Author's Note: Includes references to the events of the episode "He Dead", as well as references to "Murder by Something Something".
Shawn tried to cover his yawn so that his dad wouldn't see or hear it and stared blearily at the wall he was painting. He hadn't gotten much sleep over the last couple of days, as he had been busy staking out one Professor Jonathan Striker. It was for Lassie's own good, he reasoned; Lassie was susceptible to flattery, and it wouldn't do to have him fall for some sort of sleazy academic lothario who had complimented his eyes or his shoulders or his Union army costume.
And while Shawn could hardly fault Professor Stupidhead for falling for Lassiter's manly sternum bush or commanding cop voice or encyclopedic knowledge of Clint Eastwood movies, that didn't mean he should step aside and let him ruin Lassiter's life. Because that was totally going to happen. Shawn was certain that he was not at all irrational about this.
So far, all he'd found out was that Striker was a moderately well-liked professor on the local campus. Tough but fair, blah blah blah, and to Shawn's disappointment, he apparently didn't seduce co-eds or take bribes for grades, discoveries which frankly seemed highly unlikely. What kind of college professor was he? It was at times like this that he wondered if his lack of real world experience in college might be impairing his judgment, since most of his knowledge of professors came from episodes set during the college years of 90210 and One Tree Hill.
After his research turned up nothing, he had followed Professor Stinkybreath home, a modest two-story in a middle class cul-de-sac. It seemed like a lot of house for one person, but Shawn could see no evidence that he had a secret spouse, or secret children, or even a secret dog. After talking to the neighbors (introducing himself as Oscar O. Otterbaron, part of a committee that was giving Striker a Good Citizenship award), he learned that his quarry was quiet, polite, mowed his grass in a timely manner, and mostly kept to himself.
So, obviously, he was a serial killer, Shawn decided. He checked the house out for any unlocked windows or doors, so that he could rescue whatever victims Striker was clearly keeping in his basement, but found no easy way in, and spying a sticker from a security company in the window made him hesitate to break in.
That meant that his next step needed to be to follow the professor and Lassiter on their second date, to the historical society museum, a choice Shawn heartily approved of: no one was getting laid after spending the afternoon reading informational plaques and looking at dusty old antiques.
Still, they stood worryingly close to one another, and more than once Lassiter laughed at something Professor Suckington said. Shawn resented every one of those laughs; usually it was like pulling teeth to get Lassie to acknowledge a joke.
After the museum, he watched Lassiter and Striker eat dinner, hoping a baseball cap and his sunglasses were enough of a disguise. Fortunately, the two men were seated at the patio, so Shawn was easily able to keep an eye on them while sitting at a bus stop across the street. He had been frowning over how Lassiter was allowing Jonathan to hand him a roll from the bread basket - wasn't Lassie at all worried about poison? Or at least germs? - when his phone rang, and he automatically answered it.
"Shawn! Where are you?" Gus sounded agitated. Shawn had a bad feeling about this. "I'm, uh...where are you?" he asked, defensively.
"I'm at the office. You know, where we agreed to meet before going to the movies? I want popcorn, Shawn. AND raisinets. I planned my whole day around this, and unless you get here in the next three minutes, we're going to miss the trailers, so you better be on your way."
"Uh," Shawn said, "I'm sorry Gus, I forgot about the movie. I'm, uh, following a suspect."
In the restaurant across the street, Jonathan leaned forward, speaking animatedly, and laid a hand on Lassiter's arm. Shawn could feel his eyes narrowing in fury.
"A suspect?" Gus yelled, and Shawn pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Did you take a case without me?"
"No!" Shawn said hurriedly. "I mean...yes. Wait, no! It's not a case. It's just a favor for a friend."
"What friend?" Gus asked suspiciously.
The waiter brought the check, and Lassiter and Jonathan both reached for it, Lassiter ultimately winning. Good, Shawn thought, Lassie wouldn't be expected to put out because Professor Shithead bought him dinner.
"Shawn?" Gus asked, "what friend?"
"You don't know him," Shawn said.
"Who do you know that I don't know?"
Having paid, Lassiter and Jonathan were headed for the door. Shawn was going to have to get on his bike if he wanted to continue to follow them.
"I'm sorry buddy," he said to Gus, "I think my battery is about to die. I'll call you la-" he hung up in mid-word, to make his dead battery story more believable, not that Gus would actually believe it. After he was done stalking Lassiter for the night, he was going to have to come up with a good cover story for Gus.
To his horror, when Lassiter drove Striker home, Striker leaned across the front seat and kissed Lassie, making Shawn's stomach twist into knots. Afterwards, Striker said something, and Lassiter shook his head in response, and some of Shawn's tension eased a little as Striker walked to his front door alone and Lassiter drove away.
Shawn would not, after all, want Lassiter to go into what was obviously a crazed serial killer's den without proper warning.
He should have been checking up on them again today, but instead he was at his dad's house, painting. Shawn wasn't certain how Henry had convinced him to come over to the house and help him paint the kitchen; it probably had something to do with the way Henry had bailed him and Gus out of a Canadian jail, and therefore Shawn owed him a favor, but he was hazy on when he had agreed to spend his Saturday afternoon trapped in one room with his father, and now he was paying the price: slow death by a thousand tiny criticisms.
It had started the minute he had walked in the door. "Is that a new shirt, Shawn? Why would you wear a new shirt to paint in?" (it wasn't a new shirt, merely a clean one), and since then he had been chided for the way held a paintbrush, the way he stood on a ladder, how he had positioned the dropcloth, and a dozen other things that he had already forgotten.
He wondered if it was possible to actually die from too much criticism. He pictured the headline in the newspaper: "Local Psychic Detective Dies After Prolonged Exposure to Nagging". The accompanying story would read "Best friend Bruton Gaster was unavailable for comment, as he was crying too hard to speak, but grieving father Henry Spencer told reporters "Trust Shawn to pick the stupidest way to die possible". Head Detective Carlton Lassiter said that no charges were being filed, as "the victim had it coming". When asked if he had any comment about Mr. Spencer, who solved dozens of cases for the SBPD, Detective Lassiter replied that he was too busy making out with Professor Sexypants to waste any more time on "that fraud Spencer".
"Shawn!" Henry barked, "what are you thinking about? You've been painting that same spot for the past five minutes!"
"Just picturing my obituary," Shawn said glumly.
"What? What's going on with you today, kid? You seem down."
"Nothing's going on," Shawn said. "I guess I'm a little bored because Gus and I haven't had a case since Canada."
"You got into enough trouble in Canada to last you for a month," Henry sniffed.
"Thanks, dad, you always know just what to say."
"So what have you been up to? Are you still seeing that girl, the one you knew from high school?"
"Nah, that didn't work out."
"I should have known," Henry said. "You can't stick with anything, even a pretty girl."
"Actually, she dumped me, but I appreciate your concern," Shawn sniped.
There was a moment of silence before Henry said "I'm sorry, kid. I know you really liked her."
Maybe it was the note of honest concern in Henry's voice, but Shawn found himself doing the thing he had promised himself he would never, ever do (except for in emergencies): asking for his dad's advice about something other than a case.
"It's okay. She was right, it wasn't going to work. Hey, Dad, what do you do when you…" he hesitated, not sure how to phrase his question, "when you can't stop thinking about someone, but you know it wouldn't work out?"
"Why wouldn't it work out?" Henry asked.
"Lots of reasons," Shawn said evasively. "Like, for example, right now this person is seeing someone else."
"Oh," Henry said, pleased, "did you finally find someone that you can't charm into sleeping with you? Is that why this girl is so fascinating to you?"
"No," Shawn huffed, annoyed, "If you must know, we've already slept together."
"And you're still interested?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. "She must be quite a catch."
"It's good to know what your opinion of me is. Wait, no, I mean the opposite of that. Just forget I brought it up, okay?"
"Calm down Shawn, I was just teasing you. So, what's the problem? Is she playing hard to get or is she genuinely more interested in the guy she's dating?"
Shawn frowned at the wall he was painting, unsure of how to answer. "I don't think this person is into game playing," he said finally.
"Well," Henry said, "maybe that's your problem. Maybe she doesn't see you as being serious enough for her."
Shawn considered this. "Maybe," he agreed reluctantly. "This is someone who spends too much time being serious."
"Or," Henry continued, "maybe she likes this other guy more than she likes you."
"No," Shawn said automatically, "it can't be that. I mean, yeah, they have some things in common," he said, thinking about their shared interest in history, "but we have things in common too. Better things. Important things!" After all, he and Lassie solved crime together! They put bad guys in prison together! Sure, maybe Lassiter didn't always necessarily think of that as something they did "together", since he tried more often than not to keep Shawn away from cases, but it still counted as a shared interest. A sexy, sexy shared interest. Way sexier than things that happened hundreds of years ago.
"Don't think I didn't notice how you avoided using any names or pronouns," Henry said. "Are you finally going to make an honest man of Gus?"
Shawn froze, replaying his dad's words in his head. He didn't even realize he had dropped his paintbrush until Henry yelled "Shawn, you're making a mess!" He ignored that, crossing his arms tightly around his chest as he turned to face his dad.
"What did you mean by that?" he demanded. "About me and Gus?"
Henry snorted. "Please Shawn, the two of you have been practically married since you were eight years old. Do you really think I would be shocked if you made it official?"
Shawn was so flummoxed that he didn't even know where to start. "Gus isn't...I mean, I'm not..."
"Oh, come on, kid. When you were sixteen you had a poster of Claudia Schiffer on one wall and a poster of Val Kilmer on the other wall, and it was a toss-up which one of them I caught you staring at more."
"Wait," Shawn said weakly, "you mean you've always..." he couldn't finish, the very idea that his most closely guarded secret had never been a secret from his dad leaving him too stunned to speak.
"Known that you were interested in guys?" Henry asked with a grimace. "Of course I have. When are you going to learn that you can't keep anything from me?"
"Never, probably," Shawn said faintly, then latched onto an emotion that he was more accustomed to feeling when dealing with Henry. "Don't pretend that you're okay with this. I saw the expression on your face just now."
"At least I'm trying," Henry snapped. "It's not like you've ever shared this part of your life with me."
"Fair enough," Shawn agreed cautiously. "Look, Dad, you can't say anything about this in front of Gus. He doesn't know."
Finally, he had said something that surprised Henry. "What? What are you talking about? I assumed you and Gus...he's the only person you've ever trusted."
Trying to sound as light as possible, Shawn said "Gus is straighter than uncooked spaghetti. And even if he wasn't, don't you think he could do better than me?"
"So, this is about some other guy? And Gus doesn't know anything about it?"
"Yep," Shawn confirmed, turning away so that Henry wouldn't be able to read anything in his expression.
"Shawn," Henry started to say gently, but Shawn interrupted him.
"I think that's all the father-son bonding I can handle for one day. I'm gonna take off." He paused at the door, chancing a glance over his shoulder to see Henry watching him with a worried expression. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, and left before Henry could say anything in response. Outside, he paused at his bike, feeling like he had been sucker-punched. Twenty years of keeping a secret from his dad that had never been a secret at all. Jesus.
**
Lassiter eyed the site of the plane crash with a sense of irritation. Of course Spencer and Guster had found the downed plane first. Not only that, but they claimed that Warren Clayton had still been alive when they found him, and that he had indicated that his death had been a murder.
Why couldn't he ever be the one to stumble over a dying billionaire and hear his last words? He was Head Detective, for god's sake.
He was further annoyed when later, at the station, Shawn finagled his way into working for the widow. So annoyed, in fact, that he couldn't stop talking about it that night on his date with Jonathan.
They were eating dinner at the Italian restaurant that O'Hara liked so much, Mario's. Lassiter had only been twenty minutes late - not bad in his line of work - but Jonathan had seemed slightly annoyed by the tardiness, though it had disappeared as Lassiter explained that he was investigating the Clayton plane crash, which had been all over the news for the better part of the day.
"He charms his way into anything he wants! He took what should be a legitimate police investigation and turned it into an opportunity to fraternize with the Clayton family."
Jonathan looked confused. "If he's that much of an opportunist, then why is he allowed to interfere in police work at all?"
"He solves cases," Lassiter admitted grudgingly. "He'll probably figure out what caused Clayton's plane to crash before the first course is served and have his picture in the paper in the morning."
"He really gets under your skin," Jonathan observed, and Lassiter frowned at his chicken marsala.
"Sorry, it's hard to stop thinking about work sometimes." Lassiter said, thinking about how, in the last year of their marriage, Victoria had grown increasingly weary of hearing him always talk about work.
"No," Jonathan said, "I think your work is fascinating. But you need to relax more. Take a night off from the job. How about tomorrow night, you come over to my place for dinner?" He smiled warmly at Lassiter. "Maybe we could find a way to relieve some of your stress."
Lassiter hastily closed his mouth, which had dropped open during this invitation. "I...uh...sure. That would be nice," he said feebly, ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming out 'SEX! He's inviting you over for SEX!'
"I can't make any promises, though," he added quickly. "I might get tied up at work tomorrow night. It all depends on what happens with this case."
"That's fine," Jonathan assured him, "We'll play it by ear."
Later, in the semi-dark parking lot of the restaurant, Lassiter hesitantly kissed Jonathan goodnight, and tried to convince himself that he wanted more. Told himself that tomorrow night at this time, they could be...well. Getting to know one another even better. He was certain that when the time came, he would be more excited about it. Things seemed to be going better with Jonathan than they had with any woman he had dated in the past few years, he reminded himself. This had been a good idea. A great idea, even. And if he felt apprehensive or uncertain, well, that was natural.
He was gratified the next day to realize that Spencer had been fired by Warren Clayton's widow after only one night of work, and that he was trying to ingratiate himself back into the Chief's good graces by complimenting her...teeth. Huh.
However, it was probably a mistake to call Spencer an "obnoxious little twerp" in front of Chief Vick, because in retaliation Shawn made a reference to "backbiting...and frontbiting", with a quick leer in Lassiter's direction, and he felt himself flush all over at the memory of biting and kissing his way down Shawn's chest.
After the meeting in the Chief's office was concluded, Lassiter had thought Spencer would be leaving, to pursue his investigation, or the spirits, or possibly a frappucino, but instead Shawn followed him, dropping into a chair next to Lassiter's desk and pulling out his phone.
"What the hell are you doing, Spencer?" Lassiter asked wearily.
"Texting Gus to tell him to pick me up."
"Well, you can't stay there. Go outside and wait for him."
"No can do, Lassie. I might freckle if I sit out in the sun!" Shawn protested, not moving from his seat.
Lassiter sighed but didn't press the issue; with Shawn, it was always a matter of knowing when to pick his battles. He pulled up his notes on the Warren case on his computer and started adding the information he had received that morning.
"Where's Jules?"
"She had to testify in a court case this morning," he replied, not looking up.
"So, how are things going with your supervillain boyfriend?"
"I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you, Spencer. And he's not a supervillain."
"That's what they all say. Don't come crying to me when he tries to destroy the world."
Lassiter didn't reply, refusing to engage Shawn on the subject of Jonathan.
"So, you really think it was just an accident?" Shawn asked, nodding to the file in front of Lassiter.
"The evidence indicates that it was."
"Pffft. Evidence, shmevidence. Warren Clayton told me he had been murdered. His dying words were to find his killer!"
"He had lost a lot of blood and he was in shock. It's possible he didn't know what he was saying. Or, maybe he did think that someone else was responsible for the crash, but that doesn't mean he was right."
"Hey Lassie, what do you think your last words will be?"
"Telling O'Hara to avenge my death," Lassiter replied immediately. "What about you?"
"I'm going to make Gus promise to carry my ashes around with him everywhere he goes for the rest of his life."
"Everywhere?"
"Everywhere."
Lassiter considered this for a moment, then went back to typing his notes. Spencer, for once, was quiet, tapping out something on his phone.
"Do you ever think about Claire?" Shawn asked abruptly, sounding deceptively casual."All this talking about last words, it makes me think of her and how she she didn't get the chance for...anyway, do you ever think about her?" He didn't look up at Lassiter, just continued to play with his phone.
"Sometimes," Lassiter said, surprised that Shawn had even brought it up. "My biggest regret about that night is that I couldn't figure out a way to save her."
"I've gone over it a thousand times in my head," Shawn said. "If we had stopped him sooner, before he started down the stairs with her…"
"I know," Lassiter said. "I've thought about it too. It was my fault. I should have taken my chances while he was still close enough to shoot."
Shawn did look up at him now. "Lassie, there was nothing you could have done. The way he was holding Claire, there was no way to make the shot, and he was watching you like a hawk in case you tried something. I'm the one who should have tried, I could have jumped him while his attention was focused on you."
Lassiter shook his head. "You can't think like that, Spencer. He had a gun to her head. There was no good opportunity."
"But if –"
Unexpectedly, Lassiter reached over and put a hand on his knee. "It all happened too fast, Shawn. You couldn't have saved her."
Feeling a warm flush of pleasure go through him at Lassiter's touch, Shawn willed himself to sit perfectly still and not ruin the moment, but his resolved crumbled at the sound of Gus's voice.
"Shawn, are you ready to go? I need to hit a few more stops on my route this afternoon."
Lassiter hastily removed his hand as Gus came up to the desk, and Shawn stood up.
"Didn't you just go on your route last week, Gus? Shouldn't you give them a chance to miss you?" he asked, proud of the fact that his voice didn't betray how keyed up he felt from Lassie's touch.
"You do understand how having a job works, right Shawn?' Gus asked rhetorically.
"I've often wondered that myself," Lassiter muttered under his breath.
"Fine," Shawn huffed in annoyance. "But we have some detective work to do before you go. Psychic detective work," he added, glancing over at Lassiter.
"I assume that means you'll spend the afternoon playing video games, with a time-out for watching some terrible eighties movie," Lassiter said.
"It's a process," Shawn said haughtily.
"A delicate process," Gus added. "We'll also need Skittles."
"Agreed. Bye, Lassie!" Shawn said as he started to follow Gus out of the station. He paused after he had taken a couple of steps and turned around, opening his mouth like he was going to say something else, then closing it again as he looked at Lassiter with a puzzled expression, like he couldn't figure out what he was doing. Lassiter sympathized; he didn't know what they were doing either.
"Shawn!"
"Coming Gus!" Shawn called, and fled.
Hours later, Lassiter was on his way to Jonathan's house, feeling distinctly uneasy. He didn't like doing things by half measures; he had jumped feet first into dating again - dating a man, no less - and he would be disappointed in himself if he didn't at least make an effort to see it through. How could he know if it would or wouldn't work with Jonathan if he didn't at least try?
But. At the same time. He had felt more of a sexual charge that afternoon simply from touching Shawn's leg in the middle of the crowded police station than he had kissing Jonathan in a dark parking lot the night before. He still wasn't certain exactly what had compelled him to touch Shawn like that, except that he had looked uncharacteristically guilty over the memory of Claire's death. He had wanted nothing more in that moment but to wipe that anxious, unhappy expression off Shawn's face. It had worked, too: Shawn's expression had gone from sadness to shock to a kind of focused intensity that made Lassiter's toes curl.
He was stopped at a traffic light when his phone rang. It was Guster on the other end, telling him that he and Shawn had a suspect in the Clayton case, and that they needed Lassiter and O'Hara to meet them at a local hotel to question him. He told Guster he would be there shortly, then called Jonathan to cancel their plans for the evening.
"Spencer again," Jonathan said, when Lassiter explained the situation, and even over the phone his irritation was clear.
"Yeah," Lassiter said shortly. "Look, I've got to go. I need to get there before Spencer and Guster get into trouble." He hung up quickly, before Jonathan could say anything else.
Yeah, this wasn't going to work.
