Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.

Carlton downed yet another beer and slammed his glass down on the bar counter. It had been a long day. Since his disastrous ride to the crime scene, they had managed to muddle through the case, thanks to Shawn's psychic contributions, although it was highly uncomfortable for all involved. Once the suspects were in custody, Carlton got out of there as soon as he could and made his way to his usual brooding spot at the bar. Five or six beers later, he was still there.

Damn it, he thought, rubbing his temples. Why do things always have to happen? Nothing can ever work out for me, can it?

Things had been going so well for him and Shawn. He had begun to hope that whatever it was that they had going on between them was actually going to last. Then again, things had once been good with his ex-wife. And that most certainly had not turned out well. Why should he have expected any different this time around?

Everything would have been fine if no one found out. God damned Guster.

He was simply not ready to have anyone know. He could not deal with that. If it was just between the two of them, then that was one thing. Now this – this was a horse of a different color.

The detective sighed and rested his head on his arm. It was definitely time to go home. Even with that much beer in his system, he had enough sense to know his limits. He dialed for a cab before he had enough time to be tempted by the draw of another drink. The cab arrived shortly, and Carlton slid in, leaning against the window. Bustling shoppers, colorful trees and twinkling lights rolled by, as if taunting him with their cheer.

They reached the destination in what felt like an inordinately long time. Carlton paid the driver and dragged himself up to the door to his apartment. He absently fumbled for his keys and nearly tripped over something at his feet. Having finally located the keys, he reached down and picked up the cause of his near-tripping. It was a massive bundle of what he estimated to be about three dozen dark red roses with a note tucked inside. His name was written on the paper in sloppy, blocky letters that were all too familiar.

"Shawn," he muttered to himself.

Carlton unfolded the paper to read just four short words in that same atrocious handwriting: "Please don't leave me." He stuck the note back between the stems and shut his eyes for a moment, as though that would erase what he had just seen. He could not think about this mess anymore. He was just going to go to bed and deal with it later. Securing the bundle under his arm with difficulty, due to the multitude of flowers, he turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open with his shoulder. He trudged to the table, where he set down the bouquet and flung off his jacket.

A creaking footstep pieced the silence of the dark apartment. The detective spun on his heel and whipped out his gun, poised to fire at the intruder.

"Wait! Wait! Don't shoot!" called a familiar voice.

"What are you doing here?" Carlton said gruffly, flicking on the light to illuminate the figure of Shawn Spencer, and returning his weapon to its holster. "I could have killed you!"

"Well, I thought I'd given you enough of a hint."

"Leaving something at someone's door is hardly a 'hint' to anticipate a break-in. And you still haven't answered my question: what are you doing here?"

"I know you read my note, so now I'm beginning to think that you may be losing your touch, Mister Detective."

"Don't be a smartass, Shawn. Now is not the time for your crap."

"It's not crap." Shawn stepped closer to Carlton until he was mere inches away. "I'm being completely serious here."

The detective swallowed and tried to maintain his composure. Shawn's warm breath tempted him with closeness.

"What do you want, then?" he said through a clenched jaw.

"You, Carlton," Shawn said, looking directly up into his eyes.

Carlton had always had a weakness for hearing Shawn utter his first name, rather than the derisive nicknames he usually used in public. He struggled to resist the almost magnetic force pulling him toward Shawn. It seemed that time skipped a beat. Without noticing the space between them close, Carlton found himself lost in a kiss with the other man. He was about to pull away, when he felt Shawn's hands rest on his hips. With the comfort of that touch, he eased back into the kiss. His own hands found their way to the back of Shawn's neck.

"So?" Shawn asked once they had separated. "You said this morning that you needed time to think. Well, what do you think now?"

"Shawn, I have to say, I –"

"Wait," Shawn interrupted in hurried panic. "Before you say anything, just so you know, Gus said he'd never tell anybody, so you don't actually have to worry about everybody finding out. I mean, assuming you'd be okay if it's just him, since he's my best friend and all. But you really don't –"

"Shawn!" Carlton gripped the other man by the shoulders. "Get a hold of yourself! Just let me talk. Alright?"

"Uh – okay," Shawn stammered.

"What I started to say was that I have to admit that my first instinct was that it wouldn't work out anymore if anybody knew –"

Shawn's eyes widened.

"But," Lassiter emphasized to quell Shawn's obvious dread, "I realized that all that doesn't matter. I don't want to lose you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes not to."

Shawn through his arms around the other man and planted a sloppy, joyful kiss on his lips.

"So, what does that mean," Shawn asked," you know, for us?"

"This is what it means: you know about the department Christmas party?"

"Of course." A smile began to creep across his face in anticipation.

"Well, will you go with me? As my date?"

Shawn answered wordlessly with another kiss. Carlton lifted the beaming Shawn and carried him to the bedroom.

Author's Note: So, in some ways I feel like that should have taken a little longer for Lassie to figure out his angst, but I just couldn't stand to have them being like that any longer. It's supposed to be a fun Christmas fic. Also, thank you for the reviews! You guys are great!