Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.
It was shaping up to be a rather slow Monday at the Santa Barbara Police Department. Carlton Lassiter was rather dismayed that this was most likely going to be a paperwork day, rather than a kicking in doors, interrogating suspects, examining evidence day. And that was precisely why he was surprised to hear the voices of Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster invading the outside corridor.
"Spencer! What are you doing here?" Carlton shouted out the doorway. "Who the hell called you in?"
"No one," Shawn replied, sliding through the head detective's office doorway, with Gus not far behind.
"Then why are you here?" Carlton scowled.
"Your memory's worse than I thought, Lassie." Shaw leaned onto Carlton's desk. "I'm a psychic – remember? I didn't need to be called in. I could just sense that I would be needed here today."
Shawn's voice ceased, but his lips continued to move, as he looked directly into Carlton's eyes: "I need to talk to you."
The detective furrowed his brow and tilted his head in puzzlement. This was not police business, he was certain, but he could not let anyone else know that.
"Well, either way, you can get your elbows off my desk," Carlton growled, slapping a stack of papers on the desk. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Instead of obeying, Shawn scooted further across the desk and closer to the man opposite him. Just as Carlton raised a hand to shove him away, the ring of the telephone clattered in his ears.
"Lassiter," Carlton answered, shooting a sideways smirk at Shawn. "I see… Yes… We'll be on our way." He hung up the phone. "Looks like you were right. We got a case. Let's roll."
He summoned Detective O'Hara and the four proceeded to the parking lot. However, instead of following their usual driving arrangement, Lassiter found Shawn hopping into the passenger's seat beside him, while Gus and Juliet rode together. Now his routine was being interrupted. What the hell is going on here? , he thought.
"Why are you here, Shawn?"
"Because we're going to the crime scene," Shawn replied matter-of-factly.
"That's not what I meant," Carlton snapped. "Why are you in this car now?"
"I told you – I have to talk to you."
"Does it have to be on the way to a case?"
"Well, it's pretty important. I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible, and I didn't know when else I'd get a chance to catch you alone."
"Fine," Carlton resigned, and at last started up the car and pulled out onto the road. "What it is then?"
"Can we listen to Christmas music?"
"No!" The detective was quickly losing his patience. "Just say what you have to say!"
"Alright, alright. No need to get angry," Shawn took a deep breath and swallowed. He was terrified to say this and, more importantly, how the other man might react. "Well, we've got a little bit of a problem on our hands."
"What kind of problem, Shawn?"
"Gus knows. About us, I mean."
Carlton's body tensed, causing him nearly to lose control of the vehicle. "Wh – what? I – I thought we had agreed that we weren't going to tell anyone about this."
"I know. Nobody told anybody. I guess he saw us when you dropped me off the other night. He asked me about it this morning."
"Well, what did you tell him?" The detective could feel his hands trembling.
"I made fun of him for not figuring it out sooner. I even sang a 'Gus is oblivious' song. I think I handled it pretty well."
Carlton was silent. He had no idea what to do, what to think, or what to say to the man sitting beside him. This was a nightmare. It was exactly what he had so desperately hoped would not happen. Someone knew. He could not handle that. Not now. He felt as if his brain were hyperventilating, running a million miles an hour, but still going nowhere. Before he even realized where he was or how long it had been, he saw the glint of the yellow police tape ahead. Robotically, he maneuvered the car to a stop and exited the vehicle. With his back to Shawn, he said the first words since he had been bombarded with this terrible news.
"Leave me alone. Just... stay away from me. I need to think."