Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shawn films his goodbye to Gus first. It's long and so emotionally taxing that by the end of it he's sure he can handle the others just fine.

Of course, all the others are miniscule in comparison. The one he makes for his dad is about the shortest: Henry raised him; he knows him, understands his insecurity and tendency to run away, better than anyone. He doesn't need to hear too much of an explanation—just a goodbye and a vague apology.

Then there's Woody and Buzz, both of whom Shawn feels deserve a clear acknowledgement that they were his friends and that they mattered. He'll miss them a lot, really. He's gonna miss them being part of his team. They might have been a bit in the background but they offered a sort of unique charm he just knows he won't find anywhere else.

Just for the sake of it, Shawn makes goodbye messages to a lot of the other officers who worked in the SBPD, too. He never knew any of them personally—that is, they never talked, but he still feels like he knows all about them. Which he does. And he knows they'll find it weird, but maybe that's just why he's doing it. Just for the irony, because he's Shawn Spencer and he can't help himself.

Or maybe, he realizes afterward, he's just purposely wasting his time to avoid filming a certain goodbye.

God, it's not even in person and he still can't do it.

He doesn't even know why it's so hard to think about it, but it is. He feels the urgent need to get this right, to say it exactly right... It's the plight of being a procrastinator. If he can't do it perfectly, he doesn't want to do it at all.

Shawn gets halfway through a sentence in his goodbye to the smoothie shop owner before he decides that he's done fooling around and he needs to seriously think.

It's the only goodbye he actually needs to think about, other than Gus's. Shawn's always been a quick thinker, for obvious reasons—he can come up with covers and aliases in a moment's notice; he's even an expert liar, so much so that he can fool a polygraph test.

But saying goodbye to Lassie?

There's so many factors. There's so many things he wants to say—and which he tries to find some way to include—but he can't. Not without possibly affecting other people in the process. And of course, Shawn's spent the last eight years learning how to care about the consequences of his actions.

Other than Gus's, it ends up being the longest.

"Carlton Lassiter, Chief Lassie... The Lord of Sternbush." (He would continue with other nicknames, but he'd rather not risk annoying him into just closing the video.) "I am proud, honored, and... baffled? to call you my friend. But it's true. It's also true that you might be the only other person on the planet who loves Jules as much as I do, even though it's different. You've always had her back, and for that I feel I owe you more than the others, so... time to come clean. Regarding my methods and the way I solve cases, you're the only one that's ever suspected that, uh...

"The truth is, I am not psychic. And I spent just now going through about twenty different possible ways I could say that because... another piece of truth—I'm not proud of this. It should feel like some kind of ironic victory, shouldn't it? I should be going, 'ha, you were actually right the whole time and you just couldn't prove it'—but I don't want to. I mean, I'm glad that you couldn't prove it because that would have put me in big trouble. And... I'm sure you probably would have liked that. But I can't say I'm proud of deceiving the SBPD—or, more importantly, you. Because you are my friend, and you're just as important to me as Gus and Juliet are.

"So now, since—well, since I'm leaving Santa Barbara... it's important to me that you know the truth. It's also important that you know: I enjoyed our hug. And I might not be psychic but I know you did, too, you just don't want to say it. But, uh, ha... no, really. I'm gonna be serious again, for a second. There's one more thing I want you to know: You, Lassie, were the only person to not wholeheartedly believe I was psychic. Now, I—here's a real piece of irony for you—I don't even believe in psychics."

Despite how many times he's thought this over, he can't help but break into a grin and breathy laugh there, just imagining Lassie's thought process when he watches this.

"But if I couldn't do what I do, and I met myself, then frankly, I would start to believe. So for a while I thought it was just that you were a skeptic, and that annoyed me. But... after a few years, I changed my mind. I mean, you're still very skeptical and stubborn. But I don't think that's why you were so suspicious. Honestly? I think you were just the only person who could see through me so well.

"Anyway. This is getting kind of long... And I need to leave. If you're crying by this point, don't be ashamed—I cried a little before recording this, too. So. Um... goodbye, Lassie."

As quickly as he can, Shawn transfers all the videos onto DVDs, packages them, and sets out to mail them before beginning his trek to San Francisco.

That one-sided DVD message is the last time Shawn talks to Lassiter for a while.

He didn't expect to be returning to Santa Barbara this soon, but sometimes life is just anticlimactic like that.

Gus, in spite of his impulsive decision (for him, twelve separate moments of doubt is impulsive) to drive all the way to San Francisco to find his friend, hasn't actually been able to move up there yet. He's had to return to Santa Barbara and wait for his apartment's lease to be up—which was luckily only about a month. It's ending about now, and Shawn's coming down to help him move.

It's weird, being here after making such a big deal about leaving only a month ago. The weirdest part is that it doesn't feel nearly as wrong as it should—he can look around at these familiar streets without feeling any kind of ache. A slight discomfort, at the worst.

"You know what?" Gus says when he mentions the odd feeling. "I think it means you're growing up, Shawn."

He wants to scoff at the very notion and promptly do something wildly immature, but instead he merely grimaces in agreement. That's a sign Gus is right if there ever was one.

Shawn can at least take ironic comfort in the fact that he still feels uncomfortable with the idea of confronting any of the people he left so unceremoniously (Gus obviously doesn't count, since they reunited a mere few hours after he left).

Well, most of the people. But the more he thinks about it, the more the impulsive parts of him are screaming at him to just go over there... which leads to him leaving Gus to do the work alone for a bit.

It's only after the door of his old house has opened that Shawn remembers it wouldn't even make sense for Lassiter to be home right now. But Marlowe is more than happy to let him in—and unsurprisingly, one of the first things she says is, with a tilt of her head,

"Carlton said you left."

"Yeah, I did." Shawn holds back the urge to ask if Carlton talks about him. "I'm back for a couple days, though, so I thought I'd drop by and see how you guys have changed the place... which is really not much."

Which means either that Lassie's taste is exactly like Henry's, or that they simply haven't gotten around to renovating. Shawn figures it's both.

He also feels about 98% sure that Lassie didn't tell his wife about the DVD message in detail because she would certainly be more shocked to see him if he had.

"Oh—yeah, we're both pretty busy, y'know, with Lilly and with Carlton working so much... Dammit, I just remembered. We haven't even started turning that room into a place for Lilly yet... God, I'm sorry I'm dumping all this on you, it's just so stressful, y'know? I've barely gotten any sleep with Lilly crying so much and—"

"I could do it."

He doesn't really know what possessed him to say it, what with the promise he made to Gus to help him move this weekend, but now he simply can't drop it.

"What?"

"Lilly's room. I could do it," he repeats, shrugging like it's no big deal that he's taken on so much responsibility. "Paint it, baby-proof it—just less work for you and Lassie to do."

"Oh... Shawn, you don't have to do that, but—who am I kidding, I am not rejecting that offer. When do you wanna do it?"

In the next few minutes, Gus is yelling at him through his phone for abandoning him to paint a baby's bedroom, and Shawn manages to convince his dad to drive over there and help so his best friend won't be too mad. So much for avoiding confrontation.

Meanwhile in the next several hours, Shawn gets a single coat of pastel green paint onto the walls of what used to be his childhood bedroom. Perhaps it's his newfound maturity, or maybe it's just fondness for the idea that Lassiter's daughter will grow up in his old bedroom, but he really doesn't mind changing this room so much.

At some point he needs to allow the paint to dry—and also to get away from the fumes—which happens to be around the time that the man of the house gets home.

"Spencer?"

Shawn feels a burst of excitement as he looks towards the open doorway where Lassiter is standing, frowning at the newly-painted room.

"Lassie! Holy shit, I missed you—oh, you probably want to know why I'm in your house. Long story short, Gus and I are starting Psych back up in San Francisco and so I'm down here to help him move, and when I came here earlier Marlowe said you hadn't done anything with this room yet, and I offered. Don't worry—among other things, I have experience in painting professionally and color coding. I hope you don't mind that I chose not to use stereotypically feminine colors—I think the soft green might give it a nature-feel... Sorry, I'm kinda high from the fumes. And I'd hug you, but the paint—yeah. Hold on a second."

Carlton is too caught off guard by this surprise visit (and the fumes) to say anything while waiting for Shawn to wipe off his hands and leave the room, and just stares. He wonders if it's too obvious that he's happy to see him, and subsequently whether or not he should even hide it at this point.

"Not that I don't appreciate it," he finally says (and he really does, he almost can't believe Shawn would do something this nice for him and his family), "but shouldn't you be helping Guster move? Like you said?"

"Eh, Gus can get by on his own," Shawn shrugs. "It's just moving boxes. When his future daughter needs her room painted, it'll be my first priority."

Shawn doesn't need to read minds to realize how touched Lassie is (really, it's what he was going for), and with their mutual silence and eye contact he can really feel a hug coming on—

"You should go help him, the room doesn't need to be finished right away."

Shawn's heart sinks just slightly, and it's visible on his face.

"But," Carlton adds too quickly, "you should stay for dinner. We're not paying you for the paint job, so it's the least we can do."

There's an unspoken I miss you and I want to talk to you in there, Shawn can tell. And then, praise the gods above, a double-pat on the back as Lassiter begins to lead him down to the kitchen. It's not quite a hug, but he still grins about it for the whole way down the stairs.

Dinner turns out to be Chinese take-out as opposed to anything homemade, since Marlowe is understandably tired. That, and she insists that it'll be good for adding variety to what goes into her breast milk. Neither Shawn nor Carlton are against it.

"I have to ask," Shawn starts (since it seems like Lassiter's still mentally working out how to begin a conversation with him), "how have things been going at the station without Psych helping out?"

"What, you think we can't solve cases without you?" Carlton snaps, though good-naturedly.

"Of course you can, Lassie!" he beams. "But I bet you're having a great time now after eight years of me getting in your way, heh..."

Carlton laughs along and they both pretend that that isn't mostly a lie, that the absence of Shawn hasn't made an effect on their crime-solving rate.

"It is much more peaceful now. And quiet. But, well—it wouldn't be me you were bothering anymore, anyway. Brannigan's head detective. Oh, and have you heard—?"

"About McNab being a detective now? Oh my god, yeah, I saw it on Facebook—I'm proud of him. It's weird, though, right? Him being in Juliet's old position. If I'd come back to Santa Barbara eight years later than I did, I might have ended up marrying him instead."

There's a pause, in which Carlton realizes two things. Of course one of them he'd already been sure of, but the other—

"You're...?"

"Oh! Yeah, I can't believe I forgot to tell you, Jules and I are officially engaged! I guess it's not really a surprise, it's been a long time coming and all..."

Marlowe, who's been breast feeding on the other side of the room, perks her head up and grins at him. "Congratulations!"

Carlton, on the other hand, takes a moment before he smiles and pats him on the arm. "...Yeah, congratulations."

Shawn smiles back at both of them, but mostly the latter. "Thanks. It means a lot. I dunno when the wedding'll be—we're trying to work it around everyone's schedules, and most of the main guests are cops. And also split between two cities, so."

About a minute of silence and chewing through a mouthful of rice later, Carlton finally decides to ask:

"So how's San Francisco so far?"

Shawn immediately feels something in his chest drop, and he ignores it.

"It's kind of exactly the same as before, actually. Like everything basically just moved three-hundred miles upstate. Vick's the chief, I have Juliet... Gus and I are even still doing Psych, which was, honestly, a surprise. I mean, we can't keep doing it forever, but there's really no reason we have to stop now."

He pauses, expecting Lassiter to say something about how he's going to continue being a fraud, or about how it's dangerous to keep doing that now that he's in a bigger city and could more easily get caught and thrown in prison, or at least ask about the whole fake psychic thing... but he doesn't. He doesn't even glare or look like he wants to.

So then Shawn adds: "The only thing missing is you. And, well, a few other people—but it's weird without you there, man."

"Don't start getting all sad on me, Spencer," he warns.

Though he not-so-secretly agrees. Too much has changed for him, and not enough has changed for Shawn. It's out of balance.

"C'mon Lassie, I think I have the right to be a little sad," he says, ironically sounding as cheerful as possible, and immediately receiving a brief glare. "But anyway. I know you can't move up there, being chief and all. You must miss the action, though."

He does. God, he does, and he knows that Shawn knows exactly how much he misses it.

He also knows that Shawn knows why he can't be out in the field anymore, which is why his tone is clipped when he responds.

"Yeah, well. I have a family now."

Once Shawn has finished his share of the take-out, he announces that it's late and he ought to get back to Gus about now, then promises to be back early tomorrow to finish the paint job. Marlowe takes Lilly's tiny hand to wave goodbye to him, and Carlton merely pats him on the hip as he stands up to leave.

"See you."

Carlton comes home the next evening to a fully painted room, not only with a second coat but also with cartoonish pineapples of varying size around the bottom half of the wall. The borders are a soft orange—to match the pineapples, he figures. He can't help but smirk over Shawn adding his own charm to the room.

Speaking of Shawn. Where is he?

"Oh, he had to leave," Marlowe tells him with a sort of pitying look. "Something about he and Gus not being able to rent the moving truck for too long. He finished the room, though, isn't it cute? Actually wait—he wanted me to tell you, he's sorry he couldn't stick around and give you a goodbye hug. He said he'd send you one telepathically."

She smiles at him, and he just huffs.

"How nice of him."

Shawn starts calling him regularly, and Carlton can't say that he minds. They occasionally do group calls (both over the phone and on Skype), too, with Juliet and Vick joining in. And sometimes when he's on a call at the station, Buzz will ask if he can say hi.

At least once every couple weeks, it seems, everyone in San Francisco feels the need to tell him that they miss him and that they wish he could be there. Though mostly just Shawn.

Not that he doesn't like hearing it. He likes knowing that all his friends aren't completely better off without him, especially when they're also telling him about all their particularly interesting cases that he couldn't be a part of, and how it's odd solving crime without Lassiter yelling "SPENCER" even once.

God, he can't even remember the last time he yelled. He barely even raises his voice these days.

He always denies it when Marlowe accuses him of being too sentimental, but sometimes he catches himself. Generally he notices after the fact:

How things will happen and the first thing he thinks of is that he wants to tell Shawn.

"McNab's actually a much better detective than I expected. He's got a ways to go—but I do think he'll get there."

How easy and casual it feels to have a friendly conversation with him.

"Yeah?"

"You should see him, following Brannigan around like a giant puppy. They're an odd pair but they get stuff done."

"Ha, just like you and Jules."

How much he smiles when Shawn talks.

"...Maybe. A little more like us, though."

And mostly just how he'll say things like that.

He convinces himself that Shawn is just far easier to deal with when he's not actually around. As well as that missing him is just part of missing everybody.

The wedding is in September.

Most people wait at least six months after the engagement, if only because of how long it usually takes to properly plan a wedding, but Shawn thinks they've waited too long already and Juliet agrees. It's hard to feel like you're rushing into a marriage when you've known someone for eight years.

To accommodate everyone, they pick a place about halfway in between Santa Barbara and San Francisco: a hotel venue in Cambria.

When Carlton gets his and Marlowe's invitation (and technically Lilly's as well, since Shawn seems to have made a tiny version of their invitation for her), he feels oddly apprehensive. He has no idea why, he especially doesn't know why thinking about the wedding puts a twist in his stomach... but it doesn't matter, he has to go.

Even if he genuinely didn't want to, there's no way he could avoid it. They would just postpone the wedding for his sake because apparently, Juliet wants him to walk her down the aisle. They've all talked about it—Shawn finds it a little odd that they're even having a traditional wedding, but he agrees that Lassiter is a far better man for the job than Frank or even Lloyd. Unlike them, he's actually been there for Juliet.

So of course they go; they fly to the San Luis Obispo airport and get a shuttle to take them to the hotel, and even though he's been thinking about it the whole time he's still not quite ready when they walk through the front doors and immediately hear a shout of "LASSIE!" from all the way across the lobby, followed by rapidly increasing footsteps.

You'd think Shawn didn't expect him to show up, with how wide he's grinning, and how hard he hugs him. Though that part might just be inertia.

He only pulls away after Carlton hugs him back for a moment, at which point his grin actually drops a bit and he glances over both him and Marlowe.

"Are you guys wearing that to the ceremony?"

"Of course not—I know the difference between a casual suit and a tuxedo," he snaps, ignoring the immediate chuckle from his wife. "We're changing as soon as we check into our room."

"Okay. Well, the ceremony doesn't start for about an hour, so you have some time. The room we're holding it in is on the second floor—there's signs, I'm sure you can find it. Wait—yeah, Lassie, you're gonna have to go to wherever Juliet is first so you can walk her down... uh, it's room 311. Just knock, she'll know it's you."

In eight whole years, he's never seen Shawn so genuinely anxious. Not just excited, but absolutely jittery from how much he needs everything to go right.

This is it, the twist in his gut. Seeing just how happy Shawn is to be moving onto this chapter of his life... how much he's grown up. Everything really is changing (and maybe it's not so bad).

"Hey, calm down," Carlton advises in spite of himself, the edge of his mouth quirking into a smile. "You're sweating. Take a breather, you'll be fine."

And he most certainly is. Almost too fine—the ceremony is remarkably unlike what most people would expect from Shawn Spencer. No comical mistakes, no movie references—that is, no one hired to run in and yell "Stop that wedding!" for the sake of theatrics, no ironic decorations or anything.

If anyone asks, he'll say that he really wanted to add some flair, but Juliet insisted they take this seriously.

Naturally Gus is by his side as his best man (no other groomsmen, he only needs the one), crying almost as soon as the music starts. His crying only escalates as it goes on—everything is just so beautiful, he later tells him as an excuse, Juliet is beautiful, and her dress is beautiful, and Lassiter walking beside her and giving her away is beautiful (in a symbolic way, he means), and even Vick holding the flowers as she walks behind her is beautiful.

("And besides, you know I'm a sympathetic crier.")

By the time Shawn starts saying his vows and tearing up himself, Lassiter has to help muffle Gus's sobs so he isn't too much of a distraction.

To be fair, marrying Shawn Spencer is pretty much a package deal. Gus has played a large part in their relationship—he was even directly involved in the proposal. Which is why it's not that weird that after they're officially married, Juliet breaks the kiss and steps away from her husband to comfort the best man.

After a point, it's apparent that Gus has completely failed to retain a single shred of dignity. Shawn sighs and shifts his frown to Lassiter.

"Maybe you should've been my best man," he mutters.

And that is precisely what gets Gus to stop crying and instead shift his attention to Shawn with a look of betrayal. Shit.

"Shawn, how could you say tha—"

"Heyyyy! Time for the reception, everybody! Let's head downstairs, quick, let's go, go go!"

With that, he grabs Juliet's arm and aims to get out of that room alive.

The reception party doesn't actually start until Shawn can successfully convince Gus that he was kidding, that obviously Lassie couldn't have been my best man anyway, he had to give Jules away, and apologize in front of the whole room. Into the microphone, so everyone can hear. Only then is the cruel Burton Guster satisfied.

Shawn also points out all the single women in the room for him, as a bonus.

As the newly married couple begins the first dance of the evening, Carlton asks Marlowe for permission to have a glass of wine—"you know, since it wouldn't be fair if I went ahead and drank when you can't."

"Well now that you make that point, maybe I want to say no."

"You're gonna want to dance, though, and I can't bring myself to dance in public unless I've practiced or I'm at least tipsy—"

"I swear, you can't ever tell when I'm teasing unless it's sexual. Go get drunk, babe."

After everyone's done ceremoniously clapping for the first dance, Marlowe gets the first willing person she can find to watch Lilly so she can urge her husband out onto the dance floor. Of course she doesn't actually have to urge him—he comes willingly, hooking his hands around her waist before they're even on the floor.

Looking around, he sees that the only other couples dancing now are Karen and her husband (he makes a mental note to talk to her before the night is up), the McNabs, and Guster with what looks like one of Juliet's cousins. At the moment the groom seems to be checking the selection of music. Carlton feels vaguely scared that Shawn's going to change it to a more intense song that he'll need to be literally wasted in order to dance to.

But he doesn't. He simply rearranges a couple songs on the list and resumes dancing with his wife, and for a whole two more songs they don't take their eyes off each other.

When they finally do, they're right next to where Lassiter and Marlowe are swaying.

"Hey, Jules—Lassie, why not mix it up a bit? Let's switch."

Why not, Carlton mentally agrees, and makes a noise of assent and lets go of Marlowe, reaching out for—

Shawn grabs his hands instead of who he expected, while his wife willingly goes with Juliet and merely shrugs at him. And she's not even the one who's tipsy.

He notices that, despite his surprise, his right hand has still instinctively gone to Shawn's waist and the left remains clasped in Shawn's. His feet haven't even stopped moving. But his face flushes—he can feel it, and he's sure the other man can see the pink tinge in his cheeks because he immediately grins.

Thought we were gonna switch hetero style, didn't you? his eyes seem to taunt him. But he doesn't say anything.

"Why do you always have to do this to me?" Carlton finally grumbles.

All the things that question could possibly mean, it does mean. All of the qualifiers that could reasonably come after, both Carlton and Shawn add in their mind.

The main one is: You just got married, for fuck's sake.

The hand on his shoulder tightens. Carlton vaguely realizes that Shawn has willingly taken the female position in this dance.

"Because you never actually tell me to stop," he finally says.

...Fair enough.

For about half a song they dance in silence, until Carlton decides that this is even more awkward than any potential conversation—and also feels just drunk enough to make a small confession.

"You know... I kind of wish you'd been the best man at my wedding."

Shawn was personally fine with the silence, but this is better.

"...Am I—Lassie, am I your best friend?"

"Don't be ridiculous, that's Juliet." He says it quickly, yet softly enough that Shawn has no doubt it's true. His smile doesn't falter, though, and that's what compels Carlton to add: "But. Y'know. You're the best... man."

"Maybe one day you can renew your vows and I'll be your best man," Shawn suggests, "and then I'll renew my vows on the same day so we can share a bachelor's party re-do. You know, since your wife got kidnapped at your last one."

"So what happened at yours that was so terrible?"

"I didn't have one. Didn't feel right with just Gus. I mean, I would have driven all the way to Santa Barbara just to force you to coming on my stag with me, but we didn't have time."

The song changes only a few seconds after, now a slightly faster beat that makes Carlton want to start moving them toward the bar so he can just get slightly more alcohol into his system—

But then he decides that if he's going to keep dancing with Shawn, he probably shouldn't. They're already holding each other a bit too tight.

If not for the recent wedding, they'd be visiting Santa Barbara for Christmas. Juliet used pretty much all of her vacation time for her and Shawn's honeymoon, as well as a great deal of money.

The alternative would be for the Santa Barbara side to come visit them, but coincidentally there's quite a big case going on that Carlton can't skip out on, not even for the holidays.

If Shawn were here he'd have solved it already, he can't help but think—but no, he's not going to genuinely request his help for anything less than a Yang-level serial killer. Or perhaps if Henry or someone else particularly close to him were involved.

So despite the fact that there's no fewer people in it than usual, their homes feel strangely empty when Christmas actually rolls around.

Carlton and Marlowe just have a small tree because Lilly's starting to climb things and they don't need a seven-foot cedar pine falling on her. There are zero snowglobes in the house and otherwise minimal decorations, and as far as presents go, they make an agreement that they're not allowed to give each other anything more than what can fill up a single large stocking.

Lilly's presents, however, are fair game—anything goes. He's been dying to spoil her like he never was as a kid.

Packages from San Francisco arrive on Christmas Eve—and though he isn't surprised, receiving them makes his evening. On the outside of each of the boxes is a note ordering them to wait until tomorrow to open them, in such sloppy handwriting and employing so many exclamation points that he can hear Shawn's voice clearly as he glances at each one of them.

Carlton gets up earlier than usual on Christmas so he can have time before work to sit down and open the present addressed to him (the other two are literally addressed to Marlowe and Lilly). The box is small and thin, and he initially expects it'll be a book—and, well. He's not entirely wrong.

It's a pre-printed writing pad titled 'Shit List,' with a chart and boxes to indicate the name of the "offender," their relationship to him, their exact violation, its time and the rank of its severity, and his plan of attack. It's incredible.

The enclosed card reads:

I saw this and thought of you. <3
You already keep tabs on everyone who's wronged you, which is really weird, but you do you, man.
~your best man, Shawn

He smirks at the ambiguously ironic endearment and shoves the pad into his inside jacket pocket before leaving.

Meanwhile in San Francisco, Christmas at the Spencer house doesn't start until around ten in the morning, when everyone (including Gus, who doesn't actually have his own place yet) is well-rested.

And of course they don't hesitate to rip open the packages from Santa Barbara because no amount of "growing up" can diminish their mutual enthusiasm for Christmas.

Gus's parents sent him a sweater, and between Henry and Madeleine, Shawn gets a card that when you open it a dog barks the tune to jingle bells, plus a gift card to Target.

"Nice—free groceries, and a way to annoy the hell out of you two for the next month," he says, opening and closing the musical card repeatedly.

"I'll be taking that."

Juliet takes the card and rips it right down the middle before he can even react. He watches her with a pout as she tosses it in the trash.

"Way to ruin the Christmas spirit, Jules."

"Eh," Gus shrugs. "I'm gonna have to go with her on this one."

No matter. He'll just fish out the music player later... and turn it into some kind of alarm clock.

Once Juliet's had coffee and done a dramatic reading of the card Frank sent her, she decides that they're all ready to open the other presents—the ones they saved as best for last.

"Aw, Lassie sent me something, too," Gus is pleasantly surprised to notice. Inside his package there's a soft paper-wrapped present with a card on top, which reads "...'Keep Shawn on your right side'—what's that mean?"

"Oh huh—the note in my present says 'Keep Shawn on your left side'...?"

Almost in sync, Juliet and Gus rip the paper apart and hold up matching I'm with stupid shirts, their arrows pointing at each other.

"What?" Rather than laugh appreciatively like Shawn and Gus are, Juliet looks back to the box in mild disbelief. "Oh, come on, there's got to be something else—Carlton wouldn't just send us joke presents..."

"Oh, but he would," Shawn tells her with a grin, silently proud that he's probably the one who knows Lassiter best at this point. "He's gotten more of a sense of humor lately."

He then proceeds to open up his present from Lassie, which also comes with a card. It simply says: I saw it in the store and I couldn't resist.

It's a fucking pineapple shirt.

The entirety of the pattern is overlapping pineapples.

Shawn stares at it for a solid twenty seconds.

"You okay?" Juliet asks, genuinely concerned for a moment.

"I... this is the most beautiful present I've ever received."

Fairly soon after they clean up all the paper and put their new shirts away, Shawn's phone rings—it's Lassiter. He unthinkingly clutches his phone and starts to walk out of the room, but then he decides to just put it on speaker.

"My mommy married a lunatic, huh?" are the first words to come out of the other line, at which Shawn immediately laughs.

"You know I mean it as a sign of affection, Lassie. But can you believe those shirts even exist for babies? Right in Walmart, too, I didn't even have to make a custom-order."

Carlton would have called earlier, but he only just now got a call from his wife telling him what the other presents were.

"...Marlowe says thanks for the box-set of Friends, by the way."

"Ooh—you got my present, right? The shit list?"

He can hear Shawn's smug grin through the phone.

"You know me too well," and Shawn can hear his smirk in return. "I'll use it every day. And—as a sign of affection—I'll put your name on it first."

"Aw, for what violation?"

After all this time, he really expects to finally hear "for pretending to be a psychic," or something along those lines, but—

"Well gosh, how can I pick just one?"

Dammit. He doesn't want to bring it up on his own, but he doesn't know how long he can go without Lassiter acknowledging his confession at all.

Though without skipping a beat, he suggests: "Maybe you could start with 'being too ruggedly handsome.' Or alternatively, 'stealing my heart away.'"

...Fuck.

Shawn doesn't realize that the second part was uncomfortable until there's a couple seconds of just quiet breathing on the other end. His wit is truly a curse.

He should be able to just write that off as a stupid joke, but he can never be sure with Shawn anymore. (As if he could have ever been sure.)

And then he notices a slight echo, which makes things even worse in the moment.

"...Am I on speaker?"

"Oh, I—" he glances upward for a moment and is met with odd looks. "Sorry, I'll shut it off if you want."

Which he does, promptly taking his phone and stepping out of the room like he initially meant to. God. He never even invited Juliet and Gus to join the conversation—and now his wife and best friend have just been sitting there, watching him blatantly flirt over the phone.

And Lassiter's embarrassed and it's his fault.

Shawn swears he actually sounds a little mad, for a second, when Lassiter tells him, "I'll just write down the word 'everything.'"

By November next year, Carlton has successfully taught Lilly to say "Shut up, Spencer." Which is just about the sole reason he's completely welcome to the idea of hosting Thanksgiving for the entire Santa Barbara-San Francisco family.

Yes. Literally just to show off his daughter.

For a baby who isn't even potty-trained yet, she's remarkable with speech. She can say plenty other completely coherent and useful phrases, and Carlton is too proud to let go of an opportunity to make everyone else and their babies jealous.

Ironically enough, Shawn gets more of a laugh out of it than anyone. Anytime during the whole visit that he says something to her, she obediently responds with a high-pitched "Shut up, Spencer," and he fucking loves it.

"She's like a tiny Lassie!" he says in excitement and fondness. "I bet she'll grow up to be exactly like him."

"Damn, I hope not," Marlowe laughs. And while she has good reason to say so, her husband doesn't seem to agree.

(Shawn wonders for a moment if there's anything deeper to that, but he decides to just leave it. Not that he thinks it isn't his business, but because he just doesn't want to worry.)

Other than Henry criticizing the way Carlton made the sweet potatoes, the dinner and the rest of the evening is great. He never thought he'd have so many people sitting around a table—his table, eating and talking with no animosity... At this point he actually doesn't have any trouble considering all of them—Juliet, Vick, Shawn, and even Gus—an extension of his family. As long as it's not out loud.

Because of everyone's prior obligations (and the fact that half the people there live five hours away), the longest anyone stays is the next morning. And yet, in that short span of time, Shawn has apparently managed to bond with his daughter (and talk to him in front of her) so much that he inadvertently taught her a new word.

Rather than calling him daddy when he comes home from work the next day, she greets him by shouting "Lassie!"

While Marlowe bursts out laughing, Carlton's face goes red and his hands are almost immediately on his phone.

The next time they see each other in person is over a year later, when Shawn and Juliet host Christmas. Carlton didn't initially want to leave Santa Barbara for an entire three days, but with a little convincing, he decided he could trust Brannigan to act as temporary chief.

Shawn is outright itching to see him after so long—to the point that he can't even bear to wait inside. Instead he sits out on the front porch, wrapped in a blanket and drinking hot cocoa to combat the cold, and has a mild conniption every time a car passes.

Juliet however, while still excited, is perfectly fine waiting inside with Gus (who naturally arrived first, with his new girlfriend). In fact she doesn't understand exactly why Shawn's so happy to see him, anyway.

"This is the longest Lassie and I have been apart since before we met," he explains.

"You were apart for two months longer after our wedding, though."

"...Okay, so I'm not very good at math. Or gauging time. But it's still been a long time, and we've gotten a lot closer since I moved up here."

"If you say so."

He seems to have overshot the time frame of the arrival by about an hour, since that's how long he's waiting out there before finally, a shuttle car parks—doesn't pass by, but parks—out front, and then he's ruthlessly banging on the door to announce that they're here before rushing down the front steps.

"Ah—Lass, it's so good to see you!" he says the moment Carlton steps out of the car. "And you dyed your hair, nice, your salt-n-pepper was getting kinda heavy on the salt." He then negates the chance of a response by immediately going in for a hug.

And Carlton's ready for it, he's been expecting this since yesterday and he doesn't resist, doesn't even protest the man nuzzling his face inside his jacket. Shawn's only wearing a t-shirt and he left his blanket on the stairs, so he's shivering even as Carlton harshly rubs his back for warmth.

"You know you look homeless, sitting on your porch in a blanket like that. Why didn't you just get a sweater?"

"Uh, because I don't like sweaters, and blankets are comfy?"

The inside of Lassie's jacket is just as comfortable, though.

"Alright, that's enough," he eventually says when he sees Juliet come down the stairs. "Go get back inside your blanket."

"Yeah, Shawn, I want a turn with him too," Juliet jokes before hugging him as well, though much more... strictly platonic.

She then goes to hug Marlowe before helping them with their suitcases (and reminding Shawn to do so, too), which are expectedly a tad too big for a three-day trip. Of course Lassiter's gonna be extra-prepared.

Once they're all back in the warmth of indoors, Shawn feels the need to re-introduce himself to Lilly, who is significantly larger since last Thanksgiving. He also knows, from his periodical phone calls with her father, that he's gotten her to stop saying "Shut up, Spencer" because frankly, it got old.

So as she's hesitantly looking around at this foreign place, he squats down in front of her and says, "Hey Lilly, do you remember me?"

She shakes her head.

"Well, I didn't think so. I'm your uncle Shawn." As he reaches out to shake her tiny hand, she dawns an almost comical look of realization.

"You're Daddy's brother?"

He's not surprised—he knows she's basically a genius, but for not even being three years old yet... wow. Shawn's not sure if he even understood the meaning of words like that at her age.

"Well—no," he tells her, glancing up at Lassiter for a moment. "I'm not really your uncle. But I'm your daddy's special friend."

She accepts that but doesn't hug him (good, he supposes, clearly she's been taught not to get too friendly with people she doesn't know well), and when Shawn stands up, Carlton gives him a look.

A "did you really have to say 'special'" look.

Everyone else, including Marlowe, just thinks it's amusing.

Throughout Christmas Eve the rest of their guests show up, starting with Henry (in front of whom Juliet makes the observation that he wasn't nearly excited to see his own dad as he was to see Lassiter, which is slightly embarrassing for everyone involved)—then Gus's sister, and some of Juliet's family as well.

Unfortunately Shawn's mother has other business to attend to and McNab can't afford to take a vacation at the moment. It's a real shame, they're both so great at parties.

Hosting a party like this is probably the most adult thing he's ever done—aside from getting married. Then again this has technically required more planning, and it's in a much more confined space. At least they've got a big enough place that sleeping arrangements aren't a huge problem (though Shawn imagines that by the end he'll be promising himself to never allow so many people to stay overnight in his house again).

The food is probably the easiest part. And then there's keeping everyone entertained while staying in the Christmas spirit—which, surprisingly, Lassiter participates in quite a bit.

Shawn knows the man's attitude towards Christmas has changed a lot over the past years, but he's taking almost every chance to do things—to help the kids bake cookies, watch holiday-themed movies that aren't Die Hard, even make conversation with the adults who aren't in his immediate group without Marlowe having to drag him into it. It's like seeing Scrooge McDuck (because somehow Shawn can't see him as just the original Scrooge) go through his post-ghost change of heart. Except weirder and almost concerning.

If he feels bad vibes at all from his observations, he tries not to think about them, and he certainly doesn't say anything. He does, however, tease him as much as possible and keep to calling him Lassie Claus for the entirety of Christmas Eve.

The one part of the holiday Lassiter doesn't seem uncharacteristically ready for, however, is when Shawn stops him under a very recently-hung mistletoe on Christmas Day. He just has to do it, and everyone's in the room since all the kids just opened their presents, so it'll come off as a joke and no one will think anything of it—

"Uh oh, mistletoe!" he announces comically, grabbing Lassiter by the cheeks and, as his eyes widen in realization and he tries to escape, managing to get him on the side of his mouth.

Shawn then releases him, patting him good-naturedly on the chest as the children giggle and the adults, particularly their own wives, snicker. Meanwhile Carlton doesn't look angry, but just a little annoyed (and flushed) as he steps away. Funnily enough, though probably only Shawn cares enough to notice, he doesn't even wipe his mouth.

Karen Vick and her family show up in the afternoon, having already had their own Christmas morning but now promising to stay the rest of the day. Her children are luckily well-behaved and don't add to the slowly growing mess, though they are kind of spoiled and demanding.

Amidst all the Christmas Day action, Shawn notices that rather than remaining as enthusiastic about the holiday as he was yesterday, Lassiter actually disappears for short times throughout the day. And he doesn't necessarily become colder, but he talks less. Not upset, particularly, but more just awkward and stiff, especially when he's around his wife.

Finally, after dinner when the kids are bundled up watching the Frozen sequel and the adults are split up between scrabble, talking in the kitchen, and sleeping, Shawn notices one person missing. No one else really does, though, so he excuses himself from the conversation and takes a shot in the not-so-dark as to where he'll find the missing guest.

Carlton looks up with a start as he hears the door to the balcony slide open, and the moment he sees who it is, he simply relaxes into his seat and returns his gaze to the road.

"Hey," Shawn says softly as he sits beside him, eyeing the beer in his hand.

Carlton looks at him again, for just a second. "Hey."

"How long have you been out here? I haven't seen you since dinner."

He just shrugs and hands him a beer from the case by his feet. Shawn takes it with a half-smile, understanding his friend's need for silence at the moment, though he ultimately drinks with a heavy feeling in his gut because he knows something is wrong, but doesn't want to ask.

So for several minutes they share the evening in silence, and Carlton really appreciates it for the time being. But he knows what's coming—and he waits for Shawn's mouth to open the same way someone waits for the end of a movie they've already seen twenty times.

"You're not still mad about the mistletoe, are you?" he asks, sounding completely serious.

Carlton almost laughs, and when he looks at Shawn, this time he doesn't look away a moment later.

"You know that's not it." Maybe he wants to talk about this more than he thought.

Shawn pauses, and his expression falters. Of course he knows. He just wanted permission to talk about it.

"You and Marlowe."

It's not a question.

Carlton just looks sad. And he keeps looking at him, expecting him to continue, because maybe no one else has noticed but obviously Shawn has.

He should have realized before, honestly. From Lassiter dying his hair (trying to impress the wife?) to the newly strained way they've been talking to each other, and him either taking part in things he wouldn't otherwise do (just to have a way for him and Marlowe to not be awkward around each other)—or just avoiding her entirely.

He feels too sad himself, just knowing about this. So for both of them, he tentatively reaches out and puts a comforting hand on Carlton's arm.

"Something happened," he finally adds. "...And you're scared that your relationship is falling apart."

"We're drifting a little," Carlton admits a little too quickly. He suddenly wishes he had something stronger than beer. "There's no hostility or anything, we're just..."

He doesn't want to go into detail. And he feels a need to look away from Shawn now, though he does nothing about the hand on his arm. Not even when it slides down to his wrist, nor when fingers splay out over the back of his hand and squeeze.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you—God, Marlowe and I haven't even said anything directly to each other..."

Another minute of silence. Carlton can't stand it, though—at this point the silence is forcing him to think, and that's the last thing he wants to do.

But then Shawn finally opens his mouth again:

"Well, I'll take a guess: Maybe it's because you think I can help."

He's leaning forward now, trying to get closer, to see Carlton's face while it's turned to the road.

"Can you?" he says quickly, sharply—not out of desperation, but a sort of bitterness and disbelief. Though he still does nothing about the hand on his.

"I... don't know." Shawn's frown deepens. He doesn't like not knowing. "But. I know you, Lassie... and I know this isn't a helpless case."

Shawn tries to lace their fingers just then, but Carlton just—he doesn't know. The moment of intimacy as Shawn's fingertips are pressing in between his knuckles puts him over the edge and somehow he's suddenly just so mad—but mostly something else. And all that something else is too much, so he jerks his hand away.

"Tell me, Spencer," he nearly growls—and god, the formality stings. "Do you know what it's like to wonder, pretty much your whole life, if it's even possible for someone to love you the way you want? If you could ever be in a lasting relationship—if you even deserve one, if you were even... if God even made you so that you could fit in one? Have you ever literally had to wonder if God had fucking made you unlovable? Because... if not, you can't help me."

Shawn remains straight-faced and silent, and simply watches as Carlton tips his beer bottle into his mouth only to find that it's empty, then grab for another one.

Part of him wants to say something nasty, because frankly he's hurt. But he swallows that desire down and eventually tells him,

"I can't say I know what that's like. But about ten years ago, I did have to wonder if it was possible for me to love anyone—deeply, unconditionally, and... committedly, if that's a word. I had never been in a long-term relationship, so I didn't think it was. But then I was proven wrong, on several accounts."

With the last part, he looks Carlton directly in the eye, and he immediately softens.

And then Shawn stands up from his chair, squeezes his shoulder for a moment, and puts one hand on the door.

"I'm going to bed. Merry Christmas, Carlton."

Other than Gus, the Lassiter family is the last to leave. Their flight doesn't take off until the evening, so that leaves a lot of time for strained interaction as well as Shawn bonding with Lilly. He hopes that by the time they have to go, she'll be willing to hug him.

After the events of last night, Shawn isn't surprised that Lassiter is avoiding him more than he's avoiding Marlowe. It's still disappointing, though, and he can't stand the thought of them drifting as well—even though that's obviously not what's happening, it's just an isolated awkward situation. But still.

Hardly a few minutes before they expect the taxi to show up, while everyone is waiting in the living room, Lassiter asks him to come up to the guest bedroom with him and help him look for something he might have forgotten to pack. And Shawn isn't stupid, he knows the man just wants to talk in private without letting anyone else know, and he's fucking relieved. As well as slightly scared, but mostly relieved.

Once the door closes, Shawn decides to apologize for getting too deep into something that isn't his business, but he barely gets out the word I'm before Carlton hugs him.

Carlton hugs him. It's a fucking day-after-Christmas miracle.

He doesn't just open his arms and wait for him to jump in, no—for the first time, he initiates the hug. He wraps his arms tight around Shawn's shoulders, presses his cheek into his hair, breathes deeply against him—doesn't even say anything. His voice would probably come out ragged if he did.

Shawn doesn't know what he expected from Lassiter's departure, but this sure is a shock. In a good way, of course. He's honestly caught so off guard he forgets to hug him back for a moment.

"You know," he mutters after about a minute, "you can just tell me whenever you need a hug, Lassie."

Carlton responds by hugging him even tighter, feeling it suffice.

They really don't need to talk—they both understand. They need it. Well, Carlton does, mostly. But he wouldn't say it. Neither of them, as they wordlessly promise, are going to say anything about this.

When they hear Marlowe shout from downstairs that the taxi's here, Carlton exhales deeply and lets him go.

Shawn follows, so he can get his hug from Lilly, and she even squeaks out a little "Bye, Shawn!"

Carlton picks her up and hurries outside with his luggage, but not before looking to him and agreeing—

"Bye, Shawn."

It's a very sudden decision. Juliet is iffy about just letting him go without any prior plans, especially since they only talk about it over a phone call in the middle of the day while she's at work.

But she knows him better than anybody, and she knows he needs this. And so does Gus, who agrees to putting Psych on hiatus while Shawn hops on his motorcycle and rides out of town, as long as he promises to be gone for no more than a week.

He doesn't exactly tell them where he's going, but they probably have a feeling.

His motorcycle slows to a stop in front the place just a bit before it gets dark. And if only because it's his old house, he feels completely casual just strolling up to the door and knocking.

"Shawn? What the fuck—what are you doing here?"

Lassiter almost looks more annoyed than surprised, admittedly for good reason. Shawn just leans against the doorframe and shrugs.

"Just felt like visiting. I missed you."

Carlton leans to look behind him. No sign of anyone else. He frowns, confused. There's a lot of breath in his voice.

"What, is San Francisco too boring?"

"Actually it's precisely the opposite, Lassie," he tells him. "The ol' San Fran is a little too big and too busy for me... I mean, you know I like to keep busy, but it can get too much, sometimes." And then if there's any way for Carlton to be sure that he's serious, it's the shaky laugh he gives for a moment. "S'not like I'm an actual cop or anything—the SFPD can do without me for a week. So... can I come in?"

Feeling (and looking) as though he's in a bit of a trance, Carlton nods wordlessly and simply steps aside, and for what feels like twice as long as it is, he just stares.

And then all at once he remembers exactly why he he's so jarred by this situation.

"You... you don't call me for over a month, and then you just show up at my door unannounced."

The way Shawn's looking at him shifts to sympathy, for a moment. And then, slowly while he shrugs off his jacket, "Like I said, it's really busy. Overwhelmingly busy, actually... Anyway." His tone shifts again, and he grins. "You sound like you missed me, Lassie!"

Well, yeah? he thinks, grimacing. Of fucking course he misses him. He's never said it out loud, but he always does.

"'Sides," he adds, sitting down to take off his shoes as well, "it's also kind of my door since I lived here for eighteen years. There should still be some hidden keys somewhere out front, actually."

Carlton folds his arms in amusement, but before he can tell Shawn that they changed the locks when they moved in, Lilly comes into the room and screams.

"Mommy! Daddy's special psychic friend is here!"

As she starts running towards him, Shawn instinctively squats down and extends his arms to meet her in a hug before he quite registers what she said. For a second, as she throws her tiny arms around his neck, the wheels turn quickly in his brain—and then he pulls back and looks in between her and her father in a hesitant sort of awe.

"...Your daddy told you I'm a psychic?"

She nods furiously—and Shawn glances again to Carlton, who has stiffened considerably—then tells him, "He said you helped him a lot, with your powers! Hey, can you use your powers to find the puppy I lost?"

Oh. Wow.

Um.

"Sure I can—well, I'll try, but." He looks up again, and Carlton looks like he wants to run away. This time, though, instead of just a glance, he holds his gaze and stands up before adding apologetically to Lilly, "But not now, it's nighttime."

He's spent the last three years wondering what Lassiter's reaction to the DVD had been, and why he had yet to say anything. And now he knows.

There's no way he didn't get it, and then there's hardly a chance he didn't watch it—and hell, even if he didn't, his secret attitude-change regarding his fake psychic abilities is still... wow.

Wow.

He's so unbelievably happy that it's making him a little dizzy.

"Oh, Lassie," he breathes. He shakes his head and tries to start, "Lassie, you—"

But he's already fucking tearing up so he just rushes forward to hug him (slams into him, really) with all he's got. God, if Lilly weren't right there, he would kiss him.

Within a minute, Shawn is shamelessly crying into his chest and also grinning so hard that it hurts. And Carlton is far less emotional at the moment but Shawn's getting to him, making him think too much, making his eyes sting and his lips tremble just slightly as he squeezes him around the waist with one arm and around the shoulders with the other—one hand loose in his hair for comfort.

"...C'mon," he mutters, his voice surprisingly low, "stop crying..."

"I c-can't," Shawn admits with a sob. He's now more aware of the steadily growing wet spot on Carlton's shirt. "I'm just so happy, and oh my god we have to talk about this but right now I just—"

"Why are you guys crying?"

Oh.

Carlton opens his eyes and sees Lilly frowning up at them, confused and probably uncomfortable. With a glance to the left he sees that Marlowe is also in the room now, smiling like she thinks this is cute or heartwarming or something.

"Lilly, Daddy and his... special friend need to have a talk, I think. We should leave them alone."

He can't tell if Marlowe is trying to mock him or not, but either way he's glad that she got Lilly out of the room for now.

And after Lilly's left with her mom, Shawn swears he feels lips against the top of his head before Carlton pushes him away.

For several seconds they just stare at each other, Shawn with red rings around his eyes and tears streaking his cheeks and yet still smiling fondly—and Carlton straining to keep a mostly straight face, looking all the while like he's made of glass. Then the latter steps away.

"I'm gonna get some beers."

His brief absence allows Shawn time to sit and wipe his eyes and to breathe; the moment Carlton returns and hands him a bottle, however, he's more than ready to start firing questions.

"You never even brought up the DVD before," he says as soon as the other man sits with him, a hint of a laugh. "I always thought that was weird... So. Did you throw it away, or?"

Part of Carlton feels vaguely reluctant that he didn't take a shot or two of something hard while he was in the kitchen, but the rational part of him knows that if there's anything he should be sober to deal with, it's this.

"...I broke it." Damn, he never thought he'd be telling him this. "I, uh—I... didn't even watch it all the way. I didn't want to. And I still don't—listen, I know—"

"You spent eight whole years constantly trying to prove I was a fake, and then—"

"Shawn, please." He's already put himself in this position; he'd rather not have it rubbed in his face as well. "We both know, you don't need to say it."

"But I want to say it," Shawn whines.

"Don't."

"You—"

"Shawn—"

"You wanted to believe in me."

"Okay."

"You did! And you're proud of me—"

"—Spencer—"

"—enough to talk about me like I'm a hero—"

"That's enough." He raises his voice there, though he knows that the only reason Shawn's stopped gloating is because he has nothing else to say. "And you are, but that's all I'm going to say about it because now it's time for my explanation. A few years ago I wouldn't have wanted to know, but... hell if I don't now. How do you do it?"

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that," he smirks, following with a long drink of his beer. "...You've probably guessed most of it, actually—eidetic memory, hyper-observant abilities, deductive reasoning... basically I'm Sherlock Holmes without the Asperger's, or any of the intellectual crap, or the deerstalker. And—alright, also a little bit of cheating. Not to soil your rose-tinted image of me, but I admit I went ahead and did some pre-investigating with Gus on some of those cases."

"I will be forgetting you said that," Carlton says immediately, averting his nod and chugging half of his remaining beer. Just to make it clear that he's serious.

And now Shawn really gets it. For all that Lassiter makes himself out to be, tries to be—he's just as idealistic as everybody else. He cares so much about justice that of course he's going to want someone to believe in, and god, he must feel so vulnerable knowing that the only person he can reasonably bring himself to admire is also the one person he wanted to discredit for so long.

As much as he's now aware that he shouldn't push it, he needs to know:

"So you never told anyone about me being a fr—?"

"Nope."

"...Not even Marlowe?"

"'Course not."

The ensuing silence drives Shawn crazy. Eventually he decides that he'll allow this part of the conversation to just be over for now, and fills the quiet with something else.

"...So you really never watched the rest of that DVD, huh? Too bad, you missed out—I went on for like, ten minutes after-made a whole bunch of other confessions, I said some pretty raunchy stuff..."

Carlton just rolls his head over the back of the couch and gives him an amused look. Ignoring the content, appreciating the obvious lie.

He still wouldn't say it (because he doesn't need to), but he's really missed this.

Neither of them really question the idea of Shawn staying the night—to the point that they both forget to say anything until everyone is pretty much ready to sleep.

"You don't mind if I use the guest bedroom, right? I mean I could get a motel—"

"What—no, that's fine."

Carlton isn't thinking when he says it, though. Shawn notices the hint of regret in his eyes afterward but doesn't discover the reason until later that night—

—when he goes downstairs for a glass of water and finds him asleep on the couch. Dammit, Lassie.

He should have known, honestly. It's not like he couldn't already tell that Lassiter and Marlowe haven't gotten any better. (Then again, they don't necessarily seem to have gotten worse, either.)

Tired, and with water in one hand, Shawn goes to shake him awake.

"Wha—?—ugh—"

He pushes himself up just to the elbows, weakly blinking the room into view.

"Lassie, you should've just told me that you were taking the guest bedroom."

Shawn's voice wakes him up a bit—just enough to catch eyes with him, feel a strong sense of shame, then make the conscious decision to drop back down onto the pillow.

"S'fine," he mumbles unconvincingly. "The couch is fine, Shawn."

But rather than leaving him, he simply reaches down and grabs his wrist to pull him back up. God, you have to know by now. "Come to bed, Lassie."

Too weak to resist, too tired to think of a reason why he shouldn't—and too tempted by the call of an actual bed, Carlton slides off the couch and follows the direction of the pull. He lets Shawn lead him up the stairs and into the room, and he's not sure whether he's pulled in or if he simply falls, but he passes out the moment he hits the mattress.

Shawn wakes up to an empty bed, but for a note lying on the other pillow that says, 'Feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge. Except the hamburger meat, that's for dinner.'

Years ago, he thinks, if they had for some reason been in this situation, the note would have said something along the lines of 'Don't touch any of my food, Spencer.' And that's best-case scenario. He smiles and takes a moment to stretch in the bed before pulling his pants on and heading downstairs.

He finds Marlowe in the kitchen, wearing a maroon bathrobe and making coffee, and she gives him a tired smile when he sees him.

"You want any?" she offers, lifting the pot.

"Uh." He rubs his face, tries to decide how tired he is. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

It should feel weird, being here alone, without Juliet or Gus or even a holiday to buffer any potential awkwardness, but it doesn't. Instead he just feels... refreshed. Of course that's the whole reason he came here, but he's still slightly surprised at how comfortable he is with the idea of just waiting here all day until Lassiter gets back, especially when he's also fully aware of the situation with him and his wife.

Considering what happened last time, he figures he won't get a solid answer out of Lassiter if he asks him the current state of his marriage, but Shawn thinks he has a good idea already.

"I think it's nice that you and Lassie are staying together for Lilly's sake," he says once Marlowe hands him a steaming mug. Just to get it out of the way, so she doesn't feel the need to hide it from him while he's here. "But—take it from me—kids are much more likely to blame themselves for their parents' divorce when they're older."

Judging by her immediate expression, she clearly didn't expect him to know anything. But then she seems to remember that he's (supposedly) psychic, and she grimaces for a moment before shrugging.

"It's not like we hate each other or anything. We just don't... work. Not as well as we thought we would. Doesn't mean we can't live together."

She then takes a sip of her coffee, and Shawn can tell from the way she buries her face in her mug that she's slightly embarrassed, but that's common for anyone who believes they've just had their mind read. He decides to push it.

"...You guys moved too fast. Was that it?"

Marlowe laughs sharply around a mouthful of coffee, then sets her mug down.

"Was it that obvious?" she asks sarcastically. And then she sighs and leans against the counter in a way that lets Shawn know he's about to get the explanation he wants.

"We were both lonely people, and—well, you know. I went to prison, and we couldn't kiss or touch or anything so we had to basically pine, and everyone knows the whole thing about how the chase is always more satisfying than actually having it, or something. And then of course when I got out, there was just—just, so much sexual frustration? And we got married so soon that we went directly into the honeymoon phase, and afterward it was like, well we still liked each other, and I guess we figured we'd gone through so much trouble to be together that it would have been stupid to just leave as soon as we thought we might not be compatible."

Probably should have left each other then, Shawn thinks as she pauses to caffeinate. He guesses she's thinking the same thing.

"...In an actual, functioning, non-prison visit based relationship, I mean. But either way I got pregnant... and I guess you know how a baby usually brings together a couple. Do you and Juliet plan to have any...?"

"Nah," Shawn shrugs. "I'm not really cut out to be a dad. And neither of us care that much about having a kid."

"Mm. I guess that's how you know a relationship is strong," she says with a bit of a smile, and god damn is it sad. "I mean—not that I got pregnant on purpose to keep the relationship alive. It was really just a convenient accident to happen before Carlton and I were able to start drifting, so for a long time it was pretty easy to stay emotionally committed, knowing there was a baby on the way. But then, some time after she was born—well. Shit, you've seen her, Lilly's a genius. She could walk and talk so early that after like, two years, she'd already hit most of her milestones and so me and Carlton just... We had to find other things to talk about, but we couldn't—there's just so common ground anymore. I mean, okay, I'm fine being a stay-at-home mom, and he's fine supporting me and Lilly. Honestly, aside from us not being in love anymore, he's a great husband. And an amazing dad. But I want someone who I can talk to more than three hours of the day. And he wants... well, I'm sure you know. You're the psychic."

Oh.

Shawn understands, but he's caught off guard to hear it out loud, even indirectly. Especially with the knowing smile she gives him.

Actually a bit embarrassed, even, specifically because she's Lassiter's wife, albeit separated. Enough to immediately try to hide his face in his coffee and then accidentally burn himself, but he bears through it to avoid even more embarrassment.

Through further conversation (and breakfast, once Lilly wakes up and comes downstairs), Shawn realizes that they probably could have been great friends if he hadn't been mentally putting her in the background for the past few years. Not that she really tried to get to know him all that much, but he still feels a little bad.

...He wonders if he'd been subconsciously jealous.

Eventually, when Lilly's not in the room anymore, he remembers to mention:

"So, your daughter wants me to help her find a lost puppy." He then casually puts a finger to his temple—"I'm sensing it's not actually lost."

It's really just a whim—he remembers seeing no evidence of them owning a dog in any pictures, or anywhere in the kitchen, and so he's taking a leap.

Marlowe sighs. Looks like he's right.

"A few weeks back we found a dog without a collar in the rain and we kept it for a day, and Lilly got the idea in her head that the dog was hers and named it Finn—but then it left and she's still missing it. I just don't have the time to go searching for a dog, you know?"

"Oh... hm. Hey, uh—what kind of dog was it?"

"Um—a schnauzer, I think. Yeah. You think you can find it?"

Shawn smirks and taps his temple. "I know I can."

A little later—after a shower, and getting Marlowe's permission to use her car and take her daughter with him, Shawn tells Lilly that he knows where her dog is.

It could be a coincidence, he thinks for a moment. But he trusts the statistical probability that it won't be.

He stops a few blocks away, in front of a house he distinctly remembers riding past on his way to the Lassiters' place. His memory gave him not even a full second of a schnauzer sitting behind this particular fence, but it's all he needed.

When he lets Lilly out of the car, she sees the dog and gasps.

"That's Finn! They took him, Shawn, we have to get him back!"

"Lilly, I don't think Finn was ever yours to begin with."

The way she slumps in disappointment tells him that she must have known it all along (of course she did), though she's still very upset.

Shawn doesn't allow her to look sad for more than a second before he squats next to her and has a brief pretend vision.

"You know what, I have a sense that your dad would really love a dog, but he just hasn't had the time to go get one. Why don't we just go to the pound and get a brand new dog, and you can pick it out yourself, and then we can surprise Daddy with it when he gets home, huh? How does that sound?"

He doesn't think he's ever seen a child more excited.

Carlton comes home to an unexpected house guest.

Lilly screaming "Daddy, we got a dog!" as soon as he walks through the door wasn't even necessary—the beagle's already at his feet, sniffing all around his shoes and nearly tripping him.

"Where—?"

Shawn hurries over to pick up the excited dog before it can do any damage—which he already figures is his answer to that unfinished question.

"I actually meant to get you a dog years ago as like, a wedding gift," he tells him, looking in between him and the beagle fondly." But stuff happened. You remember, that case with the Swedish girl. Anyway, his name is Lassie jr.—I thought of it, and Lilly agreed, because he is just as cute as the original!"

With that, he grins and shifts the dog into Carlton's arms (he's close enough that it's no problem). And after his day at work, honestly, just sharing Lassie jr.'s gaze makes him feel a little better.

Dammit, no, I can't call my dog that —

But it's too late, he's already subconsciously agreed on the name.

He's already bonding with the dog, even, holding him and scratching his ears and smiling at him the same way he smiled at Lilly when she was a baby because God, he's always wanted a dog...

And then he notices Shawn watching him, still standing too close and looking a little like Marlowe did when she used to watch him coo over Lilly.

Immediately, he coughs and frowns.

"You could have asked me first before getting him, you know."

Shawn smiles knowingly, but plays along.

"Aw, but then it wouldn't have been a surprise."

Juliet calls him that evening, and Shawn's heart jumps—not out of love for his wife, but rather panic because he now realizes that he forgot to call her when he first got here.

There's no one in the room with him, but he still decides to leave to the front porch as quickly as possible before answering:

"Heyyyy, Jules. I'm sorry I forgot to call, I—"

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I just wanted to check up on you, y'know, make sure you're not sleeping off the side of the road or anything."

"Of course I'm not, babe, what do you take me for? At the very least I'd get a motel, or find a 24-hour mattress store. No but anyway, I'm staying with Lassie."

"Oh." She sounds genuinely surprised... which is a surprise to him. "And he's okay with that?"

"Yeah, he's pretty happy to see me—you know that he's gotten a lot softer in the past few years, why wouldn't he be?"

"Oh—no I know you're friends and everything, but it's the middle of the summer and you didn't even tell him you were showing up... I dunno, it just seems a little unlike him to be fine with it."

"Yeah, well, heh—you'd be surprised."

At that moment, as Juliet is inevitably about to ask what he means by that, Lassiter opens the door. Shawn turns, and then he notices the phone and mouths "Oh, sorry" before starting to retreat back inside—

"Oh—no, it's fine—hey Juliet, you wanna talk to Lassie? He's right here."

"Yeah, sure."

"Alright, here he is."

Carlton takes the phone without much fuss—he doesn't mind talking to Juliet, but Shawn still put him in the spotlight.

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm good—a little bored, y'know, since I'm alone at home. How's putting up with Shawn?"

"You're married to him, you should know." She laughs like it's a joke, with probably no idea how much he really just told her. "I actually gotta go, though—you wanna keep talking to Shawn?"

"Nah, that's fine, I just wanted to check up on him. Tell him I said bye, okay?"

"Okay."

She hangs up, and as Carlton hands the phone back to him, Shawn realizes something:

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, I—actually, I thought we could go out for dinner," he says a little too quickly, feeling his face flush. Too bad it's not dark enough outside to hide it. "Nothing fancy, maybe just a diner, or... something."

"Marlowe and Lilly too?"

Shawn already knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

"Nah, just us."

Carlton shrugs in an attempt to appear less anxious about it, and the way Shawn smiles at him is not helping.

"Okay, yeah," he agrees. It's a date. "Are we taking your car or my motorcycle?"

The idea of clinging to Shawn for a solid ten minutes on the open road is overwhelming (which he's sure Shawn did on purpose)—and he doesn't even have a second helmet. They're taking his car.

Throughout their dinner Shawn's favorite topic of conversation is Lilly, if only for how fucking precious Lassiter is when he talks about her.

"You know, I swear she tried to manipulate me into getting that schnauzer back," he tells him, reaching across the table to dip his fries in the other man's ketchup. "She's gonna grow up to be devious."

Carlton just grins proudly. "That's my girl."

Eventually he also feels the need to tell Shawn—"And don't worry, I'm not going to try to... weaponize her intelligence, or anything, like Henry did with you. If anything I hope she doesn't end up wanting to be a cop."

He's flattered that he, over anyone else, is getting this reassurance. And he also has complete faith in Lassiter to raise her right, as a man who certainly couldn't do the same. Which he tells him.

"I'm sure she'll turn out great... Anyone who's willing to stay with someone they don't like for the sake of their kid is a good parent by default."

Rather than freezing up in his seat or doing anything else of the sort, Carlton simply raises his eyebrows.

"So she told you."

"To be fair, I asked," Shawn admits.

Carlton looks down into his soda for a moment. "...I guess it would be obvious to you, anyway."

He's not sad, just a little fragile. Less confused in the moment than he generally is, even. Vaguely, he notices that their legs are touching under the table in this small booth and he thinks that if they were close enough, he'd probably be playing with the fabric of Shawn's shirt without even realizing.

"You're a lot more okay with it than you were a few months ago," Shawn observes, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Six months is more than a few, Shawn," he can't help but correct him with a frown. "But yeah, I guess I am. I've... accepted it, mostly. And—actually... I'm glad you're here. It's easier with, well. Someone around."

It's too obvious, and he knows it, that by someone he just means Shawn. But he can't say it, not even now—he can't allow himself to be that forward. So to get away from obligation, he immediately chugs his drink nevermind the fact that it's not even alcoholic.

Meanwhile Shawn waits until he puts the cup down to acknowledge what he said.

"In that case, I might stay longer than a week."

Marlowe's watching TV on the couch when they get home, and as they walk inside she immediately sits up and tells them,

"You two can have the master bedroom tonight, if you want it. Oh—and Carlton, Lilly wants you to tuck her into bed."

Both of them know exactly what she means by that, but Carlton's the only one who reacts. That is, he hurries upstairs to Lilly's bedroom and away from her judgement, while Shawn merely thanks her and heads to the room.

After a few minutes of him watching Comedy Central on the bedroom TV, though, Lassiter is still gone. Curious as to what's taking him so long, he heads upstairs himself, stopping just at the edge of Lilly's open bedroom door.

"...and then the psychic promised us that in less than an hour, he would be able to catch the killer and discover a dinosaur."

"A dinosaur? Nuh-uh, you're lying!"

"Do you really think I'd lie to you, Lilly?"

"Mmmm... no."

"Good. Anyway..."

Oh, man.

Holy shit, that's so sweet.

Shawn doesn't think he'll ever get over this—especially not now that he knows Lassiter even tells his daughter censored versions of his cases as bedtime stories, damn.

He stays there to listen to the whole story, all the way until the very end—

"Love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

And then when Carlton leaves the room and shuts the door behind him, he's met with Shawn leaning against the wall and grinning like an idiot.

"I love you too, Lassie."

He should have known he'd be out here.

"Please don't ever spy on me like that again," is all he says as he goes back downstairs to the bedroom, Shawn trailing after.

He seems to, in fact, make an excuse not to talk to him again for another forty minutes or so by almost immediately brushing his teeth, using the bathroom, and taking a long shower.

Shawn wonders if he just feels awkward, if he doesn't know what he's supposed to expect, or what he expects. And he himself can silently admit to the empty room that he's not sure either, but he does know that he's having an easier time just taking things as they are, sitting on this bed like he owns it and not minding the implications.

Perhaps, he supposes, that's because he's not the one whose life has essentially fallen apart over the course of the past year.

When Carlton finally comes out of the bathroom, now in nightclothes, all he does is get into bed and ask him to turn the TV down if he's gonna keep it on. He lies on his back, but turns his head away from him as he tries to fall asleep.

Most people would be discouraged entirely at this point, but Shawn feels sure of himself. After about ten minutes of hesitation, that is. And then he watches the rest of the episode of Broad City that's on because he got hooked—but once it's over, despite not even being that tired, he turns off the TV. And then immediately, shamelessly, curls up into Carlton's side.

He's not quite asleep yet; he's perfectly aware of it—Shawn's arm draping over his chest, his head resting on the nook of his shoulder and his face pressing against his neck... and his leg, just barely starting to hook over his own. And he feels a heavy sense of relief, so much that his heart skips a beat and he shifts without even thinking, turning to let his body overlap more, holding him closer with the arm Shawn's lying on.

For a few minutes he can't even think. Aside from everything else it's been months since he's been able to cuddle like this, to just have someone holding him this closely and intimately... but of course not just someone. Shawn.

He's been holding back on those thoughts for a while, confused about what he wanted and where the other man stood and if this was even good for him. Tonight alone he's gone through those motions several times—he doesn't quite know what he expected, from outright telling Marlowe he wanted to take Shawn on a date and... waiting, waiting for what? For Shawn to kiss him, to cheat on Juliet with him so he wouldn't have to take care of himself in the shower?

Carlton knows it's not one-sided. For all the doubt he's gone through, he's positive—it's never been one-sided. And yet he's refused to make the first real move, knowing that it would be inappropriate considering their situations.

But now Shawn's wrapped around him, breathing against him, when he has to know.

And Carlton is just so tired, too tired to have inhibitions.

He opens his eyes and realizes how close they are. Their noses are nearly touching; he'd barely have to move at all to make his feelings clear.

Shawn's eyes open the moment Carlton's fingertips touch his cheek, and then catch his. And a moment later he finds himself shifting forward and not kissing Shawn so much as just weakly pressing their lips together.

Before he manages to muster up the energy to kiss him for real, Shawn presses back—not too hard, not too passionate, but just enough that he won't feel any guilt where Juliet is concerned. Just to return the feelings. And then he pulls back and kisses him again, softly and briefly, now just because he wants to.

Neither of them are sure exactly how long they lie there in silence after that, but Shawn's the one who eventually breaks it.

"I know I say it a lot," he whispers, unsure if Carlton is even still awake, "so much that you don't think it means anything... but I always mean it. I love you."

He's barely conscious, so he can't say anything back, but he hears it. And if he had the energy he'd smile.

One would assume Shawn is a heavy sleeper, but as Carlton wriggles out of his grasp in the morning, he clings and whines.

"The sun's not even up yet..."

"I always get up this early." Dammit, he has a strong grip. He has to pry Shawn's fingers off of his wrist as he gets out of bed. "It's part of my job."

"You're the chief," he argues, slurring a bit, "you can go into work anytime you want."

"That's not how it works, Shawn. Go back to sleep."

He's pretty sure, though, that that is how it works, and that Lassiter just overworks himself. However he hasn't gotten nearly enough sleep to be able to disobey, so he merely harrumphs in disappointment before sinking back into the pillow and letting himself drift back to sleep.

Not terribly quickly, though, as he's still slightly conscious when Carlton, now completely dressed and ready to go, takes a second to bend down and kiss him on the forehead and mutter,

"Love you."

It's bliss until shortly after Shawn later wakes up, when he sees Marlowe and it vaguely occurs to him how fucking complicated this situation is.

As stupid as he knows it is to do so, he puts it in the back of his mind. The reason he came here in the first place was to relax, and he's only been here two days... and he'd really rather not think about the consequences of what he's doing with Lassiter just yet.

Of course it's hard not to dwell on something like this (especially when Lassiter isn't even currently here to distract him), since this has been such a long time coming. Three years since the big reveal, and the move, and what inevitably forced both of them to think about each other more—but if he's being honest with himself, it's really more like eleven years.

But also eleven years since he met Juliet, seven years since they started dating... four years since his lie about being psychic caused her to temporarily break up with him. Three years since they got married.

God, he wishes loving more than one person didn't have to be complicated.

Shawn decides he needs a short break from—well, his break. He just needs to get out of Lassiter's house for a few hours, maybe ride around aimlessly for a bit to clear his head and keep his mind off the bad stuff. Or maybe he'll go visit his dad... yeah, he should, as long as he's down here. Henry'll probably put him to work, make him fix a table or something... Just what he needs.

Carlton is happy. Well, happier than he was before—this shift in his and Shawn's relationship is nice in the moment, and he wants to say that it's for the better, but there are still plenty of things left undiscussed. And neither of them have any inclination to talk about them just yet.

He tells himself, for the next couple days, that they're simply taking it slow as far as physical affection goes. Shawn will hold his hand, or just hold him, and he'll kiss him all over his face—and even his mouth, but only for a couple seconds at a time. It's up to him, as they've silently agreed, and Carlton understands; he knows he can't push it. But God, he wants to.

It's just so hard, now that they've established this, and the more Shawn slowly relents and lets him kiss just a little longer, a little firmer... the harder it gets. Where and how is he drawing the line? Is this even about trying not to cheat, or is his guilt simply waning until he'll finally give in?

At the very least, Shawn feels no guilt in talking about his feelings. He tells Carlton all about the crush he used to have, how he'd given up after a time but his feelings never really stopped, and if anything they'd escalated, especially since he moved to San Francisco. He tells him in bed, no less, lying close and facing him the same way they were when they kissed the other night.

And it's the tone of Shawn's voice, the breath between them and the dim light of the room that compels Carlton to be open about his own progression of being in love—though he certainly doesn't call it that.

"This shouldn't come as a surprise," he mutters, "but I hated the idea of it. I hated that it came on so quickly—that you impressed me so much, even though I was sure you were lying most of the time..."

It's probably a good thing they didn't get together back then, now that he thinks about it. He can't imagine how badly the Big Lie might have messed them up... Suffice it to say, Carlton would have reacted much worse than Juliet did.

Though now it still feels like a lot of time's been wasted, for the both of them. It feels like they're still wasting time, just lying here—and when Carlton kisses Shawn, he pushes it a little deeper than usual, and Shawn lets it happen. His fingers curl around the fabric of Carlton's shirt, clutching at him, and for a moment they both just forget—there's fingers inching down past the waistband of Shawn's boxers, testing the waters because he wants it so badly—

"Lassie, I—"

"It's okay, I understand."

He retreats his hand, tries to will his arousal to subside—and to ignore the emotional toll this is taking on him.

The eight years Carlton has over him makes it relatively easy to simply fall soft again, but Shawn has to excuse himself to the bathroom for about ten minutes. He's relieved, for the sake of awkwardness, when he returns to the room and finds Carlton already asleep.

"I forgot to mention, last night. Lilly told me that she saw us kissing."

Shawn sits up with a vague sense of panic—but Carlton seems oddly casual about it, simply folding back his cuffs as he tells him this news. So maybe it's not that bad.

"Oh," he says, just watching him for a moment. "What did you tell her?"

"Well, I didn't really know what to tell her." He doesn't mean to do it like this, it just comes out—"Because frankly I don't know what we're doing, Shawn. I'm just—what do I even call this? We're both married, but we aren't lovers because we're not even sleeping together—"

(Fuck, he was right to panic.)

"Lassie, trust me, you're not alone in that, I've been confused about it too—"

"—but unlike me, you're in a happy marriage. You've got Juliet. And you don't want to cheat on her, and I don't want to make you cheat on her, I really don't, Shawn, I just... I can't deal with this. Maybe you can handle periodical flings where we don't even actually sleep together, but I can't, I—not when you're the reason my marriage fell apart in the first place."

And that's where Shawn gets mad and stands up, where his sympathy gets temporarily thrown out the window because he's not going to sit there and let Lassiter accuse him of using him, or whatever else he's implying.

"How is it my fault? I tried to help you—you asked me for my help, and I tried, because I care about you, Lassie. I know you know that, I do fucking want you to be happy—"

"Not you directly—my feelings for you, you idiot," he all but shouts, surprising the both of them. "You were the reason I even dated Marlowe in the first place—she was a fucking rebound, how do you not know that? And then we rushed it and ended up stuck in a loveless marriage, all because I got jealous of you and Juliet—God, I could never tell if you were just playing games with me or not..."

He can't tell where all this is coming from, but it's about time. He's needed Shawn to hear this.

Oh, shit.

Shawn's defensive stance softens, and his shoulders drop. He doesn't know what to say.

"And I still don't know, Shawn. How could I know when you dance with me at your wedding, and you still take every chance to touch me, and... and you tell me you love me when you'll be gone within the week...?"

"I do love you," he promises quickly. "And I love Juliet—I love you both the same, it's just complicated—"

"Yeah, it sure is," he practically snarls, making Shawn wince. "What do you plan to do, Shawn? I can't play this game of seeing how far we can go before it's considered cheating with you two weeks out of the year—" Shawn opens his mouth, but this time Carlton stops him—"No, don't interrupt, I need to say this, I need you to know—the tipping point of mine and Marlowe's relationship. You know what broke it for good? ...I said your name in bed. I—I missed you so fucking much that I moaned your name while having sex with her, and then we never did it again. Less than a month later we started sleeping in separate rooms. You need to realize—that is what you're doing to me, Shawn! And the past few days have been nice, but I'm being realistic now, so here it is: If you're gonna be a part of my life like this—to the point that my family is involved, you have to do it completely. And—well, if you can't do that, then..."

Judging by the pained look on Shawn's face, he doesn't have to say it.

Shawn can tell it would hurt him too much to say it, too. He knows what Carlton's waiting for, but he still hates to be the one to break the silence.

"I understand," he says quietly, feeling oddly small at this end of the room.

Overwhelmed with guilt by the ultimatum he's just given, despite knowing it's necessary, Carlton avoids meeting Shawn's eyes as he grabs his suit jacket and makes to leave the room.

"...I'm gonna be late for work. I hope you figure things out by the time I get back."

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Shawn buries his face in his hands, wishing he could just shut the rest of the world away and wait this out—except it's not going to disappear, and he knows that. There's no avoiding this anymore.

It feels like he's watching a time bomb tick down to zero, far enough away that rather than panicking he simply feels dread, and yet close enough that his mind is rapidly firing through feasible solutions.

Hardly a minute after hearing Lassiter's car leave the driveway, his brain supplies him probably the only chance he's got to diffuse this bomb entirely.

Without worrying about what time it is, even though on some level he knows he should probably wait at least an hour, Shawn scrambles to find his pants on the floor, fish his phone out, and call Juliet.

"Shawn?" She sounds vaguely concerned as she picks up. "What are you even doing up this early?"

"I, uh. I have to talk to you about something. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, I'm on my way to a crime scene, actually—can this wait?"

"Um." It probably could, but he doesn't want to risk losing time. "It's really important."

"Is it life or death?"

"Well, no, but—"

Juliet sighs. "Then are you sure it can't wait? I'm five minutes away from looking at a corpse."

"Jules, please," he practically begs—which he never does. That pretty much does it.

"...What is it, Shawn?"

For all that he's managed to accomplish with his quick thinking, his mind is suddenly a blank. He doesn't know how he's supposed to explain something like this. It was a mistake calling her, there's no way he can do this without fucking it up—

"Shawn?"

No, I can do this, he decides.

"Juliet... I haven't been completely honest with you about, uh... the nature of mine and Lassiter's relationship." He pauses to force himself to breathe, and on the other end he hears absolutely nothing—Juliet's probably holding her breath, assuming the worst. "It's not what you think," he swears. "I would never cheat on you, I promise. And I technically haven't lied to you. I told you that me and Lassiter had gotten closer—and you know that, I mean, you've seen it. And, well... I also told you, around the time that we started officially dating, that I'd had a crush on him, and I hadn't exactly gotten over it yet, but I'd already given up."

"What are you saying, Shawn?"

She doesn't sound sad or betrayed so much as confused, but Shawn still feels ready to vomit as he responds.

"I'm saying that I never got over it, Jules... I mean, I always thought it was obvious to a point, and it's not like I ever told you that I didn't have feelings for him anymore... I'm sorry for not letting you know before, but I was worried you'd think..."

"That you don't love me as much," she finishes, her voice surprisingly level. It doesn't sound like a question, but he knows it is.

"I do. I promise, I do. But I love him too, and—and it was never my secret to tell, but I've known for a long time that he feels the same, and he's..." His voice breaks there, forcing him to breathe. And then he speaks more softly: "Lassie's in love with me, Juliet. We talked about it. And... we've been stuck in this weird little bubble the past few days because we don't know what to do, and I need to tell you because I don't want to lose him—I can't lose him, and I can't lose you either. But he wants us to be more, and I—I'm sorry, but I want to be more too, and... I just need you to understand, Jules, and I won't do anything without your permission, but please, understand. I don't want to have to choose between you and him. I don't think I could."

Shawn grips his phone in silent panic while he waits for Juliet to respond for what feels like forever. Finally, her voice drowns out the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Wow, uhm. This is a lot to think about."

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, the guilt weighing him down. "I wouldn't put all this on you at once, but I need to fix this as soon as possible. Lassie's really messed up because of me. And the longer our relationship stays ambivalent the more I'm fucking him up, and the worse I fuck him up, the more strained our relationship is going to be forever. God, I—I'm so worried it's never gonna be the same again..."

His throat stings and he feels like he might start crying, and he thinks Juliet can tell because she responds almost immediately:

"First of all, it's ambiguous, not ambivalent—and no, you haven't heard it both ways. Secondly—what about Marlowe? Does she know about this?"

"The thing about that, actually... They're not exactly... together."

"Oh."

"And I'm the only one who knows about it."

"That's terrible, I—what happened?"

"It's really complicated, and it's partially my fault, and it's also partially why this is so important. But for the record, Marlowe is very okay with it—she wants him to be happy."

"I want him to be happy too, Shawn. I want you both to be happy. But—you realize what you're asking me to do?" she asks, sounding somewhat hysterical.

"I just need you to trust me," he tells her desperately. "I know it's probably hard to believe, but I genuinely want fulfilling, committed relationships with both of you—for the rest of my life, Jules, it's not some fling. I love you both so much."

"I know. I know you do. I just... I need some time to think, is that okay? I can't do this right now, I'm at the crime scene—"

"Yeah, I get it." Weird, how often he's been saying that lately. "Take as long as you need."

"...Thank you."

The end of the call beeps in his ear, leaving him feeling not much better than he did before.

The next three hours after that are stressful. And the three or so hours after that are torture.

He knows he can't reasonably expect Juliet to just make this decision quickly, but every extra hour that it takes sends him into another wave of panic.

He spends none of that time inside, of course. At first he takes Lassie jr. on a walk, hoping the fresh air and exercise would relieve some stress, but after some time the dog just reminds him of what he could very well be losing, so he takes him home, apologizes by scratching him behind the ears, and leaves again. This time on his motorcycle.

It's not on purpose, but Shawn leaves nothing behind. Even subconsciously he knows that if Juliet calls him later and says that no, she doesn't want to let him do this, he won't want to go back and face Lassiter. He won't face him without an answer, either.

Three whole years later, and he still can't do goodbyes.

He can't even fucking stay in town while he deals with the wait. Some would call him a coward, and he would agree—his solution to his problems has always been to just run away. And here he is, riding all the way to the other side of the county because the further away he is, the easier it is not to think of all the other consequences that have come out of him being a coward.

Part of him—the rational part of him—can't imagine Juliet possibly saying no; why would she? She's knows him better than almost anyone (not including Gus, of course), she knows how deeply and openly he loves everyone around him... It can't possibly be a radical idea that his capacity for romantic love isn't exclusive to her.

But Shawn Spencer has never been ruled by rationality, and it's killing him. It's pushing him past the county border, further down the open road, feeling gradually more and more content with the idea of never even going back to San Francisco. In the back of his mind he comes to the decision that if Juliet does force him to choose, she must not love him or Lassiter enough, so he would just choose neither to save himself the pain.

Except he couldn't do that, he couldn't just leave after spending over a decade getting to this point—he couldn't leave both of the loves of his life, not even if he was stuck between them. He'd find some way to make it work.

Or maybe not.

He doesn't know, but at least in the moment it doesn't matter.

Around noon the rational part of him pushes Shawn back into Santa Barbara county, though not quite back home. He gets lunch at a Mexican place outside of Santa Maria and keeps unthinkingly reaching for his phone as he eats—but he ultimately refuses to take it out. Who knows how long he'd be staring at it, flipping between his contacts and call history until it drives him crazy.

After eight hours have passed since he called her, he wonders if Juliet simply needs more convincing.

Maybe he could drive to the nearest airport and get a ticket to San Francisco so he could just explain things in person. Or maybe he should just call her again and ask if she's made up her mind—he deserves an answer at this point, doesn't he? He at least deserves to know how much longer she's going to take rather than just waiting and not knowing if this bomb is going to blow up or not—

It all makes Shawn feel terribly stupid when he looks at his phone and realizes he's out of range, and—despite how quickly he's able to get to a rest stop—how many missed calls have piled up in the past half hour. He doesn't waste time berating himself, though, as he immediately calls her back.

"Shawn, I've been trying to call you! Did something happen?"

"No, I just lost signal. So. Um—"

"Yes."

He pauses, expecting her to say more, but she seems to expect him to say something.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry it took so long, I had to work on the case and I couldn't help but spend a lot of time doubting—but I decided that I trust you. So yes. I'm giving you permission to... do whatever you want with Carlton."

"Oh my god, Jules, you don't know how fucking relieved I am, I can't even breathe right now—fuck—no wait, okay, it's just the heat. I'm fine, I just need to get out of the desert."

"What—why are you in the desert?"

"I drive around aimlessly when I'm in stressful situations like this, and you don't know that because the past eight hours were probably the most stressful of my entire freaking life. I couldn't just sit around and wait... and now I don't have to, holy shit, I'm so happy—I'm sorry I even doubted you'd say yes, babe, I love you."

He can almost hear her smile through the phone.

"Do you want me to call Carlton and give him my blessing, or do you—?"

"Oh, I need to tell him myself—I'm like forty-five minutes away, if you told him now it would be so anticlimactic."

"What are you waiting for, then?"

"Oh man, I love you so—"

"I love you too. Go get him."

"Okay."

It still feels a bit anticlimactic, though, with how long it takes him to get to the station and the stop he has to make for gas, and how he hardly makes it ten steps past the door before being recognized.

"Holy shit—Shawn!"

McNab, now in a suit instead of a police uniform (the first time Shawn's seen him like this, that is), charges him and picks him up in a sweeping hug. He doesn't even know what's happening until he's already in the man's arms—it's like being tackled by a huge, but friendly dog.

"Hey, Buzz!—Mind putting me down?"

"Oh, sorry," he says sheepishly, dropping him. "Are you here to help with some case I don't know about yet?"

"Nope—I'm here for Chief Sternbush. Personal matters. He's actually not even expecting me, really... He's not busy, is he?"

"Nah, Lassiter's in his office," McNab says, and then tells him how good it is to see him, that they should go for drinks or something while he's in town, to which Shawn agrees and then tells him he has to go.

He doesn't knock, but rather opens the door and strides right in, closing and locking it behind him.

As the Chief looks up, Shawn immediately heads for the strings to pull the blinds shut.

"Shawn?"

"How do you close these blinds? Shit—oh, okay, got it."

He pulls them closed, ensuring no one will be able to see them through the windows, and then turns to Carlton, who's standing up now, confused. (More like not wanting to get his hopes up.)

"What are you doing here? You can't just—"

"I didn't want you to have to sit there and wonder for another four hours or so," he explains, a bit out of breath just from how excited he is as he crosses the room. He wonders if Lassiter's been in turmoil this whole time, too. "Long story short, I told Juliet everything and it took her a while, but she is one-hundred-percent cool with us—and I am officially allowed to do this."

Shawn grabs his face and kisses him, for real this time, and Carlton is anything but a step behind. His hands are on Shawn's jaw, on his neck, in his hair, clutching so hard it hurts—not even in a sexual way, he's just fucking desperate. For some consummate affection for the first time in months—for something real, for something that doesn't leave him in the dark as to where they stand or where they're going.

When Shawn pulls back, Carlton isn't left wanting more, but rather satisfied. In a state of bliss, really. He's spent the entire day terrified and all of a sudden he knows he doesn't have to be. There's a hand on his chest and his heart feels safe in it.

"...What else are you allowed to do?" he breathes, the crease in his brow softening and the edges of his lips slowly but surely stretching into a grin.

Shawn then grins to match and pulls him close again.

"Anything ranging from the end of a John Hughes movie to having you screw me right here on your desk."

And then, for emphasis, he backs himself up against the side of the chief's desk until he's partially sitting on it.

Carlton's eyes widen. Oh.

"No."

Shawn's grin turns into more of a leer. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"Defiling government property like that? No."

"That was such a bad lie, Lassie, it's all over your face. And a little bit in your pants—"

"I'm at work," he groans through his teeth, pulling Shawn off his desk.

For all the time he's waited and suffered, he doesn't think it's worth risking his job and more to do it right now. But Shawn put it in his head and now he can't stop thinking about it—Carlton's fucking ecstatic that this is working and that it's real, and that coupled with the resurfacing dirty fantasies is making it very hard for him not to... well, be hard.

Meanwhile Shawn can hardly think of a reason to not be willing to get it on right here right now, but he understands. So he relents his teasing and promptly stands on his tiptoes to kiss Carlton again, just briefly on the mouth, and then once more on the nose.

"I'll see you when you get home."

With that, he fixes his hair, mentally suppresses his boner with thoughts of Steve Buscemi, and makes to leave. Before he reaches the door, though, Carlton stops him for a moment.

"Actually, um. I might end up clocking out early."

Lilly is extremely upset with Shawn for being gone all morning, and so to make it up to her he tells her that he'll spend the rest of the day with her, and she can decide everything they do.

With Marlowe's permission (and congratulations once he lets her know why he was gone for so long), he takes her out for ice cream, and the sugar seems to be enough that she doesn't demand they go anywhere else except home. She does, however, want him to play "princesses" with her. Which makes him regret this a little at first, but he ends up enjoying himself.

Carlton comes home to Shawn in a tiara and an absurd amount of makeup, holding an empty plastic teacup in one hand and a crayon in the other. As soon as Lilly sees him, she jumps up and says,

"Daddy! We're playing princesses, and Shawn said when you got home that you had to play, too!"

He immediately looks to Shawn, who gives him an oops? sort of shrug.

"Why can't Mommy play instead?"

"Mommy went to go have fun," Lilly tells him. "C'mon, Daddy!"

"Yeah," Shawn agrees, "c'mon, Daddy..."

Carlton shoots him an alarmed look at that, to which Shawn responds with an apologetic grin.

"She's missed us all day, we kind of owe it to her, Lass," he adds.

"Fine. But no makeup, it'll make me break out."

Thanks to Shawn's deal with Lilly and Marlowe, nothing of consequence happens between him and Carlton until after they've put his daughter to bed.

And of course Carlton presses Shawn against the wall for a long, albeit soft kiss immediately after her bedroom door is closed, hardly even a few steps down the hall. Not quite desperate this time, just a little impatient for affection ever since coming home.

Willingly settling into the position, Shawn wraps his arms around Carlton's neck and hums with satisfaction as hands gently push under his shirt.

"...So what did you actually tell her?" he mumbles after Carlton's lips pull away. "When she said she saw us kissing."

"Just that 'special friends' do that sometimes, and that it's hard to explain... She was mostly just excited," he adds, a smile creeping up, "said it was like having two daddies."

"Two princess daddies."

"Mm... I have to say, I like you better without the makeup."

Shawn notes the drop in Carlton's voice and smirks appreciatively, drawing himself closer.

"What about without my clothes?"

The air leaves Carlton's lungs as he promptly digs his fingertips into Shawn's sides—and without saying another word, he lifts Shawn's legs to wrap around his waist and carries him downstairs to the master bedroom.

He knows Carlton needs to see while going downstairs but he can't wait to kiss him—he's already nipping at his jaw and neck while being carried and even manages to stay latched as he's shoved against the mattress, now not hesitating to suck hard and draw out a real moan from him, as well as a hard thrust against his crotch.

Nothing about it, at first, is slow. They're too impatient, too worked up to keep on anything but their boxers, too focused on each other to leave slow kisses instead of just dragging their mouths across skin, biting where they can as they grind together.

Carlton, while clearly (and proudly) in control, is completely giving. He leaves Shawn overwhelmed underneath him, flushed a deep red and moaning obscenely any time his mouth isn't occupied. And while he doesn't exactly mind being pinned down like this (he really doesn't, not at all), Shawn struggles to maintain some dignity. Or at least the ability to speak.

He thinks he might come embarrassingly early when Carlton shifts upward while grinding and shoves his ass back against Shawn's erection.

"Oh—shit, Lassie, don't do that unless you plan on sitting on my dick...," he manages to get out in a breathy laugh.

Immediately, Carlton locks his gaze and pauses, not even for a second, before tightening the grip in Shawn's hair and growling out, "Maybe I will."

He reaches back and frees Shawn's cock from his underwear, then presses it against the cleft of his own ass as he continues to grind.

"Oh my god—"

Shawn gasps, and Carlton bites his lower lip in a satisfied smirk.

"Ha... I expected to be the one getting something in my ass..."

"I guess I'm full of surprises."

Carlton's even surprised a little himself—he's not sure where it came from, but he wants it so bad now, he can't wait—and when he gets the lube that he bought earlier from his pants pocket, Shawn insists on being the one to do it.

Even while essentially finger-fucking him, Shawn manages to remain entirely submissive. He doesn't move from where he's lying, but rather allows Carlton to kneel over him and thrust his naked cock against his face, over his open mouth, further bruising his lips. All the while looking up at him, just taking it. Like a good boy.

When he finally gets a condom on Shawn's erection and begins to ease himself down onto it, Carlton has to bite his own hand to make sure the noises coming up from his chest don't echo through the whole fucking house. It's just slightly bigger than his own, which is objectively frustrating, but right now he can't complain.

He's no less in control as he rides Shawn's cock, holding him down by the chest and drawing out moans from him, torturing him with the occasional slow drag of his hips or just stopping altogether, even telling him when he wants his ass smacked, or his hair pulled.

In the end it's Shawn, though, who gets control because Carlton gives it to him—because Carlton can't hit the spot he needs on his own and so he arches down and tells Shawn to "fuck me, I need you to hold my hips and fuck me, Shawn."

And he obliges, thrusting up as hard as he can while Carlton buries his face in his neck and keeps such a tight grip on his hair that Shawn has to bite his shoulder to muffle his groans.

And fuck—there it is, he's coming, before he can even think to reach between them and take Carlton's cock in his hand to finish him off. He still tries to keep fucking him, though, even past the point that it's overstimulating for himself, just so he can give him what he wants.

Carlton practically sobs when he comes, shooting over Shawn's hand and chest and feeling himself throb over his now only half-hard cock. It takes him a few seconds to pull himself off, and then he can't even quite start calming down because as soon as he looks at Shawn's face again, he starts licking Carlton's come off his hand.

Oh fuck.

"Looks like I'm not the only one full of surprises," is the first thing he thinks to say, voice gravelly after being worn out so much, when Shawn finishes licking his hand clean.

Not having broken his gaze at all, Shawn just smirks. "Still not as surprising as you riding me like that... I never pegged you as that much of a buttslut, Lassie."

In spite of everything, Carlton still has the energy to frown indignantly.

"I'm not a buttslut—I haven't had sex like that in years."

"I wouldn't mind having sex like that again."

In his bliss, he almost forgets to pull the condom off his dick and tie it off. Meanwhile Carlton knows they absolutely reek and need to shower, but he can't even bring himself to move.

He just smiles sleepily and admits, "Neither would I."

For the first time in nearly a year, Carlton Lassiter sleeps in.

It's not like he never takes days off, of course he does, but with how much he overworks himself his body has acclimatized to a specific sleep schedule. And so even on his occasional break, he'd be up at the crack of dawn.

But now, when his hard-wired sleep schedule forces him into consciousness even before six in the morning, he finds himself trapped in bed by a tangle of limbs.

Though trapped isn't quite the right word, considering how comfortable he is like this. And how unwilling he is to move Shawn off of him... And how he finds himself perfectly disposed to the possibility of just falling back asleep.

He also remembers that he only has about two days left to enjoy himself like this before Shawn returns to San Francisco, so why not.

"It's 2017, I can't believe Facebook still doesn't have the option to list more than one relationship at once."

Carlton immediately looks up at him, startled and admittedly a little angry.

"You're not—"

"Don't get your pistol-patterned boxers in a bunch," Shawn tells him, putting down his phone. "I wouldn't publicize our relationship without asking. Though I do hope you don't plan on keeping it a secret forever..."

The way Shawn looks at him, like he's not entirely sure if he can expect that from him, makes him feel a bit guilty.

"I'm not ashamed of you," Carlton assures him at once, just to make sure he knows that. "It's just... I don't know how ready I am for people to even know that Marlowe and I aren't together—I don't even know if we're going to divorce at all, what with Lilly being in the picture and the tax benefits—"

"Relaaaaax, Lassie." Shawn steps away from the counter he's been leaning on and crosses the kitchen, reaches up to hold his face, and kisses his worry lines. They're so deep, he wonders how few and far in between Carlton's moments of internal peace really are. "You don't have to think about that yet."

It's amazing, how Shawn manages to get him to loosen up, to calm down and ignore all his anxieties and doubts—but of course not without winding him up first. He used to feel like that was all Shawn was trying to do, just wind him up and watch him go, like he was a toy. But maybe, Carlton thinks, that was partially his fault at the time. He'd been far more predisposed to letting things set him off.

Now he finally feels like he's just getting what he needs. Maybe a little too much of it, actually.

Because of Shawn, he ends up taking two days off in a row. He's certainly worked up the hours, and realistically it won't impede his paycheck enough to matter, but at this point in his life it's a miracle he's taking this much time off outside of a holiday.

It's crazy, actually, how they've gotten to this point. They're still bickering just like they always have, and it's not like the amount of flirting or innuendos has changed, but they have the means to be more genuine. They're emotionally open as far as Shawn's layer of narcissism and Carlton's resting bitch-face-slash-mood will allow, even a little bit further—and they're hardly even apart for the next forty-eight hours.

They're finally a real couple, after three years of... whatever all that was.

Though, incredibly, most of it happened in the past week. Maybe time was never their problem, and this particular life-changing visit could have happened at any time. Or maybe all their time apart was necessary to lead up to the day that started this rapid succession of events.

It took about three years to plant the seed either way; seven days for it to grow.

At some point before Shawn leaves, a call to Juliet from the both of them is in order. As well as a brief call to Gus because he deserves to know what goes on in his best friend's life—though in retrospect he probably should have waited until he got back to try to explain something this big.

He also has Carlton finally sit down and have a real conversation with Marlowe about their relationship, just to make sure it's done right. Mostly so they can discuss how long they plan to wait before telling Lilly the whole truth, since Shawn thinks she deserves and can handle it.

(That, and he finds himself actually wanting to be part of her life as more than just "Daddy's special friend.")

Meanwhile they have plenty of time to inevitably discuss their own relationship later, and so they agree to wait until they're missing each other to waste any time on that.

But Shawn, the big-hearted idiot that he is, starts missing him before he's even gone (and he's sure that Carlton feels the same, even if he won't say it out loud). So he doesn't consider it a breach in their agreement when he starts talking about it the night before he's meant to leave.

"What if you, me, and Jules were all just in a relationship together?" he asks.

Still in a bit of a post-fuck haze, even though they just showered, Carlton takes a moment to register the question. And then it takes him another moment to realize that Shawn is serious, and he's looking at him rather than just burying his face into the pillow, waiting for an answer.

"What do you mean?" he mutters, frowning.

"I don't mean a threesome, if that's what you're asking. I mean, I'm not disgusted by the idea... but Juliet is pretty vanilla when it comes to sex, and I'd kinda like to keep that part of my relationships separate."

Carlton grumbles in agreement, as the idea of sex with his best friend makes him feel a bit awkward. Like Shawn, he's not necessarily disgusted, but he's simply never thought of her in that way. Possibly out of spite due to Shawn's obvious interest in her throughout the years, but still.

"But—no," Shawn continues, "I just mean us all together, instead of two separate relationships, you know? I love you, and you love me—and I also love Juliet, and she loves me, and then you two love each other. Not in the same way, of course, but you do. And you love each other enough to be willing to share me—and let's face it, I am a priceless commodity. And... I think you even love each other enough to live with each other, probably. You've got that healthy partnership thing, you wouldn't even fight as much as you and I do."

Frowning again, Carlton shifts so that he's on his side facing Shawn instead of his back.

"So... what are you suggesting?"

"Mostly just fantasizing, I guess," he admits. "That would just be my ideal way for this to work, you know? I mean, people do do that, it's not like it's unheard of... I think I actually saw some article about three women all being legally married, and they've stayed together for years."

"We live five hours apart," Carlton reminds him.

And that's basically what Shawn was waiting for, because he's been dying to get this off his chest and say it for real—

"We don't have to. Just—I wish you could move up there with us, and then it would be exactly the way it used to be all over again... plus Lilly and Lassie jr., of course. You don't even like being Chief, Lassie. You're itching to be back out on the field, I know it. And you're a fucking amazing detective, I'm sure there's room in San Francisco—"

"And what if I die on the job?" He wants to be angry, but he can't deny how much he misses solving cases (or how much Shawn's praise is getting to him). "Then Lilly won't have a father, and I can't let her go through that."

"Nonsense," Shawn snaps so quickly it's obvious he's been thinking about this. "She'd have me, her pseudo-stepdad. I would say 'cool uncle,' but I realize at this point it would be weird to call myself her uncle... And she'd still have Marlowe and even Juliet and Gus—she'd have a mound of parental figures, just like in Full House. Wait—oh my god, she'd even be living in San Francisco—Lassie, that's it, you have to move up there! It's Full House. It's destiny."

"...If I do this, it's gonna be for a better reason than to imitate a 90s TV show."

Shawn just stares blankly at him for a moment, clearly doing a bit. But also a little serious because this sort of chance can't be a coincidence.

"What reason could possibly be better than that."

"Well, to be with you, first of all," Carlton says, unexpectedly putting an end to Shawn's bit, and instead making him just want to kiss him.

Leave it to Lassie to manage to say the sweetest things while sounding annoyed, he thinks as he follows his whim. And when he pulls back, he looks hopeful.

"So you're really thinking about this now?"

"...Maybe."

He doesn't want to say anything for sure yet—this isn't the kind of decision even a normal person could make overnight, and he'd rather not get Shawn's hopes up. He'd have to sell the house and take out a new life insurance policy and most importantly figure out a situation for Marlowe and Lilly because of course they'd have to live nearby... And before anything else, Marlowe would have to agree to it. Juliet too, though he can't imagine she'd say no.

They don't talk about it anymore for the rest of the night, which is probably for the better.

He would stay longer, but he initially promised Juliet and everyone else a mere week of his absence. The SFPD will probably need his help on a case soon enough, anyway.

Lilly is more upset than anyone, and she demands that he promise to visit again as soon as possible when he hugs her goodbye.

"Don't worry," he adds, though mostly addressing her father—"you couldn't keep me gone if you wanted to."

Carlton goes into work about an hour later than usual so he can see Shawn off, and it's actually surreal—he feels much younger than he is, standing out in front of his house just a bit past sunrise, watching Shawn check his gas and make sure he hasn't forgotten to put anything in his bag, and seeing the way the morning wind hits his hair as he leans smugly against his motorcycle.

Shawn makes him feel like a fucking teenager when he kisses him; he's so smitten he can almost feel his wrinkles disappearing, his muscle shrinking, his features getting softer... even his heart feels like it's beating differently. For a moment he feels like it really is him, the younger version of him, clutching Shawn in front of the driveway.

As though he could tell exactly how he just made Carlton feel, when Shawn finally pulls away he smirks and says, "How's that for a goodbye kiss?"

Not quite old again yet, he smiles and replies, "Memorable."

"That's what I was going for... Stay gold, Lassie."

Carlton watches him don his helmet and kick up the stand on his bike, and in spite of himself he keeps watching as Shawn rides, all the way up until he can't see him anymore. Only then does he feel old enough to start driving to the station and do his job.

Is it crazy, he thinks, both then and months later, even after so many explanations and skype calls—is it crazy of him, that the way he felt in the moment that Shawn left, as he made that stupid reference, is what ultimately pushed him to making a decision this big?

Perhaps he's overthinking it.

Or perhaps, for once, he should just embrace the fact that Shawn makes him a little bit crazy. Because it's even before Christmas rolls around, and yet it still feels like he's waited too long when Carlton is finally able to call and tell him that he's been confirmed for a transfer to San Francisco.

THE END