A/N This chapter is not anything close to what I thought it would be. (Think car chases and concussions.) I needed to transition from the last chapter to get where I thought I wanted to go, but that "transition" morphed into what you have here, a whole chapter (sans car chase) brimming over in feels. Don't say I didn't warn you!

I don't own Psych, but I have a pineapple lanyard, and that's good enough for now.

"Where do I start?" He asked out loud, but still mostly to himself. He wiped a hand across his weary face.

"It this one of those 'I have some good news and I have some bad news' type situations?" Spencer asked, his words light and almost hopeful, but the younger man's face betrayed his apprehension.

Carlton was actually kind of glad he'd already killed Shawn's good mood with his earlier comment. What he had to tell him was going to crush him, but maybe since he was already feeling down, the hit wouldn't be as hard.

Not likely.

His own stomach was feeling queasy just thinking about all he had learned a few moments ago on the phone in his driveway. He couldn't imagine how this was going to effect Spencer.

"It's more like, 'bad news, terrible news,'" he paused before adding, "'potentially devastating news.'"

Spencer took that as a cue to move back to the sofa. He sank down and looked up at Lassiter with a look so pathetic the Chief had to look away. "I'm not sure how much more potential devastation I can handle, Lassiter," Spencer said honestly, and Carlton caught the proper use of his surname. It was so un-Shawn like. He almost wished he could have the hyperactive "psychic" back. Almost.

With a sigh, Lassiter joined Shawn on the couch, sliding the manila folder he'd been holding under his leg. He was going to approach Spencer with it tonight after dinner, but that was before Karen had called and told him about Leo Deschamp's confession and subsequent untimely death. She'd told him about the fire, and how evidence was overwhelming that it was no accident. Most likely the trap was made for Spencer, but Guster had been unfortunate enough to be the one to set it off. And now he had the unpleasant task of dropping this information bomb on Shawn. No, the folder would have to wait.

"What's in the folder?"

"It's unrelated to the bad news," Carlton said. Dammit, nothing could get past Spencer.

"Oh, ok. It's just, it had my name on it..."

"Well, I had a different conversation planned when I left work," he replied, "but I didn't know then what I know now. And now I know that this is not the time for this." He held up the folder to punctuate the last word and then slid it under the sofa. Out of sight, out of mind. He needed this particular conversation to be distraction-free. If he had to be the one to tell Shawn, he only wanted to have to say it all once.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to conquer the overwhelming sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. Spencer must have been feeling the same uneasiness, because he was subconsciously clutching a decorative pillow against his middle.

Enough stalling.

Lassiter launched into his tragic monologue. Spencer sat in an uncharacteristic silence, staring intently in the direction of the television, never mind that it was off. He didn't ask questions for clarification, or nod in acknowledgement. If this had been any other situation, Carlton would have assumed that his house guest was tuning him out. However, the white-knuckled grip on the poor pillow and the shallow, stuttering breaths were evidence enough to Lassiter that the younger Spencer was absorbing every horrible word.

Finally, it was done. Now Spencer knew everything.

"And you just found out-" Spencer started to ask after a few minutes of processing.

"I came inside as soon as I got off the phone with Vick."

Spencer nodded. "So, we're not safe here. Your family is not safe here."

That was the grim truth in a nutshell. The two fell back into a contemplative silence, appetites lost.

There was a knock at the front door and Spencer started.

"I called one of my men," Lassiter explained on the way to answer the door, "He'll get the girls and Henry someplace safe."

"Keep them a safe distance from us," Spencer bobbed his head in approval, "good thinking."

Carlton pulled open the door at the same time Marlowe came in from the kitchen.

"Are you coming to eat or not?" Then she noticed the officer and the look of trepidation in her husband's eyes. "What's going on?"

"Short version: we have intel that someone was hired to kill the Spencers, and Guster and myself. And if the information is good, then they've already succeeded once."

Marlowe made a strangled sound of alarm that stuck on the forming lump in her throat.

"A hitman killed Juliet?" Henry asked skeptically as he joined the conversation.

"They almost got Gus, too," a tight, quiet voice said from the couch.

The group focused on Shawn. There was a ferocity burning in his eyes, the determination written on his face clearly said that he would not allow any more of his loved ones to be harmed.

"Dad, you need to get Lily and Marlowe to safety."

"I thought that's what he was for!" Henry gestured at the policemen standing dutifully in the entryway. "What about you, Shawn? Who's going to protect you?"

"I don't need your protection! I'm not a little kid anymore! You know who is a little kid, dad? Lily! Protect her!"

"You may not be a kid anymore, but you're still my kid!"

The elder Spencer was at his son's side in two strides. Lassiter could practically see the steam coming from the father's ears. Marlowe crossed between the men to return to Lily who was crying in protest to being left alone. The officer stayed silent, but looked to his Chief for some direction.

Carlton held up a hand to his man, a non-verbal cue to stay put, then placed the same hand on Henry's shoulder in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "I have to know my family is safe, Henry. They're all I've got."

Henry started to cut him off, "Of course Lily and Marlowe should-"

"Listen," Lassiter said, squeezing Henry's shoulder a bit, "If I can't be there with them, which we both know would be incredibly unsafe, then I can't think of anyone better than you."

"You've got your officers. I could help-"

"Please, dad," Shawn said. He was practically folded in on himself, the pillow still in his grasp. "You and Gus are all I have left."

Lassiter's throat suddenly got tight when he realized the youngest man was not speaking metaphorically. Everything he had owned had quite literally gone up in flames. He cleared his throat against the uncomfortable feeling, and both Spencer's turned to him expectantly. Well, since he had the floor, he might as well speak.

"It would make Shawn feel better to know that you're away from all this until we figure it out. It would make me feel better knowing that I left my wife and child with someone they know and trust. And it would make Lily feel better having you there. She thinks you're her grandpa! You protect my family, Henry, and promise I'll protect yours."

He could tell from Henry's face that the argument was won before the older Spencer even began to speak.

"Y'know," Henry said, "I think you've gotten soft."

Lassiter sighed, "Yeah. I know."

A few short minutes later and two duffles were packed. Henry had said a brief goodbye to Shawn and was already in the passenger's seat of the black, unmarked SUV. He was already grilling the cop on basic policies and procedures. Lassiter smiled a bit at that as he loaded the bags into the back, while Marlowe loaded in Lily. He closed the hatch and then turned to his tearful wife. He held her a little longer than was strictly necessary, burying his face in her neck and whispering reassurances for both her and himself. He kissed her tenderly on the lips and then on the forehead, and helped her into the back seat. His eyes stung as he closed the door and walked around to the other side to say goodbye to his daughter.

Lily was sitting quietly in her car seat. Her dad leaned over to check and recheck the buckles and straps. The girl sniffled and inhaled a hiccuping breath-a side effect of the tantrum she had thrown when she found out daddy wouldn't be coming on this impromptu trip. At least, that's what Carlton told himself she was crying about. It couldn't really be because her duffle bag was Frozen and not Moana.

"Daddy, you sad?" The child reached up and touched his face. He put his hand over hers and was surprised to find his cheek was, in fact, damp.

"Ya, sweety bum, daddy's sad."

"Come with?"

Marlowe let out short sob and looked back towards the house.

"Not this time, baby. But I'll see you real soon. I love you so much."

Then, before he totally lost it, Carlton shut his family inside and stepped onto the grass to watch them disappear around the corner.

Why was he so emotional? It's not like he was saying goodbye forever. He'd see them again. It wasn't like . . . Juliet.

Shawn.

What was he going to do about Spencer?

Lassiter collected himself and then headed back into the house. They'd go to the station, where they would be surrounded by cops. They'd go through all the case files from 2006-2014, searching for any clue that might lead to who was behind their grief. Justice would be served and life could go on. He wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.

Except for Spencer. How would his life go on?

Why should Carlton even care? He supposed it was for the same reason he had always cared. Deep, deep, deep down. Only, now it had been verbalized. And that made things different somehow.

His friend, Shawn, was still on the couch, but had taken up a lounging position. In his lap was the manila folder, and he was thumbing through the contents. He looked up at the sound of the front door closing.

"Are you serious about this?" He waggled the folder in the air.

"Are you interested?" Carlton asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"I- I don't know. I'm not sure what am I supposed to do next?"

"How about we catch the scumbag who's responsible for all this, and then we can talk about the long term?"

Shawn nodded and put the detective application back in the folder. A look of determination fell across his brow. Or was that righteous indignation? Either way, the former psychic was on his feet and standing before Lassiter with his hand extended.

"Deal."

Guys! You're so sweet! Just when I was convinced everyone had stopped reading this and that I was writing "for myself," I got a favorite, a follow and 2 reviews! Thanks a million.