Having depressing Steve Harrington Whump thoughts this sunny Sunday morning.
I usually headcanon Steve's parents as being neglectful and absent given their lack of screen presence in the show and thought about Steve grappling with this throughout his childhood.
Being left alone for days and eventually weeks at a time, starting much younger than was appropriate, but it was the era of latchkey kids and Richard and Darleen Harrington assumed Steve was capable enough to not really need watching. The house never burned down.
Their son was fine.
And Steve would be the first person to agree, to smile wanely while the migraines pounded in his head, a parting gift from Billy Hargrove and the and Russians. He was fine.
It was fine.
Until the spring of 1986 when all Hell literally broke loose.
During the last events of the Upside Down and the earthquakes that almost decimated Hawkins, the Harringtons finally come back to town, horrified to be called in from Indianapolis by the charge nurse at Hawkins General Hospital.
Their relationship does get a little better after nearly losing their only son. They don't talk about it, the lost years of quality time, but Steve has made begrudging peace with it and is happy to have them around now for family dinners and the holidays.
They are even fairly good about his relationship with Eddie once he finally comes out. Richard takes a little longer to warm up to the idea, but Darleen seems determined not to lose Steve again.
And things are fine for awhile, the four of them have found an equilibrium amongst each other. Richard busies himself with offering to help with repairs around their house as needed, the leaky sink in their guest bath or the backdoor that was never hung correctly. While Darleen is always quick to bring over a new recipe for them all to try at the next family dinner.
They don't talk about the fact that this is the most home cooking Steve has ever experienced in his 30 years of life or that he didn't know his dad even owned a screwdriver.
But it's fine.
They manage.
It's only after the adoption of their daughter that Steve begins to notice the changes in his parents in a way that makes his chest feel tight.
"I just, I don't get it," Steve says quietly to Eddie one summer day. Richard and Darleen are out in the yard with Abigail, playing in the sun. Abigail shakes a flower from the garden in Richard's face while he pretends to sneeze exaggeratedly, making Abigail break into peals of laughter.
Eddie frowns at Steve, watching as he crosses his arms tightly around himself.
"There has to be something going on, it doesn't make any sense how they're being with her," Steve bites out eventually. He lifts a trembling hand to his hair and tugs harshly at the roots.
"Okay woah woah," Eddie says slowly as he stops forward and gently coaxes Steve's hands away from his hair, "Stevie, sweetheart, I don't understand".
Eddie watches as Steve's gaze travels out the window once more to see Darleen lift their giggling baby girl above her head before lowering Abigail to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. Eddie smiles at the sight but it quickly vanishes as he looks back at Steve who is looking longingly at his mother.
"Because," Steve says, his voice catches on the growing lump in his throat, "if they were always capable of this, of being there, then why couldn't they do that for me?"
Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs.
Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.
It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.
He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar.
So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together.
Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all.
Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead.
Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.
He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more.
Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.
"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth.
He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.
"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?"
A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy.
But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.
The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed.
Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.
"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.
It happens so quickly after that.
The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.
"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.
"Harrington?"
Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.
Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both.
A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.
He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels.
And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.
It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.
A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.
He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.
He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.
"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.
"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".
"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground.
"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.
"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.
Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.
Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants.
He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie.
"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.
"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes.
"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"
Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand.
It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie.
From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes
Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.
"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".
Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"
He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"
Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people?
The Holiday Party had gone quite smoothly, more than he was expecting if Steve was being honest with himself.
Until about halfway through, but that was pretty par for the course.
Jonathan had unearthed an old Rummoli Board from a box labeled 'Basement Misc', the Byers were still in the middle of unpacking from their move back to Hawkins, and brought it alongside a bottle of wine that Nancy had managed to smuggle from the Wheelers liquor cabinet.
Robin, who rode with Eddie and Argyle, brought pizza, the only copy of It's A Wonderful Life from Family Video, and way too much weed for just the six of them.
"It isn't a party without a little Kush Stevie," Eddie had told him, clapping his warm hand on Steve's shoulder, his thumb just high enough to rest on bare skin above the collar of his sweater.
All Steve could do was roll his eyes and take the pizzas, quickly ducking into the kitchen before Robin or, God Forbid, Eddie could comment on the pink flush that had taken over his face at the new nickname.
Robin had been insisting that Steve just tell Eddie how he felt for the last few weeks. Rip the bandaid off and come clean. What was the worst that could happen?
Which, really Robin?
Steve knows exactly what happens when someone puts themselves out there only for the other person to not feel the same way. His whole argument was currently sitting in his living room for fucks sake.
Sure, Steve and Nancy were on better terms now, but it also took two years to get there, and even still, there was a weird tension when they found themselves alone together.
So, no, telling Eddie was not an option, Robin.
Steve could keep it together. He could deal with the ache in his chest at the sight of Eddie's smile. Steve could deal with the way his heart beat quickened whenever Eddie said his name. He could deal with the heady flush that bloomed every time Eddie touched him.
He was fine, it was fine.
And, movie nights like these were nothing new in the wake of Vecnas defeat and the destruction of the Upside Down. Steve needed to keep it together if he wanted to continue to have this. Nights without the kids to look after or the adults to hide their indulgences from, these were the nights where they could truly relax.
These were Steve's favourite, and he was not going to let some Bullshit feelings stand in the way of being able to see Eddie.
This Christmas Eve found the six of them lounging on pillows and extra couch cushions from the basement to make the 'best movie watching set-up thank you very much', according to Robin, and watching It's a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time.
"I can't believe that George Bailey would wish for something like that, when it's so obvious that people care about him," Robin scoffs at the top of her voice about halfway through the movie, prompting a irritated Shush from Nancy.
"That bro is depressed man, it's like a cry for help, and on Christmas, this shit is heavy dude," Argyle hums, lifting his fist up to Robin who shakes it with a wild grin. The two erupt into violent giggles which begin to creep into Steve and Eddie and eventually Jonathan as well. Nancy rolls her eyes but can't help the smile that takes over her face as well.
"Who would wish to never be born when you could just wish for the bank to like, not fuck you over, seems like a waste of a wish if you ask me," Eddie says as the last traces of giggles begin to finally disapate.
"Ooo, Eddie's right!" Robin says as she reaches for the remote, hitting pause on the movie. She waves her hands through the chorus of groans from everyone except Eddie who turns around to Steve with an incredulous expression on his face.
Steve shrugs as Robin continues, unable to look away from those large brown eyes until a hand darts out to smack him in the chest.
"Steve, pay attention," Robin huffs, "let's go around and share what we would wish for!"
Oh shit.
Steve turns on the couch to fully face Robin with narrowed eyes. She grins at him, lifting a single eyebrow as her blue eyes dart between Eddie and Steve.
Steve opens his mouth to argue, to insist that they just carry on with the movie, only for Eddie to drum his hands against his knees and speak.
"Oh birdie, I'm way ahead of you, this is Wayne's favorite Christmas movie so I've done a lot of thinking 'bout this".
Eddie clears his throat and lifts his hands from his knees now as though he's about to launch into a story for Hellfire, "I would personally wish for the money to be able to fund Corroded Coffin full time, get a demo done, and then be able to kiss this fucking one horse town good bye!"
Steve feels the words hit him like a bucket of cold water.
Eddie wants to leave Hawkins.
His wish, his dream, for forever from the sounds of it, is to leave them all behind.
To leave Steve behind.
The voices from the group, pitched high and low, all blend together into one as the rest of the group share their own wishes.
Steve absently feels a small hand grip his own, he looks up to see Robin staring at him, a worried frown pinched between her eyebrows. He answers her silent question with a shake of his head.
It was fine, he was fine. This was a good thing, better to know now than later when Eddie would inevitably leave him behind.
"Stevie?"
Steve startles as a ringed hand waves precariously close to his face. Eddie smiles faintly at him, one dimple on display as he speaks again.
"Kinda lost you for a second there, what about your wish?"
"Oh," he manages to say with a slight laugh in his voice, even as his brain fills with static, "um, I haven't ever really thought about it, maybe some new music or something".
Nancy and Jonathan both boo loudly from the love seat while Argyle nods with a hazy smile.
"Right on my man, sounds like Eddie'll be able to help when his band makes it big," he says before turning back to the television and slumping even more heavily into the couch.
Steve forces out another bright laugh, ignoring how much it burns his throat and crushes his chest. The only thing keeping him in his seat is the firm hold of Robin's hand on his own.
He doesn't look at Eddie as he leans forward to press play on the movie once more, letting the music and dialogue fill the room once more.
Later, as the end of the credits roll and the tape switches back to static, Nance and Jonathan are fast asleep. The pair are cuddled up on the love seat, their heads leaning against one another. It would almost be cute if not for the pang of envy that fills Steve at the sight.
Steve tries to bask in the warmth of having Robin cuddled into his side, knowing it will alleviate at least some of the ache in his chest. Robins eyes have been steadily growing heavier as she slowly falls further and further into Steves side. He smiles, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face.
At least he has Robin, and maybe for now that is enough.
***
This is a part one, let me know if anyone would like a part Two?
After The Christmas party, Steve manages to avoid everyone for all of two days before Robin shows up at his front door, ready to knock it down.
He crosses from the kitchen and into the foyer just as Robin starts yelling.
"Steven Marie Harrington, you open up this door or so help me--"
Steve rolls his eyes, pulling the door inward quickly enough that Robin loses her balance and nearly topples onto the inside floor mat. If not for Steve's quick reflexes she would be face down in a heap, he tells her as much with a sly grin as he helps her to stand.
"And whose fault would that be? Nice way to treat the person who is here to help you out Dingus," Robin huffs, brushing off imaginary dust from her shoulders while Steve moves aside to let her in.
"Merry Christmas to you too Rob," Steve says tugging her towards himself. He sighs as she immediately wraps her arms around his neck, content until she blows a long wet raspberry into his check. Steve drops her with a yelp and wipes away the wet mark she left behind with grinning lips.
"That was for ignoring my call," she says with narrowed eyes, "you were supposed to come for supper on Christmas day remember?"
She shrugs off her blue parka before lifting each foot to pull off her snowy boots, Steve takes the coat and tosses it over the back of the closest chair and crosses his arms over his chest.
"I know," he manages after a beat, sighing as Robin scoffs. She turns on her heel and wanders into the kitchen, leaving Steve to trail after her.
"I can only assume it's because you had other plans, you can't have possibly ignored my call for some other reason, hmm?"
Steve lifts his head to stare at the ceiling and count to five.
The thing that Steve both loves and hates about his best friend is her ability to read him through and through and call him on his shit. He'd hoped to have at least a little more time to wallow in self pity though.
"You've been wallowing for two days Steve, and I know it sucks," she chews her lip for a moment before sighing, "I'm sorry about the wish game, I feel like it's my fault".
Steve shakes his head and moves to the fridge. He opens it and reaches inside for two cans of cola before turning and using his foot to nudge the door closed again. He stacks the cans, holding them both with one hand and he moves to the pantry, grabbing an old open tube of Pringles, before making his way back to the kitchen island.
"Nah," he says eventually, "it wasn't your fault, if anything it proved why I was right not to say anything".
Steve places Robin's cola and the chips on the counter beside him and cracks the tab on his can with one hand as he leans heavily against the edge. He takes a long swig from the can, pounding his chest as he finishes to release a long burp.
Robin grimaces and swats at Steve's bicep as she grabs her own can and hops up onto the counter next to Steve.
"Dis-GUST-ing," she enunciates, wrinkling her nose, "and it doesn't prove anything Steve, of course Eddie would wish for his band to succeed, he doesn't even know you're on the table".
"And besides," Robin continues, gesturing to Steve with the can, "Nancy and Jonathan don't know that I'm a friend of Dorothy and we've known each other for over a year now. You've known them for three years and haven't said anything either, Dingus, so why would Eddie feel comfortable sharing something like that in front of everyone?"
And, huh, well what Robin says does make a lot more sense than the rambling depressing thoughts that he's been playing on repeat since their movie night.
He and Eddie have gotten a lot closer since they escaped from the Upside Down for the last time. Since Steve managed to carry him out of hell and got them to the hospital in time.
And Steve has been trying so hard for months not to expose himself, to show the most vulnerable parts of his heart to someone that could stomp on it as easily as Nancy did.
But Robin has a point.
On the one hand Steve has been protecting himself, and on the other he's also made sure that there would never be a possibility of--
Steve shakes his head, "first of all, I only just figured all of this, Bi-Sectional stuff, out Robin--"
"Bisexual," she sighs as Steve keeps talking.
"Whatever, and second, we have no idea if Eddie swings that way either…I just don't want to take the risk and end up fucking it all up".
Robin stares at him, an unhappy frown marring her normally sweet features. It feels too much like she's evaluating the inside of his mind --though she did always have the uncanny talent of knowing exactly what he was thinking.
"And what would you say if I told you I had a plan?" Robin says slowly, her gaze unwavering still.
Steve meets her eyes for a moment, taking in the smirk and the raised eyebrow. There's a challenge in her expression and Steve knows there's nothing for it but to listen to what she has to say.
"I'm going to regret letting you in today aren't I?" Steve says as he lifts his can towards her own.
Robin answers with a wide grin and knocks her can into his with a metallic click.
"Don't you always? Anyways," she clears her throat and looks at him with a mischievous smirk, lifting her hands into the air and wiggling her fingers, "I'm thinking, are you ready? New Year's Eve!"
"No--"
"New Year's Eve Steve, come on!" She insists as Steve grazes on a stack of chips from the Pringles tube.
"All we need to do is invite everyone over, Eddie included, to Casa Harrington for a little New Years Party," Robin continues, ignoring the eye roll Steve sends her way, "with enough liquid courage you'd have another opportunity to actually talk to Eddie, confess your feelings, and Boom! Maybe even get a midnight kiss out of the whole thing!"
Steve stares at her wide eyes and wider grin, forcing himself to keep his expression blank.
"So, just to be clear," Steve says eventually, around a mouthful of chips. Robin exaggeratedly gags and snatches her own stack from the tube.
"Your plan is for me to host another party and talk to him".
"Well, yeah--"
"...Robin, that's not a plan, that's a repeat of what already happened," Steve groans as he puts down the chips and runs his hands over his face until they've tangled into his hair.
"No, no, nuh uh, because you didn't say jack shit to him all night," she huffs, gently pulling his hands down, "the crucial difference my sweet bozo, is that you are actually going to tell him how you feel this time".
"How am I supposed to do that with my ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend, and everyone else here smart ass," he counters, letting her continue to hold his hands in her own smaller ones.
She rolls her eyes but squeezes his fingers as she continues, "it will be easy to get him alone, come on, you could tell him you want to give him his Christmas present in your room, you could ask him to go for a smoke outside, you could show him the basement stereo and your ridiculous music collection, must I go on while you don't write this down?"
With every suggestion Steve feels a surge of warm affection for his friend and allows for a fond grin to replace the skeptical frown on his face.
"Do I have to do all of those or should I pick one?" Steve asks, lifting his now free hands to protect his face as Robin whips her own at his chest and head.
"How you were ever considered a ladies man, I will never know," Robin says, though the words are rather undercut by a laugh that turns into a giggle as she finds a particularly ticklish rib and begins her assault.
"You are a fucking menace birdie," Steve manages to say as he catches the offending hands and steps away from the counter and his friends attack.
"You love it," she scoffs, stealing another chip and crunching it loudly as though to make her point.
And he does, Steve thinks to himself.
They have five days to figure out the final details, and Steve can't help but move back to the counter to swing an arm around her shoulders.
Because when in doubt, he can always count on Robin.
For Dio @flowercrowngods this is late but hopefully a decent little birthday gift! An homage to your beautiful yearning hours.
Steve wakes slowly, registering the hand in his hair first before anything else.
The second is that he's warm, tucked securely into Eddie side. He's talking to Robin, who sits on the recliner across the coffee table, gesturing emphatically in soft tones as he speaks.
They're in Steve's living room still, though it looks like almost everyone else has gone to bed at this point, giving up on their movie night.
The lights are off, the room instead is illuminated by the flickering television in the corner. A movie is playing, but Eddie and Robin pay little attention to it.
Eddie's hand comes up again to card through Steve's hair, so gently that Steve nearly moans at the touch.
They aren't together, but as Steve sinks even further into Eddie's side, he can let himself pretend.
Just for a moment.
He opens his eyes again to find Robin looking at him, she raises a single eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to Eddie --Steve knows they'll be discussing this later, but for now he's grateful she's kept his secret this time.
Steve lets himself drift for a bit, content to breathe in Eddie, the hint of cigarettes and weed that clings to his hair, the old spice deodorant he borrowed from Wayne. They way his voice rumbles slightly as he tries to stay quiet for Steve's sake, it all blends together, warm, nice, loved, safe.
Even if some small part knows he'll wake up alone the next day, that it isn't real, Steve can't help but hold onto this moment with shaking hands.
"I know you’re awake," Eddie hums lowly, drawing Steve out of his thoughts with a start.
Robin's seat is empty now, and the television is off. The only light now sifts through a crack in the window curtains, cutting a silver stream through the room.
"Penny for your thoughts Stevie?" He whispers, his eyes dart between Steve's own.
If only you knew.
Steve clears his throat and begins to sit up, only for Eddie's arm to curl around his shoulders firmly, keeping him in place.
"I think there's a discount if the thought, the uh feeling is mutual, ya know," Eddie says slowly, "like a two for one special".
Eddie winces slightly, looking as though he wants to bolt for the door, but Steve can't help the smile that slowly spreads over his face --even as a baffled laugh threatens to overtake him.
His chest aches with how much he loves this ridiculous man.
"Just kiss already," Robin calls out from the kitchen, making them both freeze where they sit.
His heart hammering in his throat he looks between the kitchen doorway and Eddie, his big brown eyes wide with panic.
All at once, the decision solidifies for Steve.
He takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it slowly through his mouth.
"You heard the lady," Steve hears himself say, but the words sound so far away now as Eddie turns in to face Steve better, as he flushes with an exasperated grin.
Eddie slowly leans in, and Steve lets himself drift once more, basking in the feeling of soft lips against his own and gentle hands in his hair.
(New Psych WIP) Where There's Smoke, There's Murder
Part One: Loose Threads (Read on AO3)
“You're staring again”.
All it takes are those three little words to ruin his day.
Carlton grits his teeth and drops his gaze back to the mountain of paperwork in front of him, ignoring the huff Juliet makes from her desk. He forces his head down, determined to keep his eyes safely glued to the photos from their most recent case.
A case that, by all accounts, should have Carlton’s full attention:
Two bodies without any leads or threads to pull at, and so far neither victim seems related to each other.
The timeline seems to move through two distinct phases, beginning with a disappearance from the victims home. No fingerprints, and minimal evidence of a struggle except for a single used matchstick on the pillow of the missing person’s bed.
The second phase ends two weeks later when the body is found deceased in the home they disappeared from, tucked into bed as though merely sleeping. The truly weird thing is the matchbooks, missing a single match, left in the victim's mouth.
Both murders were cleanly executed, and certainly premeditated.
Which is about the only conclusion they have so far.
Carlton lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes close for just a moment before opening them at the sound of another file thwacking the top of his growing pile of paperwork. Carlton sighs as he lifts his gaze to the Junior Detective.
He likes Juliet --well, likes is maybe a stretch.
He appreciates O’Hara as a partner. Over the last year that they’ve gotten to know each other Carlton’s discovered that she is a fast learner, if a bit naive at times, based on her tolerance for tweedle dee and tweedle dumber. She is opinionated but not judgemental, which balances out Carlton's own habit of writing things off too quickly every now and again.
On the other hand, quick judgements in the field have saved his bacon more times than he can count over his career, so maybe he’s owed a few.
But, it’s not like they’re friends or anything, she’s his partner, a damn good colleague, and that’s enough for them.
Juliet tilts her head towards the foyer where she had caught his wandering gaze earlier, “I mean I get it, he definitely doesn't need to be here,” she says just loud enough for him to hear her over the general buzz of the station, “but it's kind of sweet, like watching a lost puppy or something”.
Carlton scowls in response but says nothing as movement by the foyer draws both their gazes once again, just in time to see Shawn waving goodbye to a tall man who reluctantly waves back as he finally exits the building.
The worst part about this whole thing is that no one else seems to agree with Carlton --not that he’s advertised his opinion to anyone but Juliet, but come on.
Even Guster doesn't seem annoyed, despite the way this stranger has seemingly wormed his way into their lives. Distracting everyone with his presence, all gangly limbs and fancy blazers, with a new murderer on the loose?
It’s irresponsible is what it is.
Normally Shawn and Guster with their persistent antics, and constant proximity to department cases, would be enough to make Carlton question his choice in career for willingly working with the phoney psychic, but his ire has been mostly directed at another source lately.
Shawn Spencer's apparent new boyfriend.
It wouldn't be a big deal if the other man simply stayed in his lane, dropping off his partner for work, like Buzz's fiance does, before, and most importantly, leaving without popping inside for a lengthy visit.
The man doesn't bring anything to the table other than awkward small talk and a bad habit of playing with his wire framed glasses whenever someone looks him in the eyes for too long.
Sure, the man is tall, if you like that sort of thing, and on the thinner side. The sweater vests and perfectly pressed collared shirts make him look like a nerdier Chandler Bing more than anything --and that can't be anyone's type.
Honestly, how Spencer put up with someone so, so, milquetoast, was beyond him.
Carlton brought it up only once with O'Hara after a long day, and has regretted it ever since given the number of times she's taken to lightly defending the other man to him.
“He seems nice, isn't that enough Carlton? It's like you're jealous or something”.
Which was so insulting that Calrton didn't speak to her for a day and a half, only grunting out a pale acknowledgement when Juliet brought him a peace offering from the fancy cafe that would have been way out of her normal route to work.
Because he isn't jealous.
Jealous of what? Some gangly limbed, dork who managed to somehow snag the biggest idiot on the planet?
Just who the hell was he supposed to be jealous of?? Typically one had to want something in order to be jealous and Carlton sure as hell didn't want Spencer.
Ridiculous.
“Jules! Lassie, how are my favorite detectives?”
Carlton groans, speaking of ridiculous.
He watches as Shawn bounds over, a spring in his step and over-styled bed-head that looks as though fingers were only just removed from where they roughly ran over his scalp. Carlton shakes himself at the strange thought and hurries to shuffle the papers and photos together, closing the case file before Spencer can get any closer.
Guster trails behind him, hands in his pockets and an apologetic half smile on his face as he nods at Juliet and Carlton.
“I was just telling Gus here” Shawn says as he claps a hand on the other man's shoulder, “that the four of us should try out for Family Feud, I think we'd make an incorrigible team”.
Guster rolls his eyes as he lifts his hand to remove Shawns from his shoulder, “I think you mean incredible and that's for families, Shawn”.
Shawn shrugs as he takes a strange half step hop that lands him on top of Carlton's desk, pushing several paper piles into one another and making the pencils in his SBPD Annual Summer Picnic mug jump nearly out of their home. Carlton reaches out to halt the movement of papers, clenching his fists to stop himself from pushing Spencer away from his new perch. The last thing he needs is another warning from Vick about putting his hands on the consultant.
“I've heard it both ways and since when are we not a family? We could be cousins, brothers and sisters from other misters--”
“Spencer,” Carlton bites out as the paper piles on his desk shift again when Shawn turns fully to face him, a thousand watt grin stretched across his stupid face.
“Get off my damn desk”.
Shawn opens his mouth as he leans in closer, no doubt some asinine rebuttal on the tip of his idiot tongue, a cheshire smile pulling at his lips that slowly creates soft crinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes --or are they green, it’s harder to tell from this close--
“Lassiter, O’Hara,” Vick calls from her open doorway just outside the bullpen, startling himself and Shawn enough that the psychic nearly tumbles off the desk in his haste to pull away.
Carlton looks away to find Juliet staring at him, eyebrows raised. Guster meanwhile has pulled Shawn up, hissing emphatically into his partner's ear as the pair start something resembling a vicious whisper fight.
A few other beat cops appear to be watching the four of them from their desks with amused expressions, until they meet Carlton’s glare. Barnes and Lovelle hastily attempt to cover up their eavesdropping with a loud conversation about the weather while Turner makes a show of actually spilling his coffee all over his desk before running to the kitchen for something to clean up his mess.
Juliet hazards a quick glance at them before stepping in closer to Carlton and dropping her voice low to say, “noooo, totally not jealous at all, partner”.
Carlton opens his mouth to argue when Vick clears her throat as she walks closer to the four of them, her hands now firmly on her hips --which is never, ever, a good sign.
“I have enough on my plate dealing with a child at home, I do not need to parent my staff, so if we are all quite finished?”
Guster and Shawn stop talking and attempt to stand at attention but for whatever reason have chosen to begin intermittently elbowing each other in the sides, as though the Chief can’t see what they are doing.
Vick sighs, lifting one hand from her hip to pinch into her eyes before letting it drop away, “we’ve got another body on Oak, take Spencer and Guster with you, fill them in on the way”.
“But, Karen--Chief,” Carlton tries as he stands up from his desk, ignoring the way Guster and Spencer surreptitiously low-five each other.
“I’ll expect a report by noon so I’d hurry if I were you four,” Vick bites out as she continues to her office, “and where the hell is Turner, there is coffee all over his desk!”
She sighs loudly, only looking back at them once with a single raised eyebrow before closing her door with a soft snick and a shake of her head.
The bullpen is completely silent for a beat, save for the squeak of rubber soles as Turner races back to his desk, cursing under his breath with paper towel trailing behind him like a cape, the idiot having taken the entire roll from the kitchen.
God these fucking people.
“So,” Shawn claps his hands together before throwing one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parking lot in the front of the building, “Oak street? I think there’s a smoothie place nearby, we can totally stop for drinks before we visit the spirits, pineapple strengthens the connection after all”.
Jesus Christ, if Spencer wasn’t careful he’d be visiting the spirits for real.
***
Black and whites litter Oak street by the time they pull up.
There are no lights or sirens but their presence is still enough to draw neighbors out of their homes and onto their lawns, craning their necks and standing on tip toes to look over fences at the scene down the cul de sac.
Carlton grits his teeth as they walk up the drive, stepping over police tape and walking past those processing the scene. The front door is open and McNab waves them over, his usual boyish grin firmly in-place despite the fact that there has been yet another murder.
McNab waits patiently for the four of them to pull on their gloves and paper booties over their shoes in the foyer, Carlton does his best to ignore the way Spencer giggles at ‘Booties’ while Guster snaps a glove at his partner.
Deep breathes he thinks to himself, trying to remember the technique that his marriage counsellor taught him during their last session, which had in fact turned out to be their final session after Victoria decided to stop attending. He swallows down resentment, taking in another deep breath through his nose.
It was something about squares or pinwheels; the technique will probably come back to him at some point.
“Who called it in?” Juliet asks as they make their way further inside.
The house is decent sized, with a nice flow to the main floor. Plenty of south facing windows, which would make it way easier to cool this place in the Santa Barbara heat. Huh, Carlton looks around, taking in the built-in shelving and reading nook in the corner; lots of potential hiding places for guns too. But, the main floor is just a bit too open for his taste, the back door can be seen from the front entryway through the kitchen, plus the doggy door flap at the bottom would need to go and would be finicky to fix.
Not that he’s seriously looking, he just finished unpacking his new place after the whole surprise party incident. And who knows if this place would even be on the market.
“Their cleaner found her, she’s pretty shaken up but gave her statement,” Buzz says, taking out a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipping it open to the most recent page, “Rebecca Lars, she’s worked part time with the Solare’s for the last three years. Cleans Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays from around nine to noon, but she got in early today”.
“Was anyone else home?” Carlton asks, ignoring the way Shawn and Guster move in his periphery, taking a wide walk around the space, not lingering on any particular section.
“Not that she knew of, the kids are with their dad and grandparents this week, divorced,” McNab adds as almost an afterthought.
Divorced. Just like the last two victims.
“Good thing there was no forced entry, you don’t see solid mahogany doors like those anymore and I bet they’d be a bitch to replace eh Gus,” Shawn says loudly as he slips past Cartlon and Juliet, making his way to the stairs.
“That's right,” McNab says after a beat, “man Shawn, your visions are always so clear when we’re on scene, it’s almost spooky”.
Guster makes a choking noise as he flies up the stairs after his partner, hissing something under his breath as he moves. Carlton rolls his eyes, doing his best to stop himself from contaminating the gloves he just put on by strangling them.
Juliet elbows him gently, tilting her head towards the stairs, “I don’t know about you but I’m not optimistic about Buzz’s babysitting skills, we should head up”.
The enclosed L-Shape staircase is covered nearly wall to wall with photos of dogs and children of various ages, ranging from toddler to high school graduation. Moments captured on film from the life of this family. Carlton feels a slight pang in his chest as he thinks back to the photos littering the walls of his family home, him and Lauren captured in bright colour and some artful black and white when his mother was feeling particularly avant garde during his teen years. He watches as Juliet lingers on the bend, her eyes flicking from picture to picture with a grimace, at least he’s not the only one.
He clears his throat, drawing O’Hara’s gaze back to himself before tipping his head towards the landing, they have a job to do after all. She takes a deep breath through her nose and nods before wordlessly continuing the climb to the second floor.
The master bedroom is to the left of the landing and where Laura Solare was found, just like the previous victims. They linger just outside, standing in the hallway, as the photographer steps back into the doorframe for a wide shot of the room before snapping the lens cap back on. Clark Mulroney is a decent crime scene photographer, well, at least he hasn’t murdered anyone yet like the last guy the SBPD had on their payroll. He’s only been in the job a few months so time will tell. Clark keeps to himself most of the time, sometimes stopping to chat at crime scenes or in the bullpen, but otherwise getting in and out only when needed --which is perhaps the man's best quality, unlike some people he unfortunately knows.
Carlton grunts at the man as they make their way through the door to the bedroom, Clark shoots him and Juliet a grin, dimples popping as he twists the flash attachment off of the camera before placing his equipment into the padded bag in the corner of the room.
“A little late to the party huh guys?” Clark says as he zips up the bag and hoists it over his shoulder, “you know, I didn’t see psychic-nanny on the list of duties when I took this job but I can roll with the punches--”
“Hey,” Shawn huffs from the end of the bed where he is crouched down, nose almost to the lavender duvet, while Guster stands beside him turned away from the body in the bed, “Psychic Nanny sounds like an amazing title of a best selling YA series or NBC’s new fall favourite so”.
Shawn looks up, winking at Clark, “jokes on you because we are totally stealing that, right Gus?”
Guster swallows heavily, shaking his head as he shuts his eyes, “Shawn you got maybe thirty more seconds before I have to be anywhere but this room, do you really want to waste it talking about how that could totally be a relaunch of the Babysitters club?”
Shawn snaps his fingers as he stands up, stepping around McNab to make his way over to the headboard, “you know that’s right,” the fake-psychic chirps, his hazel eyes darting all around the room before he stops, tilting his head to the side.
Laura Solare lays before them, tucked into the lavender blankets, dressed in pajamas, her pale skin just beginning to turn purple where her body directly sits against the mattress. Her expression is lax as though in sleep but her mouth sags slightly, like it was closed for her which--
Shawn gasps, closing his eyes as he staggers back a half step, drawing their gazes, McNab reaches out to steady him but Shawn manages to stay upright as he raises two fingers to his temple, pointing at the bed with his free hand.
“We have another matchbook murder,” Shawn says, putting on a breathy affect that immediately has Carlton sucking his teeth. He catches O’Hara’s eye and sighs as she simply shrugs with a small half smile before pulling out a notebook and pen from the side pocket of her blazer.
“That’s not news Spencer,” Carlton huffs, crossing his arms across his chest, needing to keep his hands from grabbing the pair of idiots and tossing them out of his crime scene.
Shawn raises a single finger in front of his face, “oh yee of shrimpy faith, speaking of; Gus, we are totally going for Shrimp Po’boys later”.
Guster groans from his spot on the far corner of the room
“Shawn, how about you tell us what you saw,” Juliet says with the patience of some yet unknown saint.
“The spirits tell me that our perp has switched up his MO, I think you’ll find that the matchbook in Ms. Solare’s mouth is missing not one,” he says triumphantly, “but two matches”.
Juliet blinks, before slowly jotting down a note in her book as Carlton steps forward towards the bed, gently pulling the victim's mouth open. It moves easily, the cold flesh still soft under his gloved fingers.
Juliet makes a humming noise, scribbling more on her notepad as she pushes past Gus, McNab, and Shawn to slip around to the other side of the bed.
“Blood pooling but no Rigor Mortis,” she mutters almost to herself before looking up at Carlton, “and the mouth was closed this time”.
Carlton hears Clark unzip the camera bag once more, pausing to give him a second to screw the flash attachment back on.
“Sorry gang,” Clark says as he moves in closer to take several pictures of the open mouth, “I would have kept my camera ready if I had seen--”
“Dont’ make incompetence a habit Mulroney, we get enough of that from these two,” Carlton growls, cutting off the other man as he reaches for the tweezers the Juliet holds out to him without having even asked.
Sitting on Laura’s tongue is a single black matchbook, the same kind found in the mouths of the last two bodies. The previous books had no distinguishable logos or markings of any kind, making the search for the manufacturer extremely frustrating and yet another loose thread they couldn’t pull.
However, the book that Carlton gently picks up with the tweezers before placing in a plastic evidence bag that Juliet also hands him --they really are getting to be seamless, he should take her out for a beer sometime soon, has a single white crown logo and an address printed in matching bold white.
Carlton zips up the bag before holding it aloft for the room to see and for Clark to snap another photo of the evidence before he catches himself looking at Spencer. He falters slightly when he sees the way the other man’s eyes trace over him, a soft grin pulling at his lips.
If Carlton thought about it for longer than a minute it almost looked as though Spencer was checking him out, which--
Absolutely not, that would be utterly ridiculous and not at all what he wants.
Carlton clears his throat, tamping down the sudden urge to grin, “I think we finally found our first lead”.
I just got a tattoo done and was thinking about all of the before and after care instructions they gave me and how older Eddie would have possibly reacted to the list of things he would need to do or items to purchase for a new addition to his sleeve.
The artist reaches out to Eddie years after corroded coffin makes it big. She's fairly well known as a minor celebrity herself in the tattoo and body modification space in LA, so when she contacts Eddie's agent about offering a new piece for his eclectic sleeve he checks out her portfolio and is immediately sold.
She sends him the idea and he signs off on it right away and before they know it, he and Steve are on a plane from Chicago to Los Angeles.
It isn't until it's done, and the second skin is placed over the piece, smoothed out to ensure no bubbling, that Eddie balks at the secondary list of steps he needs to take.
The artist taps out the instruction email on her phone, hitting send with a dimpled grin before reaching out to shake his hand and Steve's, thanking them for being such great new clients. She asks Steve if he would be interested in a piece at some point, to which he smiles politely and shakes his head.
Steve has never been into tattoos for himself, though he's always gone to great lengths to admire and kiss each piece on Eddie's body.
Eddie half listens as they continue to chat, pulling out his phone to review the email she sent him.
"Ensure that you leave the second skin on for three to five days and upon its removal (see removal instructions on page two)..."
Eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes right then and there. It's not as though this is his first ever tattoo, he's been getting ink since before this girl was even born.
He winces at the thought, reminding himself that just because she's young doesn't mean she doesn't know her shit, and she clearly does. He shakes his head and nods when Steve says goodbye for them and they make their way to the elevator.
"Okay, what's with the face?" Steve asks quietly as soon as the door closes.
Eddie sighs and folds his arms over his chest, careful not to bump the now tender area on his forearm.
"You look like you swallowed a lemon, spill," he reaches out for Eddie's shoulder, his warm hazel eyes, now lined with gentle wrinkles at the edges search his face, "do you not like it?"
Eddie barks out a laugh, "it's probably one of the nicest ones in the whole collection, no Stevie, it's not that".
Steve raises his eyebrow now and just looks at Eddie until the elevator dings and the doors open before them.
God Dammit.
He loves and hates this ability, that Steve knows Eddie will crack eventually if he just waits long enough.
"Fine!" Eddie sighs as they make their way back to the hotel.
It's gorgeous out, nothing like the weather back home right now, the palm trees lining the streets and the twinkling fairy lights on every corner gives the area an almost magical feel, despite the bustling pedestrians packing the sidewalks.
"It's a little weird all the instructions," Eddie says eventually. He speaks slowly, doing his best to articulate exactly what he feels.
Steve nods, though the confused pinch between his brow doesn't quite fade.
"And I've been getting these done since it eighties, Steve, it's just a little--"
Eddie growls and tugs on his hair in frustration, "I don't want to be shitty".
Steve shrugs and loops his arm around Eddie's small waist, tugging him closer.
"Be shitty, you know I love it," he grins and lifts his free hand to remove Eddie's from his hair, "what about the instructions made you upset?"
"It's like I'm being talked down to," Eddie says with a frown, "I got a stick and poke from Jeff in '84 that was totally fine with out any of this," he lifts his arm now to show off the shiny second skin to Steve who nods.
"And which one was that again?" Steve asks, there's a leading lilt to his voice that makes Eddie want to sit on the sidewalk.
He huffs out a low whine, "Steve--"
"Eddie," Steve answers with a soft smile.
And Eddie knows he's lost this argument, if you could even call it that, because the bats that Jeff did for him all the way back in '84, have since been covered up.
Over the years they had morphed into six blobs of bluish grey on the back of his forearm that could no longer be distinguishable as bats, and after being asked about his 'abstract' tattoos by an interviewer a few years back, he had made the decision to get them covered.
And it could have been any number of things that lead to the eventual fading and blobification of his bats, but Eddie figured it was probably because they had almost immediately gotten infected a few days after Jeff had finished them in his parents garage.
Eddie clears his throat and opens the email on his phone again, taking another look at the list the artist had sent him.
"Fine, you gonna help me take care of this thing Stevie?" Eddie grumbles as they enter the revolving door of the hotel, stepping carefully into the pie shaped section to avoid colliding with the moving entryway.
Steve snorts and lets his hand curl through one of the belt loops on Eddie's jeans, "I think I remember agreeing to something like that, in sickness and health?"
He leans forward and nuzzels his nose into Eddie's ear, "till the end of our days".
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven, Part Eight Part Nine or Read on AO3
“You're ridiculous,” Gus sighs, as they make their way into the precinct, waving at the desk sergeant who shoots them both a wide grin as they pass, “you can barely even tell anymore--”
“Oh yeah the yellow is just a choice now, I put this on this morning, couldn't you tell?” Shawn grumbles, pressing into the soft skin under his eyes, wincing even at the light pressure.
It’s been two weeks since the incident with Mr. Coveralls and the hospital visit to treat his broken nose and concussion. The worst of the bruising and brain fog have finally started to disappear, leaving behind angry yellow and sickly green shadows under his eyes, as well as a lingering ache in his head that shows up whenever he moves too quickly.
But at least Shawn is finally allowed back in the station after the mandatory two week rest that the doctor and chief had insisted upon -a ban unfairly reinforced by Jules, and even Buzz.
Lassie has been running the gamut from being irritated by his lack of rest, firmly insisting on his return home, to shooting Shawn unreadable looks, according to Gus, behind his back --which is extremely frustrating given how Shawn had thought they had left things back at the hospital.
There had been a smoothie for shits sake!
But no, of course Lassie had to go and turn around like everything was normal, like he hadn’t swooped in like a knight in shiny armour. Shining armour? Something other than his normal drab off-the-rack ensembles; but the point was that Lassie was acting just as he had before, sans manhandling after the concussion.
It was certainly confusing, and more than a little frustrating.
Shawn is more than happy to start working cases again, if only to distract from the, apparently, one-sided weirdness between himself and Lassiter.
At least he can go back to distracting himself and half the station with their usual antics, and hopefully snag a new case while they’re here.
“Shawn?”
Shawn stops, it's been over ten years since he last heard the voice calling his name and it's enough to make him freeze in his tracks. Gus stumbles into his back, nearly causing both of them to fall.
“Tell me I'm having an auditory hallucination right now,” he whispers to Gus who frowns at Shawn until the voice calls out again.True he was still technically on concussion protocols but given that Shawn hadn’t had any hallucinations even immediately after hitting his head at the station two weeks ago, this was a bad sign.
“Shawn Spencer, as I live and breathe!”
Oh, it’s actually worse.
Anthony Llewellyn walks across the lobby of the station, making a beeline for Shawn and Gus. His curly brown hair has receded slightly, but age has done nothing to temper his handsome face. If anything, the laugh lines around his mouth and the creases beside his large hazel eyes have made him even more attractive since he stomped on Shawn's heart all those years ago.
“What happened to your face?” Anthony asks, a slight pitch of alarm in his voice as his eyes trace over Shawn’s face.
Shawn shoots a withering glare at Gus, raising his eyebrows in a silent I-told-you-so, earning him a scoff from his best friend.
“Oh this, just an occupational hazard,” Shawn barks out in a strangled laugh as he waves a dismissive hand away from his bruised face, “but hey, you're back huh? I would have figured you'd stick with the east coast after Princeton, nothing like living in New York”.
“New Jersey,” Anthony corrects with the same crooked smile that Shawn loved all those years ago.
He feels his ears begin to heat without his permission, “I've heard it both ways,” Shawn says with a confidence he doesn’t feel. He clears his throat loudly as Gus steps closer, standing nearly between him and Anthony with a scowl etched on his face.
“Why are you at the station man?” Gus asks coolly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“I could ask you guys the same thing, but imagine my surprise when I saw your name in the paper,” Anthony says with a grin, “I would have thought after what happened that summer you would steer clear of cop shops, hey Shawnie?”
Shawn winces at the nickname and leans closer to Gus, “Yeah, I uh, it’s good, I’m consulting--”
Anthony hums, dropping his gaze up and down as though scanning Shawn, the warm smile he’s wearing doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “no kidding”.
“Actually,” Gus bites out, glaring openly at Anthony who all but ignores him, “we’ve assisted on over twenty cases already this year”.
“Then I bet you could give me a hand with something hmm?” Anthony moves closer, reaching out to clap Shawn’s shoulder once before gripping it loosely, his thumb traces a soft pattern over the sleeve of his lime green polo, “how about it, for old times sake?”
Shawn hates the way his stomach flips at the touch.
“What's the case?” Gus asks before Shawn can open his mouth, Anthony glances at him with an annoyed grimace before breathing out a long sigh.
“Well, my new wife and I went to this resort in San Diego, Beach Village something-or-other, and we're pretty sure that one of the attendants stole my watch and wedding ring,” he says with a frown, he turns back to Shawn with a soft smile and gently slides his hand down Shawn’s arm to grip his elbow, his hands are cold and clammy against his bare skin.
New wife.
Shawn swallows harshly as he takes his arm back from the other man’s hand. He hates the way his chest feels tight at the words, the way the slimy slide of Anthony’s eyes over his face still manages to make him feel simultaneously like he’s flying and crashing, even now that the man is so, so clearly trying to use him.
And he’s not even being subtle about it.
“You and your wife didn't go to hotel security?” Shawn says smoothly as he catalogs the other man's appearance now. He takes in the slightly swollen fingers on both hands, wrists and the slight swell of the other man's face. Shawn had seen that same swelling before, when his grandad took him and Gus when they were kids to the mountains for some ‘proper’ camping as he called it.
Anthony looks away as he nods.
“Oh I did, but we were leaving the same day and I--we, my wife and I, just wanted to get out of there so we could file a police report. My insurance company said that would be the first thing to do”.
Shawn grimaces at the obvious lie, “I can't let you file a false report Anthony,” he says quietly, keeping his tone neutral as he watches the other man blink in surprise.
Anthony is silent for a moment, looking at Gus first with a laugh in his eyes that disappears when neither Gus nor Shawn join him, “what are you talking about?”
Shawn sighs, before taking a step closer, “just, why don't we talk outside, you haven’t made the report yet so--”
“Talk outside,” Anthony repeats incredulously, “what-just what are you implying?” He’s angry now, his spine straight and all traces of good humour have vanished.
“Anthony, come on,” Shawn says lowly, looking around, ”I put up with you talking to me like I'm stupid when we were eighteen, but I'm not about to let you do this”. None of the officers milling about have spared them a glance so far, but judging by the rapid flush rising up Anthony's neck he won't be staying quiet for long. Lassiter and Juliet hover in the background from their nearby desks, watching the exchange and Shawn hopes they leave it be.
“Is that what this is about?” Anthony says, and yup, there's the volume he was worried about, “Jesus Christ Shawn, are you seriously doing this because I dumped you? It was like twenty years ago, get over it!”
Shawns balks at the words, turning to Gus, “When did we turn forty, did I miss the cake?”
He swallows harshly, still grinning despite the way his ears have begun to heat, “Ten years, twenty years, same diff, but that’s not what we’re talking about Anthony, you’re trying to file a false police report”.
“Okay,” Lassiter interrupts, as he swiftly walks up to stand between the three men, “this is a police station, I'm going to need you to lower your voice”.
Shawn feels eyes on them from the rest of the station. Vick is still in her office, thank God, but Buzz has joined their little watch party now and Juliet has also moved closer, standing beside Gus with her hands at her hips, classic power pose.
God Shawn has the worst fucking luck lately, because of course Lassiter and Juliet, are the ones that get to witness his ex-boyfriend publicly tear a strip off him.
Anthony's face twists as he nods sharply, glaring at Shawn over the Detectives shoulder. Shawn breathes a sigh out through his nose, gritting his teeth as Anthony opens his mouth to defend himself or discredit Shawn --same difference at this point.
“If this man is bothering you,” Lassiter continues without missing a beat, “rest assured we will remove him from the premises”.
“Oh sure,” Shawn says snidely, rolling his eyes, as Gus stiffens beside him, "kick out the person not actively committing a crime, great work Lassie--”
“I wasn't talking about you, Shawn,” Lassiter cuts him off, glaring at Anthony.
Oh.
Shawn looks at Gus who is staring at the Detective as if trying to download his thoughts because, who the hell is this and what have they done with Lassie?
“Alright sir, it’s time to go,” Juliet says primly as she takes a step fully between Shawn and Anthony, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with Lassiter.
Anthony sucks his teeth, his eyes darting between the two detectives as though sizing them up, “he doesn't have any proof, you're not taking his bullshit seriously are you?”
Lassiter says nothing, his narrowed blue eyes flick between Anthony and Shawn.
“Shawn probably had a vision, right?” Buzz says from his desk in the corner, “he's very good--”
“Oh my god, Is that what he told you?” Anthony laughs, and it's not a nice laugh, “good to see nothing's changed, everything’s still a joke to you, huh Shawn?”.
Shawn stiffens and takes a deep breath, A few more officers are now looking at them, Buzz watches worriedly from his desk and stands up from his chair.
“Okay,” Shawn says, shaking his head, “sure, you said you were filing a report for the theft of your watch and wedding ring, that they went missing at the resort you and wifey stayed at, right?”
Juliet and Lassiter both turn back to Shawn now, Lassiter watching Shawn with the same blank expression he’s come to hate recently while Juliet tilts her head curiously, her eyes flit between Gus and Shawn.
Anthony raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest now in a silent challenge. Well, game on Llewelyn.
“Dragging some poor resort attendant through the mud for this? Thinking no one will question it, right?”
“Shawn,” Gus says warningly, reaching out for Shawn’s elbow but he pulls away from his grasp.
Shawn continues, ignoring the way Gus drops his face into his hands, “that resort is almost four hours away, definitely at a higher altitude and way warmer than Santa Barbara, just based on how swollen your hands are”.
“Shawn,” Gus hisses at the same time Lassiter says, “elevation,” in a tone Shawn has never heard before, but he keeps going, ignoring them both.
“With the abrasions on your ring finger knuckle there, and the marks on your wrist where the watch would have been, you clearly took them off after your drive”.
Anthony freezes, his mouth opens and closes once before his face hardens into a vicious glare.
Shawn smirks, gotcha.
“Are you--you’re not serious right now,” Anthony sputters, taking an aborted step towards Shawn but Juliet is faster, halting his movement with a firm hand on his chest, “that isn't--this is unbelievable, you’re fucking pathetic”.
“And you're just after the insurance payout,” Shawn hits back sharply, he feels Gus’ hands on his shoulder, holding him back as Juliet stands her ground, waiting until the other man finally takes another step away, raising his hands in surrender.
“God,” Anthony says, dropping one hand heavily at his side while the other runs through his curly brown hair, “I don’t know how I put up with you for as long as I did in highschool Shawn, leaving for Princeton was the best decision I ever made--”
“So you're Princeton,” Lassiter interrupts as he turns towards Anthony fully, leaving his back to Shawn and Gus.
Gus lets go of Shawn's shoulders just to bring them back to slap him on the arms, an expression of dawning horror blooms on his face.
“What?” Anthony growls at Lassiter, leveling him with an unimpressed glare.
“You're the other idiot that made a mess that we’re all still trying to clean up,” Lassiter says and Gus's jaw drops briefly before his head tilts contemplatively, eyes narrowing at Lassiter.
What the fuck is happening??
Shawn tries to step forward again, but Gus renews his grip on his shoulders, shaking his head in a silent, ‘I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-happening-either-but-you-need-to-be-cool’.
“So you,” Lassiter says, taking a menacing step closer, “should take his advice and leave now before we book you for filing a false report”.
Anthony breathes out a scoff, “what, you believe this asshole?”
“And disturbing the peace,” Juliet says brightly, counting on her fingers, “and threatening an officer--”
Anthony looks between Juliet and Lassiter for a moment, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of continuing his tirade as the number of cops watching from the sidelines grows. He rolls his eyes and shakes out his shoulders before finally, finally, taking a step backwards and turning back towards the entrance, “Okay, okay, I'm leaving, have a nice life Shawnie”.
“I’ll walk you out,” Lassiter growls, gesturing towards the lobby. He doesn't move until Anthony turns on his heel and finally leaves the bullpen.
It’s quiet for all of five seconds, Shawn can feel the eyes of the room on them as he takes a deep breath through his nose before slowly exhaling through his mouth. The bubble of silence pops shortly as Juliet clears her throat, leveling an impressive Lassiter-like glare around the station.
“I’m going to make sure that’s all Carlton does,” Juliet says quietly as she reaches for Shawn’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before she follows the pair out of the station. He nods, watching her go as a bone weary fatigue suddenly hits him square in the chest. It’s most likely a lingering concussion symptom from all the yelling and sudden stress which makes the whole situation all the worse, his first day back at the station is now a write off.
Gus steps closer, his brow pinched in concern, “okay I know that sucked, but you need to get out of here”.
“Yeah,” he says, wiping a tired hand over his face, “I just--I need a minute--”
“Nope,” Gus says sharply, “now, before Lassiter and Jules get back”.
“Gus,” Shawn breathes out tiredly, feeling as though the last string holding him up is about to snap altogether, “don't be a wet sock inside my favorite shoe--”
“Shawn,” Gus interrupts, "you just deduced a crime and walked the head Detective through your entire process, without a single vision”.
Shawn feels his breath catch in his throat as he walks back through the last five minutes because Gus is right.
He steps back from the memory of Anthony standing over him, sneering, and shifts his gaze to Lassiter who looks at Shawn with narrowed eyes that pierce through his underbelly. The terminator scan is back and on full force now.
Lassiter knows, knows that Shawn has been lying for months. Not just to him but the whole department, to the people he had started to call friends.
“Okay,” Gus steps back, gesturing to the back entrance usually reserved for officers, “go, I’ll see if I can do some damage control, I'll call you later”.
Shawn nods only vaguely aware that Gus has stepped away from the sudden lack of warmth beside him. He starts making his way to the side exit only for Gus to plow into his back like a linebacker before spinning Shawn around to hug him tight.
“Anthony was a jackass then and it looks like that hasn't changed,” Gus says into his shoulder, “so for what it's worth you dodged a bullet man”.
Shawn slowly wraps his arms around his best friend, letting the tension from the confrontation with Anthony fall away.
“Thanks,” Shawn says after a beat before loosening his grip to pat Gus on the back as he steps away, “now, I have an escape to make and several, several, orders of not-sad snacks to grab”.
“Don't you throw a pity party without me Shawn--”
“Wouldn't dream of it!” He calls over his shoulder with a grin as he slips out the side door.
***
Shawn is well into his pity party, about two orders of queso dos fritos deep --the perfect not-sad snack, midway through his VHS copy of Gladiator, and with a list of places in Arizona he had not managed to see before coming back to Santa Barbara --his options other than skipping town again all but nothing, when he hears a knock at the door.
Four raps in quick successive pairs.
Shawn freezes.
It could be Gus trying out a new knocking pattern, and here with better news than his spiraling thoughts can conjure, but Gus hasn't called.
Shawn holds his breath, slowly reaching for the remote to pause the movie, relieved that he hadn't opened the blinds on the window facing the street when he got home from the station earlier.
Maybe if he stayed quiet--
“I can hear your movie Spencer”.
God Dammit.
Shawn angrily stops the tape before dropping the remote onto the couch which bounces once and then falls to the floor with a noisy plastic clatter.
“I know you’re in there,” Lassiter’s voice travels through the door clear as a bell.
He sighs, dropping his head back onto the couch before he lifts the grease stained cardboard holding the few remaining fries from his chest and stands up, tossing the garbage onto the coffee table that is actually a garish slab of green plexiglass held up by several stacked milk crates he had spray painted red and superglued together.
Gus said it was hideous the last time he had visited but Shawn loves his DIY project.
Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.
He makes his way over to the door, opening it just enough to see the Detective with his hands in his suit jacket pockets, looking around with a suspicious glare.
“You live in a laundromat?” He says in lieu of a greeting.
“What are you doing here Lassiter?” Shawn asks tiredly as he opens the door a little wider, leaning his shoulder against the frame, blocking any additional line of sight into his place.
“The spirits didn't tell you?” The Detective says as he removes his hands from the pockets of his coat to cross his arms over his chest.
Shawn fights the urge to slam the door in his stupid face.
Lassiter shakes his head after a beat of stony silence as Shawn says nothing, and sighs.
“Can I come in?”
Shawn shrugs, looking away but doesn't move from the door, blocking the entrance.
“Depends,” he says after another beat.
“Look, if you're worried about…” Carlton tries, the words come out haltingly, “I'm not going to…”
God Shawn does not want to have this conversation.
Lassiter breathes out, lifting his hands to run through his hair, shifting the normally neat salt and pepper locks out of place and Shawn is over it.
“Look, I really don't want to do this right now Detective,” Shawn sighs as he shifts his hands on the door, moving back slightly to end the stilted conversation and shut Lassiter out when a hand darts out to push the door open.
“Woah, hey--” Shawn tries but the Detective cuts him off by suddenly gripping his shoulders and walking him back into the apartment.
“What the f--what are you doing?!” He hisses, wrenching himself out of Carlton’s hands.
“Sorry,” Lassiter says, “I don't, I’m not,” he breathes out sharply through his nose and lifts one hand to pinch into his eyes briefly.
“You know, if I illegally enter someone's home, they aren't usually there to see me do it,” Shawn snips, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, “allegedly--”
“I'm not good at this,” Lassiter cuts him off, his voice loud in the small entryway. He drops his hands to his side before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, “I've thought long and hard about exactly what I would say to you if I managed to catch you,” he gestures sharply at Shawn with an open palm, “to figure out exactly how you do what you do”.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It's exactly what he and Gus had been worried about back at the station. He had exposed himself and Lassiter was finally pouncing on it.
“You astound me Spencer”.
Shawn blinks, his head tilts slightly as he peers at Lassiter, his eyes tracing over his face for any hint of a lie.
It's the same drunk words from nearly a month ago, and this time Carlton is sober.
“I knew it wasn't that psychic crock, I've always known that,” Carlton continues, oblivious to Shawn's shock. He reaches back to close Shawns front door before stepping further into the room.
“But, over the last few months I've watched you make the most outlandish, ridiculous, amazing deductions seemingly out of thin air”.
Lassiter's eyes flick between Shawn's own, “but it's not out of thin air, is it?”
He takes another step closer, “you observe, you see things others miss, right? Like the elevation thing today”.
Shawn swallows heavily and tries for a laugh that rings out hollowly.
“Look Lassie, Carlytown, Lassidopholous,” his voice sounds unnaturally high pitched, nervous, even to his own ears as he takes a step back from the Detective, “you’re barking up the wrong tree--”
“And you deflect with stupid jokes, nicknames, and obnoxious theatrics with Guster so people don't pick up on it,” Lassiter says firmly, taking another step into Shawns space.
“Pick up on what?” Shawn says quietly.
Lassiter pauses, his throat bobs as he swallows before taking a deep, determined breath and squaring his shoulders, “how brilliant you are”.
Shawn snorts, waiting for the punchline, “okay, who are you and what have you done with Lassie?”
Lassiter doesn’t move and his expression remains unchanged, “I'm being serious, Shawn”.
Shawn barks out a crackling laugh through the sudden tightness in his throat after a beat, “but,” Shawn runs a shaking hand through his hair. It doesn’t make any sense, where the hell is this coming from he thinks, twisting his fingers to pull harshly at the roots, “you never said anything”.
Carlton steps closer, resuming his pursuit, “I'm saying it now”.
“Are you sure?” Shawn asks in a small voice before he clears his throat roughly, “I mean, are you sure this isn't a prank?”
Shawn grins but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, “is Ashton Kutcher about to jump out of my cabinet because I haven't really prepared to have guests over--”
Shawn stops short as Lassiter reaches out with one hand to cup his face while the other hand rises up to gently remove his fist from the iron grip he has on his own hair. Lassiter slowly untangles his fingers before bringing their hands down to hang between them.
“Definitely not a prank,” the Detective says softly as he squeezes Shawn's hand, and holy hannah when did Lassie become such a Casanova?
Carlton doesn't let go.
“This okay?” he asks, his blue eyes flit between Shawn's own.
Shawn feels his face and ears heat in an uncharacteristic moment of flustered surprise as he looks between his hand and Lassie's face. His mouth opens and closes but words, a previously unending resource for him, have vanished.
Carlton grins down at him, stepping closer, “finally stumped you eh Spencer? I thought I'd have to resort to drastic measures to shut you up,” he says, rubbing his thumb gently over Shawn's cheekbone.
Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh, licking his slightly chapped lips; he watches the way those same bright blue eyes follow the movement of his tongue.
“Drastic does seem more my style, but maybe you could pull it off”.
Carlton smiles as he slowly moves his hand to grip Shawn’s chin, tilting his face up just as he had that night at Tom Blairs.
“Shut up, Shawn,” Carlton breathes over his lips, gently sliding the tip of his nose down Shawns, still cognizant of the healing cartilage, before leaning down to finally kiss him.
Shawn makes a noise, a muffled hum of surprise as Carlton walks them backwards until they connect with the wall behind them. His hand slides up from Shawn's jaw to cup the back of his head as he presses further into him, while the other hand drops Shawn's to slide up his back, pulling him into Carlton even more.
Insistent lips coax his mouth open for Carlton to slide his tongue along Shawn's--who gave him the right, or the ability, to kiss like this??
Stuffy, uptight, by-the-book, Head Detective, Carlton Lassiter kissed like a man starved and Shawn could feel his brain vacillating between over analyzing this turn of events and turning to goo.
Maybe that Snapple intern was on to something because Shawn could easily see himself kissing Lassie like this for hours, weeks, maybe he'd have to give them a call about their stats, let them know the record would be broken by Lassie's lips and tongue.
Shawn's hands slide up Carltons chest as a firm knee slots between his legs, moaning as he grips at the lapels of the Detective's horrible suit jacket--if Shawn has a say moving forward, he's definitely going to be insisting on a wardrobe upgrade---
Carlton breathes out sharply through his nose as he pulls away, just far enough to stop the kiss but his Iips still brush Shawn's as he speaks, "I can hear you thinking a mile a minute, I must not be doing a very good job?”
Shawn huffs out a strangled laugh as he slides one of the hands on Carlton’s chest up to rest on the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the short hairs that have started to grow out.
“Me? Thinking? You must have confused me with someone else”.
“Shawn Spencer,” Carlton says softly as he kisses the apple of Shawn’s cheek, “fake psychic,” he kisses the soft skin beside Shawn’s right eye, “much smarter than he lets on” he kisses Shawn’s forehead,” loyal to a fault,” Carlton hums, finally pulling back to look him in the eye’s directly.
“Careful Lassie,” Shawn says a little breathlessly, “this is starting to sound like a compliment”.
Carlton hesitates for a beat, his thumb tracing up and down Shawn’s pulse point, “based on what I know of Henry, and that jackass who came into the department,” he says slowly, softly, “compliments probably came pretty sparingly for you”.
Shawn feels himself still in Carlton’s embrace, his mouth twitches at the corners as he tries for a grin that feels brittle, fake.
“Now I know you’re definitely confused, I love me some praise, Gus insists I have to be careful or my head'll swell, even more than it already has, and float away on the Santa Anas”.
He unwinds his hands from around the Detective and tries to step around him but Carlton’s grip around him is firm, “besides, that guy, that was, just an old friend from school--”
“Dammit,” Carlton says under his breath before shaking his head and seemingly steeling himself, “I need to…tell you something,” Carlton continues slowly, sliding his thumb in soothing half circles on Shawn's back, “I read the transcript from your call that night.”
Shawn can't stop the full body twitch at the words and does push against Carlton this time, ducking away from the warm hands holding him against the wall, “you-- come again?”
“Shawn--”
“You...you called him Princeton,” Shawn says weakly as the memory from earlier flashes before him. It was an odd thing for the Detective to say even then, but he’d been so distracted by the whole confrontation that its significance had slipped his notice. Jesus, how did that happen?
“I can explain,” Lassiter tries before Shawn waves a hand out in front of him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“Explain it then,” he snaps.
Lassiter swallows, his mouth twitches miserably before he finally says, “outgoing calls are monitored Shawn, you called from Vicks desk, we have the transcript”.
The words hit him square in the chest and it takes everything in him not to tell the Detective to get the hell out of his apartment. His stomach clenches unhappily as he wipes his hand over his mouth, he hears his own small voice in his own head, sharp as though it was only yesterday.
“You were right Gus, he uh, he's going to Princeton, can't have someone like me dragging him down, wait, maybe I'm the Brodie in this scenario”.
