XX. The Evening Out

Will knew who he was. He wasn't Frederic du Dauphin. He was Shawn Spencer.

Of course—perhaps he'd been in the papers too much, and didn't think to hide his face when photographers snapped pictures. Not like Sherlock as portrayed by RDJ in the 2009 film—and Shawn was pissed at himself for not being clever enough, for being too arrogant—

Naturally, Will would recognize him. And Lassiter was often all over television or in the newspapers, much to his outward chagrin, his inward glee.

"We weren't investigating the place or casing the joint," Shawn said, not entirely sure where to go with this stream of news. Quickest date in history, that was certain. He would not call Lassiter in five minutes, when Will walked out, angry for having been lied to. Shawn figured he could walk around downtown for a half-hour or so, at the very least, before he called anyone for a ride. He could, in theory, even walk to the Psych office, or back to his apartment, from there. But he had a feeling that Lassiter wouldn't want to be separated from the coat for more than a few hours. He'd be happiest knowing it was back in the closet where it belonged. "I'm sorry we lied—we were trying to do an investigation, but we—"

"I know you work for the police," Will interrupted with a gentle, apologetic wave of the hand, "but that's not exactly why I know you."

Shawn steadied himself. Odd. He didn't really have that many friends, they couldn't have someone in common— But in a kind of intuitive flash, Shawn knew. He studied Will, hoped he was wrong. Every muscle and nerve in his body tightened. He wanted to say something, but all he could think to say was ohgod, ohgod, ohgod—and that was not productive or polite or even helpful.

Will spoke it calmly, with an air of the pathetic and maimed and brokenhearted. "You were Adrian's boyfriend."

And there it was. And Shawn wanted to die. "You know him."

Will fidgeted, picked up a shiny butter knife—also maybe acting subconsciously—and played with it. "I dated him, too. Not as seriously as you. But, yeah," there was still hurt and misery, "I'm surprised we didn't run into each other."

Shawn wanted to know how that would've happened. Will was merciful enough to answer before the destructive conclusion plopped into Shawn's brain.

"We stopped seeing each other in September."

Shawn's brain hurt almost as much as his chest, in the hollow where his heart should be. Everything echoed within him, through seasons of joy and despair, until he could find a way to push through falling leaves and Christmas, through springtime and the chill of May air. September—that was a long, long time after they had decided to be exclusive. What an adult word: exclusive. All adult words are full of lies. There was no such thing. Shawn's fingertips went into his hair as he hung his head down. It was true. He had cheated. Just like everyone said.

And it was as Shawn predicted: the shortest date in history.

Will saw that Shawn was shaking—not in convulsions of anguish or anything, but trembling, as if he'd just come into a windy room after being out in the rain. "Maybe you should put your coat on. I'll get you some hot tea." He didn't apologize for saying it as he rose to speak to the bartender. Even his legs were weak as he made that short walk and back again. Shawn had put the coat on, his stare unmoved from the tabletop. Will felt badly—how could he not? But the truth was the truth. And there was more to tell, too. Will wanted to make the most of this. He didn't know if he'd get another opportunity.

"It is nice to actually meet you," he started to say, hoping to keep this light. He wriggled in the seat. "Now I have someone to talk to about what a drunken and disorderly and bastardly bastard Adrian actually is. If you don't want to, that's fine, too. How do you like your tea? Let me guess. Honey? And, if you're feeling lavish, a splash of cream."

Will had guessed correctly, and Shawn nodded his assent. He hadn't noticed the tea's arrival, but a pterodactyl singing Pet Shop Boys could've flown overhead and Shawn wasn't sure he'd see it. "How long have you known?"

"That you existed? Uh—let me think," he slouched a little as he thought, had stopped stirring the tea, "he didn't call me the night he went to his cousin Sissy's graduation party, so I figured something was up then. I guess that's when he met you. Or do you mean, sorry—you meant when you walked into For Keeps the other day, right? I already knew. Nice aliases, though. Cute."

Shawn was satisfied to see Will blushing at the error. It must've been hard on him, too, and Shawn sympathized. After all, Will had been with Adrian first. "I knew he was seeing someone else at the time, but he didn't talk about it a lot." He sounded subdued and half-asleep. The tea helped warm his insides, frozen in this hell of truth. He palmed his forehead. "How did you two meet—and when?"

"In April," Will said. He half-heartedly looked at the menu, and when the server stopped by he ordered them a plate of appetizers. "In April when he stopped to talk to me when I was at work. I worked at a Vons in Ventura at the time. I didn't move to Santa Barbara until September. Which is why I think he stopped seeing me. Well, other than you, of course."

Shawn didn't mind that, his mind latched to one factoid. "Which Vons?"

Will wondered why this mattered. "The one on East Harbor Boulevard. Do you know it?"

Instead of feeling stupid and sorry for himself, Shawn actually started to laugh. "Yeah," he said with another laughing spasm, "yeah, I know it. I'm sorry," he began, "if things were bad for you—"

"Hell no they weren't!" Will replied rapidly. "Best thing that happened to me, really. I decided to get out of my comfort zone, applied for this job up here, left Vons, left Ventura, and ditched bad memories of Adrian—all within two weeks! But you're not still with him." Will could sense that Shawn didn't understand the remark. "Brooke helped me find my apartment. She's nice. Probably the nicest one in the family."

"Agreed," Shawn said, giving a slight nod. He wasn't into this. He wasn't ready to share stories and talk about how horrible Adrian was, what he was like when he was drunk, which was often, or what he was like when he was sober, which wasn't too often. Shawn had stopped painting stars and halos around Adrian, but he feared that too much anger too quickly would cause him to lose perspective. He could go back to what he'd been thinking before he met Adrian, or even one of their latest fights, the fight that helped end it all. He just wasn't ready. Meeting Will, knowing these things, were catapults and trebuchets he didn't want. "We just separated a week ago. And, no, I wouldn't go back to him if he asked me. And, yes, he was mean to me. He said things about me that I never thought he'd say, not even my worst enemy, whoever that would be. But I'm just not ready to talk trash about it yet."

"No, of course not," Will said. "I hadn't realized it was so soon. But, if you ever are ready—sometimes it helps. To talk to someone that knew the same person you did. What he was like. What he was capable of." Will touched his left cheek, where it glowed with healthy, youthful skin.

Shawn wanted to ask—he burned to ask—but the answer was too terrifying. He could imagine Adrian doing it, though, when he was stupid enough and tired enough. It wasn't when he'd been drinking that he was capable of it, but when he was irritable, tired, hungover. Shawn feared hungover Adrian more than drinking, happy Adrian. He changed the subject. "Why didn't you tell me that you knew who I was?"

"I don't know," Will said calmly. "I figured you had a reason. I thought maybe you were there to spy on me. That Adrian had told you what'd happened."

"We're just—just working a case. That's all."

Will didn't pursue it. He nodded, accepting that. "So, are you really a reiki practitioner?"

"Yes," Shawn said. He repeated what he'd told Lassie, that it happened in 1999, that it was while he was in Texas and bored at a college there. "I didn't lie about that. Or about the imaginal realm stuff. I wrote a paper on it for a psychology class I took."

"You must've gotten an A."

"Nope," Shawn said, shaking his head. "Got a C. Told me I didn't use enough sources. The alias was really the only fake thing about me. And Gus—Branch Von Hazel—isn't my assistant. We run Psych together. More Gus than me, really. He does more of the paperwork and stuff."

"That was another reason I wanted to meet you for dinner. Other than the whole Adrian thing. And you're super cute. And I was hoping I might be able to hire you to find someone for me."

The astonishments of the evening—of the last half-hour—really couldn't get more intense, could they? Let's recap: First, he finds out that Adrian had cheated on him with someone that he conveniently didn't stop seeing a decent three months into his relationship with Shawn. Second, he finds out that Will was still friends with Brooke. Third, Will might've gotten walloped on the side of the head with Adrian's open hand. Adrian wouldn't risk punching anyone with a closed fist, it'd hurt too bad. And, fourth and last, Will wants to hire him for a job.

That was a lot.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

"Yeah, I'm available. Who is it?"

"I don't know his name."

"Then it's likely that I won't get far."

"Well, I mean, I have the receipts for his company and stuff, back at the office, so I'm sure you can find out that way."

That was a lead he could take. "Okay—go on. I'm listening."

"It's the guy who comes to take care of our fountains. Washes them out and puts in fresh water. Tends the motors. We have six fountains. The big one in the atrium, a somewhat smaller one in the Lavender Room, and then the rest are in the client rooms, where we work. Anyway, I haven't been there too long, so I don't know his name or anything. And he's usually there on Wednesdays, and Wednesdays I don't work because I have most of my classes then. I just know he hasn't been in at all over the last two weeks, and no one else at the office thinks it's weird. Just me. And, well, Adelaide, too. I told her about it and she said that I should look into it. I called the place from the phone number on the receipt, but no one's answered and there's no answering service or anything. I drove by today, but it looks closed up and the door was locked. It seems dodgy, at the very least. He always took really good care of our fountains, even if he was a scraggly, wiry, unkempt looking fellow. I only saw him twice."

"Do you have one of the receipts with you?" Shawn couldn't figure out why Will gave him a silly, endearing, sweet little smile that lit up his eyes like suns.

"No, I left it at the office. Just in case we wanted a reason to end dinner early and get out of here."

That was why he'd looked so cute, to admit that he had set this up. Shawn didn't know if he should be offended or flattered. Probably both. Both was good. He struggled to stay afloat, though; this was a dangerous thing: he was experiencing an imbalance, and he wanted to remain cautious. He liked Will, and now, something inside of him was telling him not to like Will. He ignored it in favor of finding a missing person. Identifying bodies and missing persons were good for him, above the usual work of cheating spouses. "Then, I suggest we get our appetizers boxed up and head out of here."

Will was assertive enough to get this done with alacrity. He was a zippy little fellow, Shawn thought, rather like a butterfly—but that overused cliche wasn't quite right, either. More like a puppy. His golden-brown eyes helped the allusion. If Will were a puppy, he'd be a chocolate lab with adorable floppy ears and big paws and and tongue that wouldn't stop licking. If Lassiter were a puppy, he'd be a Great Pyrenees. And not, as Shawn's sobriquet for him might've suggested, a Collie.

Will drove an old red Audi, which Shawn, somehow, thought appropriate for a chocolate lab puppy with adorable floppy ears and big paws. It was clean inside, smelled of cedar and patchouli, which came from a scented packet Will had made and left in the glove box. The herbal perfume was soon overtaken by the oil richness of restaurant fare. For Keeps wasn't far, and the two made the drive in relative silence. Shawn had stopped being amazed by the whole connection between them, that they'd both been with Adrian in multiple uses of the phrase "been with," and now he was focused on a missing person case. Assuming, of course, that he didn't head over to the maintenance person's office tomorrow and find him sitting at his desk or changing the oil in his truck. Maintenance guys always had trucks that were at least ten years behind the recent models, and always carrying a speck or two of rosy rust at the corner of the door, at a wheel well. They always needed oil changes or quarts of new oil, burning through it quicker than the vehicles of non-maintenance workers.

Will parked the antique A4 in the back lot, mostly employee parking. The back door showed darkness within. Shawn had a fleeting second of wondering what he was doing, going into a strange building in the dark with one of Adrian's exes, who might be slightly peeved that Adrian had chosen Shawn over him. But Will had made the bold declaration that it was the best thing that'd ever happened to him. He'd hinted that Adrian had physically hurt him. No—this was not someone that was holding a grudge against Shawn. This was just someone who wanted to find out what happened to the guy who cleaned the fountains. Though convinced, Shawn kept his shoulders square, his hands out of his borrowed coat's pockets. Vigilant eyes scanned and anticipated unnatural movements—but nothing happened.

Will unlocked the door, telling Shawn to wait while he turned off the alarm. Shawn dutifully did so. Will came back, let him inside. Shawn was blasted with the scents of the place. The smell of fountain being one of them. Fresh, in a way, and with a hint of bleach. Shawn was both wistful and watchful. He followed Will through the labyrinth of hallways to the front reception area. The fountain was still on, and now that he saw it again, Shawn could see that it was a little scuzzy, just as he'd seen it that morning.

"Um, Will?" The hair on the back of Shawn's neck started to lift. His arms tickled with horripilation. It always came on him when clues came together, forming one, one, one big thing. "The guy—the fountain guy—what did he look like? You said he was a little unkempt."

"Oh, yeah, well—you know how guys like that are." He continued fingering the upper tips of files in the file cabinet before finding the right one. Shawn saw it was labeled "Maintenance." It was full of sheets. "But he was, I don't know, six feet, maybe. Shaggy goldenish hair. Like a lion's mane. And his bones were strong, like through his skin. And his skin. It was unhealthy. Not hydrated. Old before its time. You know how someone starts to look desiccated when they've smoked a pack a day since, like, high school? That's how he looked. Like leather."

Shawn thought it must be the same guy. The body. The one in holding. The one Shawn had found. "Will?"

"Yeah?" Will turned around, handing Shawn one of the maintenance sheets. Shawn didn't glance at it yet.

Shawn was going to tell him that he thought the fountain guy was dead—the guy he'd found dead in holding. And while it lay on his tongue, ready to repeat, he couldn't do it. There was no positive identification on The Body yet, anyway, and this was just a hunch. Hunches were even worse than assumptions. "Um—I'll do what I can to find him. It shouldn't be too hard."

"Maybe not," Will agreed. "I've called the number on there a couple of times since Wednesday, left some voicemails. No return calls. And, like I said, I did go by the place. It just seemed sort of scary," he crept into his shell a little, "and I thought there was a smell—maybe I just imagined that. Still, it wigged me out enough that I decided it's something someone else should handle."

"That was probably wise. But you never talked to him, never asked him about the weather or a baseball game score? Nothing?"

"No, nothing. I never handled any of that. It was always Reece or Amanda. That's it, though. Do you want to go? Do you want to go home? I can drop you off. Or we could have a drink. Or watch a movie, or you could tell me what an interesting life you've had over breakfast in the morning."

An awesome proposition that Shawn would've accepted had his brain not been exploding. Although there was no sexual tension between them, Shawn was pretty sure he could fake it for a while with someone as fun and enlightening as Will. He just didn't want to. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he couldn't get rid of the sensation that something was wrong—or too excited about how close he was to identifying the poor man in holding. "I think I'll have to take a raincheck on the breakfast thing."

"Makes sense," Will said with a subtle smile, no hint of embarrassment. He thought and felt the same way. They had too much history without ever having met. It wouldn't be the two of them in bed, anyway; it'd be the three of them. Two real persons, and one ghost that wouldn't quit. Will was kind of relieved. He didn't know what would've happened if Shawn had said yes to breakfast. "You'll tell me what happens, right? If you find the guy?"

"Of course," Shawn said. "You're my client. I'd never keep you out of the loop."

"Do you want money up front, or—"

"Ha, no, no money, please. This is a favor."

"If you say so," Will said, smiling again in the warm way that invited Shawn in. "Maybe another dinner some night."

Or a breakfast, Shawn wanted to add, not feeling brave enough. It was too soon for action, but not too soon for imagination and hope. If not with Will, then with someone, someday. "And if you wouldn't mind giving me a ride somewhere, I can get started on this right away."

Will agreed, glad that there were no hard feelings between them. But he did apologize again, dropping Shawn off at his selected destination.

"I am sorry if it was all too much for you," he began by saying, "but I had to tell you that I knew who you were. And about Adrian. It took me all this time to realize that there are better guys out there. I didn't want it to take you as long to figure it out. But you seem to be doing okay."

When Will's eye caught movement, Shawn naturally turned to see what he was looking at. In front of the Psych office door stood Lassiter. Shawn had a bewildering sensation that a bad thing had happened, but it dissipated quickly when Lassie raised a hand in a gentle wave.

Will amended his assessment. "You seem to be doing really okay, actually."

"He's more like my boss."

"But he isn't."

Shawn hacked out a laugh at Will catching him in an obvious half-lie. He snapped off the safety belt, and looked heartily at Will. They'd been through a lot. Their date had led them through even more. "Thanks."

Will gave an embarrassed nod. Now that Shawn was acknowledging the help he'd served deliberately, Will couldn't take it. "Yeah—we'll talk soon. And good luck finding out what happened to my fountain guy."

"Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow." Shawn felt like they should hug or kiss or something—they had a connection, and it was more than their backgrounds, more than their foregrounds, their united and overlapping history with one man. Shawn gave him a hug, and Will patted his back and paused to breathe in at Shawn's neck. It was a little ticklish, and very suggestive, and maybe— But Shawn inched his hand towards the handle, wanting to get started on the case Will had given him.

But, first, he had to face Lassiter. As Will's Audi puttered away, a squeak in the break at the next stop sign, Shawn budged his way past Lassie to unlock the door.

"What are you doing here? Having me followed?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. Dobson and McNab. They told me when you left the restaurant."

Shawn let him in against reason and sense and desire, but this was work—or interpersonal—he couldn't tell which. Barriers were getting crossed today, and he didn't like it. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you had me followed."

"So did O'Hara," Lassiter said, taking a seat at the desk. He picked up a bright green and gold rubber thing. It was a squeezable pineapple. He squeezed until its crown distended and distorted, but the stress was still churning in him. "She had you followed. McNab told me. Why did you come here?"

"Will gave me a case." Shawn took off the precious coat, and, gingerly, laid it in Lassiter's lap. He found a flannel in a locker and threw it on. It was a thick one he'd bought in Indiana during a Christmas he spent there a few years ago, just before he decided to go back to Santa Barbara. It kept the chill off him. He took Gus's desk chair and rolled it over to Carlton. "Lassie, listen, do you remember what Strode said about the body? That it had burns on its feet?"

"Yeah, chemical burns. Like from—"

"Bleach."

"Yeah. And?"

"Do you remember when we were at the massage parlor today, they had fountains?"

"I saw a couple. The one in the front, obviously. It's huge. And there's another big one in this room I found when I was having a look around. Why?"

"What do you think they're cleaned with?"

"Is the answer bleach?" Lassiter asked, not sure what sort of game they were playing. Or that, in a couple of years, this would become common between him and Shawn—the game of Questions Only—and that he'd always laugh when one of them won, one of them lost. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"What if I told you the dead body I found in holding might be the missing maintenance guy at For Keeps that cleaned their fountains?"

"I don't know," Lassiter said. "Am I likely to say you're crazy? Because you'd be crazy. Well, you're crazy anyway."

"Why would that be so unheard of, though?" Shawn kept going with the game that Lassiter didn't seem to know they were playing. Shawn had spent a lot of time doing improv, and he knew one game from another. "Couldn't the body be a maintenance guy who cleans fountains, who's around chlorine a lot? Will described him to me," he stopped playing, taking this too seriously, "and it sounds like the description he gave matches that of the body. But Will didn't know him." Shawn explained all that Will had told him, and threw in his own conjecture. He didn't mention, yet, that Will had also been Adrian's boyfriend. That information was heavy, saved for a day of rain and sadness, when the loss of attachment and the newness of freedom started to hurt again, perhaps for fresh reasons.

Shawn had wanted to stay at the offices and do research into the matter, but now Lassiter could sense that his need to work was on the wane. Lassiter shouldn't have come, and he was relieved that Shawn didn't ask why he'd come, never pressing for a real answer. Shawn had been deeply satisfied that it had to do with being followed. After the sort of week Shawn had had, it might not have been much of a surprise. His friends cared about him, and they'd wanted to watch out for him. Getting the call from McNab about Shawn's departure from the restaurant, around eight o' clock, left Carlton puzzled. What had happened? It might not have gone well. Or it might've gone really well. Lassiter had followed Will's car four blocks, then realized they were heading to the Psych office. He took a different route, not the usual one that would've come to Will's brain—Will had only been in town seven months and wouldn't know all the shortcuts—Lassiter beat them there.

He put down the squeezy pineapple, curled the coat around his arm. "Come on, I'll get you home. You can work on this tomorrow. Just promise me that you won't think about this anymore tonight."

Pretty soon, it was Masset the Mouse that Shawn heard in his apartment. He turned music on to drown out the chewing, the noises in his head. The echoes of Adrian's accusations had started to fade, sounding like the final burst of a wave in the echo of anger left behind.