Disclaimer: Oh, I think you can guess, but just in case you can't...I do not own Psych, nor am I making any money off them (that's USA Network's department, my friend). So in case you were thinking about suing, please reconsider.

Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter (and I'm going to attempt to make it as canon as possible…cross your fingers for me)

Summary: Carlton Lassiter seemed much too troubled during the ending scene in the finale of season one; I couldn't just leave him like that. Carlcentric
Notes: This is a story I started writing after the first season's finale that I never finished. Originally it was posted to my LiveJournal account. Now, it's my hope to finish it here. :)

Spoilers:

Poker? I Barely Know Her

Scary Sherry: Bianca's Toast

Breaking Through The Ice

Chapter One: Carlton Gets Crazy

Days After The Season One Finale (Scary Sherry):

This was a bad idea. No, scratch that, this was a very bad idea. This might have been the worst idea he had ever had in his entire life. But what other choice did he have? Did people really view him like he viewed Goochberg? Did people really think he was that much of a lunatic? But he didn't care what other people thought; he never had. He was a police officer; he was the law. The job didn't require people's approval.

And yet, if he really was as much of a lunatic as that woman … well … god … he couldn't stand the thought. He hated thinking he was like that. It was a weird feeling; he had never really hated himself before. Well, to be fair, he had never thought much on it. But he skipped over the angst; he wasn't some delinquent teenager for Christ's sake.

There had to be a better solution than this though. He could just get a transfer; start over. He didn't have to be Head Detective; he would take whatever position was offered. Oh god, he loved being Head Detective; it gave him a rush to just voice his title. The fact that he would give it up so easily showed him just how pathetic of a situation he was in. Thinking on it more however … moving wouldn't change anything. He'd be the same lunatic no matter where he was. Well, thank god for that, he would have hated to give up his position. And he would have too, if that might have changed things.

Wow … he hadn't even given up his position for his wife … this was big. Well, obviously this was big. What he was about to do showed that much. I mean, shit, look at what he was doing.

Was it worth it? Oh … oh, god … it was. It was worth it. Yeah, this was big.

BTTI

"Got a date tonight," Shawn bragged as soon as he stepped into the Psych agency and noticed that Gus was already there.

"With that girl at checkout counter two yesterday?" Gus asked, knowing the answer would be yes.

"Nope," Shawn answered, surprising his friend as he plopped into a chair and waited for some more guesses.

"The woman who hired you to find her cat last week?" Gus guessed, less sure of the answer this time.

"Would you be willing to bet on that?" Shawn asked smugly.

"Well … not seventy-five thousand dollars …"

"Oh, are we still talking about that?" Shawn interrupted in an outraged voice, "Anybody could have made the same mistake."

"No one but you is dumb enough to bet all that money at once, Shawn," Gus accused, bringing up the subject yet again.

"Don't you want to know who I have a date with?" Shawn asked, not at all put off by Gus's complaints.

"Who do you have a date with?" Gus asked, not really caring at this point. He was still stuck on the money … all the money that could have been theirs. That seventy-five thousand dollars would have had them set for a good while. It could have done so much. They could have kept their noses out of police cases for a good chunk of time. Gus snorted at himself. Yeah, like Shawn would ever do that.

"Lassi," Shawn said, unknowingly interrupting Gus's thoughts.

Gus was silent for a moment as his mind sat completely blank. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do," Shawn insisted, seemingly untroubled by Gus's reaction.

"You're straight," Gus pointed out, grasping out sentences his mind was trying to hide from him.

"I know."

"Lassiter's straight."

"It can be assumed so, yes."

"Shawn, two straight men cannot go on a date together," Gus said, finally finding the sentence he was looking for.

"Yes they can."

"No, Shawn, they can't."

"You've gone out with a guy before," Shawn pointed out with a shrug.

"No I haven't," Gus argued, twisting his face to express both disgust and surprise.

"In tenth grade," Shawn insisted. "His name was Charlie. You went on a date with him every Friday night."

"I met with Charlie to play chess, Shawn. They weren't dates," Gus disputed.

"Gus, you expect me to believe you spent every single one of your Friday nights in sophomore year playing chess? Oh, that's just … so sad."

"Why did you ask Lassiter out on a date?" Gus asked, giving in, wanting to get out of the Gus-is-a-nerd territory.

"I didn't. He asked me," Shawn corrected, looking … what was it? Smug?

"Lassiter asked you out on a date?" Gus asked, not believing a word of it. Even the question seemed ludicrous. He tried again, hoping it sounded more realistic, "Carlton Lassiter asked you out on a date?" Wow, that just made it even more surreal.

"Well, the word 'date' wasn't actually said-"

Oh, that was better. That made it a little bit better, not tremendously better, but at least he knew his best friend and the Head Detective weren't planning ways to get to second base with one another. Ew … that thought was going to haunt him for quite awhile.

"-But he did ask me out to dinner. I get to pick the restaurant," Shawn finished; oblivious to the fact that Gus had tuned him out.

But Shawn was like that. Shawn was open. Shawn was secure with his sexuality. He made gay jokes, but he was straight. Hell, he made gay references about the two of them all the time. That was just Shawn. And even if Shawn was gay, Lassiter was not the type of man he would get a crush on.

And Lassiter was definitely straight. There wasn't a straighter man on the planet.

It was just dinner. Lassiter probably just wanted to yell at Shawn and Shawn was just messing around like always. There was nothing to freak out about.

"Gus? Gus? You with me Buddy?" Shawn's voice asked, snapping Gus out of his thoughts.

"Y-yeah. I'm good."

"Are you jealous because I'm going out with Lassi and not you?" Shawn joked, "Don't worry Gus, you know I love you. We'll go out some other time, I promise."

"Would you just get out of here?" Gus asked, "Don't you have to go on your date?"

"No, I have another hour before Lassi comes to pick me up. It would have been a nice exit though," Shawn replied before picking up the television remote and starting to flip through channels.

BTTI

This was going to be easy. Carlton tried to convince himself of that fact as he slipped on his suit jacket and straightened his tie. All he had to do was learn to relax. And what person was more relaxed than Spencer? So he would go out to eat with Spencer, watch his moves, try to be more like him, try to be more relaxed, become more likable, and hopefully come off less like a lunatic.

Holy shit … he was actually coming to Shawn Spencer for help. Whether the man was aware of it or not, he was. This situation was beyond pitiful. Of course, if Spencer really was a psychic then he would know Carlton was seeking him out for help. No, don't even think that way. Spencer was not a psychic, no damn way.

Carlton glanced at himself one more time in the mirror before he left. Was this all right? No, something was wrong. Right, got it: Spencer didn't wear suits. But … Carlton didn't own jeans … No wait, O'Hara was likeable enough and she wore suits. It wasn't the suits; the suits were fine. But O'Hara didn't always wear suits. Okay, he'd buy some jeans later, but if he spent the time now he'd be late.

He glanced around, checking his pockets. He had his wallet, his keys … should he bring his firearm? His eyes spotted it on the table at the same moment as his hand felt the empty space where it should have been. He brought his firearm everywhere, but that was the old Carlton; that was Carlton the Lunatic. What would Spencer do? He wouldn't bring it. But Spencer didn't have a damn ounce of sense. Okay, calm down. This was just going to be a pleasant evening. Who was he going to be shooting at? No one, that's right. Spencer wouldn't bring a firearm with him, neither would O'Hara, and neither would Carlton the Sane.

Without another thought Lassiter went out to his car and began the drive to Spencer's Psychic Detective Agency, all throughout the car ride reminding himself that he needed to relax.

BTTI

"Where are you going?" Gus asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the two men.

"I thought we'd go see a musical," Shawn replied with a sarcastic dreamy expression on his face.

"Can you ever be serious?" Gus asked, already irritated at the conversation.

"I thought we'd go to Billy's," Shawn said, giving his real answer.

"Billy's?" Gus asked, surprised. "That isn't really Lassiter's type of place, is it?"

"Gus, I'm the one that has a date with the guy. I think I would know what I was doing. He told me to pick a restaurant I'd normally eat at," Shawn explained.

"Shawn, you haven't eaten at Billy's in years," Gus replied.

"But I've been meaning to," Shawn countered.

"Billy's?" Gus asked, "The place that has comics on the tabletops and the waiters dressed as clowns and the lollipop centerpieces?"

"You've gotta love the lollipop centerpieces," Shawn said as his answer.

"We stopped going to Billy's when we were ten Shawn. You can't seriously expect Lassiter to eat at that kind of restaurant."

"First off Gus, you stopped going to Billy's when you were ten, not we. Second off, Lassiter insisted it be a place I was completely comfortable with and I like Billy's."

Gus's reply was interrupted by Lassiter's car pulling up on the street.

"He's here," Shawn announced, jumping up from his chair and stretching before he went out to meet Lassiter at his car.

Gus stood where he was as his best friend slammed the door shut behind him. Was this going to turn out badly? Knowing Shawn, if it didn't hell would be very cold.

BTTI

"Hey Lassi," Shawn greeted happily as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Spencer," Carlton greeted with clenched teeth, still telling himself to calm down. "Where am I going?"

"Billy's" Shawn answered, giving nothing else away with his expression.

"Is that the restaurant with the clowns?" Carlton asked, already knowing the answer would be 'yes'. His niece had a birthday party at Billy's once … or maybe it was a nephew. No, that wasn't right. He never talked to his family enough to know that. Ah, it was his neighbor's snot-nosed kid's birthday party. That was back in his old house, when he was still happily married. Well, apparently not happily … he had thought so, but normally happily married couples don't get divorces.

"You've gotta love the clowns. Did you know that I've always had a soft spot for balloon animals? … Ever since I can remember," Shawn answered, knowing that they wouldn't be eating at Billy's now.

"No, I didn't," Carlton answered, stalling for time. God, Carlton hated clowns … and kids … and parents … well … and most people in general … but the people he hated most were clowns, kids, and parents. But then that was why people thought he was a lunatic, right? That was why people didn't like him, right? Did normal people like clowns? … And runny-nosed kids? … And obnoxious parents? Well, Spencer did, and people liked Spencer. Spencer wasn't a lunatic. God, Spencer claimed he was a psychic and had seizures every time he had a so-called vision and he still wasn't considered a lunatic. He didn't know why people liked Spencer, but they did. He didn't know what made people think Spencer was even a little sane, but they did. Okay, he could do this. He dealt with murder and got paid for it. This wouldn't be that difficult. "Is it on Roosevelt?" he asked, already starting to take off.

"Lincoln, actually," Shawn corrected, surprised that Lassi was going to go sit in a restaurant full of clowns and kids and parents. Lucky for him he hid it excellently and Lassiter didn't seem to notice anything odd.

Lincoln, right. He should have guessed; he hated most buildings on Lincoln. He was starting to think it might have been the President he hated so much. But it did have a good shoe store. Only problem was it was in between a playground and a pregnancy store. God, he hated pregnant woman … less than kids, but more than Lincoln (the ex-president). … A lot more than Lincoln. He only went to that shoe store once before he vowed never to go anywhere near Lincoln (the road) again. Now he was breaking that vow in order to get people to like him more. God, he was pathetic.

"Oh, oh, right there. Park right there," Shawn directed, pointing to an uninhibited parking space along Lincoln.

Carlton took the advice, noting that it wasn't even five yards from Billy's. Well, at least he didn't have much of a chance of running into anyone to hate on his walk inside. He was snapped out of his thoughts when his door opened without his guidance. He was reaching for his gun before he even realized that he hadn't brought it with him. Damn, he really should have.

"You coming or not?" Shawn asked, holding the door open; he was already on the street. When had that happened?

Carlton nodded, trying to snap himself out of his thoughts. Now was a time for watching and observing, not thinking and contemplating. He pulled himself out of his seat and onto the street; Shawn shutting his car door behind him.

"Wait, Lassi stop," Shawn commanded, grabbing the other man's arm before they walked another step. "That guy's going to steal that woman's purse," he predicted, pointing out the two people. He could see it clearly. The man was obviously following her, waiting for the right moment.

Before Carlton could accuse Spencer of being a fake psychic the man had grabbed the woman's purse and rushed passed them. Spencer jumped right into action with Carlton quickly following suit. The Head Detective instantly reached for his gun on instinct again before he remembered that he left it at home for the second time in less than a minute. Damn, he really should have brought it.

Fortunately, Shawn was used to not depending on a gun. He had other ideas. They weren't well thought out, but they were ideas none-the-less. As soon as he was close enough to the purse-snatcher he lunged at his feet, making the criminal trip and making Shawn land head first onto the sidewalk.

Damn, Carlton didn't bring his cuffs either. He didn't think that normal people would bring them to dinner. Shit. "Spencer, you okay?"

"Yeah." Shawn's answer was a little muffled, but he sounded okay enough.

"Get a better hold on him, I'm going to call the police department."

"Oh, I already did that, sir," said … oh God … a pregnant woman.

"Thank you," Carlton said with a tight smile, trying to hide his irritation. Spencer was nice to everyone. He had to be more like him.

"Thank you so much for getting my purse back," another woman said. It was the woman whose purse was stolen, and, oh look, she had a kid. Well, wasn't this fun. "If there's anything I could do to repay you …"

"No need," Carlton insured when really he wanted to say 'I'll be repaid enough if you just leave me alone.' But he never said that. He knew better. He may have been a lunatic, but he would never purposefully make a bad name for the station.

"Really, sir, I mean it, anything, just name it. If it's in my power …" the woman insisted. God, what would make her leave?

"It's part of the job title, ma'am," Carlton answered before he realized that she didn't know he was a police officer. In a desperate attempt to stop a conversation about careers from forming he directed the attention to Spencer. "Spencer, you okay? You hit the sidewalk hard. Let me see your face."

Shawn heard a police siren as he lifted his face up to meet Lassiter's gaze.

"Jesus," Carlton grumbled when he saw Spencer's face. One more thing he had to do. The left side of the guy's face was a bloody mess. It didn't look too bad though. It was probably just a lot of small cuts. It'd be fine once his face was wiped down. Well, one good thing about a playground was that there was always a first aid station nearby.

"Come on Spence," Carlton commanded, getting up and grabbing Spencer's elbow to pull the other man up with him. The police officer was already strapping the purse-napper in handcuffs; there was nothing else to be done. He walked off towards the first aid station, not letting go of Spencer's elbow and not bothering to say anything to the pregnant woman or the woman with the child.

Shawn grinned when he looked back at the two women. He waved, trying to say 'your welcome' and 'it was no biggie' without actually saying it as he was dragged off to somewhere that wasn't Billy's. "Uh, Lassi, you're going the wrong way."

"We're going to first aid," Carlton bit out, not explaining anymore and not needing to. Yeah, this was a bad idea. As he glared at all the brats in his way and successfully scared them off he idly wondered how much Spencer would bug him if he just shoved the other man to the ground, ran to his car, and drove home. … And if all of Spencer's jokes about it later would be worth the avoided dinner. Probably not. But already Carlton knew he would never do this again.

Shawn couldn't see. Blood was in his eyes and he was starting to see stars. Stumbling should have been expected, but not as much as he was doing. "Ah, Lassi, I think … ah … something's wrong," he got out before he fell into blackness.

"Damn it," Carlton swore. A concussion; grade three. He'd have to go to the hospital now. Well, the first aid station was still a good place to start. Damn, didn't Spencer know the warning signs for a concussion?

Carlton swung around, only now realizing the problem in getting Spencer to the first aid station. He still held the fake psychic's elbow, but the rest of the other man's body was crumbled to the ground. How much did Spencer weigh? Would he be able to carry him? It wasn't too far. Okay, best way to do this would be to just pick him up in a fireman carry. Yeah, he could do this.

And he did … easily. Spencer was surprisingly lightweight. The best part of it was that the brats got out of his way faster than before. Maybe he should carry Spencer everywhere. Yeah, build up muscles and scare kids away. Of course, Spencer would have to be unconscious the entire time. He couldn't stand carrying him if the man could talk. God, he got a headache just thinking about it.

"Oh my God! Is he alright?" the woman in the first aid station asked as soon as she saw Carlton carrying Spencer. Oh, thank God, she was neither pregnant nor was there a kid anywhere near her.

"Concussion," Carlton answered, laying Spencer down on about ten or fifteen chairs. It didn't work too well. They were made especially for small children and only supported a half-side of Spencer.

"I'm sorry. Would it be too much trouble if you held him?" the first aid attendant asked. "I'm afraid we're not too used to getting adults in here."

Carlton picked Spencer back up (this time bridal style, much to Carlton's disgust), trying not to glare at the woman. Spencer really wasn't heavy and there wouldn't be any problem as long as he didn't wake up. And … oh look … he was waking up. Wasn't that fantastic?

"Hey Lassi," Shawn mumbled. "I can't feel my legs."

The first aid attendant was immediately alarmed "Can you feel this?" she asked, poking his leg.

"Oh, there's my leg. I thought it was below me. Okay, I can feel it fine now," Shawn answered groggily. He raised his head up slightly, looking across at where his leg was lying across from him and smiled. "Hello Leg," he greeted happily, "I thought you had left me … left leg left me … Was that a pun?"

"State your name," the first aid attendant instructed.

"Well that's rude. Manners say you have to introduce yourself first," Shawn replied, still sounding groggy.

The first aid attendant looked at Carlton, silently asking what to do. Carlton just shrugged; as if he knew how to handle Shawn Spencer.

"My name's Maria Nimpha," the attendant introduced. "Now it's your turn. What's your name?"

"Shawn Spencer," Shawn answered without hesitation. He had already known the first aid attendant's name; he had seen her nameplate on her desk the moment he woke up. He had just stalled so he could have the time to think about what his name was. Luckily he had remembered in time. Things were starting to come back to him though. And he had known who Lassiter was right away, that was good, right?

"Where are you?" Maria asked as she wet a cloth at the sink and began gently wiping the blood off of her patient's face.

Shawn took a quick look around while making sure both Lassiter and Maria registered it. "In a first aid station."

Again Maria shifted her gaze to Carlton, as if blaming him for her Shawn's answers.

"Damn it Spencer, answer the question," Carlton demanded. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to go home. When the hell did he ever think this might have been a good idea?

"Are we still going to dinner?" Shawn asked, ignoring Lassiter's frustrations in favor of enjoying himself.

"I will pay for your God damn dinner if you just answer the God damn questions," Carlton bargained. He was never good at negotiating. He got too irritated too quick.

"Santa Barbara," Shawn answered. "Can we get out of here soon? I'm hungry."

"What day of the week is it?" Maria asked, ignoring Shawn's questions as she cleared the last traces of blood off his face.

"My question first," Shawn demanded, jokingly even though it did have a certain serious edge to it.

"Spencer!" Carlton interrupted, reminding the psychic of the deal. God, here he was holding Shawn Spencer and he was actually purposefully bringing attention to himself.

"Wednesday," Shawn answered, not used to not getting his way.

"Who's the President?" Maria asked, dropping the now bloody cloth in the sink.

"A complete idiot," Shawn answered. "Done?" He wiggled, trying to make Lassiter let go of him, but it wasn't doing much good.

And yet again Maria looked up at Carlton, blaming him for what Shawn was saying.

"That's not a correct answer?" Carlton asked. He had to admit it, that particular joke was funny. He wouldn't be admitting it to anyone but himself anytime soon though. "Is he okay or should I take him to the hospital?"

"Obviously taking him to the hospital would be the safest choice. You can probably afford to eat first though. Just make sure to take it easy. You could be in some serious trouble if he bumps his head again," Maria said as she opened her door and let them outside. "Make sure to go to the hospital when you're done with dinner," she called out as a reminder.

"Lassi, you know, I appreciate you carrying me but-"

"Right," Carlton interrupted before the other man could burst into one of his speeches in order to listen to himself talk. He let go of Spencer's legs and relieved himself of the extra weight his arms had been holding for far too long.

"Thanks Lassi," Shawn said, stopping when he realized he had nothing else to say. There was a reason Lassiter had asked him to dinner. That would have been obvious to anyone. The real question was 'what was it'? Shawn couldn't figure it out and it was starting to frustrate him. Well, if worse came to worse he could always blame the fact that he couldn't figure it out on the concussion.

And luckily the walk wasn't a long one. Soon clown waiters and noisy kids and angry parents interrupted the slightly awkward silence. Though Shawn was sad to learn that they no longer had comics on their tabletops. But maybe that was a good thing. It might have been one of those last straw things for Lassiter. He was looking pretty uncomfortable.

TBC