Shawn Spencer was not Lassiter's favorite person by any means.
Don't get him wrong. He didn't hate the psychic (anymore). In fact, sometimes, he even kind of, sort of…liked the guy—not that he'd admit that out loud, of course. But there were certain…moments when his antics were useful for comic relief, when his talents were surprisingly helpful—and when he'd pushed O'Hara out of the way of that bullet…he'd almost praised the man—almost.
But he was sure that kind of, maybe…appreciating the guy's presence did not make it worth it to stand up in an itchy tux for—what, an hour? Hour and a half? It did not give him reason to put up with this.
He slowly shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, leaning forward to peer over the shoulder of the two men in front of him. Spencer was bouncing nervously. He could almost see Guster's annoyed glare and the older Spencer's small smile and eye roll.
Then the music started and all four men froze. The psychic's grin spread from ear to ear, and Carlton could feel the edges of his own mouth curling up as his partner began to walk towards the front of the church.
He couldn't quite explain his relationship with his partner. The simplest way to say it was he loved her—not like Spencer did, and not that he'd ever say it, but he did—but that didn't quite catch all the nuances of the thing. She was his best friend, a cross between a sister and a daughter and sometimes a brother.
She was his partner. That's how he got talked into this. Spencer may not have been his favorite person but, if it was a contest, she was.
It was about a year and a half later that he had to reevaluate that statement. Taking his turn to hold his new "niece" and looking into those bright eyes that were just like her mother's, he got to thinking.
She just might give O'Hara a run for her money.