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.)

Shadows of The Night

*This chapter takes place after season 3 episode 8: Gus Walks Into A Bank

** The accompanying song is Shadows of The Night by Pat Benatar

I don't need time, I need a fucking lobotomy! Carlton thought, reeling from the experience he and Spencer had just shared. He didn't know where his head was at, nor why he was acting so erratically. He wasn't the type to have a sexual conquest in a public place, especially one with a colleague… so, what the hell?!

Okay, that's a lie, he admitted, acknowledging his past affair with Junior Detective Barry while completely ignoring his make-out session with the psychic just a few weeks prior. But with a man? With Spencer? What the hell am I doing?

"He's gone now, Lassie. It's okay. You can come out now."

Though he was fairly sure Spencer hadn't meant it that way, the double entendre smacked him in the face, and Carlton blanched at the words as they bounced around his brain.

He stayed where he was, too fucked up to move.

Spencer, noticing his lack of appearance, walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, reaching out with the other; an offer to help him up.

Carlton felt his pulse race at the touch and hated himself for it.

He swatted the hand away, ashamed.

"Don't! Don't touch me."

Spencer's face fell at the sudden change in attitude; confused and a little angry, he stepped back. "What the hell, man? What's going on with you?"

"I shouldn't have – you shouldn't – this can't happen," Carlton stuttered, every reason he'd ever had for avoiding this moment rushing into his brain and throwing him off-kilter. "This was a bad idea. This wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

"How was it supposed to happen then, Lassie?" Spencer sneered, taken aback by the reaction. "Do you have a special contingency plan for your cock ending up in my mouth?"

Carlton gawked, sputtering.

"It wasn't supposed to happen at all."

Upset, Shawn clicked his tongue in disagreement. His smile faded, and though Carlton wished he would drop the subject, the look on the psychic's face indicated that his wish was no longer Spencer's command.

"Why do we keep finding ourselves in situations like this then?" Spencer asked.

"Because you're a pervert with no self-control," Carlton said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Shawn's face scrunched in a combination of hurt and disgust, a look Carlton had never seen him wear. The man straightened, an icy rage enveloping him as he processed the detective's words, and Carlton steeled himself for the inevitable tongue-lashing he knew was coming when the psychic drew a deep breath, wishing he hadn't been stupid enough to wind up in this predicament in the first place.

"Screw you, Lassie!" Spencer spat, his ire cutting into Carlton like a spear. "You asked for it! We both know it, and we both know you liked it, so cut the shit, man."

"You coerced me," he started, his deflectors flying up full force. "You took advantage; I would never in my right mind -"

"Fuck you," Spencer exploded, the man more upset than the detective had ever seen him. "Fuck you and your hetero-normative self-hating bullshit. I am so tired of being blamed for your denial, Lassie!"

"I don't -" Carlton protested, getting interrupted almost instantly.

"No. Shut your friggin' pie-hole!" Spencer seethed, his fists bunched by his side, shaking. "It's time for grown-up talk, Lassie, and since you're acting like a fucking child, it's clearly not your turn."

Shocked at the psychic's outburst, Carlton's jaw dropped. But he stayed silent, too startled to protest.

"You kissed me at the precinct. And you were sober when you did it," Spencer said, the truth as biting as his tone.

"I -" Carlton tried again.

"Goddamn it, Lassie! Just shut it and let me say my piece. You can go back to your cowardly delusions afterwards if I don't make any sense, okay?"

Carlton's jaw snapped shut and he nodded slowly.

"Okay," Spencer said, a little less angry when he saw Carlton agree.

But only a little.

The psychic started to pace in the small stall, his hands shoved through his hair in frustration.

The cop wished he would stop, the motion nauseating.

But Spencer continued, either unaware of or entirely ignoring Carton's discomfort. "You were sober, Lassie. Not just in the hall, but in the car, too. And the only reason you're not sober right now is because you want me just as bad as I want you. And you're scared. Which, okay - I can deal with that; I get it."

He stopped, staring straight at Carlton – straight through Carlton – seeing the man beneath the denial, an act the detective found disconcerting.

"I get it," he repeated, softer this time. "But I am not gonna be the guy who sluts it up for you and then gets turned into your verbal punching bag. I have way too much self-respect for that. I asked for your consent – I made sure to ask for your consent - and you gave it."

He paused, then repeated himself.

"You gave it."

Carlton flushed, his words echoing in his head.

Get on your knees, Spencer. Do it now.

"There was nothing dubious about your dick down my throat –"

Just suck my cock already, would you?

"- except for how badly you're lying to yourself about wanting it."

I'm still waiting for you to prove you can do something useful with your mouth, Spencer.

"So, don't you dare try to paint me as some sort of predator who waited until you were vulnerable before I pounced. I made the fuck sure you wanted it, Lassie. I made sure."

Get on your knees, Spencer.

"I -"

Do it now.

"What I don't understand is why you're working yourself up like this. Aren't you supposed to be the logical one around here?" Spencer said, staring at him as if he were an idiot. "Use some damn logic."

"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean – You're not…" Carlton trailed off.

Shawn sighed, his posture easing at the sort-of apology. "I know I'm not, Lassie."

"But there's nothing logical about this," the cop whispered, pressed against the wall, feeling small.

"Sure, there is. You have lusty feelings for me, thereby you logically act on them when opportunity arises," Shawn shrugged, rolling his neck, the touch of humor in his voice letting Lassiter know his rage had abated.

"I – maybe..."

Carlton was puzzled. He knew the statement was true, but not why, which bothered him greatly.

"You love manhandling me as much as I love groping you, otherwise you wouldn't do it so damn often, would you?" the psychic said, getting to the heart of the matter.

Much as he wanted to, Carlton couldn't deny it.

Why was it that it took being drunk and chastised for him to begin to understand himself with such sobering clarity? As fucked up as he had known the night would turn out, this wasn't remotely how he'd expected his evening to go, and he was frustrated with the fact that Spencer seemed to have inherited his mother's talent at cutting straight through to his core, even more-so by his being right.

How did he know what Carlton was feeling better than he knew himself?

"What did my mother say to you?"

Carlton looked up, shocked.

It was almost as if the fake psychic really had read his mind.

"What did you just say?"

The psychic asked again, lacking hesitation.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Carlton replied, tacitly dodging the question.

Leaning against the wall, Spencer sighed.

"You know, for such a smart guy, you can be such a dumbass sometimes."

"Hey, I'm drunk," Carlton objected, trying not to laugh at the blasé comment, his head spinning from both the tequila and whirlwind of emotion. "Cut me some slack."

"I didn't see anybody make you steal my shot," Spencer said, and to the detective's dismay, slouched into a more relaxed position - an indicator he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Even worse, the door opened again, a stranger sliding in to use the urinal, and there was nothing Carlton could do about that, either.

Hoping the man would make a quick exit, Carlton looked at Shawn and shook his head, but Shawn looked back, brattishness scrawled across his face as he continued.

"Well, I didn't!"

The man turned to look at them and Carlton shot him a glare that would've had him in prison, were it possible looks could kill. Startled, the stranger took a step back and wisely decided against washing his hands, zipping from the room with both vim and vigor.

Carlton turned back to Shawn.

"I wouldn't have had to drink so much if you hadn't been such a damn embarrassment on stage, Spencer!"

"You know you loved it, Lassie," the psychic scoffed. "You're just getting off topic. What did my mother tell you? It was obviously important."

"How do you know that?" Carlton asked obtusely, ignoring that which he couldn't deny.

The fraud laughed, gesturing to his head with his hand. "Psychic, hello!"

"Fuck off, Spencer," the cop replied casually, and failing to pay attention to what he was doing, leaned on the toilet seat, immediately pulling himself away once he realized what he'd done. "Seriously, why do you think your mother has anything to do with anything?"

"Becaaaaaause," Shawn drawled, looking smug - an expression Carlton wished he could wipe off the man's face. "Prior to talking to my mommy, you spent two years happily manhandling me with exactly zero inclination to shove your tongue or any other body part down my throat. Post mommy? Well… let's just say you taste good, Lassie."

Shawn smiled lecherously, and Carlton turned red and muttered.

"Yeah, but I have pictured my foot up your ass."

"What was that?" Shawn said, leaning in with his hand cupping his ear, pretending not to hear what the detective had said.

"I said," Carlton said, speaking up, feeling the flush creep down his neck. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who introduced tongue."

"Been thinking of it much?" Spencer snarked, sticking his tongue out in mockery.

"Bite me, Spencer."

"You wish," he replied. "Besides, that's beside the point. In fact, the point is here," Shawn lifted a finger to indicate, then another about an inch away, "and this is where you are! See?"

Carlton looked down and sighed.

He wished so very much that he had left early.

That he hadn't come at all - both literally and figuratively.

That he wasn't cornered in a bathroom stall by the man who had just given him the best blowjob of his life.

What is my world coming to? he thought in mild horror.

Spencer continued.

"That afternoon, the one after you did your last psych evaluation – you were already riled up before I got there. Why?"

"I don't know."

"I call bullshit. Don't be the cinnamon on my toast crunch, Lassie," the psychic said, and grabbed Carlton by the lapels, pulling him up the wall onto his feet. He brushed the detective off, and Carlton teetered, unprepared for the action. "Why do you keep doing this? Dude, do you really hate yourself this much?"

Carlton stumbled, the question cuffing him upside the back of his head, and he leaned into the corner to catch himself as Shawn stepped in a little closer.

"You got scared when I taunted you about kissing boys. Did you just discover that you weren't straight?" the psychic asked.

"I don't -"

"It's okay, Lassie," Shawn reassured, running his hand along Carlton's arm. Carlton turned his head to watch, envisioning the energy that made him tingle leaving the man's fingers and rushing along his skin. "Being bisexual doesn't mean anything changes about you. You're still the same Lassie as you were before."

"She said – not bi – something called pan -" Carlton stuttered, looking at the ground and feeling more vulnerable than he'd been when his pants were undone. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he had gotten himself into this situation. "Why am I even having this conversation with you?"

"You kissed me at the station," Spencer insisted, pointing his finger in the middle of the cop's chest. Carlton's skin burned beneath the touch. "You kissed me in the car. You also asked me to wrap my mouth around your very hard cock, to which I happily complied. So why are you still trying to deny there's something between us?"

"I don't, I can't -" the detective protested weakly.

"Can't what, Lassie? Can't be happy?" Spencer asked, eyebrow arched as he cut to the quick. "Can't bring yourself to have some fun? Can't admit you want this just as much as I do?"

"How much do you want this?" Carlton stuttered with eyes wide, terrified of the answer. "Why do you want this? I don't understand -"

"Dammit, Lassie! You're super smart and incredibly sexy. You're loyal as hell, you handle a gun like no other, and those beautiful blue eyes of yours make me cream my jeans. Seriously. I need a new pair of panties with every angry glare," Shawn replied. "What's not to understand?"

Carlton groaned, his body betraying him as he sagged against Spencer's shorter frame, his arms wrapping around Shawn's shoulders at his own behest.

"I just can't do this," he mumbled against the slightly sweaty skin of the other man's neck.

"Why not?" the psychic said, catching him and pulling away to kiss him gently. "What's wrong with this?"

Carlton felt the heat begin to pool in his groin and moaned, his pleasure causing him equal amounts of pain.

He couldn't let this happen, not again.

He shouldn't have let it happen the first time.

He had to put a stop to this. Right now.

Meanwhile, Shawn licked at his lip, body pressed into his like they were glued together.

"Don't deny it, Lassie. Try it," the psychic teased, planting another barely-there kiss on the detective's lips. "We could have so much fun if you'd only let us be together..."

Be together.

That was the phrase that did it.

Already tough enough to cope without the additional strain of feelings, Carlton was freaked out by his almost primal lust for Spencer.

The idea of an actual relationship with the man terrified him. He, the man who had taken down crime syndicates, was more fearful of the prospect of something real than anything he'd been afraid of in his entire life. He didn't even know if that was what Spencer had meant, but the thought of being out, being seen in public for who he truly was - having to admit it to anyone else, let alone himself - it made him almost hysterical. He had spent his entire adult life sure of who he was and what he wanted and now he was neither.

He was neither.

He just knew that these days, his blood sang whenever Spencer was around.

Knew his skin warmed against his will.

His thoughts grew fuzzy.

His heart soared.

He had hope.

Hope for something more.

A something more he didn't know if he truly wanted.

One he wasn't even sure he deserved.

He hated it.

He hated it so much.

"Get your whore lips off me!" he lashed out, pushing Spencer off him in a panic, that sick feeling creeping back in. "I'm not doing this. I don't want to be together with you, Spencer. Not here. Not like this - not at all!"

Shawn hit the wall, skull cracking against the steel. He slid a little before catching himself, and dazed, he looked up, eyes ablaze with indignation as they attempted to refocus.

"Yeah, well the creamy dessert you left in my belly says otherwise, asshole," the psychic spat acerbically, his hand flying to his head as he checked for damage, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes.

Carlton looked away and snarled, unable to witness the results of his destruction. "You're disgusting. You're crude and rude and the fact that I just let you do that to me makes me sick."

All lies, but he spoke the words anyway, needing to create distance and knowing they would do the trick. He saw the crestfallen look on Spencer's face out of the corner of his eye as the words registered, Shawn's ire instantly turning into hurt and disappointment.

He hated himself for that, too.

"You're such a fucking asshole, Lassie," Shawn said, body and voice both shaking as he tried to control his emotions. "I said I'm sick of this shit and I meant it. We did it together. You're just as complicit in this as I am, and you know it."

Carlton was furious the fraud in front of him kept challenging him, refusing to let him hide. It was bad enough he had to talk about this stuff with his shrink, he didn't need to be having this conversation with Spencer as well.

Or at all.

Certainly not in a bar bathroom and certainly not after that.

Frustration overtook him, and Carlton found himself barely able to stand, let alone think. He sighed as claustrophobia crept in, and desperate in his desire to remove himself from the current narrative, he moved towards the entrance of the stall.

"It was a mistake," the cop insisted, lying through his teeth.

"You keep saying that, but it keeps happening," the psychic fought back.

And it was true. It kept happening, and Carlton kept starting it, finding himself unable to stay away and even less able to figure out why.

They glared at each other, the silence stretching for what seemed like forever before Spencer spoke again.

"You know what, detective?" he snapped suddenly, words dripping with disdain. "Take as long as you want to figure out your shit. I am so over this melodrama."

Carlton was taken aback as the psychic continued.

"I've got enough crap to deal with. You're just bringing me down," Shawn said, turning on his heel and shoving the detective aside as he stalked out of the room.

Carlton hit the wall, not as hard as Shawn had, and unnerved by Spencer's reaction, his jaw fell to the floor. He stared at the man's departure, his eyes greedily drinking him in as he walked away, like this time seeing him would be the last. But Shawn surprised him when he reached the door then stopped, his fingers barely brushing the handle, head turning to look at Carlton one final time.

Shawn's eyes were sad, his voice as he spoke even sadder.

"I tried, Lassie. I really did. But I am not going to fight your battle for you. I can't. If you're too stupid to get out of your own damn way, I have to take the hint and move on with my life."

He paused, and they locked eyes, both men near tears.

"I don't want to, Lassie. I have to."

And without another word, that's exactly what he did.

Shawn hadn't just left the bathroom, he'd torn out of the bar like a bat out of hell without a word to anyone, leaving Gus to pay the tab like usual, only this time more confused. Radiating a rare mix of rage and sorrow, he'd blown past the table, refusing to slow down even long enough to acknowledge his friends as they'd called out for him.

"What do you think that was about?"

Juliet turned, raising an eyebrow at McNab.

"No idea. Didn't you say Carlton was sick? Maybe he threw up all over Shawn."

"I don't think so…" Gus disagreed, staring at the door his best friend had just stormed through. "Shawn wouldn't get that upset over vomit. Not unless it got in his hair, and I didn't see any. Nor did the Super Sniffer smell any. It's gotta be something else."

Juliet cocked her head, considering. "You think they got in a fight?"

"They seemed fine while I was in there," McNab offered. "I mean, Lassiter shouted at me to get out, but he yells all the time, so..." he shrugged, his sentence trailing off when his wife laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

Gus knocked over his chair as he and Juliet both stood, a touch of fear and trepidation on both of their faces.

A loaded and screaming Lassiter was dangerous, they both knew. And Shawn was the most easy-going guy ever, so if he left on a warpath, something was very, very wrong. Realistically, anything could've just happened, and for the good of all involved, they needed to find out what, quick.

Gus threw some cash down on the table for their share, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulders. He was worried that he knew exactly what had gone on and really hoped his guess was off-base, though the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise.

"I gotta go after him. Sorry to cut the night short, guys" he said, meaning it. Up until then, it had been a wonderful time, and he was sorry to see the evening end on such terms.

"He can't have gotten far on foot," Juliet said. "I'll go see if I can get anything from Lassiter, maybe pour him into a cab."

"I don't envy your job, sister. See you around."

The blonde nodded as the man departed, a worried look on her face as she watched him go.

She didn't envy her job either.

Gus found Shawn a few blocks away, sitting on a park bench beneath a flickering streetlight, looking out at the ocean and oblivious to the world around him.

"What am I doing with my life, Gus?" Shawn sighed as his friend approached, his voice disturbingly downtrodden. "Like… what even is my life right now?"

Gus sidled up to him, stopping in front of the bench to cast a shadow upon Shawn, who either didn't notice or didn't care.

"What happened back there, Shawn? You tore out of the bar like Hurricane Spencer. We're all worried something bad happened. McNab said Lassie was being an asshole…?"

Shawn laughed, more bark-like than human, and shook his head when he noticed that he and Lassie both reacted like angry animals when distressed. It was another unnecessary knife to the heart and the last thing he needed.

"Yeah, you could say that. Not to McNab though," he said, slowly swinging his feet beneath him, watching as the toes of his sneakers barely scraped the ground. "Lassie was just being his usual jerk-face self to McNab. Nothing to worry about there."

"So, what happened, then?" Gus asked as he sat.

Shawn groaned, wanting to revisit what had just occurred almost less than he'd wanted to hear Lassie's hateful words in the first place. It was too painful, and he couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to let it happen. He should have known Lassie wasn't past his bullshit, but he'd just been so damn excited he'd ignored all the signs. A feeling of defeat washed over him and he dropped his head into his hands, audibly wincing when injured wrist met battered skull, reminding him of both their existence and his abject failure.

Gus raised an eyebrow at the sound.

"Shawn, what did you do? Why are you hurt?" he paused, voice lowering. "What happened?"

Shawn looked at him, a dark storm raging in his hazel eyes.

"I don't wanna know, do I?" Gus asked, taken aback by the torrent of emotion flashing across his friend's face.

"No," Shawn admitted. "But I'm gonna tell you the whole sordid story anyway. I'm gonna tell you so you can tell me exactly how stupid I am and how very badly I need to move on with my life."

Gus sighed, and threw his arm around his buddy.

"How'd we get to be so lucky?"

Juliet knocked on the door to the men's bathroom, wishing she had asked McNab whether it was a single stall situation or not, unwilling to stick her head in without the information.

"Carlton?" she called, stepping back when a beautiful behemoth of a man walked out, nearly bumping into her and making her hope Carlton had his shit together so she could go make a new friend, her relationship with Luntz on the fritz as it was.

Damn, she thought. I wonder what he presses?

"Oh, sorry," the Golden God said as he stepped around her, his European accent making her weak in the knees. "You must want the other guy in there. I don't think he's having a good night."

She blinked, shaking herself out of her reverie and cursing Carlton for finding a way to suck the fun out of everything. "He's alone? The room is empty other than him, I mean?"

The man nodded his assent.

"Thanks," she said, and pushed the door open to find her partner sitting on the closed lid of a can with the stall door half open, head in hands as he muttered to himself.

"Carlton?"

He looked up and she saw his eyes were blurry, almost like he'd been crying, though she knew he'd never admit it if he were. Before he opened his mouth, she asked again;

"Carlton, are you okay? What happened?"

Wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, he scowled at her, and her heart broke to see it, the act reminiscent of a small child in pain. She'd never known her partner to carry such emotion before, and knew he'd hate himself for letting it show.

"O'Hara? What are you doing here? This is a men's room, get out!" he snapped at her, though she refused to take it personally. He flung his arm towards the door, obviously hoping he could shoo her away, and that she ignored, too.

"What happened, Carlton?" she asked again, softer this time as she approached her clearly miserable partner.

Juliet wanted to help any way she could. But based on the look on Carlton's face, she wasn't sure there was anything to be done. She also wasn't sure a cab-ride home alone was the best of ideas, and so resigned herself to joining him. She'd never be able to live with herself without seeing him to bed safe, even if it meant tossing him fully clothed on top of his mattress and passing out on his couch, regardless of how little she may want to.

That's what partners were for, after all, and she took a moment to congratulate herself on the cosmic brownie-points she was about to collect.

What could have possibly happened between them to have put him in such a state?

Carlton groaned and, clearly unwilling or unable to talk about it, buried his face back in his hands. Juliet sighed, wondering if Gus was having better luck on his end of things. She would have to call and ask him in the morning, if she managed to survive the night, that was.

"Just get me home, O'Hara," the senior detective moaned, turning a whiter shade of pale than she thought possible and making her hope he wasn't about to hurl in her hair again. Once was more than enough in a single year's time. "I just need this night to end."

Sympathizing, she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. With the other, she offered to help him up, and he looked at her in shock while flinching at the gesture so reminiscent of what Spencer had done not long before, not that she was aware of the fact.

"Carlton?" she asked again, concern etched across her face. He glanced up at her and softened at the look, apologizing.

"Sorry, O'Hara," he said, graciously taking her hand to stand. "I know; I'm the worst partner ever. Can we please just get me home?"

"Sure, Carlton," she said, trying to sound reassuring and hoping his house keys were in his jacket pocket. She really didn't want to have to search through his pants to find them, he clearly incapable of doing so himself. "Whatever you need, partner."

"Thanks," Carlton said, and looked at her pathetically as he continued, his head resting on her shoulder as they left the room together.

"I'll be fine as soon as I'm home. I just need to wake up from this nightmare."