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Difficult Days Part Eleven

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven, Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten or Read on AO3

“How long have you known?” Shawn asks, the words come out stilted as he tries to keep his voice level. He watches carefully as Carlton’s face slowly twists into a pained grimace and it's all the admission Shawn needs.

“The whole time then, that's awesome, yup, that's fun,” he says sharply, “very fun, probably a little too fun, I'm plum tuckered from all the fun, Detective”.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Lassiter says, moving closer, reaching out with one hand which Shawn dodges with a quick sidestep.

“Or ever,” Shawn says sharply, cutting Lassiter off.

“Please Shawn, I hadnt meant to--”

Shawn takes another step back, nearly into the kitchenette he's managed to cobble together out of an outdoor dining set he found at a yard sale, a hot plate, and a mini fridge -the second of the pair that Shawn had convinced Gus to invest in for their office.

“Hadn't meant to, what?” he says with a shrug, leaning against the shelf with the hotplate, hands in his pockets.

“Hurt me? I'm not hurt. I’m great, peaches even,” Shawn continues his gaze bouncing around the room, anywhere but Lassiter’s face, “what, you think the fact that the man I've been fantasizing about for the last three months has been lying to me, pitying me--”

“Shawn,” the Detective breathes out, staring at Shawn, his mouth curved down in utter misery.

But Shawn is on a roll now, anger and hurt coursing through him. He knows he's being unfair, it's not like he's been a paragon of truth after all, but this has nicked the delicate membrane wrapped around his heart. The one that kept everyone but the Gusters at an arm's length, the armour that had seemed necessary up until that hospital trip.

Well, that's what he gets for ignoring Gus’s good instincts. His best friend’s warnings about Anthony had fallen on deaf ears at the time, God Shawn should have known better.

It’s a mistake he won’t make again.

Shawn holds his tongue against his teeth before huffing out a sharp laugh, “either this is all because you feel sorry for me, or worse, Henry put you up to it?”

Shawn shifts his gaze back to Carlton now, trying to spot the moment he nails the deduction, “is that why you've been such bosom buddies? Teaching me another god damn lesson, ‘that about right?”

“No, Jesus, Shawn of course not--”

“The fact that you saw me at my lowest moment,” Shawn says, his voice like steel, “then turned around to make friends with my asshole of a dad who kicked me out for the very thing you just tried to start with me?” he gestures between them before dropping his hand to his side with a loud thwack against his jeans.

Shawn breathes in slowly through his nose to try and halt the rapid thrum of his heart beat but it doesn't seem to help,”you guys got me, great job,” he bites out, voice tight as Shawn raises a clenched first and presses the knuckles into his sternum, hard.

“I need you to leave,” he says, turning away.

“Shawn, if you would just let me explain--”

“Gus is going to be here soon with an, ‘I-told-you-so’, which is an invitation only event, so,” he points dismissively at the entryway, ignoring the lump in his throat.

“Shawn,” Lassiter says, reaching out to grasp his hand only for Shawn to jerk away, just out of reach.

“Just go, I don't want to hear it”.

Carlton is silent for a moment, not looking at Shawn. His blue eyes have drifted off to some point behind Shawn’s shoulder.

The Detective shakes his head and draws himself up to his full height, which would be a little distracting if Shawn weren't so angry.

“Don't push me away Shawn,” Carlton says after a beat.

He takes a step closer, “you told me that people cared about me that night at the pub, that there were people who would have my back if I let them, and I asked you if you took your own advice”.

Shawn feels his lip curl slightly, pulled down into a grimace as he wraps his arms across his chest. Leave it to Lassiter to remember that particular moment at Tom Blairs.

Lassiter continues, his hands clenching around nothing, as though desperate to reach out to Shawn, but he keeps them at his side, “I can explain, if you'll let me”.

Shawn grits his teeth letting a sharp breath out through his nose, his gaze fixed on the wall behind the Detective, determined not to look at the other man.

“Henry was a legend when I started,” Carlton says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “and is still very well respected by the precinct--I'm not making excuses,” he adds quickly as Shawn's expression shutters.

“By the time I made Detective, Henry was on his way to retiring and hadn’t mentioned any family during the brief time we did work together. I promise you Shawn, I didn't realize who you were or who you two were to each other until well after you started consulting for us”.

“Was it the day Juliet--”

“Dumped a full cup of coffee all over that jackass?” Carlton snorts lightly, an undignified sound that Shawn has never heard the Detective make before, and reaches out to grasp Shawn's hand, slowly pulling his arms apart and away from Shawn's chest, “I knew that was you”.

Carlton lets his thumb rub soothing circles over the back of Shawns hand as he continues in that same soft voice, “it’s what you said that day in the kitchen, something I had heard years ago when I first started here, trying to talk down this crying kid in the hallway, and it all clicked”.

Shawn scoffs, “I don't know about crying--”

“I think hearing your dad tell you that having feelings for men was just as disappointing as stealing a car, would be enough to set anyone off,” Lassiter says, so matter-of-factly, with so much conviction, that Shawn's mouth closes with an audible click of his teeth as he looks away.

He can feel his eyes start to sting as old hurts tear open all over again, though Shawn isn't sure if they had ever fully closed, even now.

Growing up with Henry, a man who saw himself as the moral compass for his son. The one person who always worked to teach Shawn his version of right and wrong, good and bad, if Henry said Shawn was a bad kid?

Well. That was just the way it was.

The number of people that had actually taken Shawn's side back then could be counted on one hand and all shared the surname Guster.

Which is why it had hurt, so goddamn much, to know exactly what his dad thought of him, once and for all.

That Shawn really never would be good enough for him.

“I couldn't let it go,” Carlton continues as he tilts his head trying to catch Shawns gaze, “I had to follow the lead and that's when I found the transcript,” Carlton trails off, ducking his head to chew on his lip for a moment, “for what it's worth, I'm sorry for reading it, digging where I shouldn't have”.

Shawn grimaces, thankful at least that there wasn't a recording. It was already awful knowing that Carlton remembered him now from his rookie days, crying in the hallway, he's not sure he could have handled a recording of the event on top of that.

“But, you have to know that what Henry said to you was bullshit, is bullshit,” Carlton says, he's ramping up to something now, his large hands suddenly clammy with sweat as they continue to gently hold Shawn's own.

“Understatement,” Shawn says hoarsely as he finally looks up to finally meet Carlton’s bright blue gaze.

“So” Carlton says softly, pulling Shawn closer, “I'm not doing this out of pity, and your dad certainly didn't put me up to it”.

“And, if it still isn't clear after all of this, I like you Shawn Spencer. Fake-psychic, pain-in-the-ass and all”.

Shawn’s eyes flick between Carltons own, waiting for the other shoe to drop, searching for the ‘but’ at the end of his declaration, but all he can see in the ocean blue of the Detectives eyes is honest affection.

And for the second time that afternoon Shawn finds himself speechless and more than a little overwhelmed.

“Did you bring a boombox with you too,” Shawn manages to ask despite the waver in his voice, “because that was almost perfect, John Hughes couldn't have written it better--”

Carlton doesn't wait for the rest before he sweeps Shawn into a tight hug, with one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders. The startled laugh Shawn barks out is muffled against Carlton's shirt as he lifts his arms to circle around the Detectives neck.

“How did you get so smooth, did you take a class?” Shawn continues, relishing the warm arms and the spicy scent of Carltons cologne that wraps around him.

Carlton snorts, “I'd rather skinny dip at the pier”.

“There he is,” Shawn huffs, titling his head to nuzzle into Carltons neck, “but also I would love to see that”.

Shawn smiles as Carlton kisses his hair before leaning his own head down to rest against Shawn’s, it’s soft and warm and everything Shawn has been hoping for since that night at Tom Blairs.

Eventually Carlton pulls back, enough for Shawn to lift his head to see the grin on the Detectives face slowly drop into something hesitant.

“There's something else,” Carlton clears his throat, avoiding Shawn’s gaze, “I've been…testing a theory”.

Now, Shawn, for all his protesting and insistence, isn't a real psychic; but that doesn't stop the uneasy feeling that begins to pull his stomach up into his chest at the words.

“What kind of theory?”

Carlton takes a deep breath through his nose, his blue eyes dart back and forth between Shawn's own.

“I was the one who got your bike back from the impound--”

“Well, yeah” Shawn says warily, shifting fully out of Carltons arms, “you weren't exactly subtle about it Lassie”.

“But, I may have been tipped off about the impound and the tickets”.

“By who,” Shawn asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

But he already knows, by the pinched, guilty expression on Carlton’s face, exactly who tipped the Head Detective off.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me, no,” Shawn insists, taking an aborted step towards the front door, then moving back to the kitchenette, “nope!”

Lassiter follows Shawns movement with his eyes, his one hand clasped over the back of his neck as he moves to sit in a random folding chair next to the small patio table. He drops onto the metal chair before leaning forward and bringing his hands to clasp in front of him, elbows balanced on his knees.

“Henry must have accidentally told you,” Shawn continues, now pacing back and forth from the living room, around the couch, and back to Carlton, “or, he was temporarily possessed by a truthful ghost or something--”

“A truthful ghost?”

“Or something!” Shawn spits out turning away to resume his path.

“Shawn,” Carlton tries to say but his voice is drowned out by the monologue Shawn has found himself delivering as he moves.

“Why else would Henry do this, it doesn't make any sense,” he says, ignoring the way Carlton’s head drops to his chest and the deep breath he takes, “there has to be some kind of angle he’s working, my dad would rather sell his truck, he'd rather burn that picture of him and the mayor, he'd rather--”

“Shawn!” Lassiter barks out sharply, startling him into halting his tirade and his movements.

Shawn looks up to meet Carlton’s gaze, his brow creased into a frown. Normally Shawn wouldn't bat an eye at the Detective frowning or glaring at him but this one is steeped in guilt.

“Look, I know I overstepped, and I shouldn't meddle, but I wouldn't have brought it up if I thought that Henry didn’t feel guilty for what he said to you that night”.

Shawn stops in his tracks, scoffing in disbelief.

Of course, Carlton doesn’t know Henry the way Shawn does. He doesn’t know about the training, the lessons, how deep it really went, and how it all lingers.

How could he?

With Henry there were no accidents, no apologies --hell, even after the trunk incident when Shawn had passed out, Henry couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the hurt he had caused.

So why on earth would he start now?

Carlton watches him from his seat in the kitchen, as though willing him to come closer, to share his space as they talk.

Shawn turns instead and drops onto the couch cushion, busying his hands with a loose thread on one of the mismatched pillows.

“Henry came to the hospital Shawn, while you were resting”.

Shawn stills, the loose thread falls from his frozen fingers before he recovers with a huff.

“I would have seen him, I wasn’t that messed up Lassie,” he says after a beat, “Henry isn't low key, he's not the type to bring flowers anonymously”.

He hears Carlton shift, his chair creaks with the movement, “I may have..told him to leave”.

Now that gets his attention.

Shawn turns to look at the Detective so quickly his neck stings in protest as the words sink in.

“You told him to leave…and he left. Henry Spencer? Are you sure we're talking about the same man?”

He raises his hand as far above his head as it will go since he's sitting down, “about yea high, stubborn as a mule, penchant for Hawaiian shirts?”

“How many other Henry Spencer’s do we know?” Carlton asks with an amused grin.

“Oh my god,” Shawn breathes out as he stands up onto the cushion and vaults clumsily over the back of the couch, the socks on his feet nearly slipping on the linoleum floor in his haste, “you're incredible!”

He bounds over in three steps, forcing the other man to catch him as launches himself into Carlton’s lap. Shawn leans in and crashes their lips together in a clumsy kiss.

Carlton hums, wrapping his arms around Shawns waist to pull him in tightly. Shawns hands find their way into his hair, threading his fingers through salt and pepper locks.

The chair groans under their combined weight but Carlton merely shifts his hands from Shawn's waist to his thighs, before standing and lifting him in one fluid motion.

Shawn laughs into the kiss as he lowers his hands from Carlton's hair to grip his shoulders at the sudden movement.

Shawn pulls back just far enough to whisper, “I can think of better things to do than to keep talking about Henry”.

He tightens his legs around Carlton’s hips, pulling a low gravely hum from the other man.

Carlton grins, eyes at half mast as he nips gently at Shawn’s bottom lip, “Oh?”

“Yeah, the better things usually happen down that hall,” Shawn tips his head to the left towards his bedroom, “and then first door on the right”.

Neither men hear the quiet knock on the door to Shawn's apartment, nor do they notice the door swing open behind them.

“Down the hall huh,” Carlton says lowly against Shawn's lips, “I'd let you lead the way, but I kinda like you up here”.

Shawn barks out a laugh as Carlton leans forward to kiss his jaw, they both freeze at the sound of a yelp behind them.

“OH MY GOD, NO!!!”

Shawn topples to the floor in an ungraceful heap as Calrton moves into a defensive position, one hand on his holster while the other springs out into a near perfect imitation of a crossing guard holding up traffic.

Gus stands in the entryway, door open, his hands clasped over his face, muffling his words, “Oh my god, oh my GOD, why wasn't your door LOCKED Shawn?”

Shawn groans from the floor which spurs Carlton to action as he leans down to help him to his feet, “shit, sorry sweetheart, did you hit your head, are you okay?”

Carlton’s hands trace over his face, tipping it from side to side, before gently combing through his hair, searching for tender skin.

Shawn bats at the offending hands, grinning wildly, as Carlton struggles to keep hold of him.

“Sweetheart??” Gus whispers to himself as he watches from the doorway, his eyebrows climbing further and further into his forehead as Shawn tries to wrestle away from the Detective, “what the hell is going on here?”

Carlton blinks, his eyes flick from Shawn to Gus, as though just realizing they aren't alone anymore, and steps back slightly.

“Gus,” Shawn breathes out a laugh, his face flushed, “I’m holding you personally and fiscally responsible if I need another MRI”.

“It's financially, Shawn, and don't try to change the subject, what is he doing here?” Gus asks, looking from Carlton to Shawn, watching them warily.

“Lassie very gallantly and handsomely came by to whisk me off my feet and imply that he knows about my psychic powers”.

“I’m not sure imply is the right word,” Carlton says with a raised eyebrow, he shakes his head as Shawn simply shrugs.

“And just what does Lassie know?” Gus says slowly, taking a step backwards towards the door.

Shawn rolls his eyes, of course Gus would take more convincing than that, “chill compadre, Lassie knows I'm about as psychic as Sylvia Browne”.

His best friend seems to relax slightly, as Gus halts his retreat for the door, “so…you know,” he asks, pointing at Carlton, “and you aren't going to arrest us?”

“Weeeeell,” Shawn interjects before Carlton can say anything, “technically, I haven’t admitted anything--”

“Shawn,” Gus says, lifting his left hand to wipe down his face, his voice pained “you just said--”

“Ah, ah,” Shawn tuts, raising his pointer finger to his own lips. He hazards a glance at Carlton who seems to be watching the exchange with begrudging amusement if the quirked eyebrows and relaxed shoulders are anything to go by.

“Consider that Sylvia Browne is very gifted, and I meant every word”.

Carlton rolls his eyes at that but still smiles, which Shawn counts as a win.

“Guster, I promise you I wouldn't be here if I meant either of you any harm,” Carlton says, pulling Shawn into his side, “and Shawn is right, he technically hasn't admitted to anything”.

“Ho-ly shit,” Gus says softly, looking at them with wide eyes, “I only left you alone for three hours, how did you manage this?”

“What,” Shawn scoffs, ignoring the way Gus continues to stare, “I can't be charming and irresistible?”

“Well I hope you keep that charm,” Gus points with one hand at Shawn while the other gestures at Carlton, “and Lassiter keeps his cool about Psych when it comes to telling the chief about this”.

Shawn falters slightly looking up to meet Carlton’s gaze.

Right, telling the chief.

Now, it isn’t that Shawn thinks she'll have a problem with them dating, Karen might be tough but she's not homophobic, he's definitely a lot more concerned about keeping up the psychic schtick and the guilt that has seemingly flaired to life now that Carlton is involved.

He'll have to come up with something, disappearing isn't an option anymore, Shawn thinks as he leans into the Detectives side.

It'll be fine. Step one: tell the chief.

Step two?

Well, they'll cross that bridge like the proverbial chicken, when it hatches.

Shawn relishes the warmth against his side as he tunes back into Carlton and Gus, who have started bickering about the merits of TV psychics.

Oh yeah, what could possibly go wrong?

***

In hindsight, telling Vick was actually the least of their problems.

Lassie insisted they inform the Chief of the change in their relationship the very next day and by extension Juliet, who seemed thrilled by the news --and the additional fifty bucks lining her pocket after winning the office betting pool that had been going on since Carlton took Shawn to the hospital.

“You couldn't hold off another two weeks?” Vick huffs, her eyes scanning the signed forms before placing her own signature at the bottom. She picks up the papers, shuffling them into a neat stack before replacing the paperclip to hold them together and setting them in an organizer labeled, ‘HR’.

“I can't believe you would bet on our beautiful man-love Chief,” Shawn says, picking up the glass fish from Vicks desk, smiling as she deftly grabs it back and places it in its original spot, “isn't that a violation of some kind of code of conduct or breach of ethics or something?”

Vick looks back up at the pair, her hands clasped in front of her, a single eyebrow slowly rises up as she levels Shawn with an expression of barely contained exasperation.

“Oh of course,” she drawls, “we wouldn't want to do anything unethical around here would we Mr. Spencer, but out of curiosity, why didn't you divine it's existence?”

Shawn sees Carlton still in his peripheral but merely shrugs, recovering from the jab a little quicker than his…boyfriend? Lover? They haven't settled on a label yet but ‘lover’ makes him feel like he's living in an 80's bodice ripper.

Granted, if Carlton were doing the ripping Shawn certainly wouldn't complain.

“The spirits don't usually work that way chief, too much messing with fate if I had insight into my personal affairs. Gotta stay humble somehow,” he hums, kissing the tips of his fingers before throwing his hand out as though swirling the cosmos.

“Get off my desk Mr.Spencer,” Vick says, rolling her eyes to hide the small grin pulling at her lips. Shawn counts it as a yet another win this week as he hops off the desk and heads to the door.

Carlton falls into step beside him as they slowly make their way back to the bullpen, taking their time down the hallway.

“So it's officially official huh?” Shawn says, gently catching Carlton’s shoulder with his own, he grins up at the other man, narrowing his eyes at the uncertain expression he sees.

Carlton catches Shawns elbow as he stops, pulling them both to the side of the empty hallway, “I know forms and procedures aren't as sexy as sneaking around but--”

“Woah woah woah, slow your roll Sara Lee, I didn't say that,” Shawn interrupts, reaching out to grab Carltons elbows with each hand. He's sporting a slightly nicer suit today, a softer cotton blend instead of the hideous mohair ensembles he's worn in the past. Granted this one is in another shade of grey, but it's a baby step in the right direction in Shawn's opinion.

“I do think I've gotten to know you pretty well, even before you kissed me stupid,” Shawn insists, grinning as Carltons ears begin to redden.

“So paperwork can be sexy, if it's for you”.

Carlton’s blush deepens, moving from his ears to the back of his neck, but Shawn's distracted by the bright grin on the Detectives face and the way his blue eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Don’t think I've forgotten about the fact that Vick almost called you out back there either,” Carlton says with a smirk.

Shawn winces at the reminder, making a note to brainstorm some possible solutions with Gus on how to thread the needle of coming clean while still keeping their business afloat.

Carlton reaches up for Shawns cheek, gently rubbing his thumb along the bone, “I'm sure you'll figure it out,” he says with a grin. The casual affection eases some of the worry as Shawn tilts his head to lean further into Carlton's touch.

“Reading my mind huh? We really are a perfect match,” Shawn says with a wink, reaching up to grasp Carltons wrist with both hands.

“Lassiter!” A voice snaps from the other side of the corridor, Shawn freezes, feeling as though the bottom of his stomach has fallen into his shoes.

His eyes dart around the previously empty hallway until they land on Henry and Sargent Bart standing two doors down, staring at the pair of them.

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing Detective?”

Sargent Richard Bart was a contemporary of Henry's, give or take a few years, and was most likely going to follow in the senior Spencer’s footsteps in the next few months. The Sargent recently telling anyone unfortunate enough to linger around his office door too long about the sunny condo in Miami waiting for him.

Henry often had the other Detectives over for poker on weekends when Shawn was growing up; but, he had only ever interacted with the Sargent when he was a few drinks in and celebrating a victory over Shawn's old man, grey eyes slightly hazy with a pleased grin.

Nothing at all like the disgusted grimace now pulling at his thin lips.

“This is a police station,” Bart hisses, stalking towards them in four quick paces, “not some back alley or public park bathroom”.

Carlton steps in front of Shawn, pushing him gently backwards until he feels the wall behind him. He watches as Carlton squares his shoulders, straightening to his full height as he shoots a furious glare at the Sargent.

A door opens behind them, a soft snick signaling that Vick has joined the awful show taking place in the middle of the station.

“Well, I for one am flattered by the George Michael comparison, even if your reference is as dated as the tie you're wearing,” Shawn says, smirking at angry flush that blooms across Bart's neck.

Henry lifts his hand to pinch into his eyes before dropping it heavily at his side. He opens his mouth to say something but the Sargent continues as though Henry isn't there.

“What the hell are you thinking Lassiter? I expect this kind of thing from him,” Bart continues pointing at Shawn, “not from you”.

Ah. So it seems Henry must have done some complaining to his coworkers about Shawn after all.

Bart’s volume climbs higher now as a vein begins to pulse at his temple and Shawn does everything he can to tamp down the rising anger in his gut.

It’s not the first time Shawn's had to hear stuff like this, but listening to it now at the station, with his dad right there, brings him back to that day eleven years ago. Sitting scared and alone just outside the bullpen after Henry all but kicked him out of his life.

For fucks sake, Shawn can't believe it's happening again.

“Sargent, you're out of line,” Vick says as she steps into the hallway, her mouth set in a grimace, “I will not have you disrespecting my Detectives”.

Shawn feels a small grin blossom despite the clusterfuck taking place in front of him, he knew he liked Karen for a reason.

Bart glares incredulously at Vick, his eyebrows climbing up into his ample forehead, “Karen, it’s..it's indecent,” he hisses, gesturing at Carlton and Shawn, “this is a place of work and--”

“I'm going to need you to shut your mouth Rich,” Henry interrupts with a hand on the Sargent's shoulder, his blue eyes narrowed and expression stony.

Shawn stills as the words register, he feels Carlton reach back to touch him without moving from his post, the warmth of his hand a small comfort.

Bart looks between Henry and Vick, his mouth opens and closes as a ghost of a laugh tumbles out, “look, Henry, I'm just--”

“Just what?” Henry bites out, stepping closer towards Bart, “insulting my son? Behaving like a jackass? Take your pick, I've got more”.

Bart looks at Henry with wide eyes, his face slack with surprise, “you're suddenly fine with this,” he asks, “these two fruits are feeling each other up in the hallway and you're all good with that?”

Henry lets out a breath that the Sargent takes for a laugh but Shawn knows better as his dad looks down with a shake of his head.

“Henry,” Vick says sharply, taking a step closer, her hand held out as though to grab the retired Detective but she isn’t quite fast enough.

Henry looks up, his eyes meet Shawn's briefly before he looks to Carlton who hasn't moved from his protective stance in front of Shawn.

“You should get an incident report ready,” Henry says as the Sargent rolls his eyes with a scoff.

“Relax Henry, this was barely--”

But before Sargent Bart can finish his sentence, Henry pulls back his fist and swings up, catching the Sergeant square in the jaw.

Which is not something he had on his bingo card for this year, Shawn thinks to himself a little hysterically. Turns out Gus was wrong, he and Carlton were not the two to worry about. On the teensiest bright side, at least they didn’t have to panic about the future of Psych for the time being.

No. Just about Henry apparently going off the deep end.

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf @newgrangespirals @riverofrainbows @steddierthings @newgrangespirals @eriquin @childofposiden71 @theoxymoronicpoet @cinderellarhea @ladystardustinblackjeans @holycastoroli @hippytater

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