Shawn would be lying if he claimed that he hadn't been hoping to hook up with Lassiter. If he claimed that he hadn't been hoping that Lassie would offer the kind of comfort that ended up in the bedroom. But that was before he saw Emily's body.
He'd thought that seeing her would help allay all the terrible feelings he was having. Would help her be at rest in his mind.
He should've known better.
When he called Lassiter, he'd fought to sound normal, to keep the pitiful plaintive tone out of his voice, but he's pretty sure he failed miserably. Lassiter sounded first bemused, then concerned.
Shawn knows why he keeps bouncing back to Lassiter. He does it because he knows Lassiter sees this stuff every day. And Lassiter, for his part, seems generally pretty untouched by it, emotion-wise. He hoped, somehow, that Lassiter would be able to explain to him why this happened. Or help him to see that it wasn't completely senseless. At the very least, Lassie could be a distraction from the awfulness in Shawn's skull.
Shawn had no idea how much of a distraction Lassiter would end up being.
He gets onto the freeway and drives too fast, relishing the roar of the bike beneath him, of the wind on his throat and wrists.
He doesn't know what happened. One moment he and Lassiter were talking, and the next, Lassiter's lips were on his. And Shawn completely lost control. Months of waiting, of wanting, unfurled in less than three seconds. Shawn had basically shoved Lassie down and had his way with him. He would feel bad about it if Lassie hadn't so obviously enjoyed it.
And afterwards.
He should have just shut the hell up and enjoyed the sex (for that matter, he should have let Lassie return the favor when he'd tried).
"Shawn, you idiot," he mumbles. He had pushed too hard. Asked too much of Lassiter. What did it matter? For once in his life, why couldn't he keep his damn mouth shut?
He is so angry at himself.
When he gets home, he calls Gus.
Gus picks up on the third ring. "Are you dying?" he mumbles.
"No."
The line goes dead. Shawn calls back.
"Dude," he complains. "You hung up on me."
"It's midnight, Shawn." Gus sounds marginally more awake now.
"On a Saturday!" Shawn points out.
Gus sighs. "It's Monday."
Huh. How about that. "Really? Sorry."
"Whatever." Gus sniffs. "What do you want?"
Shawn sighs. "I'm having Lassie problems."
The line goes dead again.
When Shawn calls back, Gus doesn't even bother saying hello. "I'm not listening to you lament in the middle of the night on a Monday, Shawn."
Shawn looks at the clock. "Technically, it's Tuesday." He drops onto the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table.
"No, Shawn."
"Fine." Shawn holds the phone in front of him and sticks his tongue out at it.
He hears Gus sigh on the other end of the phone. "Look," he says. "I'll reschedule my nine and ten o'clock appointments tomorrow. We'll get breakfast."
"Yay!" Shawn cheers. "Thanks, buddy."
Another sigh. "No problem, Shawn."
He sleeps pretty well after that.
Gus picks him up at eight-thirty.
"Okay," he says. "What's the emergency?"
"Whoa, no hello? No good morning?" Shawn buckles his seatbelt and looks at Gus with what he hopes is a wounded expression.
"You're the one with the problem so big it could barely wait until morning," Gus points out.
"Point," Shawn acknowledges. "In any case, good morning."
Gus harrumphs. He still looks annoyed. "Good morning."
"Breakfast burritos?" Shawn suggests.
Immediately, Gus looks placated. "You know that's right," he says.
Over breakfast burritos, Shawn comes clean.
"I kind of had...a run-in...with Lassie," he says.
Gus narrows his eyes and puts his burrito down. "When you say run-in, you better mean that he tried to drive over you in a Taco Bell parking lot."
Shawn snorts. "Hardly. I'm quick like Kwai Chang."
"Then..." Gus lets the word hang.
"Yeah." Shawn takes a huge bite of burrito.
"So you - " Gus raises his eyebrows and flaps one hand in the air.
Shawn swallows the bite. "What is that, a bird wing? This isn't Ladyhawke, Gus. Plus, that would make Lassie Rutger Hauer and me Michelle Pfeiffer." He tilts his head to the side. "Actually, I'm okay with being Michelle Pfeiffer."
"Shawn." Gus glares at him. "Focus."
"Sorry."
"So what happened?" Gus looks as though he's trying his best not to look completely displeased, but he's doing a terrible job of it.
"I was..." Shawn thinks for a moment. "Sad."
Gus's frown eases a little. "Lots of people are sad, Shawn. They don't go around making inadvisable sexual choices."
"Actually," Shawn says, "that's exactly what they do. Haven't you seen High Fidelity?"
"They ended up together at the end, Shawn," Gus says. "So it doesn't count as inadvisable. Plus, that makes you Iben Hjejle."
"Is that how you say her name?" Shawn says. He considers. "I'm quite the attractive blond today."
Gus shakes his head, as though to clear out distractions. "You really need to focus," he says. "Tell me what happened."
Shawn recounts. "Lassie showed up at my house. I was sad. And I may have kissed him a little bit."
"Oh. Great." Gus puts his head in his hand. "This is a bad idea, Shawn."
"Oh, it gets better," Shawn says. "He freaked out and left, but he forgot his phone, so I dropped it off the next day, and he was hung over and all rough and..." Shawn shivers a little, thinking of scruffy Lassiter, curled next to him on the couch. "Anyway, we hung out all day and it was cool, no big deal."
"Uh huh." Gus raises an eyebrow. "And then what."
"But yesterday." Shawn looks away, feeling guilty. "I went to see Emily's body. And then I felt sad again, so I went to Lassie's, and the next thing I know we're - " He flaps his hand in the air. "You know. Ladyhawking."
Gus's frown has reappeared. "Uh huh," he says. "So now you're...what? Dating?"
Shawn snorts. "Yeah. Right."
"I told you this was a bad idea, Shawn," Gus says.
"I know! I know!" Shawn throws his hands up. "You think I don't know that? Lassie's obviously completely freaked and now I don't know what to do. My cards are on the table, dude. Like..." He thinks about the fact that he 'fessed up to Lassiter on the plane, about the fact that Lassiter knows he isn't psychic. "Like, totally on the table."
"Wait a minute," Gus says sharply. "How many cards are we talking? Flop, turn, river?" He is suddenly sitting up a lot straighter and he's looking at Shawn suspiciously.
Shawn shifts, feeling guilty. "Um." He makes a face. "It's kind of an open hand."
"Shawn." Gus doesn't move a muscle. "You didn't tell him about Psych."
"...No?" Shawn tries.
"Oh my God, Shawn." Gus collapses backwards. "We're going to be arrested. At the very least, we're going to be out of a job. Or," he amends, "you're going to be out of a job."
"He said he wasn't going to tell anyone!" Shawn says.
"How do you know he's going to keep that promise?" Gus demands.
"Hey." Shawn points at Gus. "If there's one thing Lassie is, it's trustworthy. He has integrity, Gus. He's like Tom Cruise in the beginning of Risky Business." He grins. "Which makes me Rebecca de Mornay. And blond. Boom."
"Shawn!"
"Sorry." Shawn looks at his hands. "But look, dude, I don't think he's going to tell anyone. Really."
"Okay." Gus looks skeptical. "But that doesn't solve the problem with you and him."
"Yeah, I know," Shawn says. "What do I do? I'm at a little bit of a loss, here."
"You're not going to listen to anything I tell you anyway," Gus points out.
"Point," Shawn says. "That's two for you today."
"Proceed with caution, Shawn," Gus says. "I don't like this at all. Proceed with extreme, extreme caution."
"Gotcha," Shawn says, and he feels better already, just for telling Gus about it. He affects an East Coast accent. "Time a ya life, huh kid?" he says.
The phone buzzes half an hour after Gus drops him off. It's a text from Lassiter.
Have dinner with me tonight.
Shawn almost drops the phone.
When he recovers, he starts to respond. Before he can hit Send, though, another text message comes through. Also from Lassiter. PS sorry about yesterday.
Lassie is sorry? Lassie is sorry?
Shawn is lightheaded and loopy with elation. Second chance! He has a second chance!
He texts Lassiter back: k. dont b sry
Lassiter's response. Pick you up at 7.
By six, Shawn is ready to go and pacing the house. He doesn't remember the last time he was this anxious about a date. A date! He has a date with Lassiter! He feels like jumping up and down, but he's afraid he'd puke from the combination of movement and nervousness. And all those Snickers he'd eaten.
He goes back into the bathroom and spends too much time tousling and re-tousling his hair. He tries on every necklace he owns. He paces and paces and paces until finally it's five til seven and he hears Lassiter parking outside.
He is outside and locking the door five seconds later. And then Lassiter is unfolding himself from his car and oh dear Lord Shawn can't believe how good he looks. Dark pants, green shirt with the sleeves rolled up. No tie, and the top two buttons undone. Curls of dark hair peeking out at his throat. He's not wearing his holster, for once.
He meets Shawn halfway between the car and Shawn's front door. "Hi," he says uncomfortably.
"Hi." Shawn shoves his hands in his pockets. "You look good."
"Thanks." Lassiter touches the buttons of his shirt self-consciously. "So do you."
Shawn's wearing his nicest shirt: navy plaid, one gold button at the tail. He doesn't have tailored pants like Lassie, but he found the pair that was the least wrinkled, and he's wearing his shiniest shoes.
He doesn't get a chance to thank Lassiter, though, because Lassie is putting a hand on the small of Shawn's back and steering him toward the car.
"You okay with Italian?" Lassie says.
Shawn would have said yes to a plate of rocks garnished with grass clippings. "Sure," he says. And when Lassiter opens the passenger door for Shawn, when his fingertips graze Shawn's shoulder as he sits down, Shawn thinks he could die happy.
Lassiter is very quiet on the drive to the restaurant. When they're seated (in a booth in the corner, checked tablecloth and a candle in a raffia bottle and everything), he takes a deep breath.
"Spencer," he says. "Shawn." He toys with his fork, not meeting Shawn's eyes.
"Lassie," Shawn replies. "Carlton." He reaches across the table and gently takes the fork out of Lassiter's hand and places it on the table.
Another deep breath. "The truth is..."
Shawn waits. He's trying hard to act calm, but his heart is racing.
Lassiter clears his throat. "The truth is, Spencer..."
Shawn thinks What happened to 'Shawn?' but keeps his mouth shut.
And then: worst timing ever.
"May I take a drink order?" says the waiter, and Shawn wants to punch him right in his perfect teeth. He glares daggers.
Lassiter flushes. "Ah. Drinks."
"I'll have a Sprite," Shawn growls.
"Um." Lassiter hesitates. "Water. And, um, Glenlivet, rocks."
"Very good." Perfect Teeth backs away, looking absolutely unaware that Shawn hates him with a fiery passion.
"Sorry," Shawn says. "What were you going to say, Lassie?"
Lassiter passes a hand over the back of his neck. "Ah. Let me think."
Shawn bites back the urge to prompt him by repeating what Lassiter said before Perfect Damn Teeth interrupted. He waits, feeling sweaty and nervous.
"Maybe we can talk about it later," Lassiter says at last, and Shawn can't take it.
"Later!" he exclaims. "Lassie, come on, I've been waiting for later for months. Later, no. Tell me." He ducks his head to catch Lassiter's gaze, huffing when Lassiter glances away again.
And then he catches himself.
"I'm going to shut up," Shawn says. "Lassie, when you want to tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me, you'll tell me. I'm going to stop asking. Quiet as a mouse. Quiet as that girl from the Ring crawling out of the TV."
Abruptly, Lassiter laughs. "No you won't."
Shawn considers. "You're right. I won't."
Lassiter leans back in his chair. He picks up the fork again and taps the tines against the table. "It's..." He pauses. "Despite my better judgment, Spencer, I don't dislike you."
"Oh, Lassie!" Shawn leans forward, lacing his fingers together under his chin. "That's so romantic. I may swoon."
"Shut up." Lassiter scowls. Then, grudgingly: "I'm actually...rather fond of you."
"Getting warmer." Shawn puts a hand on the table, then slides it across the tablecloth until it's half an inch from Lassiter's. He stares at Lassiter, hoping his expression conveys exactly how much he wants to hear the rest.
Lassiter's Adam's apple bobs as he gulps. "Shawn..."
"You're almost there, Lassie," Shawn says in a low voice. "Little further."
"You're doing it again," Lassiter points out.
Shawn smiles. "I know," he says. "But at least you were expecting it." He taps Lassiter's knuckle gently with his fingertip.
Lassiter pulls his hands away and folds his arms. "All right, all right. I give up. I like you, okay?"
"Yesssssss!" Shawn raises a fist. "Finally."
Lassiter rolls his eyes. "You are..."
"Amazing?"
"No."
"Phenomenal?"
Another eye roll. "No."
"Sexy?" Shawn tries.
Lassiter tilts his head. Smirks. "Maybe," he says. "I was thinking more along the lines of incorrigible."
"That too," Shawn concedes. "Now that we've established the basic groundwork of our relationship, should we get out of here and go have lots and lots of sex?"
Lassiter turns red. "No," he says. "We're eating."
The closer they get to Shawn's apartment, the more anxious he gets. He really, really, really wants Lassiter to come inside, but what if he won't? What if he changes his mind about Shawn? What if he decides he doesn't want to do this, after all?
Lassiter pulls the car into the space nearest the building and puts it into Park, but doesn't turn off the engine. He doesn't move.
Neither does Shawn. Finally: "Sooooo. Lassie."
Lassiter's voice is careful, even. "Spencer."
"It's still early," Shawn says. He takes a gamble and puts his hand on Lassiter's thigh, just above the knee.
He sees Lassiter's gaze flick toward the clock. "It's Tuesday, Spencer." But he puts his hand over Shawn's.
"So?" Shawn can't focus. Lassiter's thumb smooths over the back of Shawn's hand, tiny slow passes, making Shawn's skin crackle and burn.
"So some of us have to work in the morning," Lassiter says. Then he lifts his hand from Shawn's, puts it on the back of Shawn's neck, and pulls. And Lassiter is kissing him. It's a gentle kiss; slow, full of promise. Nothing like last night, but somehow infinitely better.
When he draws back, Lassiter's smile is almost imperceptible. "Friday," he says. "How about Friday night."
Shawn's heart leaps. "Okay," he squeaks.
"Great." Lassiter is all business once more. He pats Shawn on the leg. "Now get out of here, Spencer, I've got a bedtime."