Author's Note: I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has left a comment on this fic. You guys are the best, and I really appreciate all of your kind words and encouragement! This story is actually finished, and I'll be posting the rest of it here within the next few days. Again, thank you for reading!
On Monday, Lassiter and Gus are both back at work and Shawn thinks maybe it's time he seriously got to work too. He calls to have the power and water turned back on at his dad's house, then, not giving himself time to think about it, calls Adam Hornstock's number and makes arrangements for lunch. Even though all he's done so far is make phone calls, he still feels like he's accomplished some things this morning, and that he probably deserves a delicious caffeinated beverage as a reward.
He didn't sleep much the night before. Or really at all, if he's being honest with himself. He had watched TV, rearranged all the books on Lassiter's bookcase by color, played twenty-seven games of spider solitaire on Lassie's laptop, stared at Lassiter sleeping for half an hour to see if he could wake him with the power of his mind (he couldn't), found the latest edition of Lassiter's crap list in his desk (which included one of the desk sergeants from the station, PETA, and Ryan Seacrest. Shawn added Chad Michael Murray to the list, just because) and finally broke down and read the case file Lassie had been working on. He didn't know who the killer was based on what he had read, but if he had still been a detective, he thought he would probably have some pretty good leads to start with.
But he's not a detective anymore.
He's mentally composing an ode capturing his love for the fries quatro queso dos fritos (Oh queso! Oh fritos! Is all he has so far) and not paying attention to where he's going when he bumps into someone coming out of the café where he's stopped to get a triple mocha with extra whipped cream.
"Sorry!" he starts to say, then stops short when he sees who's staring up at him in shock.
It's Juliet.
"Shawn!" she gasps, and then she has her arms wrapped around him in an almost painfully tight grip.
"Jules," he whispers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, stunned by the fact that she's hugging him instead of say, slugging him.
"Shawn, I've been so worried about you!" she says, and when she steps back to look at him, he can see unshed tears in her eyes. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, you know," he says weakly "here and there. Sort of a cross-country road trip. I needed…I thought it would be for the best if I got away for a little while."
Juliet looks down "I'm so sorry, Shawn."
Shawn stares at her, flabbergasted. "Sorry for what, Jules? You didn't do anything wrong."
"Your father had just died! I should have—"
"Should have what? Immediately gotten over how I'd been lying to you for years?" Shawn asks dryly. "Come on Jules, I deserved to have you dump me. I would have dumped me too."
"Still," she says unhappily, "my timing could have been better."
Shawn shrugs. "That's just the way it played out. I knew when I told you that I was pretty much putting the kibosh on our relationship."
She nods sadly. "So, you're back in town for good?"
"I don't know about for good, but for now, anyway. I need to figure out what to do with the house. Hey," he says, attempting to change the subject. "I heard about your new job! Congratulations! You're like Samuel Gerard and Raylan Givens now, a total badass."
"Thanks! It's been really challenging, but also amazing. Who told you? Have you been down to the station?"
Too late, Shawn realizes he's stepped into dangerous territory. "Noooo" he says. "Actually, Lassie told me."
Juliet raises her eyebrows. "You've been to see Carlton? You're very brave, Shawn."
Oh, Shawn knows he should tell her. He knows it's the right thing to do. But he hates upsetting people. He likes making people laugh, he likes making Jules laugh, and he can't picture her laughing if he tells her that he and Lassie are totally rockin' each others worlds on a semi-nightly basis.
Well, she might laugh out of disbelief, but after that he's afraid she might not see any humor in the situation.
So instead of telling her, he just grins and says "Aww, you know Lassie. He's all bark and no bite."
Juliet winces. "Never let him hear you say that," she advises.
Her phone rings and she glances at the display, then gives him an apologetic look. "Work. I have to go. But hey, I'm glad I ran into you Shawn. I'm glad to know that you're doing okay."
She hugs him again, a little awkwardly this time, and Shawn whispers into her hair "It was really good to see you, Jules. Be careful out there, okay?"
She gives him a little wave as she drives off, and after she's out of sight, Shawn drops into a chair at one of the little outdoor tables. That had gone better than he thought it might, but he knows that she's going to be pissed when she finds out the truth about him and Lassie and realizes that he lied to her AGAIN. Merely a lie of omission, maybe, but still. He has no doubt that she will find out; Lassiter is very nearly incapable of deception and wouldn't be interested in deceiving Juliet even if he could.
Unlike Shawn of course, who deceived her for years, and kept right on deceiving her after they were dating, sleeping together, and even flirting with the idea of moving in with each other. The night he told her the truth – the night before Henry's funeral, when he was still in a daze and it had all come pouring out as he tried to explain to her all the friction in his relationship with his dad – was one of the worst nights of his life. Well, to be fair, that entire week had won the prize for worst week ever before he even thought about opening up to Juliet, eclipsing his parent's divorce and every single one of his legendary fights with Henry, but that night in particular had been horrible, because he had seen how much it hurt Jules to know that she had been lied to, and he had known that he had no one to blame for that except himself.
The instant after he had told her the truth, when he had seen the betrayal on her face, he had remembered all the times she had looked at him with amazement when he solved a case, and affection when he teased her, and love when they lay in bed together, and he knew that he had lost all of that forever, and worst of all, that he deserved to lose it.
He rubs a hand over his face, willing the memories away. He still has to meet Adam for lunch, and was planning after that to go back out to the house and make sure everything was working again, so that he could start cleaning up and packing things away in earnest.
Trying to be a responsible adult sucks. He's starting to remember why he avoided it for so long.
At least seeing Adam again doesn't come with any unpleasant or uncomfortable associations. Shawn takes in his well-pressed suit, his shiny shoes, his stylish tie, and his neat haircut and grins.
"Dude, being a partner agrees with you!"
"Shawn, hi!" and for all of his professional polish he still looks as eager to please as a puppy dog. "I was so happy to hear you were back in town," he says as they sit down at the table in the little sandwich shop. "How are you?"
"I'm great!" Spying the wedding ring on Adam's finger, he steers the conversation away from himself. "What the hell, man? How long have you been married?"
"Almost three years now. She's a lawyer too."
They make small talk over lunch, then Adam pulls a file out of his briefcase.
"I was really sorry to hear about Henry, Shawn. I liked him a lot."
"Thanks," Shawn says awkwardly. "Gus said that he made a will? I mean, we had talked about it before. Dad believed in being prepared. He told me the house would be mine, so I've been assuming it is. You're not going to tell me that he really left it to a band of traveling mimes or anything, are you?"
"Nah, the house is yours. He left bequests to the Policeman's Widows and Orphans fund and the local homeless shelter, which have already been distributed. There is also a savings account with some money. I mean, it's not buy your own island kind of money, but it might provide a bit of a cushion for a while."
Shawn takes the printout that Adam hands him and raises his eyebrows at the number. What Adam considers a "bit of a cushion" actually looks like a lot more than he expected. Enough at least to help Lassie pay off the credit card bills he had accrued from hotels and restaurants around the South, bills he had seen when he had been snooping around during his sleepless night, and still have more money than he's accustomed to left over.
"The house and all of its contents are yours, as is the truck. If you want to sell the house, I can get together a list of local real estate agents that my firm recommends."
"Yeah," Shawn says distractedly, still thinking about money. "That would be great, thanks."
"Hey Shawn, are you working on anything right now?"
"No. We closed Psych down, and I'm currently living in blissful unemployment."
"I was just thinking," Adam sounds nervous now, more like the Adam Hornstock that Shawn remembers "it seemed like a stroke of luck that you called this week. I'm starting a big trial on Wednesday, and I was wondering if you might be interested in consulting during the jury selection. This case means a lot to the firm, and I'd like to make sure all my bases are covered. I've never met anyone else who was as good at reading a jury as you."
"What kind of case is it?"
"It's a civil case involving unsafe working conditions at a local construction company."
Shawn thinks for a moment. Not a murder, or a mystery at all. A chance to do something that would be distracting and give him a chance to practice his observation skills.
"Yeah," he says, "I would like that."
Adam's face lights up with a grin. "Awesome! It's going to be great working with you again."
He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out another file. "I brought all the information, just in case you said yes. I'll call you tomorrow and answer any questions, but I've got a meeting with the other partners in fifteen minutes, so I need to run."
After Adam leaves, Shawn goes to the house again, staying only long enough to make sure the lights are working. As stressful as being here with Gus the day before had been, it was still better than being in the house alone. With no distractions, he's overwhelmed by memories. He resolves not to come back until Lassiter or Gus can come with him.
As he's leaving, he realizes that Henry's truck isn't in the driveway and makes a note to ask Lassie if he knows where it is.
He calls Gus to see if he might be able to sneak out of work early, but his call goes straight to voicemail, so he heads back to the condo, feeling at loose ends. He considers taking a nap, probably SHOULD take a nap since he didn't sleep the night before, but he feels wired. He looks over the file Hornstock gave him, committing the pertinent facts of the case to memory, then watches TV until Lassiter comes home.
"Hi honey," he says facetiously as Lassie comes in. "Did you have a good day at work?"
Lassiter drops his briefcase and wisely chooses to ignore Shawn's weak Donna Reed imitation.
"I'm going to change clothes, and then we can grab some dinner if you want."
"Sounds good," Shawn says, as Lassie disappears into the bedroom. "I have stuff to tell you," he adds, thinking of Jules and Hornstock and money.
There's a knocking at the door, and Lassiter is still in the bedroom, so Shawn shrugs and goes to see who it could be. The person on the other side is already talking as he opens the door.
"I'm really sorry to stop by without calling, but…Shawn? What are you doing here?"
"Jules! Um, what a surprise."
Shawn briefly entertains a fantasy in which he manages to convince Jules that he and Lassie are wacky platonic roommates, like Laverne and Shirley or Joey and Chandler. Not that Shawn believes that either of those pairs was platonic, of course, but that's beside the point.
Unfortunately, Jules is smart and unlikely to believe any crazy Three's Company style misunderstanding plots he can dream up on the fly.
Juliet is blinking up at him in confusion. "Oh god, Shawn, Lassiter's here isn't he? You didn't break into his apartment, did you?"
Shawn feels like he should probably be insulted by that, but, well, it wouldn't be the first time he had ever broken into Lassie's place. The man had good taste in peanut butter, and an excellent cable package.
"No Jules," he says reassuringly, "Lassie's here. Come on in."
She comes in, but still looks puzzled. He can see her taking in the fact that he's not wearing shoes, that he's holding a half empty beer bottle, and frowns. "Is Carlton letting you stay here? Why aren't you staying with Gus?"
"Spencer, would it kill you to pick up a towel occasionally?" Lassiter is grumbling as he comes back into the room, stopping dead as he sees that they have a visitor. "O'Hara! What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry Carlton, I should have called. I thought I would see if you had plans for dinner. I didn't realize…" she trails off uncertainly.
"Jules and I ran into each other this morning," Shawn says, looking at Lassie because his mild panic is easier to face than Juliet's growing awareness. "I told her that I had seen you, so she's here to find out what you know about where I've been."
"It's not always all about you, Shawn!" Juliet snaps. "But…yes. That's essentially right. What's going on here, guys?"
"O'Hara, maybe you should sit down. Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you. I think I'm a little confused. Is Shawn staying with you, Carlton? And you haven't killed him yet?"
Shawn goes to where Lassie keeps the Scotch and pours a glass for Lassiter, who definitely needs it, and for Juliet, who he thinks is probably going to need it in a few minutes.
Poor Lassie looks like a deer caught in the headlights; his typical brusqueness seems to have abandoned him when it comes to dealing with this particular situation, so Shawn figures that it's up to him to get the ball rolling, even though all of his instincts are rebelling against the idea of telling Jules a truth that will likely upset her when it would be so much easier to tell her a lie that would make her happy.
"I wasn't doing so hot after I left town," he tells her, navigating her onto the sofa and sitting in the chair across from her. "I traveled all over the place, and took a lot of odd jobs, which was fine, but I was also drinking way too much and having a hard time coping with things. I ended up in Atlanta, where I ran into Declan Rand, who I guess was there on business. To be honest, I don't remember that much about seeing him. I know I was a total asshole to him, tried to pick a fight with him, but that's all I remember."
Lassiter is staring at Shawn curiously. "Declan didn't tell me that," he says. "All he said was that you looked like hell, and that you'd obviously been drinking a lot."
"Man," Shawn says, disgusted, "that guy is too nice to be real. He secretly has to be a serial killer or something."
"So wait," Juliet says, "Declan called you, Carlton?"
Lassiter sits down beside her. "Yeah. He was worried about Shawn, and he didn't have Guster's number, and he thought calling you might be awkward, so he called me."
"So your vacation, the trip to Georgia…"
"Well, I did do a lot of sightseeing. That was true. But the reason I went was to find Shawn."
"But WHY? I mean, no offense Shawn, but Carlton has spent years wishing you would disappear. And Shawn, you've spent years doing your best to irritate and annoy him. You two don't even like each other!"
Shawn scratches his head and looks at the floor. "Well Jules, that's the thing. Do you remember that night we got tipsy on pina coladas and I told you that I was kind of bisexual?"
"Of course, but what…" she stops, looks from Shawn to Lassiter, then back to Shawn again.
"No. No way! Is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke," Lassiter says, a little more grimly than Shawn thinks is necessary.
"Oh my god," Juliet says, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "This explains so much."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lassiter asks, exasperated.
"All the touching, and picking at each other, and competitiveness…you were flirting with each other! I can't believe I didn't see it. How blind could I be?"
She gets up and paces across the room as Shawn and Lassiter exchange worried looks.
"When did this start?" she asks.
"Not until Atlanta. You know I would never have cheated on you, Jules."
She turns to him, her mouth turned down in an unhappy line. "How do I know that, Shawn? You lied to me every day we were together."
Shawn blanches and looks at the floor. It's not like he has an argument to refute her.
"There was nothing to start until Atlanta," Lassiter says firmly, standing up to move closer to Juliet. "I didn't know this was something I even wanted until…until Shawn left. I know you have good reason to not trust him, but I hope you still trust me, and that you can find a way to be okay with this. I hope you know how much I value our friendship."
Juliet takes a deep breath, looking from Shawn to Lassiter.
"I do trust you, but I'm going to need a little time here, Carlton. This is all just a little weird, my former boyfriend with my former partner, plus there's the time you and I almost slept together. It's a lot to get used to."
"Jules, I know it's strange and awkward, but…wait. What?"
"I think I need to leave," Juliet says, ignoring him. "I'll call you, Carlton. Just give me some time."
"Juliet!" Lassiter says imploringly, but she's already out the door. He drops back onto the sofa and leans his head back in defeat.
Shawn moves to sit beside him companionably. "That could have gone worse."
"Could it have?" Lassie sounds a little despondent.
"She didn't draw her weapon," Shawn points out. "Nothing was thrown and nobody cried. She even said she would call you later. I count it as a win."
"I think your optimism is misplaced," Lassiter says dryly, "but thanks anyway."
"So, you and she almost slept together, huh?"
Lassiter tilts his head so that he's facing Shawn. "It happened after you left, and is none of your business."
"Nooo, I'm not letting you off that easy. I'm going to need details. If you don't tell me, I'm just going to imagine something probably way dirtier than what actually happened."
"Fine. Imagine away."
Shawn gets a faraway, dreamy expression on his face. "It was late at night at the station. Everyone was gone except for you and Jules and Officer Muskowitz at the front desk. As you worked well into the wee hours, you couldn't help but notice the fair Juliet's shiny hair and breast-shaped breasts."
"Oh god, please stop," Lassiter moans in horror, covering his eyes with one hand like he can block out Shawn's words that way.
When Shawn continues, it's in a gruff imitation of Lassiter's voice. "'O'Hara,' you said, 'I've always admired the way you collate and file your paperwork, and the way you handle your gun gives a man ideas'." He switches to his high-pitched girl voice for Juliet's dialogue. "'Oh Carlton, I've waited so long for you to notice! Take me, take me here on your desk you big strong hunk of a detective! Oh yes, just like that you beast!'"
"We were drunk and we made out on her sofa!" Lassiter interrupts hastily. "Are you happy now?"
"I couldn't be happier," Shawn assures him, pleased to see that Lassie looks more amused than pissed off, and definitely more relaxed than he had been after Jules left.
"Like we would ever do that at the station," Lassiter mutters.
"So you were on a sofa, like this one, huh?" Shawn asks, patting the cushions beside him. "Tell me more! I need details. Were you lying down or sitting up? Oooh, or maybe something like this?" he asks, and in one fluid move he's straddling Lassiter, delighted because he can tell from the expression on Lassie's face that he guessed right.
"Spencer, I'm not in the—"
"Not in the mood?" Shawn interrupts. He can already feel Lassiter starting to get hard underneath him. "Please. You're so in the mood."
Lassiter lets out a frustrated breath. "Shawn, what are you doing?" he asks softly.
"I think that should be obvious, Lassiekins! I'm…" he trails off as Lassiter looks at him seriously, and ugh, it's a little scary how good Lassiter has gotten at reading him.
"I'm trying to distract you," he admits. "I'm trying to distract myself. Seeing Jules this morning threw me for a loop, but I thought I was over it. Having her come here tonight, though…she's right," he says, looking away, because he doesn't want to see Lassiter's expression as he says this, "She shouldn't trust me. You shouldn't either. I'm just a fuck-up, Lassie."
He thinks he should get up and leave; he hates self-pity, and he knows Lassiter must too, but Lassie's hands are tight on his hips now, preventing him from getting up.
"Don't be an idiot, Spencer," he snaps, and when Shawn looks at him again, irritation is plain on his face.
"Sorry," Shawn says, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, "Let me go and I'll take my pity party somewhere else."
"Don't be an idiot," Lassiter repeats, gently this time, moving one hand up to cup the back of Shawn's head and pull him down for a kiss, and oh, it's so good. Lassiter is always so serious and focused, qualities that Shawn had never before considered to being integral to kissing, but as it turns out, he was mistaken; the intensity that Lassiter brings to the act makes it a whole new kind of fun.
He grinds down on Lassiter's lap, moaning at the friction, and starts pulling at the buttons of Lassie's shirt only to find himself flat on his back as Lassiter flips them around so that they're stretched out on the sofa with Lassiter on top. He's not sure what this is; pity sex or comfort sex or just good old-fashioned "I'm horny, let's have sex" sex, but he figures that it probably doesn't matter. He's not going to look a gift fuck in the mouth.
"You're the best cheerer-upper ever," Shawn gasps, as Lassie bites at his neck and tugs at the fly of Shawn's jeans.
"I try," Lassiter says modestly, as he pushes Shawn's jeans and boxers down and wraps his hand around Shawn's cock.
"Oh god," Shawn breathes out. Before all of this, when the idea of him and Lassiter together was nothing more than an idle daydream, this had been one of his most consistent fantasies, Lassie's big, graceful hands jerking him off. The reality is way hotter than the fantasy. He digs his fingers into Lassie's biceps and bites his lip to keep from babbling declarations of eternal love; he's not sure Lassiter is ready for that from him yet, or sure that he's ready to leave himself that naked, metaphorically speaking. He's pretty good with literal nakedness, however.
Lassiter removes his hand and Shawn is about to lodge a protest, but the words die on his lips as - sweet holy pineapples - Lassiter's mouth descends on him, and Shawn has to turn his head because he can't bear to watch, torn between the twin desires of wanting to come and wanting to live in this moment forever. His whole world seems to center on Lassie's mouth, hot and wet, his tongue swiping across the head of Shawn's cock while his hand works the base, then slips lower to fondle his balls. Shawn wants to thrust up, but Lassiter's other hand is on his hip, keeping him firmly pinned down. When Lassiter slides his fingers back to tease at Shawn's opening, he finally loses it.
When he floats back down to earth a few minutes later, he finds that Lassiter is resting his head on Shawn's stomach but is starting to shift around uncomfortably.
"This couch isn't big enough for both of us," he mutters.
"Come 'ere," Shawn says, pulling at Lassiter's arm to urge him up so that they're face to face. He feels blissfully drained, like Lassie has sucked all the negative feelings out of him and left him an empty shell, waiting to be filled up with something new.
Man, orgasms make him sort of goofy.
He kisses Lassie, slow and warm, licking into Lassiter's mouth and tasting himself, which should maybe be disgusting (he and Gus had once had a drunken argument about this very thing, kissing after oral sex; Gus is anti while Shawn is very, very pro. After Gus had sobered up, he refused to acknowledge that the conversation had ever happened), but he thinks it's dirty in the best possible way. From the way Lassiter is moaning against his mouth, he seems to agree.
He can feel Lassiter's erection rock hard against his thigh, and he reaches down for Lassie's zipper, pulling him free of his pants and shorts and rubbing his palm across the tip so that his hand is slick with precome, then strokes his hand down, then up again. Lassiter buries his face against Shawn's shoulder, his breath hot even through Shawn's shirt. This is almost better than coming himself, Shawn thinks, making Lassie lose control like this.
Afterwards, Shawn thinks he should get up and find something to clean them up with; besides, Lassiter's right and the couch really is too small for both of them, but despite the fact that he's being squished into the back of the couch and his arm is starting to go numb from the angle it's trapped at between their bodies, he still feels like a limp noodle, and while Lassie is heavy, Shawn loves the feeling of being covered by him. After a few minutes though, Lassie sits up, reaching for a box of tissues on the coffee table to clean up with and fixing his clothes.
Shawn elects to stay where he is, though he does reach down to pull his jeans back up, because he wants to say something serious and he can't do that while he's half naked.
"I'm sorry I've screwed things up between you and Jules."
Lassiter leans back, pulling Shawn's legs across his lap. "Don't worry about it. I got over it when I found out you and she were dating, and she'll get over it too. It probably helps that we're not working together anymore."
"Jeez, I had forgotten that I caused a rift between the two of you before. Why do you like me again?"
Lassiter just pats him on the calf. "Do you want something to eat?"
"Maybe later. Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. I had lunch with Adam Hornstock today. He asked me to do some consulting work for him later this week. And he gave me a copy of Henry's will. There's a savings account with some money. I was thinking you could take some of it to pay off those credit card bills we racked up staying at all those hotels."
Unbelievably, Lassiter is scowling at him. "I can pay my own bills," he says stiffly.
"Um, I know you can, but you wouldn't have those particular bills if it weren't for me. Dude, are we going to fight about me trying to give you money? Usually the fights I have over money are because I sto—I mean, borrowed Gus's credit card and he wants me to pay him back. Which reminds me, I should probably give some of this money to Gus."
"It's your money, you can do whatever you want with it. I'm hungry, I'm going to get something to eat."
He gets up and goes to the kitchen. After a moment of trying to figure out what the hell just happened, Shawn follows him.
"I'm confused. I thought you'd be happy about this, not mad."
Lassiter pauses at the refrigerator, his back to Shawn. "I'm not mad," he says finally. "I just…I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything. I'm the one who decided to go looking for you in the first place, and I'm the one who took an extra week off to keep staying in hotels. I knew what I was doing."
"Not owe you anything? Lassie, I owe you everything," Shawn is behind him now, slipping his arms around Lassie's waist and resting his head on his back. "If it weren't for you, I'd be on job number 75 by now at least, that is, if I weren't in a drunken stupor somewhere."
"If it weren't for me," Lassiter points out, "you wouldn't have come back to Santa Barbara."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"It is if you're unhappy."
Shawn moves so that he's between Lassiter and the refrigerator, tilts his head up so that he can look Lassie in the eye. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's been hard being back here. But I was unhappy before you found me. At least here I have you and Gus."
All this earnestness is making him uncomfortable, so Shawn clears his throat and moves away. "Speaking of Gus, I should call him and see if he wants to go to the mall with me. I need something new to wear if I'm going to work for Hornstock this week."
Lassiter sighs and scratches his head, clearly wanting to talk about this more but unwilling to force the conversation. "Yeah. So tell me again what you're doing for Hornstock?"