Welcome again. Short short chapter, this time, but there is a reason, because it's probably one of the most romantic things I've ever written. And in a story where Lassie and Shawn scarcely meet each other, it seems only fitting leaving a full chapter to them. An Interlude in the middle of the storm. They kinda deserve it.

Hope you like it, as always, and I'd love to know how it has gone so far. Thanks for your support.

VII – Nihil Videndo

(Nothing to See)

To reach Carlton's house he and Francesca took her car again. It was a rusty, European thing that was ridiculously small and looked vaguely like a beetle. It rolled smoothly along the streets and did a wheezing sound on slopes. At some moment she turned on the radio, tuning it on a Pop station and giving him an expectant look. Carlton nodded.

This time travel was easier: it all felt logical and nicely solid in the cabin. Out of the window Main Street was already in full swing, people going around, men cleaning the shop windows. A school bus shuttled in front of a movie poster pinned by the stop. Carlton found himself smile.

-Francesca, did you call your parents last night? You didn't come home.-

-Yes, I did. And don't call me Francesca. Call me Fran.-

-I would never do such a thing.-

The girl rolled her eyes, turning a corner.

-Uh, I got it. You're one of those no-nicknames type, right?-

The pang of memory was so sweet it hurt. –I'm no type. I just don't see why Francesca isn't a perfectly proper name.-

-You would think it different if you had a name that practically screams "pizza e mandolino".- She cast him a rapid glance. -What's your name, anyway?-

-Lassiter. I've already told you.-

-I mean the first name, detective.-

He stretched his back, proudly. -Carlton Jebediah Lassiter.-

It took a moment to sink in. The girl kept driving, arching an eyebrow. Then she began to laugh. She laughed so much the car swayed a bit.

-Carlton Jebediah?- She snorted, tried to breathe, failed. -Oh my, and here I thought I was the miserable one. I think I'll forever call you detective.-

Carlton watched her giggling madly behind the wheel, shaking her head. He had discovered his true name not two months ago, after watching The Patriot on Tv. He had had to confiscate his cell to prevent a catastrophic SMS to Guster. He had laughed so hard.

Carlton looked up from the dashboard. - Stop the car.-

-Uh? Why?- A shuffle of papers. -It's not the right road.-

-Please, stop the car.-

Francesca shrugged, pulling on the side of the road. Large sycamores rustled high over them. It was a respectful neighborhood, half-empty since it was way past office hour. Henry's house peered among roofs and trees.

He fumbled with the door handle without touching it. He needed to get out. There. There was too much noise, roaring. He was in the street. The girl was talking. Was it a thunder?

-Is something wrong?-

-Ah, no. No.-

-You look strange.-

He swallowed, said the truth. -I need to do something.-

She followed his gaze, leaning out of the driver's window. All the way to the other side of the road and the trees and the red, red roof.

-Oh, okay. Sure. I'll, I'll try to find something to eat around here.-

Carlton patted his trousers pockets on autopilot. –Ah, good. You need some cash?-

-I kinda doubt you have cash, detective.- She said. She paused as the engine rumbled back in life. -Take your time, detective. I'll be right here.-

He nodded.

He didn't know how, but suddenly he was in a courtyard. It was Henry's courtyard, he recognized the wisterias dangling from the porch's roof and the barbeque he had drooled after for two years. It was all quiet. A sprinkler went out in a nearby garden.

Carlton took a step forward. He knew exactly what to do and had no idea why. He wasn't even sure he was there. He couldn't stay there. He was angry with him.

He would just get a bit nearer. Take a look inside, check it out, just a moment. Just another step. Probably there was no one inside. He was on the porch. Probably.

Someone shuffled from behind a window and Carlton's head snapped that way. He heard a clack of mugs, the low humming of a microwave.

It was Shawn, of course.

He was heating up coffee. Despite Shawn Spencer's frenzied way of life, he actually drank a lot less coffee than Carlton; he said he found it too serious. It was mainly a Thinking Thing, or a shared ritual, and he never did it on his own. Carlton couldn't have helped grimacing every time he had seen him warming up that brownish slop and flinging it in the still-not-washed last-night mug.

Carlton took a step towards the window, slowly. Oh, this felt so wrong. It felt so right. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants and his hair went in every possible ways around his face. The light fell right across his nose as he looked down into the sinker.

Carlton lifted a hand, brushed the glass. He could stay a little more. He should stay a little more. Oh please he had to stay a little more, because there was nothing, not really, nothing in the whole universe and life and death that can matter nearly as much as staying a little more here. Here, here, watching Spencer warming up coffee.

Finding a clean mug in Pope's drawer was harder than expected. Shawn groaned, scratching a temple. Under bare feet the floor was still chilly, but the sun had gone up hours ago; soon it would warm up everything. Dad had gone to the groceries and left him a note to clean the garage.

Remember the gutter. Don't fall from the roof.

It had been somehow nice from the old man, but of course he would never do such a thing. He wouldn't have done it anyway, let alone now that he had such a great excuse.

He found Gus's mug in the sinker and gave it a wash. Pope's house felt very large and very quiet around him. Man, if it was awkward. He didn't have to stay there. Life went on. He was hungry. He could go out, pick up a smoothie. He could open the Psych, because no matter what, they still have to pay cable TV. He didn't have to stay there, not a bit. Life went on. Going out, buying a smoothie, working. Doing things. Anything.

Shawn suddenly looked up. He rushed to stop the microwave, all the time without taking his eyes away from the window, the one looking on the porch. He had heard a sound. Or seen a shadow, he wasn't sure.

There was nothing outside, though. The flowers, a fishing pole, the normal stuff Dad left there.

Still Shawn found himself walking. The floor felt suddenly colder under his feet. He breathed slowly, squinted. There was nothing outside. Something. It was there again. A sound, or a shadow. He lifted a hand and touched the window. Fingertips pressed against the glass.

The glass was warm. Shawn didn't see anything, felt everything. He sucked in.

-Carl...-

But really, there was nothing outside.