Summary: He didn't care that his pants were wrinkled, that his shirt wasn't tucked in or that his socks didn't match. Today, it just didn't matter. Oneshot. Character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine
An Almost World
"Hey, Jules," Shawn's words were quiet, his whole demeanor very calm, almost shy.
Juliet wasn't all that surprised by this. She'd seen more of Shawn's true personality in the past week than she had in the three years that she'd known him before…well, before.
"Hey, Shawn," she moved to the side and let her friend cross the threshold into her apartment. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here, dad?!" Shawn had sounded so angry. Not his normal irritation at Henry for showing up unexpectedly or interfering with one of his cases; no, this was true and pure anger brought about by even truer and purer fear.
Henry understood that fear just moments later, too. It was hard not to, what with that gun aimed right at him.
o0oo0o
"Shawn, you really shouldn't be here," Gus greeted when he showed up at the Psych office that same night.
Shawn shrugged, "I didn't want to go home."
"I thought you went over to Juliet's." Gus was sitting on the couch and Shawn sat down next to him.
It'd been a long time since Gus had let himself be seen in any attire that could be described as anything less than neat and professional. But, right now, he didn't really care. He didn't care that his pants were wrinkled, that his shirt wasn't tucked in or that his socks didn't match. Today, it just didn't matter.
"I did," Shawn nodded, staring straight ahead. "We talked. Then I came here."
Gus nodded. He'd get the details out of his friend later. There was only one thing that he specifically needed to know right now. "Did you tell her?"
"Did you tell him? That it's…too late?"
Shawn had always been a snoop. He always wanted to know exactly what was going on, who was doing what and why everything was the way it was. And if he had to break a rule or two in order to acquire that knowledge, well, then that's just the way it was.
So when the sign in the hospital had read: Authorized Personnel Only, it wasn't like he'd actually care or anything. He broke rules all the time, for thousands of stupid reasons.
This reason wasn't stupid.
"Too late for what?" He stepped out from behind the corner where he'd been hiding, not really caring that he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.
The two doctors turned to him with identical deer in the headlights looks.
"Too late for what?" He repeated loudly. His voice was rough and cracked and maybe just a little bit choked up, but he couldn't really hear himself, so it didn't matter that much.
"Mr. Spencer, you should really be in the waiting room," one of the two men stepped closer, but not too close – they could sense just by the way he was standing, the glint in his eyes and the hands balled into fists at his side, that that would be a bad idea.
"Shawn!" Gus had followed him into the restricted area. Gus was coming to tell him that everything would be okay.
"Too late for what?" His vision was getting just a little fuzzy.
"Shawn!" Gus was closer.
"Mr. Spencer," the other doctor finally stepped forward, "I'm so sorry. But your-"
"Shawn!"
"-father didn't make it-"
"Shawn!"
"-the second surgery. We're so sorry for your loss."
"Shawn," and then Gus was there, right behind him with his hand placed comfortingly on his shoulder, just like always.
But nothing was okay.
o0oo0o
"If I tell you something, will you promise not to arrest me?"
Lassiter looked up from his double malt scotch and wasn't all that surprised to see Shawn leaning over him.
"Depends," Lassiter inclined his head slightly towards the chair across from him and Spencer smiled a little as he took a seat.
"On what?" Shawn inquired, playing with the straw wrapper on the table, not making eye contact.
Lassiter was quiet for a moment, sipping his drink and studying the younger man. It had been two weeks since his father had died. Two weeks and Shawn…well, honestly, Lassiter just couldn't tell.
Sometimes he seemed fine. Sometimes you could tell he was grieving. And sometimes he just wasn't there to study.
Lassiter had lost his own father at age fifteen. It's always extremely difficult, emotionally wracking, to lose a parent; but to have it happen at age fifteen was a fate that Carlton Lassiter would wish upon no one.
Shawn may have been thirty-three in actual years, but Lassiter had always been under the assumption that his mindset was more of the fifteen year old variety. But perhaps he'd been wrong, because Shawn seemed to be handling Henry's death a hell of a lot better than Lassiter had handled the death of his own father.
Then again, when Carlton had been fifteen, everyone around him had thought he'd been dealing pretty well, too.
"On what you did," Lassiter spoke, trying to sort though what was going on in his head, but knowing that he'd never really be able to.
"Right," Shawn nodded. "Makes sense."
Lassiter took another sip of his scotch. It wasn't exactly helping him think, but it was helping him not think. Which would help him see things more clearly tomorrow.
At least, that's how it'd always worked for him in the past.
"Did you wanna tell me something?" Lassiter asked, and prayed to a God he hadn't believed in since he was fifteen that the fractured man sitting in front of him would say no.
Because Carlton had never had to choose between doing what he knows is right and doing…what he knows is right. Everything in his world had always been black and white. Right and wrong.
Or, at the very least, different shades of right and wrong. Because he wasn't completely unaware of this whole, life is just a million shades of gray thing, that people kept yammering about. And they had some valid points.
Lassiter had never seen it for himself, though; not up close and personal. He'd never, ever had to make a decision that would compromise the two things that he honestly believed in. The two things in this world that he put all his faith into.
The law.
Justice.
He always just kind of figured that they were two sides of the same coin.
Shawn Spencer had proved that theory wrong. And he was about to admit out loud what he'd done, and Carlton just couldn't…Please, God make him say no.
"Can you promise not to arrest me?" Shawn asked again. In any other setting it would have been a joke, a careless jab, a witty retort. Tonight it was a question.
"I don't know," Carlton swallowed thickly. "Shawn…I really don't know."
The younger man nodded sadly, but smiled a moment later, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time since he'd sat down, and reached across the table for the Scotch that Carlton was more than willing to share.
"Then I guess I have nothing to say."
"I have nothing left to say."
It was Buzz who stepped in after that. It was the fourth time that Shawn had told Detective Suthers that he had nothing to say. It was the fourth time that Suthers had pressed for more information.
The chief wasn't allowed to handle the case. She'd been Henry's junior partner two decades ago. They remained friends. There was a personal connection.
Detective Lassiter had gone fishing with him. At least once every two months for the past three years. They were friends. There was personal connection.
Juliet wasn't quite trained enough to handle a homicide investigation by herself. She'd been upped from junior detective to Lassiter's partner and just plain detective about a year and a half before Buzz had made the cut himself, but still, she'd never done it by herself.
Plus, she and Shawn were dating. Or pre-dating, as the psychic so often dubbed it. They all knew she would eventually become his daughter-in-law. Or at least, she would have been his daughter-in-law. There was personal connection.
They all knew Shawn. They all knew Henry. There was always a personal connection.
Detective Suthers was from another precinct. Nobody really liked him.
"That's enough for now." Sometimes, Buzz didn't recognize his own voice. When he was reciting the Miranda Rights to a suspect, when he was explaining to a court ordered shrink why he'd fired his gun and killed a suspect, when he was standing up to Lassiter…he disconnected himself. Made it just a little not real in his mind so he could deal.
This time, he knew exactly what he was saying, who he was saying it to and he knew, without doubt, that his voice was strong and left no room for argument.
"I understand that this is a traumatic time for Mr. Spencer," Suthers spoke to him, only to him. But that was almost okay, because he wasn't from their world and he didn't understand what a huge role Shawn played in it. "But we need answers."
"You got your answers." Buzz crossed his arms over his chest and took full advantage of his height. "If you have anymore questions, come back tomorrow."
It was an order, not a request, and though Detective Suthers didn't look pleased, he did obey; tucking his notebook away inside his pocket and pulling out a little card instead.
"If you think of anything else you'd like to tell us, give me a call." He handed the card to Shawn, who took it absently, still staring at the ground as he had been for the past twenty minutes. "I'll be back tomorrow."
It was only after he'd left that Shawn glanced up. His eyes were rimmed red, his hair was disheveled, his pants were ripped and his shirt was stained with blood. He looked so defeated, almost lifeless. Buzz knew there was very little that he could say or do to comfort this man that he'd come to think of fondly as a good friend.
Very little. But there was something.
"Gus is in Exam Room One with Suther's partner. I'll make them wrap it up and bring him out here." He spoke with confidence and assurance. Shawn nodded.
"Thanks." The word was barely a breath, but it was the first thing Shawn had said in hours that didn't have anything to do with his dad's death.
Buzz would take what he could get.
o0oo0o
"Hey, Shawn," she moved to the side and let her friend cross the threshold into her apartment. "What are you doing here?"
"I didn't want to be alone," Shawn's voice was small and vulnerable. He shut the door behind him and looked at her almost pleadingly. Juliet was hugging him less than a second later.
He clung to her like a lost child, like a broken man with a fractured soul.
It had never occurred to her that he could break. He was Shawn Spencer. The one person in her life who could always make everything better, make her smile no matter what the situation. She'd leaned on him so many times in the past, in so many different ways. She never thought that he'd ever have to lean on her, too.
She hated that he was in such pain. Hated that he blamed himself and hated everything that had led up to this moment.
She hated Damien Mathers for murdering Henry Spencer. She hated Darrel Hart for going to Shawn and Gus with his case instead of going to the police again. She hated whatever police officer had told him his case hadn't been legitimate in the first place.
She was angry at Henry for getting involved when Shawn had specifically asked him not to; of course, she could never hate him. He'd saved Shawn's life, after all.
She hated the ambulance drivers for not getting there in time. She hated the makers of the gun that Mathers had been carrying. Hated the doctors for not doing more. Hated more than anything, that in all the confusion, Mathers had gotten away.
She didn't mind that Damien Mathers had turned up dead three days later, and she certainly didn't hate whoever had killed him.
She had a feeling that Mather's murderer was currently sobbing into her shoulder and holding onto her tightly, like he might drift away without her there.
No, Juliet could never hate Shawn.
She loved him.
"It's okay," she soothed, stroking his back and his hair, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm here, Shawn. Everything's gonna be alright."
He clung and cried – he broke down in her arms – and she was there to try to make everything better, eventually she'd get him to smile and no matter what, she'd always be there for him to lean on.
"I'm here, Shawn. I'll always be here."
"He was here." Gus told Detective Suthers with a straight face and an almost annoyed expression. "Of course he was here. Where else would he be?"
"You're sure?" Suthers was eyeing him coldly. He didn't believe him.
"Yes, I'm sure." Gus snapped. "Now could you please leave? Shawn's sleeping."
"And he was here all night?" Suthers pressed. This man really liked to press. "He didn't leave, for even half an hour?"
"We were both up all night." Gus snapped again, "I haven't slept in over twenty four hours."
"Would you be willing to testify to that in court? That Shawn Spencer was here all night with you?"
"Absolutely." Gus nodded. "Shawn did not kill Damien Mathers. We were both here. All night."
"We have an eye witness that places someone who looks remarkably like Shawn at the crime scene last night," Suthers had yet to break eye contact. "You do know that lying to the police is a felony? You could go to jail."
"Shawn was here." Gus stood his ground. "All night."
They stared for a long moment at each other. Gus had never been more sure of anything in his life; had never had more confidence that he was doing the right thing for the right reason for the right person.
He'd die for Shawn. The man might as well be his brother. Their bond went deeper than friendship, deeper than blood, even. He'd die for Shawn. And God knows he'd come close in the past.
This? This was nothing.
Suthers broke eye contact first. Gus had won.
"If this ends up going to court, we will need you to testify." Was his last parting attempt to get him to crack.
Gus just nodded and smiled tightly. "Gladly."
o0oo0o
It'd been a few months now, since Henry's untimely death, and they were dealing the best they could. Some people might have been doing better, by now, but most others wouldn't be, and that's what kept them going.
Well that, and each other.
The beach house was Shawn's now. Though he had yet to spend extended amounts of time there by himself, he and Gus ventured over every now and then. Baby steps. That's what their therapist kept calling it. Baby steps.
They were there now, on the porch swing out front, sitting side by side, sipping beers as the sun set over the ocean.
It was almost normal.
"Lassiter called," Shawn broke the silence first, pushing the ground with his foot and making the swing rock a bit. "It's not going to trial."
Gus had been expecting that, "Not enough evidence?"
Shawn nodded, "Plus, their only suspect has an airtight alibi."
Gus smiled but said nothing for a long time. Slowly he sipped at his beer and waited for Shawn to say what Gus knew he wanted to say.
"You don't regret it, do you?" He asked, his tone almost light, almost meaningless. "Lying?"
"No." Gus said firmly, not for the first time. "I don't."
Shawn nodded. Shawn believed him. He knew it was the truth. And Gus knew not to ask Shawn the same question, because he'd already gotten his answer. The night that Shawn had asked him to lie. The night that they'd sat in the Psych office and planned a murder together.
No, Shawn didn't regret it.
"It doesn't bring him back, though. Does it?"
"Nothing ever will."
So they sat back and watched the sun set over the ocean. Almost content, almost happy and almost at peace.
They lived in an almost world now.
Fin