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.)


Don't You (Forget About Me)

*This chapter takes place at the end of season 3 episode 2: Murder?... Anyone?... Anyone?... Bueller?

** The accompanying song is Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds


Out of all the things she could have thrown onto her fabulous figure, Shawn couldn't believe Juliet had shown up to his high school reunion in that god-awful, barbie-doll-pink, reject prom dress.

"Thanks again for the help, Jules!" he shouted over the music as he got into the groove, choosing to ignore the fashion fail and focus on the fact that she'd arrived to assist with absolutely no notice instead. Her ugly dress aside, he was more grateful to her than he had words for and reminded himself to express that gratitude before night's end.

A thank you really wasn't enough; maybe he'd get her a case-cracked cookie to celebrate as well.

"Lassie never wants to play nice unless he gets all the credit!" he continued.

"Yeah, what was his deal tonight?" she called back, both twisting and shouting, her long blonde hair whipping behind her as she did. "I didn't expect to see him here on his night off!"

"Me neither!" Gus agreed as he bopped along with dance moves that should have been left in the nineties, and Shawn stifled his laugh, knowing it was better to save it for later than to take the mickey out of his friend now, what with the evening having been what it had.

"I dunno. Weird night for him, having to arrest his own date. Did anybody see him take off?" he asked nobody in particular, stopping as the song ended and turned into the 'Cadillac Ranch.'

The psychic had been hoping the Head Detective would pass on being the booking officer, it being his official day off and all.

Hoping that he might instead have some interest in staying to play with his pals.

Hoping he might stay to play with Shawn.

Wishful thinking.

Idiot boy.

Shifting positions, Juliet and Gus also paused; Jules effortlessly, Gus notsomuch.

"I think I saw him leave when they took Howie and Eileen back to the station," the pharmaceutical rep offered, an answer Shawn really didn't want to hear.

"Yeah, he said he wanted to be there when they book them. It's not often Carlton volunteers for paperwork," Juliet said, kicking her legs, first heel then toe, showing off skills Shawn hadn't seen since their American Duos debacle. He'd almost forgotten how graceful she was; a skill neither he nor Gus could ever hope to achieve. Well, maybe Gus could, but only while wearing tap shoes. "You think he's mad at you?"

"He's always mad at Shawn," Gus laughed, looking at Juliet's feet to guide him. Trying to fake rhythm to the vintage country bop tougher than it had at first seemed, he obviously had no idea what he was doing. It sure was fun to watch him try, though.

"He is not!" Shawn protested, rubbing his fingers against the fine hairs at the nape of his neck and pouting. "Well... maybe on days that end in 'y'."

The statement was true, unfortunately. Especially these days, where if he managed to corner the man, all Shawn got was a bitchy detective and an order to go away.

"What did I do this time anyhow?" he asked, feigning innocence, knowing exactly what he had done but having far more fun playing dumb. Besides, they didn't know what he had done, and he couldn't wait to hear the answer his friends came up with.

"Well… you did interrupt his date with a murder investigation," Juliet said plainly, her heels clicking together in tandem with the rest of the graduating class of 1995 as she replied.

"That's not my fault!" Shawn squawked in denial. "When murder is afoot we must run and catch it!"

Laughing at him silently, his friends looked at each other and shook their heads.

"So, let me get this straight…" Gus started, and Shawn chuckled, knowing there was nothing straight about the situation. Lassie might not be gay, but the way he had kissed Shawn was proof that there was an attraction there, which made the whole thing bi, at least. "You think Lassiter was cool with you interrupting his date?" Gus continued, clearly curious as to where his friend was going with his train of thought.

"Pretty sure he was more okay with it than he let on," the pseudo-psychic smirked, recalling the ridiculous series of events that had occurred over the course of the evening. Not only ridiculous, but incredibly enlightening events - ones which had informed him of things he hadn't been entirely sure of before.

Juliet raised a perfectly sculpted yet questioning eyebrow.

"What makes you say that?" she pondered.

Oh, just the way I caught Lassie staring at my mouth when I told him we had a murder to solve, Shawn thought, snickering to himself as he reminisced. Or the fake smile on his face as he said it was the best date he'd been on in a while.

He smiled knowingly.

How 'bout the way he leaned in closer than he needed to when he asked me about where the sabre-toothed dead guy was?

Gus stepped in, unconsciously saving Shawn from his own mouth, about to accidentally betray a confidence he shouldn't.

"Must be that he knows Lassiter would never willingly date a fraud, no matter how desperate he is."

Shawn deflated a little at the words.

Which is why I should forget about my kiss with Lassie altogether.

"You know that's right," Shawn agreed, voice small as the thought brought him crashing down.

Shawn was knew he had to stop obsessing over his lip-lock with Lassiter. It wasn't healthy, and based on the fact that Lassie hadn't brought it up since, it was hard to believe it would ever happen again. But it had become the most prevalent thought in his head - a thought with the potential to take over his life if he let it - and he found himself thinking of the way the cop's mouth pressed against his own with almost every waking minute, his eidetic memory flashing it before him in technicolor.

It was just...

Lassie had always been vocal in his opinion of Shawn's 'abilities'. Extremely vocal, in fact; the cop taking every chance he could to castigate him over his claim.

Yet, for reasons unknown, he had sucked face with the psychic anyhow.

It made Shawn think, and in the moment he took between steps to do so, he recalled what his father had said - that what defined him was the choice he made in the moment - and how it could apply just as well to Snarly Carly as it could to Juliet or Abigail. Maybe even more so, neither fine female making his heart pitter-patter like it had after his and Lassie's round of tonsil-hockey.

Neither fine female currently being featured in his nocturnal emissions.

So what choice did he want to make? Where did he want his life to go?

As much as he had once wished otherwise, Juliet had made it clear that she wasn't ready to go beyond flirting at this point, if ever, and it almost made him feel bad for how hard he'd tried. When he'd first met her, Shawn had hoped that their chemistry would ignite, but she seemed afraid to start something, so instead it fizzled where there should have been flames. He had a feeling that they could share something special if ever they had the chance, but he just couldn't see himself waiting for her forever if she was never going to be sure. And that was okay. She was allowed her feelings, and even if she wasn't going to share, he wasn't going to begrudge her them. But uncertainty was something he had never learned to deal with well, the idea feeling like a threat to his survival. In his opinion, if you didn't know, you should try, action guaranteeing your answer and freeing you from the hell that was limbo. She wasn't willing, and that proved that deep down, they weren't as compatible as Shawn has hoped they'd be.

Speaking of waiting around forever, Shawn had also once thought he would love the chance at a relationship with Abigail. This time it was he who was afraid - afraid that she might never be more than a fantasy, his own manic pixie dream girl. He hated that term, hated the fact that it was possible he was projecting his adolescent self onto her, and hated that he would never find out without the risk of someone getting hurt. It was just like how they say you should never meet your idols in case they disappoint you.

Not that Abby would disappoint. That was Shawn's role, after all.

But back then, it had seemed like because he had wanted it so badly - wanted something normal so badly - it had only been destined to fail. Everything he did at that age was a failure, or at least that's what Henry had lead him to believe. So, if his non-relationship with Abigail had failed then, what hope did an actual relationship have for success now? His thirty-one year-old self was no less fearful of the situation than his seventeen year-old self had been, and adult life meant the stakes had been raised even higher, didn't it?

Maybe it was fate.

She had joked about waiting another ten years to see each other, after all. That had to mean something, his subconscious had screamed, honing in on her hesitance. And who knew what kind of trouble he could get up to in that time? Or how many missed moments could occur if he chose to wait for her like he had made her wait for him?

Besides, ten years or forever didn't matter when both felt like torture.

Shawn had spied Juliet in the crowd after his romantic movie-moment kiss with Abby, but it was really Lassie he had been looking for.

Maybe Lassiter had been a moment, he mused, his skin flushing at the thought.

Maybe there could be another...

"Think he tried to tell his date the dead clown story?" Shawn asked out of the blue, trying to revive the flagging conversation and happy when the song finally changed to Tears For Fears - music guaranteed to soothe his wounded soul.

Juliet shrugged, her hair in her face as she danced hiding her bemused expression.

"Hey, what the hell ever happened to that clown, anyhow?"


Carlton couldn't believe his luck.

His horrible fucking luck.

His first date in god knows how long and he stumbled into Spencer because of course it was his reunion Carlton had been dragged to.

How was it even possible? Did the universe have a vendetta against him or something?

It was almost unnerving, his inability to escape the man.

He'd been so excited, too, his date a foxy blonde he'd met at a concert – one who'd made the moves on him and not the other way around. It was so rare he'd thought she was joking at first, and when he realized she wasn't, he'd nearly jumped at the chance to go out with her. Though he'd originally thought it odd she'd suggested he join her at her reunion, the more he thought about it, the less it bothered him. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better it had made him feel about himself. Why wouldn't an attractive woman want to show him off, after all? A high school reunion was a place to brag about your successes, and he was the epitome of success, being a relatively good-looking cop with no kids and what he'd thought was minimal baggage.

He was starting to understand he was wrong about that last part, of course, but that's something she didn't know about and he hadn't planned on sharing. It wasn't as important as the many other awesome things about him. Hell, he wasn't just a cop, he was Head Freaking Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department! That was an occupation that was no easy feat to attain, and if that didn't say success, he didn't know what did. So, what did it matter if he hadn't been completely honest on their first and, keeping up with his current track record, only date? After all, she wasn't quite what she'd said she was either.

Who the hell has a thirteen-year high school reunion anyway? he thought, exasperated, tapping his pen against his desk and staring at the last of the paperwork needed to process the ex-prom queen and king turned killers.

Of course, Carlton never would have gone to the reunion had he not gone to the concert and that he could fault his sister for. He hadn't seen her it what seemed like eons and, having been feeling low, had taken her up on her offer to spend time together. But that was before realizing that what she had in mind was a Ravi Shankar concert. He would do anything for his baby sister, however, so figured that the quality time they shared would more than make up for the inevitable feeling of his ears bleeding out, the 'music' bound to assault his senses.

Alas, at the very last minute, Lauren had texted him with an insane story about big beached whales and big-wig billionaires and a big debacle that she didn't really want to get into, along with an apology because she was bailing on him to go film. She begged him to still attend and more importantly, because she knew he wouldn't without her ordering him to, try to have fun. Carlton loved his sister, and willing to forgive her anything, agreed to go and used his free ticket. He figured he could at least score 'best big brother' points by filling her in on what she'd missed, maybe even get her some video if he was able to avoid security at the Santa Barbara Bowl. If nothing else, the experience would net him a solo evening out, which he hadn't had in a long time and very much deserved.

It was better than another night of swilling scotch and cleaning his guns, anyhow.

Though he'd never admit it publicly, Carlton had accepted the date with 'Mindy Howland' for one other reason - a reason he didn't even want to admit to himself. Simply, he needed to get his mind off of Spencer and the very stupid thing he had done at the station the week prior. he didn't know what had come over him and honestly, didn't want to think of it, doing everything he could to distract himself from the memory. Unfortunately, the date had proven to be another stupid idea, although he couldn't fault it too hard. There was no possible way for him to know that the evening would turn out like it had.

No reason for him to think he'd spend the night stuck with the man causing his cognitive dissonance.

No reason to think Mindy would turn out to be a fraud.

What was it with liars and their attraction to the Lassiter clan, he wondered. His father had been the same, or so his mother had told him many a time, in rants far too inappropriate for his adolescent ears to hear. His sister had also had her fair share of fakers and fools, leaving a trail of losers in her wake. As for him - well, he was sure his ex-wife hadn't been honest, staying with him for far longer than she should have simply to spite her old man. It wasn't the greatest of feelings, so being stuck in the situation he currently found himself in created a hair-tearing type of frustration, running from a simmering attraction for one fake straight into the path of another.

Though he'd tried to avoid Spencer since his lapse in judgment, it was to less avail than he would have liked. Things were far easier when the psychic wasn't around, Carlton finding himself less inclined to resign to immaturity and impetuousness; the lack of goading and poking and prodding allowing him to remain his levelheaded self... the levelheaded self who was questioning what on god's green earth caused him to fall for Spencer's taunts and tangle tongues with the man in the first place.

The whole thing was just silly. Spencer represented so many things that Carlton despised, but the cop couldn't stop thinking of him no matter how hard he tried. He was also fairly sure he'd inadvertently lined himself up for mockery, expecting Spencer to spread the news like a human megaphone. It wasn't like the liar needed any more help humiliating him, and yet here Carlton was, handing him a 'How To' manual.

The cop shook his head at the thought, wishing he could leave for a drink and sighing in defeat instead. He should have just had McNab book the bastards, the time it took to do the deed making him desperately desire the near-full bottle of Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch he had sitting on the top shelf of his liquor cabinet at home. But he hadn't, and now he was stuck there on his night off, his perfect distraction becoming more of a pain in the ass with every minute that passed.

Maybe I've been hitting it a little hard this week, he considered, trying to staunch his craving with a sip of water. I should get up early and go fishing tomorrow. Get Spencer off my mind, the irritating little prick.

Spencer didn't made it easy though.

Nothing was ever easy where he was concerned. Not even crime-solving.

Carlton couldn't believe the other man had discovered a murder at his own damn reunion; at this rate it was a wonder Spencer could take a crap without finding a corpse on the john. It was like the man attracted trouble, which was another reason he needed to pull his head out of his ass and set himself straight. The feelings for the false prophet he found himself thrown by were a fluke. Nothing but a fluke, he kept telling himself.

But of course Spencer would find a way to ruin the first date Lassiter had been on in months.

And of course, he'd find a legitimate reason to do so.

Despite Carlton's insistence of no corpse, no case, Spencer had persisted. Finding both the body and the bad guys, he had made Carlton feel all the more a fool. But how the hell was he supposed to know that Spencer hadn't been full of it when the fake was such a natural at fucking up the his day? Carlton hadn't believed him at first, having thought it was a ploy to pull his attention away from his date and onto the psychic instead, an act entirely up the man's alley. But he should have, and now he was regretting he hadn't, just like when he'd found that fucking dinosaur.

Carlton had always had difficulties taking Shawn seriously and their unintended intimacy only added a thick tension that set him on edge. If it weren't for the ex-Mrs. Spencer peeling back the plaster he'd used to wall his proclivities in with, he was sure their lip-lock never would have happened in the first place. Had he not been feeling vulnerable, his veneer never would have cracked and Spencer wouldn't have been able to take advantage of his susceptible state. Or at least, that's what he was telling himself, false though the thought may be.

Carlton dropped his head in his hands, glad that he alone was privy to his thoughts, that lip-lock stuck in his mind.

Dammit. I shouldn't be thinking like that. He's a pest and a pain in my ass.

But his lips were softer than Carlton had imagined, and he was startled to find that he imagined them often.

That he, in fact, thought of Spencer almost all the time.

He remembered the whisper of stubble against his jaw as their tongues had intertwined.

The warm breath of the other man as he pulled away, eyes glazed and unfocused, drunk on passion.

He remembered his heart beating in time, dancing against Spencer's as they pressed against one another.

Every time he closed his eyes.

Every moment he had to himself.

Every time the psychic's name was said in passing…

He remembered.

For fucks sake.

Ignoring the chemistry between them was going to be impossible.