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Three years, was in Shawn’s opinion, a long time to be married. He thought that he was going to ride out the rest of his career as a ‘psychic’ detective with his real-detective husband solving crimes and being awesome with very few bumps along the way. Maybe some small ones now and then to keep things interesting. And then Carlton arrested Ernesto Ramon Chavez.
Shawn scrubbed his face with his hands. Of course, of course, it was Lassie in the room with Chavez. He knew the second he walked in the door that his husband hadn’t shot the man, but, everything pointed to it and no one wanted to hear otherwise. There was some irony to it, Shawn was sure he'd be the one to wind up in a horribly sticky situation, and yet here they were, Shawn's by-the-book husband was the one booked.
Shawn and Gus were ushered into the lobby while the search took place, but Shawn pulled his friend toward the interrogation rooms when he saw the chief and internal affairs heading that way.
“Chief, we need to speak,” Shawn said, pushing open the door while the chief let out a more than exasperated,
“No, we don’t.”
“The spirit world is abuzz, and my psychic vibes indicate- nay, insist, that Lassiter did not shoot Chavez,” Shawn said. Carlton looked wrong sitting on the other side of the interrogation table, the image was totally wrong. He did look up at Shawn as he came in though. His face mix of relief and slight annoyance at the sight of his husband.
“I mean, we all knew that he would shoot somebody someday, I just thought would be Shawn,” Gus added. Shawn elbowed him, and Gus elbowed him back, it went on until Chief Vick cleared her throat.
“Oh, so you think he’s capable of it?” The internal affairs officer- who Shawn now knew to be Detective Ocampo by the paperwork he was filling out asked.
“No, he doesn’t,” Shawn replied. “At most, he would falsely arrest me.”
“Spencer,” Lassiter growled.
“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? ” Shawn asked. Lassie gave Shawn a look that read ‘Not amused in the slightest’, and Shawn returned it with one that he hoped said ‘c’mon, it’s a little funny.’
“Could someone get them the hell out of here?” Ocampo snapped.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Vick said, ushering Shawn and Gus out of the room.
“Don’t worry Carlytown, we’re all over this!” Shawn called over his shoulder. Vick stopped in the hallway and turned to the two consultants.
“Look, I believe Lassiter is innocent too, but we need hard evidence to exonerate him,” the chief told them. “No, visions, or vibrations, or whatever it is you have.”
“Chief, those are but two of the arrows in my psychic quiver,” Shawn replied. “And I know him pretty damn well, he didn’t shoot that guy.”
“You have to go by the book on this one chief,” Gus interrupted. “We understand.”
“Thank you.”
Back at the Psych office, Shawn was nursing his fourth coffee while Gus grabbed his second from their kitchenette.
“I’m still not convinced, Shawn,” Gus said. “How can you be absolutely certain that Lassiter didn’t shoot Chavez.”
“It’s relatively easy, Gus. You’re forgetting that I am literally married to the man,” Shawn replied. “I’m quite frankly, offended you think so little of my taste in husbands.”
“In seventh grade, you were convinced you were going to marry Batman,” Gus reminded him.
“And you were convinced there was a little dead girl in your walls, what’s your point?”
“You’re the one who made me watch Stir of Echoes behind your dad’s back,” Gus shot back.
“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare. It’s ridiculous that that walkie-talkie trick worked on you twice, just so you know.”
“I was a sensitive child Shawn-” Gus was cut off by a knock at the door.
“Hello,” Chief Vick said as she stepped into the office.
“Chief!” Shawn shouted and snatched Gus’s untouched cup. “Welcome, welcome to the fortress of solitude. Coffee?”
“Oh, no, no, thank you, I’ve had enough. No more coffee,” She replied, shaking her head “I’ve been up all night, and we still haven’t found any physical evidence that this ‘mystery shooter’ ever existed- and what’s worse? Ocampo got a hold of Lassiter’s psychological profile.”
“Wow,” Gus said, snatching his coffee back from Shawn. “He really has it out for him."
“Chief, those psych evals are rarely accurate,” Shawn laughed. “It was probably done by some crackpot shrink with a fake Swedish accent-”
“It was the one done by your mother,” Vick interrupted, and Shawn’s grin dropped. His mom could tear someone apart in an eval. Shawn was just lucky that the evaluation predated his relationship with his husband.
“Sweet baby J."
“Last night you said Lassiter is innocent,” the chief said.
“He is,” Shawn nodded
“Can you prove it? Outside of your faith in him as a spouse?” The chief asked.
“Of course I can,” Shawn replied. The chief looked at him expectantly, and Shawn's brain kicked in for a moment. "Oh, you mean right now?”
“Yes, now!” the chief exclaimed. In Shawn's defense, it had been a long twenty-four hours. “Ocampo has a warrant to search your house, and he’s headed over there right now, and unless you have something tangible, I don’t think I can op this train.”
“Chief, I think you can. I think you can, I think you can,” Shawn replied, glancing at Gus. “Don’t worry, I’ll divine something to get Carlton off the hook. Let’s go!”
Inside his and Lassiter’s home, Shawn, Gus, and Chief Vick stood staring at Lassie’s suspect board.
“It’s dedication,” Shawn said. It was honestly kind of not completely boring helping Carlton keep it updated. Lassiter put a lot of work into it, and Shawn really enjoyed poking fun at some of the more unusual suspects that made it onto the bulletin board in their living room.
“It’s creepy is what it is,” Gus replied.
“This is the only way he’d let me keep my plastic frog collection on display,” Shawn said, turning to Buzz, who was approaching from the kitchen.
“The lab results just came in,” Mcnab said, catching the attention of Ocampo. He strode over from the tv area and snatched the report from Officer Mcnab, chuckling after a moment.
“I knew it,” Ocampo announced, “Lassiter’s hand tested positive for G.S.R.”
“Well, duh,” Shawn replied, rolling his eyes. Ocampo shot Shawn a glare. “Lassie always has G.S.R. on his hands. He practically has a second home at the shooting range.”
“Ballistics says the bullet that killed Chavez definitely came from Lassiter’s gun,” Ocampo said. because of course, it did. Could things never be easy? Was that too much for Shawn to ask for? He missed when his hardest cases had him discovering dinosaurs.
“Alright, this may be a little tougher than I thought,” Shawn said. Carlton was never allowed to accuse Shawn of getting into too much trouble ever again after this mess.
“Not for me,” Ocampo said, leaving them standing in the living room. Carlton got home a few minutes later with the groceries.
“Shawn, Guster- Chief,” Lassiter nodded. It didn't take a psychic to read the confusion painted on Lassie's face and Shawn cringed. None of this was exactly ideal. Shawn was hoping to catch his husband and give him a heads up before he got home. “I didn’t know you’d be coming by today.”
“I actually hadn’t planned to but-” Vick was cut off by Ocampo and the rest of his team leaving the house.
“Oh, no,” Carlton looked at Shawn, who was grimacing right back. It was rare Lassie was comfortable enough to invite people into their space, and that was when he did so willingly. Shawn was much less private, but he knew this had to feel horribly violating for Carlton. The man was rarely ever shocked, but Carlton was staring dimly at the police officers filing out of their house without speaking before he shook himself back into focus.
“Detective Lassiter, you are the prime suspect in the murder of Ernesto Ramon Chavez, and as of this moment you are on suspension,” The Chief said. “Please relinquish your badge.”
Shawn took the groceries from his husband and watched with poorly concealed concern as Carlton dug his badge out of his pocket. He looked crushed, it wasn't an expression Shawn ever wanted to see on him again. Shawn looked at Gus who gave him a nod before heading to the Blueberry.
“I know you didn’t do this, Carlton,” Shawn said. “And I’m going to do everything I can to prove it, I promise.”
“Thank you, Shawn,” Carlton said, voice quiet and eyes downcast. Shawn helped him carry the groceries inside. There was a moment of quiet as they put their groceries- Shawn still felt lighter than air when he thought that. Their groceries. Carlton reached over him to put a box of brownie mix into the cabinet while Shawn put everything cold into the refrigerator, Smiling to himself when he saw Lassie had bought a pineapple. They went from there to the living room, Lassie, ever the neat-freak ensuring nothing was out of place from the earlier search.
“Take a break, relax a minute, and then come by the Psych office,” Shawn said, sitting Carlton down in front of the television after he was finished. “This’ll all be way easier with a clear head.”
“When did you become sensible?” Lassie asked. If asked, Shawn absolutely didn't swoon at that stupid grumpy smile of his.
“I’ve always been sensible, thanks, I’m just better at looking pretty and using my incredible skills to woo handsome detectives,” Shawn replied, kissing his husband. Carlton finally cracked a full smile, and Shawn laced their fingers together. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Shawn,” Carlton said.
Shawn was back at the office after forcing Carlton to eat something and at least shower before he met Gus and Shawn, who were arguing about cheese when he arrived, dressed like he was already back on his way to the station.
“Are you back to work already?” Gus asked, gesturing to Lassiter’s outfit.
“The man is allergic to casual wear, Gus,” Shawn said. It was true. Shawn had to plead with the man to not wear slacks to a barbecue, and it was a crying shame because damn, did Carlton look good in jeans-
“I’m wearing my suede Bucks” Lassiter protested, “They’re a casual gentleman’s shoe.”
“A casual gentleman’s shoe?” Shawn asked, never missing an opportunity for banter, “What are you, The Great Gatsby?”
“Anyway,” Gus interrupted, “Shawn said we were going over the case.”
“I’ve already told you everything I saw,” Lassiter said, and Shawn remembered something his dad had told him. It had been annoying as all hell as a kid, and it was annoying still that so much of his so-called training was actually relevant in his adult life, but it was useful now.
“Close your eyes,” Shawn said. Lassiter blinked.
“What?”
“Just do it,” Shawn said, and Carlton did, and Shawn knew it because he trusted him, and maybe that made Shawn’s chest feel all warm inside but now was not the time to dwell on that.
“If you ask me to count hats-”
“No, no, no hats,” Shawn said, he'd tried that already, and despite Lassie's prowess as a detective, hat counting was not something that was a regular event in the Spencer-Lassiter household. “Sensory deprivation. You told me what you saw, now tell me what you heard. ”
“Right well, obviously I heard the sound of my weapon going off,” Lassie said.
“Nope, that’s not it. Something else,” Shawn replied. Gus quirked an eyebrow at him and Shawn waved his friend off, putting on his best 'I totally know what I'm doing right now' face
“Well- the only other thing I heard was… I heard a faint squeak,” Lassiter said, and Shawn grinned.
“Yahtzee,” Shawn said. “That’s it, that’s our first lead. We go back to the cell, find out what made that faint little squeak, and that’ll lead us to our killer.”
“Impressive work, Spencer,” Lassie said, opening his eyes.
“Why thank you, Carlytown,” Shawn replied.
“I’m going to stop you both before I get nauseated, let’s go,” Gus said. Carlton coughed loudly and followed Gus out the door.
“Jules!” Shawn said as he and Gus walked into the station. The decision to leave Lassiter in the car was difficult, and he knew he’d be pointing out the dog in the car next to them the second Shawn got back.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Juliet asked.
“Oh, I was guided here by the spirits- and Gus,” Shawn replied, “The spirits told me that you’re about to lead us down to the holding cells. Gus just drove-”
“Absolutely not, Shawn,” Juliet interrupted, but she didn’t sound happy about it in the least, “As you can see, I am busy with another case.”
“Jules, where’s your compassion? This is Lassie we’re talking about here,” Shawn frowned. what the hell, man, Shawn couldn't fake-divine his husband out of a possible murder charge if Jules was gonna be all rule-follow-y all of a sudden.
“Look, I’m really sorry, you know I would be helping if I could, but the chief is on top of this. She’s making sure that every piece of evidence is analyzed, and every person is questioned,” Juliet told them. “Even the guy that was passed out in the holding cell the other night.”
“Wait a second, there was someone else down there?” Gus asked. Bless Gus and his beautiful brain.
“Somebody named Kenneth Loggins,” Juliet told him, grabbing a file.
“Kenny Loggins is in jail!?”
“The composer of House at Pooh Corner and This is It has fallen on hard times?”
“No, not that Kenny Loggins, this guy is a petty thief and a drunk,” Juliet said. “We picked him up for vagrancy outside of Tom Blaire’s pub. He was released this morning.”
“Did he see anything that could help us- more importantly, did he hear anything?” Shawn asked, bouncing on his toes. they officially had a lead.
“No, like I said he was passed out,” Juliet replied. “Now I have to go, Drimmer is waiting for me.”
“Drimmer?” Shawn asked, “That big goofy-doof from upstairs? You’re working with him now?”
“It’s only temporary,” Juliet reassured, “Just until Carlton gets reinstated.”
She walked off and Shawn sighed. No Jules meant things would be a bit more difficult for Gus and him.
“Looks like it’s stealth mode for us, parter,” Shawn said.
“Stealth mode?” Gus replied. “Hit the Jackal switch.” Shawn rolled his eyes and flicked the air, and Gus started heading in the direction of the holding cells.
Once Shawn and Gus had figured out what had made the noise Lassiter had heard and gone back to the car, Shawn was a little more than distressed to find his husband was not where they’d left him. Unfortunately for Shawn. Tom Blaire’s Pub was on the way to the Psych office so he and Gus were forced to make a stop, luckily for them, and unluckily for Mr. Loggins, it was an admittedly short one. Once they did finally arrive at the office Shawn spotted his husband sitting on the bench out front.
“Carlton,” Shawn said and pointedly ignored the look Gus was shooting him, and the fact that Carlton had donned his blue jeans “What happened, you disappeared on us!”
“Walking,” Carlton said, being purposefully aloof. It was clear he was going to stay clammed up at least until he and Shawn were alone.
“Is that my shirt?” Shawn asked, squinting.
“Oh, yeah, I spilled tapioca on mine,” Lassiter replied. He'd moved onto the 'desperately pretending he didn't care' stage of what Shawn had affectionately dubbed 'Lassie's stages of grief. As much as he enjoyed seeing Carlton in his clothes, Shawn needed to solve this fast.
“Tapioca?” Gus asked, “My tapioca? The one with the light dusting of cinnamon on top, that was in the fridge?”
“Yeah.”
“My mom made that! Shawn! Your husband stole my homemade tapioca!”
“Gus, simmer down,” Shawn said, “She made me some too, you can have mine. Behind the milk.” Gus looked at Shawn, somewhat mollified, and marched inside the Psych office.
“Carlton, what’s going on?” Shawn asked, joining his husband on the bench. Serious-Shawn was killing it right now.
“Well let’s see,” Lassiter said, “My partner’s moved on, my career is in shambles, and even Sweet Lady Justice has abandoned me… that bitch.”
“Look, we’re not done yet, there was someone else down there!” Shawn told him
“Yeah, Kenny Loggins, he was passed out,” Lassiter replied.
“He wasn’t passed out, and I sense-”
“Shawn.”
“Sorry, Lassie, habit,” Shawn said. Carlton absolutely hated the Psychic bit ever since Shawn had told him the truth. It was three months after they’d started dating, and Shawn had told him he had to figure out how he was doing it before he would move in with him. Carlton had it figured out within the week, and Shawn was moved in by the end of the next. “He saw everything, and someone killed him because of it, and that someone wasn’t you!”
“The one person who can get me off the hook is dead,” Carlton said.
“And you didn’t kill him,” Shawn repeated. “I told you we were going to figure this out, and I meant it.”
“What if we can’t?” Lassiter asked. “This could destroy everything, Shawn.”
“I promise it won’t,” Shawn told him, and he meant it because the thought of Carlton being shipped off to some prison, away from Shawn and the life they were building made Shawn's eyes burn in a way that made his fingers itch for his bike, and Shawn was proud to say he hadn't run from a problem in long damn time. He wasn't going to start again now. There was also the fact that orange was not Lassie's color.
“Do you have a plan?” Lassiter asked.
“I do,” Shawn replied. “You are going to hang out at my dad’s house, and we’re going to work from there, okay?”
“Your dad’s house,” Carlton repeated. Henry had warmed up to him over the three years of their marriage, but neither he nor Carlton had any desire to shoot pool with the other.
“I know, I know, but this is the part of the investigation where I get some sage advice from my ailing father, and I don’t want you to wander off again.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I know, “ Shawn replied, flicking Lassiter on the nose. “But don’t do it again- I thought you’d pulled a Me and gotten yourself kidnapped, it scared the hell out of me.”
"Now you know how it feels," Carlton snorted. “Like anyone could kidnap me,”
“Whatever, you’re like seven thousand feet tall and super strong, Mr. Police officer,” Shawn replied, “Let’s get to work.”
“Alright look, I don’t think Lassiter killed Chavez anymore than you two do, but it doesn’t mean I want him camped out in my house,” Henry said.
“For the record, I’m only 74 percent sure he didn’t do it,” Gus replied.
“Gus!”
“What, it’s up from yesterday,” Gus shrugged. Shawn rolled his eyes and looked up at his husband, who was currently raiding his father’s fridge. Shawn was quickly growing weary of being the sensible one.
“Look, unless you’ve forgotten, our place is currently a crime scene, so that doesn’t really leave a lot of options,” Shawn said. “Besides, he’s a fellow cop in need of help. He's also your son-in-law, you jerk.”
“One day,” Henry said. “One day. No more.”
“Thank you,” Shawn replied.
“Alright, now this where the ‘you ask for my advice’ part comes in?” Henry asked. Damn him if he didn’t know Shawn.
“What? No, dad, please.” Henry and Gus both stared at him. “Alright, check it out. We know that the real killer had access to the holding cells, and knew how to shut off the power.”
“What, so the janitor killed him?” Henry asked.
“No, dad I think this was an inside job,” Shawn said. Henry’s expression quickly soured, and Shawn knew he was in for a potential Henry-lecture.
“You stop right there, Shawn. You do not throw accusations like that around,” He said. “Do you understand-”
“Think about it!” Shawn hissed, “Kenny Loggins saw the shooter but was too afraid to I.D. him, now who would he fear most?”
“Kenny Loggins was in the next cell?” Henry asked incredulously. “Was Jim Messina in there with him?”
“A different Kenny Loggins,” Gus clarified.
“Listen to me, under no circumstances do you go into that police station, and snoop around and put yourself at risk,” Henry said. Shawn almost laughed. Carlton would be telling him the exact same thing if this conversation was with him and not his dad. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Shawn said. He was very much intending on going anyway.
“Look me in the eyes and say it,” Henry insisted.
“I promise.”
“Good, now hurry up,” Henry said, and then turned to where Carlton was eating cereal from the box. “What, were you raised by wolves!?”
“Let’s go,” Shawn said, heading for the door.
“Where are we going?” Gus asked.
“The police station,” Shawn replied.
“You just told your dad you wouldn’t go there!”
“How long have you known me?”
The police station visit was quick, this time Jules was willing to help, especially after they’d discovered he shredded paper and the missing files. Drimmer approached while Shawn had was getting handfuls of paper from the small trash bag on the janitor’s cart.
“O’Hara, I finished up that paperwork for the both of us, so I’m going to take off for the day,” Drimmer said, glancing at Shawn and Gus. “See you around, partner.”
“Partner,” Shawn repeated. Juliet, for her part, did look guilty.
“That’s cold Juliet,” Gus added, shaking his head.
“No, he is not my partner,” Juliet said, “He just thinks that he is my partner. He paid for coffee, brought me cupcakes, but trust me, my mind is one hundred percent focused on Lassiter, just like you.” When Shawn and Gus didn’t reply, Juliet rolled her eyes. “You guys are thinking about cupcakes, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Gus said at the same time Shawn said,
“Lassiter with a cupcake.”
Juliet left them in front of the janitor’s cart.
At the Psych office, Gus was painstakingly reconstructing the shredded papers as Shawn watched.
“Are you gonna help or what?”
“I’m texting Lassie,” Shawn said. “I have to make sure my dad hasn’t killed him yet.”
“Shawn, they’re grown men, I’m sure it’s fine,” Gus replied, just as Henry came storming in the front door.
“I cannot take it anymore, I cannot spend one more minute with Lassiter, your husband is driving me outta my mind,” Henry announced before noticing what Gus was doing. “What is this?”
“Nothing,” Shawn replied quickly. “Just uh-”
“You know,” Gus interrupted.
“Paper,” Shawn said. Smooth. His name may as well be Shawn "Smooth" Spencer- well no, that just sounded weird-
“You went down to the police station didn’t you? I told you very specifically ‘Do not go down there and poke your nose around,” Henry said.
“My nose is not to blame,” Shawn told him. “My feet took me there. Along with Gus, but listen; we struck gold. In these shreddings is the answer to who killed Kenny Loggins. We could use an extra set of hands.”
“Really now.”
“What do you say, dad, help us out or back to Carlytown?” Shawn asked. Henry sat down.
“That bad huh?” Gus asked.
“I can’t take it anymore, he’s eaten everything in my house, he’s recording every episode of Cops,” Henry said, opening his glasses up and sliding them on.
“You love Cops,” Shawn said.
“Not twenty-five times a day! It’s got me nostalgic for the times that you were living at home,” Henry complained. “It’s nauseating.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Shawn said, before noticing a faint jingle from outside. “Peanut guy! You two keep at it, and I’ll be back before you can say ‘I heart legumes’.”
Shawn slid out into the night air and made his way over to the peanut guy. He was on his way back inside when he heard a familiar voice.
“Hey, Shawn!” Drimmer shouted, jogging up to him. “Out for my nightly jog, gotta work off those cupcakes.”
“Right, well,” Shawn said, and dammit, he was thinking about cupcakes again, that totally ruined the peanut craving. “Good luck with that.”
“Hey, listen, I was wondering something,” Drimmer said, just as Shawn had turned back to the office. “Are you, uh, are you and O’Hara... you know, an item? ‘Cause she seems to talk about you an awful lot.”
That caught Shawn’s attention. He and Carlton had been married for three years, and sure, Lassie wasn’t a PDA guy but still, Drimmer ought to know who the Head Detective of the department was married to.
“Really?” Shawn asked. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, yeah man, all kinds of stuff,” Drimmer nodded. Something was definitely not right, that or Drimmer was just plain dumb. Shawn was biased toward the latter considering he’d replaced his husband as Jules’s partner, and he just kind of looked like a guy who was one crayon short of a box. “Mostly about the psychic stuff, it apparently uh, brings results.”
“That it does,” Shawn said. He really wanted to get back inside. He wondered if Gus could see him from the window.
“First thing I gotta know is, am I gonna win the lottery?” Drimmer asked. Shawn didn't roll his eyes, despite really wanting to.
“No,” Shawn told him, shaking his head.
“I’m not?”
“I don’t know,” Shawn chuckled, “It doesn’t work like that, my friend.”
“I’m not, I’m not, but more importantly,” Drimmer said, sobering slightly. “You got anything on this Lassiter business? He’s uh, he’s a real character, huh?”
This guy had to be fucking with him, Shawn was sure of it. And then Shawn noticed the little black ink marks on his hands. The same kind that Shawn had gotten from messing around in the records room. And then Shawn got nervous, and apparently, it showed.
“You’re getting something aren’t you?”
“Nah, no,” Shawn said. Things had gone from ‘fairly awkward’ to ‘not good’ very quickly. Time to abort. “All I got is a couple of dudes in the office jonesing for peanuts. One of them’s part elephant. He never lets me forget that.”
“Well, I guess you better get back to them,” Drimmer said with a smile.
“Yeah, good talk, Drimmer!” Shawn told him. He was in the clear.
“Hey, Shawn, one more thing,” Drimmer said, once again after Shawn had just turned around. God damnit, what was with this guy? Shawn went to face Drimmer once more and was met with a thunk to the side of the head before everything went dark.
Shawn woke up with a throbbing headache on his and Lassiter’s couch. Drimmer was seated in the chair across from him. Shit.
“That was a cheap shot Drimmer,” Shawn groaned, sitting up slowly. “One minute we’re chatting about your creepy infatuation with Jules, the next I’m waking up on the couch. My god, could this get any worse?”
Drimmer answered by raising his gun and pointing it at Shawn.
“I guess it can.”
“Shut up Spencer,” Drimmer said. “You might be able to smartass your way outta some things, but you know what? I don’t see that happening here,”
“Oh, so you’re the psychic now? Shawn asked bitterly, feeling the bump on the side of his head with a wince. He was most definitely planning on smartassing his way out of this, just to prove a point now.
“Shut. up.” Drimmer growled. Shawn decided it was significantly more appealing when Carlton did that same thing. Drimmer's vibes were totally off for it.
“I like the sound of my own voice, I won’t apologize for that,” Shawn said. He needed a minute to assess his options, but honestly? He was more annoyed than anything. Drimmer was an asshole that had taken his husband’s spot at the department, knocked Shawn out, and was probably going to shoot him in his own home without having the decency to know that it was his home. “Besides, I should thank you for cold-cocking me. You managed to shake my psychic juju loose- Agh- one second, Jesus, that hurt.
"Okay," Shawn sighed. He was going to have a killer headache later- well, if there was a later for him. Shawn told the part of his brain that offered up that comment to suck it before continuing. "It was you Chavez looked at when Lassie brought him in, because, in all your years on the gang unit, the two of you became quite the BFFs. You never brought Chavez in, and you never intended to because you were on his payroll. Once you found out he was turning state’s witness, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pointed the finger at you. So you had to take him out. Poor Kenny Loggins, well, he was just collateral damage. One might even say- he was in the danger zone.”
Drimmer just cocked his head to the side, face fairly blank. This asshole couldn’t even appreciate a good Kenny Loggins joke, damn it.
“Oh come on, Drimmer, Shawn said. “That at least merited a micro-chuckle. You really think killing me is gonna solve all your problems?”
“Oh, I’m not gonna kill ya,” Drimmer said, never lowering his gun. Double shit. “Hand over your phone.”
“Shawn, get your feet off the table,” Carlton said as he walked in and spotted Shawn, still seated on the couch. “Is something wrong? You didn’t send a single emoticon?”
Shawn didn’t reply, choosing to stare bitterly over his husband’s shoulder at Drimmer, who was stepping closer, gun raised. Carlton whipped around at the sound of the door creaking shut behind him and Shawn grimaced.
“Drimmer?”
“I can’t believe you bought that text,” Shawn grumbled. Carlton looked over at Shawn, and then back at Drimmer.
“Why?”
“Because,” Shawn said. “He’s in business with Cinco Reyes, and when you brought in Chavez, business hours were over, sweetheart. I just became Kojak.”
“I always knew there was something off about you Drimmer, but I didn’t figure you for dirty,” Carlton said. His eyes kept shifting to where Shawn was seated on the couch. He was trying to tell Shawn something but Shawn's head was pounding and he couldn't figure out what Lassie was trying to say. “You are one lowlife, scum-sucking bastard, aren’t you?”
“I know how this works, Lassiter,” Drimmer said, and then brandished a folded piece of paper. “You’re trying to throw me off with one of your stupid little insults. Uh-uh. Might as well get on with it.”
“What’s that?” Carlton asked.
“It’s your suicide note,” Drimmer replied. Shawn scoffed and Drimmer gave him a glance before continuing. “It explains how Spencer Psychically figured out that it was you-”
“I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘divined’, ” Shawn interrupted, mouth moving before he could think better. Drimmer took two steps and smacked Shawn across the head with the butt of his gun and fuck did that hurt, his already aching head felt like it had been hit with a hammer and not a pistol. Shawn doubled over and held his head. “Jesus fuck, man! Not cool!”
“Shawn -” Carlton tried to move to where Shawn was curled forward on the couch and was stopped by Drimmer. Shawn was hoping he'd at least have Lassie sit down on the couch with him, but Drimmer was a dumbass and decided it'd be more efficient to switch the direction he was pointing his gun based on who was pissing him off more. Fortunately for his husband, Shawn was very good at pissing people off.
“Spencer divined it was you who killed Chavez and Loggins and he was gonna go to the chief with it,” Drimmer continued, “So you shot him. You two being former lovers and all, you were overwhelmed with guilt.”
“Former lovers?” Shawn shouted, still clutching the couch and the back of his head. Talk about adding insult to injury, what the hell.
“He’s hoping they won’t look too close,” Carlton said, voic low.
“We’re still married! If we’d done my idea of smushing our last names together instead of hyphenating, this wouldn’t happen,” Shawn replied pulling his ring from where it lay on a chain under his shirt. Drimmer blinked. “You seriously didn’t know, man? Really? How the hell did you make detective?”
“Shut the fuck up, Spencer,” Drimmer growled. Shawn complied- if only to avoid being pistol-whipped a second time. "You two are arguing constantly-"
"I like to think of it as endearing back and forth," Shawn interrupted, realizing halfway through his sentence that he really needed to shut up.
"What the hell did I just say?" Drimmer shouted, cocking his gun at Carlton. "Maybe, I'll be doing your dear husband a favor by shutting you up permanently. It doesn't matter, I'll have time for a rewrite."
"Don't," Carlton snarled. “You are one sick twist Drimmer,”
“I know,” Drimmer smiled, before turning his gun toward Shawn’s head. Lassiter sucked in a sharp breath.
"Shawn-"
“Woah, woah, wait! Wait! Wait!” Shawn exclaimed. It was time for some last-ditch effort rambling. Shawn's specialty “What I’m getting something, I’m sensing something! Something wild, uh something in the way you look tonight. Deep blue, something-”
“Do you ever stop talking? Drimmer asked. Behind him, Carlton inched toward the kitchen counter and then lunged for the toaster, Drimmer turned and quickly pointed his gun at Shawn’s husband, and it was Shawn’s turn to feel sick to his stomach. “What’re you doing there detective, looking for one of your spare pistols that you’ve hidden? Uh-uh. Cops found all your guns.”
Carlton kept his eyes trained on Drimmer and took a step forward. Shawn kept quiet. but was mentally cheering because thank fucking God Lassie was paranoid
“Hey- Hey stop it what are you doing?” Drimmer turned the gun back toward Shawn. “You wanna see your husband’s brain splattered all over the floor? Huh? Stop that!”
Carlton kept walking, and Shawn nodded at him. Shawn sprung forward and forced Drimmer’s arm toward the ceiling while Carlton dove for the peanut bowl on the counter, pulling out one of his spare pistols and firing a shot into Drimmer’s shoulder. Drimmer dropped like a rock and Shawn pulled the gun away from him.
“Looks like they missed one,” Shawn chuckled, hopping over the coffee table to set the gun he’d taken from Drimmer on the counter.
“At least one,” Carlton replied, not taking his eyes off where Drimmer lay bleeding- on their couch, god damnit. “There are eight, and I seriously doubt they found the one in the shower or hidden in the HI-FI. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Carlton, I swear,” Shawn said, gingerly touching his head. What he needed was a Tylenol.
“You might have a concussion, Shawn.”
“You might have a concussion,” Shawn shot back. Before Carlton could reply, the door swung open, and Juliet marched in, swarmed by other officers and Gus and henry. “Jules! How’d you find us?”
“I tracked Drimmer on his cell phone GPS,” Juliet replied. The officers she’d come with stooped over Drimmer and began the process of getting a shot man into handcuffs.
“Shawn, are you alright?” His dad asked, more than likely spotting the trickle of blood from where he’d been pistol-whipped.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m all good,” Shawn said, before suddenly turning back to Lassie. “There’s a gun in our shower? Where?”
“That defeats the purpose of it being hidden, Shawn” Carlton replied.
“I’ve lived here for more than three years- I don’t want to shoot myself while shampooing you jackass,” Shawn said, “I’m sorry, that was harsh, my head feels like it was run over my a zucchini- you know those ice cleaner things?”
“Do you mean a Zamboni ?” Gus asked.
“Eh, I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn replied, blinking hard. Why did Drimmer have to hit him in the head twice? It seemed like overkill.
“I’m getting an EMT to check you out,” Carlton said, waving one over as he did.
“Could just check me out yourself,” Shawn muttered under his breath, delighted at the face both Gus and his father made.
“That’s my cue,” Gus said, turning to go, and Henry went to follow him out, but turned back to Lassiter.
“He’s extra stupid when he’s concussed,” Henry warned as if Carlton hadn't seen him concussed before.
“I’m a little bit offended,” Shawn replied. “And I’m not concussed.”
“I’d still like to make sure,” Carlton told him as Henry left. “And if you ever antagonize a man with a gun like that again, I will shoot you myself.”
“With our shower gun? Because I’m still on that.”
“Shawn, if you go willingly, I promise to show it to you sometime,” Carlton said. Shawn bounded toward the EMT.
Hours later, Carlton and a thankfully not concussed Shawn were finally leaving the station after giving their statements, Shawn leaning heavily on his husband.
“Never get framed for killing someone ever again,” Shawn groaned, “That was exhausting.”
“Now are you glad we didn’t take your bike?” Carlton asked, and Shawn huffed.
“Yeah, I guess,” Shawn said.
“I promise we’ll take your deathtrap to the station next time we almost die,” Carlton teased as they climbed inside Carlton’s car.
“I’m holding you to that Lassie,” Shawn said, yawning. “But for now I want to sleep for a thousand years in your big strong detective arms."
“Alright Shawn, let’s go home.”
Shawn fell asleep on Carlton’s shoulder as they drove, but he was just barely awake enough to feel Carlton carry him inside and get them both into bed.