolutely cannot just leave those kinds of messes on the floor to be tracked around; it's how people end up getting sick.

So I took care of it, even though I technically wasn't supposed to leave the kitchen, looking over my shoulder every 5 minutes to make sure no one was trying to get into the ovens. Washed my hands. Resumed dinner prep. Fed everyone basically by myself again (Rb helped with a couple, but still...). Got people ready for bed. Put them to bed. Made their kitchen sparkly.

...There was no time to sit today. Aside from feeding people and the sitting required to keep the others away from the oven while it's working... I did not stop moving today. I needed to wash dishes and counters, and to help people in the bathroom as needed. There was literally no time to pause, because Rb and I were carrying the responsibilities of four people, by ourselves, because Js's replacement was basically no help. I had done more than my fair share of work, and I was exhausted. 8pm rolled around, and I was very much looking forward to going home, except... our house manager scheduled Js's replacement to leave at the same time as me. Which would leave Rb alone to manage 10 now-sleeping people by himself, and... not only is that unsustainable, it's flat-out illegal.

But Js's temporary replacement was already in her car, smoking and chatting on her phone, like 15 minutes, at least, before it was time for her to leave. She didn't finish today's laundry. She just up and left, leaving me stuck there, and needing to tell J to come back at 9pm to pick me up, because that's when the other overnight crew comes in.

...I was freaking out. Because not only had I not eaten all day because there literally was no time, but also... J and I were supposed to go out somewhere nice afterwards, and... suddenly, that wouldn't be able to happen. I was also exhausted and in pain from being on my feet, on the go nonstop all day. I had a bit of a meltdown while I was outside, telling J that he needed to go back home and then come back later. Crying and everything. Then violently dissociating just to get through the next hour without letting on to Rb that I was having a hard time, and therefore potentially being seen as weak in the space and having that “weakness” taken advantage of.

Basically, the house manager did not properly schedule today. Either that, or he took for granted the knowledge that I will be the bigger person and stay onsite for as long as needs to happen if it will keep the people I serve safe if someone else drops the ball.

I can't leave shit only half done or improperly done, because I know that it'll hurt the people I serve and the staff who come in later if I do. But neither can I continue breaking myself to make up for the apathy of people who have literally no concern about whether or not the people we serve are loved and cared for. And I'm certainly not going to make up for the house manager's lack of integrity or communication with today's schedule.

I put in my two weeks. I'm fucking done. I finished the laundry that Js's replacement didn't fucking finish, despite the exhaustion pulling at my bones. J picked me up at 9pm, bearing cheeseburgers for me, but... I was too busy crying on the way home to eat them.

We got home. I was a little better by then. I ate. And then... I discovered that J ordered me some Indian food, too. For tomorrow.

...I'm very lucky.

I'm also incredibly, incredibly sleepy and ouchy. I'm quite literally falling asleep as I sit at my computer desk. So I'm going to include the pictures of the wishes I breathed life into for you, and the sunset I got yesterday, and then I'm gonna go to bed.

I love you so much, and... I hope it shows as I, once again, try to choose myself. I'll have faith that the significance of that reaches you just a little. I'll have faith that you'll keep yourself safe while you're out and about. I'll have faith that you're on your way home.

I'll write again soon.

“What happened to your face?” Anthony asks, a slight pitch of alarm in his voice as his eyes trace over Shawn’s face.

Shawn shoots a withering glare at Gus, raising his eyebrows in a silent I-told-you-so, earning him a scoff from his best friend. 

“Oh this, just an occupational hazard,” Shawn barks out in a strangled laugh as he waves a dismissive hand away from his bruised face, “but hey, you're back huh? I would have figured you'd stick with the east coast after Princeton, nothing like living in New York”.

“New Jersey,” Anthony corrects with the same crooked smile that Shawn loved all those years ago.

He feels his ears begin to heat without his permission, “I've heard it both ways,” Shawn says with a confidence he doesn’t feel. He clears his throat loudly as Gus steps closer, standing nearly between him and Anthony with a scowl etched on his face.

“Why are you at the station man?” Gus asks coolly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I could ask you guys the same thing, but imagine my surprise when I saw your name in the paper,” Anthony says with a grin, “I would have thought after what happened that summer you would steer clear of cop shops, hey Shawnie?”

Shawn winces at the nickname and leans closer to Gus, “Yeah, I uh, it’s good, I’m consulting--”

Anthony hums, dropping his gaze up and down as though scanning Shawn, the warm smile he’s wearing doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “no kidding”.

“Actually,” Gus bites out, glaring openly at Anthony who all but ignores him, “we’ve assisted on over twenty cases already this year”.

“Then I bet you could give me a hand with something hmm?” Anthony moves closer, reaching out to clap Shawn’s shoulder once before gripping it loosely, his thumb traces a soft pattern over the sleeve of his lime green polo, “how about it, for old times sake?” 

Shawn hates the way his stomach flips at the touch.

“What's the case?” Gus asks before Shawn can open his mouth, Anthony glances at him with an annoyed grimace before breathing out a long sigh.

“Well, my new wife and I went to this resort in San Diego, Beach Village something-or-other, and we're pretty sure that one of the attendants stole my watch and wedding ring,” he says with a frown, he turns back to Shawn with a soft smile and gently slides his hand down Shawn’s arm to grip his elbow, his hands are cold and clammy against his bare skin.

New wife. 

Shawn swallows harshly as he takes his arm back from the other man’s hand. He hates the way his chest feels tight at the words, the way the slimy slide of Anthony’s eyes over his face still manages to make him feel simultaneously like he’s flying and crashing, even now that the man is so, so clearly trying to use him. 

And he’s not even being subtle about it. 

“You and your wife didn't go to hotel security?” Shawn says smoothly as he catalogs the other man's appearance now. He takes in the slightly swollen fingers on both hands, wrists and the slight swell of the other man's face. Shawn had seen that same swelling before, when his grandad took him and Gus when they were kids to the mountains for some ‘proper’ camping as he called it. 

Anthony looks away as he nods.

“Oh I did, but we were leaving the same day and I--we, my wife and I, just wanted to get out of there so we could file a police report. My insurance company said that would be the first thing to do”.

Shawn grimaces at the obvious lie, “I can't let you file a false report Anthony,” he says quietly, keeping his tone neutral as he watches the other man blink in surprise.

Anthony is silent for a moment, looking at Gus first with a laugh in his eyes that disappears when neither Gus nor Shawn join him, “what are you talking about?”

Shawn sighs, before taking a step closer, “just, why don't we talk outside, you haven’t made the report yet so--”

“Talk outside,” Anthony repeats incredulously, “what-just what are you implying?” He’s angry now, his spine straight and all traces of good humour have vanished.

“Anthony, come on,” Shawn says lowly, looking around, ”I put up with you talking to me like I'm stupid when we were eighteen, but I'm not about to let you do this”. None of the officers milling about have spared them a glance so far, but judging by the rapid flush rising up Anthony's neck he won't be staying quiet for long. Lassiter and Juliet hover in the background from their nearby desks, watching the exchange and Shawn hopes they leave it be.

“Is that what this is about?” Anthony says, and yup, there's the volume he was worried about, “Jesus Christ Shawn, are you seriously doing this because I dumped you? It was like twenty years ago, get over it!”

Shawns balks at the words, turning to Gus, “When did we turn forty, did I miss the cake?” 

He swallows harshly, still grinning despite the way his ears have begun to heat, “Ten years, twenty years, same diff, but that’s not what we’re talking about Anthony, you’re trying to file a false police report”.

“Okay,” Lassiter interrupts, as he swiftly walks up to stand between the three men, “this is a police station, I'm going to need you to lower your voice”.

Shawn feels eyes on them from the rest of the station. Vick is still in her office, thank God, but Buzz has joined their little watch party now and Juliet has also moved closer, standing beside Gus with her hands at her hips, classic power pose.

God Shawn has the worst fucking luck lately, because of course Lassiter and Juliet, are the ones that get to witness his ex-boyfriend publicly tear a strip off him.

Anthony's face twists as he nods sharply, glaring at Shawn over the Detectives shoulder. Shawn breathes a sigh out through his nose, gritting his teeth as Anthony opens his mouth to defend himself or discredit Shawn --same difference at this point. 

“If this man is bothering you,” Lassiter continues without missing a beat, “rest assured we will remove him from the premises”.

“Oh sure,” Shawn says snidely, rolling his eyes, as Gus stiffens beside him, "kick out the person not actively committing a crime, great work Lassie--”

“I wasn't talking about you, Shawn,” Lassiter cuts him off, glaring at Anthony.

Oh.

Shawn looks at Gus who is staring at the Detective as if trying to download his thoughts because, who the hell is this and what have they done with Lassie?

“Alright sir, it’s time to go,” Juliet says primly as she takes a step fully between Shawn and Anthony, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with Lassiter. 

Anthony sucks his teeth, his eyes darting between the two detectives as though sizing them up, “he doesn't have any proof, you're not taking his bullshit seriously are you?”

Lassiter says nothing, his narrowed blue eyes flick between Anthony and Shawn.

“Shawn probably had a vision, right?” Buzz says from his desk in the corner, “he's very good--”

“Oh my god, Is that what he told you?” Anthony laughs, and it's not a nice laugh, “good to see nothing's changed, everything’s still a joke to you, huh Shawn?”.

Shawn stiffens and takes a deep breath, A few more officers are now looking at them, Buzz watches worriedly from his desk and stands up from his chair.

“Okay,” Shawn says, shaking his head, “sure, you said you were filing a report for the theft of your watch and wedding ring, that they went missing at the resort you and wifey stayed at, right?”

Juliet and Lassiter both turn back to Shawn now, Lassiter watching Shawn with the same blank expression he’s come to hate recently while Juliet tilts her head curiously, her eyes flit between Gus and Shawn. 

Anthony raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest now in a silent challenge. Well, game on Llewelyn. 

“Dragging some poor resort attendant through the mud for this? Thinking no one will question it, right?”

“Shawn,” Gus says warningly, reaching out for Shawn’s elbow but he pulls away from his grasp.

Shawn continues, ignoring the way Gus drops his face into his hands, “that resort is almost four hours away, definitely at a higher altitude and way warmer than Santa Barbara, just based on how swollen your hands are”.

“Shawn,” Gus hisses at the same time Lassiter says, “elevation,” in a tone Shawn has never heard before, but he keeps going, ignoring them both.

“With the abrasions on your ring finger knuckle there, and the marks on your wrist where the watch would have been, you clearly took them off after your drive”. 

Anthony freezes, his mouth opens and closes once before his face hardens into a vicious glare.

Shawn smirks, gotcha.

“Are you--you’re not serious right now,” Anthony sputters, taking an aborted step towards Shawn but Juliet is faster, halting his movement with a firm hand on his chest, “that isn't--this is unbelievable, you’re fucking pathetic”.

“And you're just after the insurance payout,” Shawn hits back sharply, he feels Gus’ hands on his shoulder, holding him back as Juliet stands her ground, waiting until the other man finally takes another step away, raising his hands in surrender. 

“God,” Anthony says, dropping one hand heavily at his side while the other runs through his curly brown hair, “I don’t know how I put up with you for as long as I did in highschool Shawn, leaving for Princeton was the best decision I ever made--”

“So you're Princeton,” Lassiter interrupts as he turns towards Anthony fully, leaving his back to Shawn and Gus.

Gus lets go of Shawn's shoulders just to bring them back to slap him on the arms, an expression of dawning horror blooms on his face.

“What?” Anthony growls at Lassiter, leveling him with an unimpressed glare.

“You're the other idiot that made a mess that we’re all still trying to clean up,” Lassiter says and Gus's jaw drops briefly before his head tilts contemplatively, eyes narrowing at Lassiter. 

What the fuck is happening?? 

Shawn tries to step forward again, but Gus renews his grip on his shoulders, shaking his head in a silent, ‘I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-happening-either-but-you-need-to-be-cool’.

“So you,” Lassiter says, taking a menacing step closer, “should take his advice and leave now before we book you for filing a false report”.

Anthony breathes out a scoff, “what, you believe this asshole?”

“And disturbing the peace,” Juliet says brightly, counting on her fingers, “and threatening an officer--”

Anthony looks between Juliet and Lassiter for a moment, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of continuing his tirade as the number of cops watching from the sidelines grows. He rolls his eyes and shakes out his shoulders before finally, finally, taking a step backwards and turning back towards the entrance, “Okay, okay, I'm leaving, have a nice life Shawnie”.

“I’ll walk you out,” Lassiter growls, gesturing towards the lobby. He doesn't move until Anthony turns on his heel and finally leaves the bullpen. 

It’s quiet for all of five seconds, Shawn can feel the eyes of the room on them as he takes a deep breath through his nose before slowly exhaling through his mouth. The bubble of silence pops shortly as Juliet clears her throat, leveling an impressive Lassiter-like glare around the station. 

“I’m going to make sure that’s all Carlton does,” Juliet says quietly as she reaches for Shawn’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before she follows the pair out of the station. He nods, watching her go as a bone weary fatigue suddenly hits him square in the chest. It’s most likely a lingering concussion symptom from all the yelling and sudden stress which makes the whole situation all the worse, his first day back at the station is now a write off. 

Gus steps closer, his brow pinched in concern, “okay I know that sucked, but you need to get out of here”.

“Yeah,” he says, wiping a tired hand over his face, “I just--I need a minute--”

“Nope,” Gus says sharply, “now, before Lassiter and Jules get back”.

“Gus,” Shawn breathes out tiredly, feeling as though the last string holding him up is about to snap altogether, “don't be a wet sock inside my favorite shoe--”

“Shawn,” Gus interrupts, "you just deduced a crime and walked the head Detective through your entire process, without a single vision”.

Shawn feels his breath catch in his throat as he walks back through the last five minutes because Gus is right.

He steps back from the memory of Anthony standing over him, sneering, and shifts his gaze to Lassiter who looks at Shawn with narrowed eyes that pierce through his underbelly. The terminator scan is back and on full force now.

“Shit,” Shawn whispers, horrified, “shit, shit, shit, that's worse”.

Lassiter knows, knows that Shawn has been lying for months. Not just to him but the whole department, to the people he had started to call friends.

“Okay,” Gus steps back, gesturing to the back entrance usually reserved for officers, “go, I’ll see if I can do some damage control, I'll call you later”.

Shawn nods only vaguely aware that Gus has stepped away from the sudden lack of warmth beside him. He starts making his way to the side exit only for Gus to plow into his back like a linebacker before spinning Shawn around to hug him tight.

“Anthony was a jackass then and it looks like that hasn't changed,” Gus says into his shoulder, “so for what it's worth you dodged a bullet man”.

Shawn slowly wraps his arms around his best friend, letting the tension from the confrontation with Anthony fall away.

“Thanks,” Shawn says after a beat before loosening his grip to pat Gus on the back as he steps away, “now, I have an escape to make and several, several, orders of not-sad snacks to grab”.

 “Don't you throw a pity party without me Shawn--”

“Wouldn't dream of it!” He calls over his shoulder with a grin as he slips out the side door.

***

Shawn is well into his pity party, about two orders of queso dos fritos deep --the perfect not-sad snack, midway through his VHS copy of Gladiator, and with a list of places in Arizona he had not managed to see before coming back to Santa Barbara --his options other than skipping town again all but nothing, when he hears a knock at the door.

Four raps in quick successive pairs.

Shawn freezes.

It could be Gus trying out a new knocking pattern, and here with better news than his spiraling thoughts can conjure, but Gus hasn't called.

Shawn holds his breath, slowly reaching for the remote to pause the movie, relieved that he hadn't opened the blinds on the window facing the street when he got home from the station earlier. 

Maybe if he stayed quiet--

“I can hear your movie Spencer”.

God Dammit.

Shawn angrily stops the tape before dropping the remote onto the couch which bounces once and then falls to the floor with a noisy plastic clatter. 

“I know you’re in there,” Lassiter’s voice travels through the door clear as a bell. 

He sighs, dropping his head back onto the couch before he lifts the grease stained cardboard holding the few remaining fries from his chest and stands up, tossing the garbage onto the coffee table that is actually a garish slab of green plexiglass held up by several stacked milk crates he had spray painted red and superglued together.

Gus said it was hideous the last time he had visited but Shawn loves his DIY project.

Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.

He makes his way over to the door, opening it just enough to see the Detective with his hands in his suit jacket pockets, looking around with a suspicious glare.

“You live in a laundromat?” He says in lieu of a greeting.

“What are you doing here Lassiter?” Shawn asks tiredly as he opens the door a little wider, leaning his shoulder against the frame, blocking any additional line of sight into his place. 

“The spirits didn't tell you?” The Detective says as he removes his hands from the pockets of his coat to cross his arms over his chest.

Shawn fights the urge to slam the door in his stupid face.

Lassiter shakes his head after a beat of stony silence as Shawn says nothing, and sighs.

“Can I come in?”

Shawn shrugs, looking away but doesn't move from the door, blocking the entrance.

“Depends,” he says after another beat.

“Look, if you're worried about…” Carlton tries, the words come out haltingly, “I'm not going to…”

God Shawn does not want to have this conversation.

Lassiter breathes out, lifting his hands to run through his hair, shifting the normally neat salt and pepper locks out of place and Shawn is over it.

“Look, I really don't want to do this right now Detective,” Shawn sighs as he shifts his hands on the door, moving back slightly to end the stilted conversation and shut Lassiter out when a hand darts out to push the door open.

“Woah, hey--” Shawn tries but the Detective cuts him off by suddenly gripping his shoulders and walking him back into the apartment.

“What the f--what are you doing?!” He hisses, wrenching himself out of Carlton’s hands.

“Sorry,” Lassiter says, “I don't, I’m not,” he breathes out sharply through his nose and lifts one hand to pinch into his eyes briefly.

“You know, if I illegally enter someone's home, they aren't usually there to see me do it,” Shawn snips, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, “allegedly--”

“I'm not good at this,” Lassiter cuts him off, his voice loud in the small entryway. He drops his hands to his side before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, “I've thought long and hard about exactly what I would say to you if I managed to catch you,” he gestures sharply at Shawn with an open palm, “to figure out exactly how you do what you do”.

Fuck.

Fuck. 

It's exactly what he and Gus had been worried about back at the station. He had exposed himself and Lassiter was finally pouncing on it. 

“You astound me Spencer”.

Shawn blinks, his head tilts slightly as he peers at Lassiter, his eyes tracing over his face for any hint of a lie.

It's the same drunk words from nearly a month ago, and this time Carlton is sober.

“I knew it wasn't that psychic crock, I've always known that,” Carlton continues, oblivious to Shawn's shock. He reaches back to close Shawns front door before stepping further into the room.

“But, over the last few months I've watched you make the most outlandish, ridiculous, amazing deductions seemingly out of thin air”.

Lassiter's eyes flick between Shawn's own, “but it's not out of thin air, is it?” 

He takes another step closer, “you observe, you see things others miss, right? Like the elevation thing today”.

Shawn swallows heavily and tries for a laugh that rings out hollowly. 

“Look Lassie, Carlytown, Lassidopholous,” his voice sounds unnaturally high pitched, nervous, even to his own ears as he takes a step back from the Detective, “you’re barking up the wrong tree--”

“And you deflect with stupid jokes, nicknames, and obnoxious theatrics with Guster so people don't pick up on it,” Lassiter says firmly, taking another step into Shawns space.

“Pick up on what?” Shawn says quietly.

Lassiter pauses, his throat bobs as he swallows before taking a deep, determined breath and squaring his shoulders, “how brilliant you are”.

Shawn snorts, waiting for the punchline, “okay, who are you and what have you done with Lassie?” 

Lassiter doesn’t move and his expression remains unchanged, “I'm being serious, Shawn”.

Shawn barks out a crackling laugh through the sudden tightness in his throat after a beat, “but,” Shawn runs a shaking hand through his hair. It doesn’t make any sense, where the hell is this coming from he thinks, twisting his fingers to pull harshly at the roots, “you never said anything”.

Carlton steps closer, resuming his pursuit, “I'm saying it now”.

“Are you sure?” Shawn asks in a small voice before he clears his throat roughly, “I mean, are you sure this isn't a prank?”

Shawn grins but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, “is Ashton Kutcher about to jump out of my cabinet because I haven't really prepared to have guests over--”

Shawn stops short as Lassiter reaches out with one hand to cup his face while the other hand rises up to gently remove his fist from the iron grip he has on his own hair. Lassiter slowly untangles his fingers before bringing their hands down to hang between them. 

“Definitely not a prank,” the Detective says softly as he squeezes Shawn's hand, and holy hannah when did Lassie become such a Casanova? 

Carlton doesn't let go.

“This okay?” he asks, his blue eyes flit between Shawn's own.

Shawn feels his face and ears heat in an uncharacteristic moment of flustered surprise as he looks between his hand and Lassie's face. His mouth opens and closes but words, a previously unending resource for him, have vanished.

Carlton grins down at him, stepping closer, “finally stumped you eh Spencer? I thought I'd have to resort to drastic measures to shut you up,” he says, rubbing his thumb gently over Shawn's cheekbone.

Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh, licking his slightly chapped lips; he watches the way those same bright blue eyes follow the movement of his tongue. 

“Drastic does seem more my style, but maybe you could pull it off”. 

Carlton smiles as he slowly moves his hand to grip Shawn’s chin, tilting his face up just as he had that night at Tom Blairs.

“Shut up, Shawn,” Carlton breathes over his lips, gently sliding the tip of his nose down Shawns, still cognizant of the healing cartilage, before leaning down to finally kiss him.

Shawn makes a noise, a muffled hum of surprise as Carlton walks them backwards until they connect with the wall behind them. His hand slides up from Shawn's jaw to cup the back of his head as he presses further into him, while the other hand drops Shawn's to slide up his back, pulling him into Carlton even more.

Insistent lips coax his mouth open for Carlton to slide his tongue along Shawn's--who gave him the right, or the ability, to kiss like this??

Stuffy, uptight, by-the-book, Head Detective, Carlton Lassiter kissed like a man starved and Shawn could feel his brain vacillating between over analyzing this turn of events and turning to goo.

Maybe that Snapple intern was on to something because Shawn could easily see himself kissing Lassie like this for hours, weeks, maybe he'd have to give them a call about their stats, let them know the record would be broken by Lassie's lips and tongue.

Shawn's hands slide up Carltons chest as a firm knee slots between his legs, moaning as he grips at the lapels of the Detective's horrible suit jacket--if Shawn has a say moving forward, he's definitely going to be insisting on a wardrobe upgrade---

Carlton breathes out sharply through his nose as he pulls away, just far enough to stop the kiss but his Iips still brush Shawn's as he speaks, "I can hear you thinking a mile a minute, I must not be doing a very good job?”

Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh as he slides one of the hands on Carlton’s chest up to rest on the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the short hairs that have started to grow out.

“Me? Thinking? You must have confused me with someone else”.

“Shawn Spencer,” Carlton says softly as he kisses the apple of Shawn’s cheek,  “fake psychic,” he kisses the soft skin beside Shawn’s right eye, “much smarter than he lets on” he kisses Shawn’s forehead,” loyal to a fault,” Carlton hums, finally pulling back to look him in the eye’s directly.

“Careful Lassie,” Shawn says a little breathlessly, “this is starting to sound like a compliment”.

Carlton hesitates for a beat, his thumb tracing up and down Shawn’s pulse point, “based on what I know of Henry, and that jackass who came into the department,” he says slowly, softly, “compliments probably came pretty sparingly for you”. 

Shawn feels himself still in Carlton’s embrace, his mouth twitches at the corners as he tries for a grin that feels brittle, fake.

“Now I know you’re definitely confused, I love me some praise, Gus insists I have to be careful or my head'll swell, even more than it already has, and float away on the Santa Anas”.

He unwinds his hands from around the Detective and tries to step around him but Carlton’s grip around him is firm, “besides, that guy, that was, just an old friend from school--” 

“Dammit,” Carlton says under his breath before shaking his head and seemingly steeling himself, “I need to…tell you something,” Carlton continues slowly, sliding his thumb in soothing half circles on Shawn's back, “I read the transcript from your call that night.”

Shawn can't stop the full body twitch at the words and does push against Carlton this time, ducking away from the warm hands holding him against the wall, “you-- come again?”

“Shawn--”

“You...you called him Princeton,” Shawn says weakly as the memory from earlier flashes before him. It was an odd thing for the Detective to say even then, but he’d been so distracted by the whole confrontation that its significance had slipped his notice. Jesus, how did that happen?

“I can explain,” Lassiter tries before Shawn waves a hand out in front of him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Explain it then,” he snaps. 

Lassiter swallows, his mouth twitches miserably before he finally says, “outgoing calls are monitored Shawn, you called from Vicks desk, we have the transcript”.

The words hit him square in the chest and it takes everything in him not to tell the Detective to get the hell out of his apartment. His stomach clenches unhappily as he wipes his hand over his mouth, he hears his own small voice in his own head, sharp as though it was only yesterday.

“You were right Gus, he uh, he's going to Princeton, can't have someone like me dragging him down, wait, maybe I'm the Brodie in this scenario”. 

“How long have you known?”

Chapter Eleven Up!