Don't freak when you see things have disappeared. I'm in the process of rewriting so it flows better due to my 9 month break messing things up. I apologize for the wait and confusion, and promise the new versions will very much make it up to you; I just don't want to deal with the clusterfuck that it was before, so I deleted the old versions. I know that means losing my views and my reviews, and while I love and appreciate you for them all, I'd rather have well written work posted than a bunch of hits for work I think is shit. I can do better, and you deserve better. The first eleven are up now; look for the new Chapter Thirteen soon. You can also find me on AO3 under the same pen name.

(For Mixtape's playlist, go to open+spotify+com/user/zt1bbty6pkws8amec3zc7byt9/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr (replace the + with a .) I highly recommend listening as you read, as they were crafted to go together to enhance the experience.)

Dancing In The Dark/I Won't Back Down

*This chapter takes place directly after season 3 episode 1: Ghosts

** The accompanying songs are Dancing In the Dark by Bruce Springsteen & I Won't Back Down by Tom Petty

Shawn was gobsmacked, a torrent of thoughts racing through his mind as he followed his mother out of the office and in to the hall, lifting his head and waving at his waiting father as he passed him by. The information his mother had gifted him with unnerved him, and he wasn't sure whether he wished he had known it sooner or not. It changed everything, and though Henry was still a bastard for all he'd put his son through, Shawn thought that maybe he might owe his father an apology.

It didn't mean he was getting one, though. It just meant that maybe Shawn's responses to him throughout the years hadn't been fully informed. That maybe there was a little extra animosity where there shouldn't be.

But the precinct wasn't the place to get sensitive about it, so as he watched Madeleine greet her ex, he did his best to wipe the emotion off his face. Looking towards the bullpen in hopes of seeing someone who would cheer him up, he quickly spotted his partner in crime-solving standing next to his favorite blonde detective. Gus just looked ready to be interrupted, so, happy for the distraction and ready to wreck his pal's attempt to flirt, Shawn sauntered over.

"G-bro! Didn't know you were still kicking around!" he pounced, punching his best friend in the arm. "We get the check from Vick yet, or are we still waiting?"

Gus blinked in response, confused and hardly showing it at all. Shawn was a little proud of him, learning to roll with Shawn's punches - quite literally, in this case.

"Vick didn't hire us on this case, Shawn. There was no case. You made it up."

Shawn opened his mouth to argue, but Gus wasn't finished.

"And then you got caught. And then you worked some voodoo magic or something."

"What -" Juliet started, bewildered by the statement.

"Thank you for the raise, by the way," Gus continued.

"So still waiting to get paid then."

His friends just stared incredulously and Shawn smiled back, amused by their mild annoyance.

As much fun as it was messing with them - and it was giant-sized barrels of amusement doing that - it wasn't nearly as enjoyable as bugging Lassie, the man's uptight demeanor far more entertaining to screw with. He loved it when the detective scowled at him, the look always sending chills up his spine, and the distinct lack of antagonized-detective induced tinglies made him wonder where the Lassiter had run off to, having been there when Shawn had ambled in that afternoon. Looking around, his eyes scanning over the many familiar faces of the bullpen, he finally noticed the man on his way back from the bathroom, grinning as his target was finally acquired. Even better than his imminent arrival, Lassie looked in a mood, the usually meticulous man not even bothering to notice the trail of toilet paper attached to the heel of his shoe, which almost guaranteed Shawn would be able to get his goat. Looking like he was lost in thought, Lassiter's head snapped up when he heard Shawn's voice, a not-quite glower crossing his face as he saw who was hovering at his work space.

"Lassie!" Shawn called out, attempting to get the man's attention. "Looking sexy as usual!"

With a pallor paler than usual, Lassiter scowled and he walked towards them, re-buttoning the sleeves of his shirt as he did. Noting the man's complexion, Shawn hoped he wasn't getting sick. Though he enjoyed irritating Lassie and the reactions he received when he did, he never actually wanted anything bad to happen to him, and sick was definitely considered a thing of bad.

Also, picking on Lassie when he was sick was like shooting fish in a barrel or playing Mario Kart against Gus - fun, but also a cheap and easy win.

"Spencer. Guster. What are you doing here? We don't have a case for you," the cop said, looking at them with a snarl. "Hopefully ever again."

Ahh, there they were. The first tingles of the day. Thank you Mr. Head Detective.

"Carlton -" O'Hara admonished, but the Shawn interjected, his smile deflecting the unwarranted animosity with ease.

"No, Jules, it's okay. I know that's how Lassie says he loves me."

"I don't love you, Spencer," Lassiter scoffed, his tone Victor Fries-post-mutation cold as he glared at the younger man. "You probably don't even know what love is."

Shawn froze, the comment cutting deeper than he was willing to let on.

Silence festered in the air and after a moment, Gus broke it, shifting uncomfortably as he confronted the detective - a move that both took Shawn by surprise and warmed his heart. Gus wasn't usually one to stand up to people, but he knew Shawn well enough to read the signs and had probably realized that his talk with his mom had been heavy. So, it was nice to see he was willing to act as an emotional buffer for his buddy. Shawn knew he kept Gus around for good reason, and this was just proof it was for more than his big sexy brain and leniency with his credit card bills.

"That was uncalled for, don't you think?"

The cop opened his mouth to - well, Shawn wasn't sure what Lassie was going to say because he interrupted before the man got the chance.

"Well, I mean… he's not wrong," he said, attempting to shrug it off. The verbal swipe made him wonder what bug had crawled up Lassie's butt today, the cop acting more gruff than usual. It wasn't that Lassiter never reacted this way, but it usually took a lot more than a greeting to get him going; this time, he had skipped all the playful banter and cut right to the quick. It kind of smarted. "Way to go, buddy! Two for two - it's your big day!"

Earning himself another glower, he thwacked the detective on the shoulder and Juliet shot him a simpering smile, as if it could buffer Lassiter's mood. Though he knew it wasn't her intent, Shawn suddenly felt a little pathetic. He didn't want to be pitied for any reason, let alone because of what Lassie thought of him, and if he had his way, that would be the last time she ever looked at him like that.

"I'm sure that's not true, Shawn," she said as she turned toward her partner with a glare, clearly displeased with Lassiter's rude response. "Carlton's just cranky today and taking it out on you for absolutely no reason. He just finished his department mandated psych eval-"

"Unnecessary sharing of information, O'Hara," the Head Detective interrupted sternly, his hand up like it's presence would stop her.

Shawn just laughed, things starting to make sense. Of course! Lassie had seen Madeleine today! Probably right before Shawn had, as a matter of fact, and Shawn knew from experience that her deep and casual probing of his psyche could explain everything, her way of getting a person to open up ridiculously disarming.

"Guess that means we both had a good talk with dear ol' mumsy today, hey?" he said, his eyes twinkling in delight at accidentally stumbling across the perfect target to poke at. Two could play this game, and if it was a game of asshole one-upsmanship, Shawn was guaranteed to win.

Lassie looked at the psychic flatly, his lips pressed tight in a grim refusal to answer, the fact that he was discomfited obvious. Instead –

"What did she tell you?"

"Carlton!" Juliet almost squeaked in surprise, shocked to her feet from her spot against her desk. "That is unbelievably inappropriate!"

"He started it. And he's never appropriate; what do you care?"

Juliet floundered for an answer while Gus just stared. Shawn said nothing, looking at the detective curiously and wondering what was going through that big-brained head of his. Because, as un-fun as it might be, he was willing to play along if it meant he could find out. He was always willing to bend over backwards for some insight into Lassie's brain. He'd bend over even further for some insight into Lassie's clothes, too, but that was neither here nor there.

"So, Spencer. What'd dear ol' mumsy tell you?" Lassie asked, mocking.

Shawn sighed, staring straight into the detective's piercing blue eyes.

Well, hell. If that's just not the million dollar question, he thought. Let's just make it uncomfortable for everybody, why not?

He paused a beat, then –

"That everything I ever thought I knew about love was a lie," he replied, as casually as he could.

As if it were something he admitted every day.

As if it weren't eating him alive inside.

Carlton started, the bare honesty of the statement unbalancing him, a look of shock quickly passing over his fine Irish features.

"Why, what'd she tell you, Carly?" Shawn asked, slinging the question back at him in return, knowing he was unlikely to answer but that it would rankle him nonetheless.

The cop looked at him, oblivious to the query, his mind seemingly miles away.

Well, that was surprising.

But, not thinking too hard about it, Shawn poked him in the chest to draw him out of his reverie, his digit lingering on the detective's sternum.

"Hellooo… Earth to Carly! What'd Mom tell you?"

Lassiter's eyes cleared. He looked at Shawn's finger and snarled.

Ahh, there he was. Detective Dour, back to being snappish and cold.

"None of your business, Spencer. Why don't you just go home? Nobody needs you here."

"Aww, but Lassie," Shawn pouted, slinging his arm around Juliet's shoulders for effect. "Jules and I were just catching up!"

"No we weren't. I was talking to Gus," she disagreed, shrugging him off and reclaiming her slouch.

"Ehh. I've heard it both wa-"

"Pretty sure you didn't," she interrupted, shaking her head at his grin and looking like she wondered how Gus put up with this on a daily basis.

Shawn just ignored her, dropping his arms and leaning in toward Lassiter, his head nearly on the man's shoulder as he tilted his body.

"Doesn't matter. Not important. Because now that you're here, you can provide cheap thrills for me, can't you, Carly?"

Carlton glowered again, the name rankling him even more than 'Lassie' did, and Shawn wondered if the look would be as perpetual as it was if the cop really knew what it did to him.

"Come on, Lassie-so-sassy-with-the-nice-assy," he prodded, taking delight in the other man's discomfort, a plethora of irritating nicknames under his belt just ready to be unleashed on the sort-of suspecting man. "What'd my mama bear tell you?"

Gus snickered at the typical Shawnian response, and for it, Lassiter shot him a look of disdain. Juliet joined in with a giggle, which earned her a matching glare, hers a little darker for being the one to get Lassie into this mess. Shawn full-on belly laughed, knowing it would piss Lassie off the most, and the look he earned was one dripping with ire, almost as if Lassie thought he was the man most eligible to win the award for Most Annoying Person on the Planet™. Which he probably was, and was trophy that would look wicked cool on his desk at the office, if it were a real thing.

Shawn smiled back, as innocently as he could.

Downright angelically, even.

"I don't need this," the cop said, turning away from Shawn's false virtue, clearly frustrated and incapable of dealing with it. "I have work to do."

Sly dog that he was - and one not willing to give up his prize bone now he'd found it - Shawn turned with the detective, lassoing Lassiter's arm with his as they walked side by side, leaving Gus and Juliet behind. "No, really. Tell me about my mommy. Did she give you a dream diary?" he pestered. "Are you supposed to try to figure out why you want to marry your gun?"

Lassiter swatted him away, to no avail.

"Spencer, get your meat-hooks off of me!" he said, taking a futile step aside. Shawn stepped with him, not allowing the movement to dissuade him. "For your information, no, she did not give me a dream diary," Lassiter continued, taking a steadying breath, as if realizing he was being sucked into Spencer's ploy but was unable to stop himself. "Nor do I want to marry my gun!"

Shawn chuckled, amused at Lassie's raised hackles.

Oh, this was fun.

"Yuh-huh. So, what did she say, then?"

"I am not having this conversation with you," the cop insisted as his eyes narrowed, proof of his irritation. "Go away."

Shawn ignored him, soaking the reaction up like a sponge.

"Sounds like you are to me, Lassiepants. C'mon, you can tell me. It'll be our little secret. What's got my favorite detective wound up tighter than a girdle on a Baptist minister's wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast?" he asked, strolling along beside Lassiter, a little more than a little too close. "Did you discover your deep seated desire to kiss boys or -"

And that was when Shawn found his arm gripped tight, his feet flying furiously beneath him as he was dragged unceremoniously through the nearest door, pushed down a darkened hallway, and shoved up against a wall, Lassie hissing at him to please, for once, shut his friggin' mouth.

Huh.

It seemed he had hit a nerve.

Lassiter was at a loss for words.

In nearly two decades on the force, he had dealt with all sorts of irritants, but nothing and no one had ever managed to press his buttons as badly as the pest in front of him. Not even that one handsy drunk who'd literally tried pressing every button on Lassiter's button-down as he'd pulled him out of the street and put him in cuffs. It was almost like Spencer was a natural at it, which frustrated Carlton even further. He wished he knew what horrible thing he'd done in life to deserve being plagued by the existence of Shawn Spencer, the man a constant thorn in his side and one he couldn't seem to rid himself of. But outside of murdering orphaned children - a thing he'd never do - he had no idea what action would have resulted in his deserving this.

If Carlton believed in curses, he would have thought he'd pissed off a witch or something.

The man was just always there, it seemed. Day or night, and usually exactly the moments Carlton didn't want him to be. It was already bad enough the man had made a point of befriending half the precinct, regularly shoehorning his way into cases he had no right even knowing about, but now the little bastard had decided to dig into the detective's personal life as well, which simply could not stand. He was already in Carlton's head too much these days; he wasn't about to be given an All Access Pass. No matter what the 'psychic' said or how he goaded him, there was no way in hell Carlton was going to discuss his sexual proclivities with the perceptive son of a bitch; not when he could barely discuss it with the man's mother in the first place – and she was a woman he respected, with an opinion he actually valued.

Madeleine had hit the nail on the head in their sessions when she'd suggested Carlton's sexuality was something he had deeply repressed. And he had, growing up in a Catholic household, knowing he was and being castigated for being different, then coming home one day when he was fourteen to find his mother declaring herself a raging lesbian. The hypocrisy was astounding, and he hadn't known how to wrap his head around it, shoving the feelings he had deep down inside to deal or not deal with another day. If he had his way, that's exactly where it would stay – buried in the darkest recesses of his mind, locked in chains, the key thrown away.

Because the last thing he needed was this man-child armed with more ammo to aggravate him with.

"Lassie, it's okay," Spencer said, eyes sparkling mischievously. "We all know you want to kiss boys; it's obvious, the way you look at me."

He grinned, arching his eyebrow in what Carlton assumed to be a mocking manner.

"I said shut the hell up, Spencer," the detective growled, his fists clenched in frustration.

How does that little shit always seem to know...

"Or what, Lassie?" the shorter man smirked, his back against the wall and arms at his side, body language submissive though his words were anything but. "You'll shoot? Isn't that what you did to get the evaluation in the first place? Didn't you almost shoot a cat?"

"How do you know- no, nevermind," Lassiter spat, deciding he didn't want to know - that it wasn't important. "It doesn't matter that I want to kiss boys, as you so eloquently put it. Or if I shot at a cat. It doesn't even matter if I dress up like Bozo the clown on Tuesday afternoons!" His jaw clenched in anger and he shoved a pointed finger in the fake psychic's face. "Just stay out of my business and keep me out of your shenanigans. Hell, just keep out of the precinct altogether, won't you? Do a guy a favor for once."

Spencer's grin faltered, just a little. It was not the reaction Carlton expected.

"You want to kiss boys?" he asked, his voice sounding almost… hopeful?

"Really, Spencer?" Lassiter asked through gritted teeth. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You want to kiss boys?" Spencer repeated, ignoring Carlton's simmering rage.

"That's what you got out of this? I'm tempted to shoot you and you wanna know -"

"If that means you're as likely to kiss me as you are to leave me with a bullet wound," Spencer grinned salaciously, reaching out to grab the collar of the senior detective's pristine white shirt.

The cop stared for a moment, his brain whirring in disbelief as he attempted to register the words just spoken. The thought clicked - Spencer wants me to kiss him - and without even realizing he was doing it, he grabbed at the man's hands, pulling them away. But Spencer grabbed back - another unexpected reaction – threatening to turn their attack on each other into a slap fight before Carlton overpowered him and slammed the psychic's wrists into the wall behind the man's head.

Carlton felt his blood boil and groaned inwardly, questioning why this little prick always found the quickest and easiest way under his skin, cursing the fact that he let such personal information slip in the first place. His defenses were obviously still lowered from his earlier meeting with Madeleine and he should have known better than to approach his desk and the monster standing near it at all.

"I am always more likely to shoot you than kiss you, Spencer," he replied, hoping his gaze was boring a hole in Spencer's head. Instead, it looked like it was turning the man on and Carlton didn't know how he was supposed to deal with that.

Spencer stopped for a moment, a faint blush on his cheeks.

He swallowed.

"I double dog dare you."

A thick silence hung in the air, soupy and strangling and Carlton blinked, reacting the only way he knew how, instinct overpowering any other thought he might have had.

"To shoot you, Spencer? Always happy to oblige."

"No," the younger man responded, his tongue ghosting over his lips.

Carlton suppressed an unanticipated shudder, the sight doing things to him that he didn't want.

"Kiss you?" he said, confused and a flustered and trying not to show either.

Shawn nodded.

"Why the hell would I kiss a flirt like you, Spencer?"

The psychic batted his eyelashes playfully, but the question was valid. Carlton wanted to - had wanted to for quite some time, the desire to pin Spencer down and take what he needed from the man increasing with every smart remark, sometimes only because he wanted to shut him up - but his rational mind railed against it. He'd been closeted his whole life; he wasn't about to change that now and chance fucking everything up for a charlatan like Spencer.

"Because I make you feel special, Lassie. Duh."

Snarling, Carlton leaned in, his face pressed next to Spencer's ear.

"My ex made me feel special. Lucinda made me feel special. You make me feel like a fool, you fucking fraud."

And it was true. Spencer did. But he also made Carlton feel things he hadn't tapped into in a very long time. Things he found himself constantly pushing aside, back down into that deep dark pit he put all his unwanted feelings in.

"You haven't let me make you feel anything yet, Lassie," Spencer teased lecherously, brushing off the insult as if it were water off a duck's back. "C'mon, Lassifrass. You won't know you don't like it if you don't try it at least once," he purred, the last of his words murmured against the tender flesh of Carlton's jaw. "I guarantee I'll make you tingle if you just give me the chance. My lips are magically delicious after all."

The detective felt a jolt in his groin, his knees threatening to buckle as his sometimes-colleague's lips brushed against the skin of his throat.

What am I doing? he thought, finally noticing how he had Spencer pinned down. How his body pressed against the psychic's shorter, stockier build. How their fingers laced together without his meaning for them to. This is wrong.

His lips were inches from the other man's own.

So wrong.

He could feel his pulse pounding; knew the other man felt it, too.

I shouldn't be doing this.

"Are you chicken, Lassie?" Spencer mumbled, the vibration of his voice causing the cop's skin to flush. "Do you wann-"

It was nothing to bridge the gap between them.

All sense of reason was lost as their mouths sealed together, their tongues battling for dominance in a bruising wet heat. The loud protestations of Carlton's conscience quickly faded into nothingness as Spencer's body writhed against his like he was determined to touch as much of him as he could with his hands still pinned above his head, and Carlton felt the world melt away, nothing left but him and the feel of Spencer's mouth on his. The psychic bit at Carlton's lower lip, his tongue darting out to lick where he had nipped, and Carlton moaned and responded in kind, blood surging straight to his groin, his hand falling to grasp the brunette by the back of his head.

Wrong wrong wrong. But, God - it feels so right.

The thought a shock to the system, they broke from each other, both struggling to catch their breath.

Carlton stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest, more turned on than he'd ever remembered being.

Spencer leaned against the wall before him, somehow seeming more at ease than Lassiter had ever seen him before, his skin flushed, eyes bright, and mouth looking just promiscuous.

"Hey, no touching the hair," the psychic said, a slow, languid smile creeping across his face. He ran his hand along the nape of his neck, looking at the detective with lust in his eyes, and Carlton froze, the gravity of what they'd just done hitting him like a runaway freight train.

He had kissed Spencer.

He had kissed Spencer while he was at work.

And he had liked it.

Sweet Lady Justice, he thought. What did I just do?