Title: Fake Ears Fight Social Awkwardness
Rating: G
Summary: Carlton's willing to put up with a lot of things to make Shawn happy. But no where on that list of things are skirts and body paint. A Psych Halloween fic.
Warning: The following is the result of letting me write without obsessively editing. (Which means my confidence in it is shaky. I like obsessively editing.) My first 24-hour fic challenge! Un-betaed. For spiro_fly who wanted Shawn and Carlton in couples costumes.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.

Every once and a while Carlton Lassiter was forced to admit that he found his not-so-active social life a little depressing. One could only spend so many nights alone, attend so many social gathers unescorted, before feeling like a total loser.

But then there were times, such as this exact moment standing amongst a selection of cowboy, spaceman and hippie outfits, that Carlton realized that while his social life was a bit sad, it was not as sad as a grown man dressed in a Winnie the Pooh costume.

"No," Carlton said as Shawn thrust the golden, furry costume at him. "There is no way in hell I'm dressing up as a ... " Carlton grimaced, "Pooh."

Shawn frowned at him. He looked at Carlton, to the bagged costume in his arms and back at Carlton again. "Why not?" he asked. "It'll be hilarious. You be Pooh and I'll be Christopher Robin. I bet I can even convince Gus to go as Tigger."

Carlton just glowered.

Shawn slumped his shoulders and gave what Carlton assumed was supposed to be a pout (there was a bit too much frustrated lip curling for it to be a full on pout), before tossing the costume into their growing reject pile. It had been three hours since Carlton and Shawn had first entered the shop in search for costumes for the department's annual Halloween party. And in that three hours, Carlton had shot down every costume choice Shawn had placed in front of him. From the Luke and Leia Skywalker costumes ("I will not wear a golden bikini, Shawn") to the Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn costumes ("I'm not wearing a bloodied wig either, Shawn") to the the priest and Catholic school girl costumes ("Stop trying to get me to dress up as a damn woman, Shawn!")

"We're not gonna have many choices if you keep being so close-minded, Carly," Shawn had whined.

"Well, you better get creative then, Shawny," Carlton had groused back. Shawn gave him another pouty look before returning to the maze of store racks.

Carlton sat down on bench near the store's dressing rooms and wondered how he'd ever let Shawn convince him to even entertain the option of going to the stupid party. Carlton originally hadn't planned to go. He hadn't planned on going when Juliet handed him the flyer with all the party information. He hadn't planned on going when the Chief dropped not-so-subtle hints about office social affairs being a great way to build relationships with the other detectives and uniforms. And hadn't planned on going even when Shawn dragged him from his Sunday morning gun cleaning routine and into Jester Jack's Joke and Costume Shop. It wasn't until Shawn had somehow gotten his arm halfway jammed into a naughty nurse's uniform, that Carlton realized that he'd better stop not planning on going, before he did end up going. And going dressed with less modesty than a stripper.

Shawn returned with a bag containing a pair of large white shorts, white gloves and a white droopy hat, and a jar of blue body paint.

"No," Carlton said flatly.

Shawn slumped his shoulders, before tossing the items over to join the discarded Pooh costume. "Dude, you've hated every one of my suggestions. We're never going to find anything at this rate."

Carlton crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, placing his feet on top of bin of a rubber axes. "I don't see why we both have to dress up. Just pick a costume you like and I'll just go as I am."

Shawn dropped down on the bench beside him. "We can't go to a costume party and not dress alike. People will talk. It's the costume party equivalent of divorce."

"You know, Shawn, I don't think people pay us as much attention as you think they do."

Shawn looked at him, confusion marring his face. "Why shouldn't they, Carly? We're hot."

Carlton rolled his eyes. "Can't we go as something not ridiculous? How about a cop and an inmate?"

Shawn scoffed. "You have no imagination whatsoever."

"Twins?"

"We look nothing alike."

"Cavemen?"

"I thought you were against skirts? A loincloth is just a very indecent skirt."

Carlton sighed. "See? This is why I hate going to these things."

Shawn leaned back and threw his arm around Carlton's shoulders. "Awww...it won't be that bad. What'd you wear last year?"

Carlton fidgeted.

"Carlton? You did go last year, didn't you?"

"Of course," Carlton replied snottily.

"Then what'd you wear."

"You know, a suit," Carlton mumbled.

Shawn realized that knowledge didn't really surprise him, so he decided to ignore it. "Have you at any point in your life worn a costume?"

Carlton rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit, Shawn. Of course, I have."

"Not including your Civil War reenactment uniform?"

Carlton thought for a moment, before replying. "Yes."

"Okay. What was it?"

"A police uniform."

Shawn shook his head. "That is not a costume."

"It is when you're nine."

Shawn sighed and sat up with renewed determination. "Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Instead of focusing on the costumes," Shawn turned his head sharply to stare at the detective, "I need to focus on you."

Carlton stiffened. "What are you talking about, Shawn?"

Shawn didn't answer as he rose from the bench and began pacing in front of the detective. "Let's see," he mumbled to himself. "You're a straight-laced, no-nonsense cop."

"Detective." Carlton corrected.

"You're tall, lanky, long-limbed. One might say 'gangly.' You have an awful sense of humor. You're not the most charismatic."

"Please stop describing me, Shawn."

"You do have fabulous hair, though. Big ears ... I got it." Shawn snapped. Before Carlton could find out what "it" was, Shawn grabbed his arm and pulled him up from the bench. "Come on, we need to find Jester Jack. We've got to get you sized for ears."

While Carlton would never admit it out loud, Shawn's final choice of costume wasn't half bad. Even with the ears. He got to wear pants (albeit, the were a bit tighter than he was used to wearing), didn't have to wear a wig and the look of utter boredom on his face was completely in character.

"Live long and prosper," Buzz McNabb greeted him not soon after he entered Tom Blair's Pub where the party was being held. The tall officer offered a Vulcan salute with one hand and a glass of beer with the other. "You make a decent Spock, Detective."

"Thank you, McNabb," Carlton replied, somewhat embarrassed by the other man's enthusiasm. "And you make a decent...what the hell are you? Sun-burnt Abe Lincoln?" Buzz was wearing the traditional suit, stove-pipe hat and beard required for the costume, but he was also coated in copper-colored paint.

"Yep," Buzz nodded. "I'm Abe Lincoln from the penny." The taller man quickly turned to present Carlton his profile and scrunched his face into an imitation of the expression Honest Abe wore on the coin.

Carlton guffawed silently to himself because really, what else can one do when faced with a tall, lanky and ridiculously shiny man? "That's ... real creative, McNabb." Carlton said.

Buzz turned and gave him a pleased smile. "Where's Shawn? I thought he was coming with you."

Carlton gave a small wave out the pub's door. "He's out on the parking lot trying to help Gus get his costume out of the car." When the officer gave him a questioning look, he simply replied, "Don't ask."

Buzz just smiled. "Well, we're glad you made it. There's plenty of food and drink. Enjoy yourself, Detective." The younger man gave Carlton a friendly pat on the arm before walking off to greet more guests. Carlton remained close to the front door, his mood split between quiet appreciation for the officer's surprising show of friendly affection and petty annoyance at the copper-colored hand print now gracing his sky-blue uniform shirt.

It took Shawn and Gus a total of 12 minutes to fully extricate Gus' costume from his tiny blue car. In that time, Carlton drank two glasses of beer, made awkward small talk with eight of his co-workers and ate approximately 15 little smoky sausages. It was one of Carlton's better party experiences.

"Dude, did you miss me?" Shawn asked with a smirk and a kiss when he'd finally joined Carlton at the bar. His matching gold-colored uniform was rumpled and his ankle high boots were slightly scuffed. "That's the last time I let Gus pick his own costume," he sighed as he commandeered Carlton's glass of beer.

Carlton smirked to himself and glanced across the room to see Gus, looking slightly worse for wear than Shawn, explaining his costume to a group of officers. His costume, constructed mostly out of rubber tubing, plastic wrap and silver spray paint, was made of long spindly beams, with giant silver balls attached to the ends. Gus stood in the center of the mass, his unwieldy creation extending from his body, with a larger ball covering his torso. A slight dent, with a large, boot-shaped print sitting right in the middle of it, crumpled it. "What is he?" he asked Shawn.

"A quark...I think. Or an atom. I don't know, some type of molecule." Shawn tugged his shirt into place before bending over to wipe the scuffs off his shoes. "I'd go ask, but he won't let me near him. He's still kinda pissed that I kicked the thing out of his car."

"Kicked?"

Shawn waggled his eyebrows. "You've never seen my ninja skills, have you?"

Carlton rolled his eyes and waved to the bartender for another beer. "If that smashed atom is an example of your ninja skills, then I think I'm better off."

"Dude! I lost one of my balls!" An exasperated Gus said later.

"I'm not going to dignify that easy shot with a response," Shawn replied.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Shawn," Gus scolded back. "I'm supposed to be a silver molecule. I need 47 electrons. One of my electrons is out there loose, and I'm standing here atomically incorrect."

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd gone as Uhura like I suggested."

"Seriously, stop trying to dress me up as a woman, Shawn."

Carlton observed the conversation from his place at the bar and decided I was not worth telling Gus that, 47 electrons or no, nobody had any freaking idea as to what he was supposed to be anyway.

"I'm pleased to see you here, Detective. And I'm even more impressed that you dressed up."

Carlton turned to see Chief Karan Vick approaching. She was dressed as Dorothy, with a brown, pigtailed wig on her head and bright red slippers on her feet. Clasping her hand was her daughter, who was wearing what looked like fluffy black pajamas with two-triangle shaped ears on top of her head. Toto, if Carlton wasn't mistaken.

"Chief," Carlton said gruffly, straightening up. It had been two hours since the start of the party. Two hours and four more beers.

"Chief!" Shawn sang out, arms open wide. "And daughter! Aren't you two cute?"

The chief shook her head in amusement. "Thank you, Mr. Spencer." She studied the two men. "And aren't you two cute. Spacemen?"

"Not just spacemen, Chief. The original spacemen," Shawn pulled Carlton into a one-armed hug. "Kirk and Spock: Intergalactic lovers." Carlton shrugged Shawn's arm off, flustered and red-faced.

The Chief laughed. "I'll remember that Mr. Spencer. Um… are those elf ears, Detective?"

Carlton flushed and fingered his ear nervously. "Vulcan ears," he corrected. "It's a part of the costume."

The Chief gave a nod before glancing around the increasingly crowded restaurant. "Well, I've got guests to greet. Have fun, gentlemen. And stay on your toes, Detective. If I recall, Kirk was considered somewhat of a whore."

Shawn clasped his hand to his chest in mock offense. "James Kirk? Sleeping around? He'd never! That goes against everything the Federation stands for."

The Chief gave Shawn a wave before turning away and joining the crowd milling around the dance floor.

"I don't she likes me very much," Carlton mumbled as he took another swig of his beer.

"What? Of course she likes you, Carly. You're too adorably grumpy not to love."

Carlton glared.

"Oh! Keep that face on, Carly. It goes so well with your outfit."

"Lassiter!" A high-pitched voice rose above the din of the crowd. Carlton turned to see what appeared to be a giggly, masked hockey player running toward him. The masked player raised its face guard to reveal a laughing, flushed faced Juliet O'Hara. She was practically drowning in a blue and red U.S.A. hockey jersey and her face was smudged with grease paint.

"O'Hara," he said, surprised. He'd never seen his partner inebriated before.

"Awwww," Juliet practically cooed. "I'm glad you dressed up this year." She gave him a bewildered look. "Who are you?"

Carlton straightened. "I'm Spock."

"Awwww," she said again. "You look so cute." She reached up and pinched his cheek.

"I wasn't going for cute," Carlton muttered, trying to avoid the tipsy and now overly touchy woman's hands.

She giggled. "Where's Shawn?"

Carlton pointed to a makeshift stage that had been set up on the dance floor, where Shawn and Gus were currently delighting the crowd with a rather drunken (and therefore, rather incoherent) rendition of "Walk This Way."

"Why didn't you join them?"

"I don't sing, O'Hara."

Juliet reached up and pulled on one of Carlton's ears affectionately. "Awwww...I bet it would have been adorable."

"I don't do adorable, O'Hara."

Juliet giggled. She gave Carlton a slopply kiss on the cheek before joining the adoring crowd surrounding Shawn and Gus.

"Dude, you totally should have joined us up there. The crowd was great." Shawn returned to the bar, his face red from the night's combination of alcohol and karaoke. He and Gus had gone on to cover "The Girl is Mine," "Ebony and Ivory," and, surprisingly, "Hit Me Baby (One More Time)." The audience had loved every minute of it.

"I don't sing, Shawn."

"You wouldn't have had to. We needed someone on air guitar." Shawn wrapped his arms around Carlton's chest hugging him from behind. Carlton stiffened at first, uncomfortable with the public display of affection, before allowing himself to relax in Shawn's embrace. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

Carlton reflected on the evening. He hadn't left the bar the entire night. His stomach hurt from a combination of too much beer and too many little smokies. The Chief, while pleased that he showed up and was in costume, had called him "cute." And he discovered that when Juliet got drunk, she got increasingly handsy.

"It wasn't ... bad," he conceded.

Shawn gave him a squeeze and laughed, his breath warm against the shell of Carlton's ear. "Well, that's good. I wanted you to have fun."

"I still feel like an idiot," Carlton replied.

Shawn gave another laugh. "You're supposed to feel like an idiot. But it's only for one night and then tomorrow, I'll let you be your normal, crotchety self."

"I thought I was adorably grumpy."

"I've heard it both ways."

Carlton felt it as Shawn leaned more heavily on his back and yawned. Shawn's body was warm against his and his breath tickled his neck. They stood there, simply leaning on each other, as the crowd buzzed happily around them. Carlton realized that even with the fake ears and tight pants, he'd never felt more comfortable. Perhaps there was something to this social business.

"This was fun, Shawn."

Shawn sighed. "Dude," he said sleepily, flicking Carlton on the back of the head, "I think you lost one of your ears."

A/N: I wrote this for a request, like, a year ago on LiveJournal and never posted it here. Sorry about that. I feel like I sometimes ignore and I certainly don't mean too. It's just harder to interact. (That or I just don't know how.)

Anyway, enjoy! Happy (early) halloween!