Archive of Our Own

When O’Hara declares the paperwork wrapped up and leaves the station after hours of overtime, Lassiter feels a giddy rush in his stomach. Spencer has stuck around to annoy her this long and now he’s trying to make his excuses and skip – but he’s not going to leave the station yet. He’s not going to leave the station for a long time, if Lassiter has anything to say about it.

They are finally alone, everyone else gone home to follow their useless pursuits like watching primetime television and spending time with their families or some such nonsense.

Lassiter feels for the piece of paper in his pocket for assurance before he speaks up.

“Not so fast, Spencer.”

Spencer doesn’t falter or stop his momentum. He only uses it to whirl around and saunter toward Lassiter, with a cocky grin on his face and a swing in his step.

Not for much longer now.

“I know, I know – you never want to be separated from yours truly. I can’t say I blame you for falling for my charms. But I have a dinner date with the second season of Golden Girls and a family-sized bag of Funyuns so I’m going to have to tragically leave you to your lonesome.”

He backs away again, as casual as ever. He has no idea what’s in store for him.

“Don’t spend too much more time thinking or you’ll get an anachronism. See ya!”

Spencer gives a little wave and turns around again.

Anachro- does he mean ‘aneurysm’? No. Lassiter is not going to fall for this again. He is going to stay calm and collected and not going to let himself be derailed by stupid vocabulary mix-ups.

“I know your dirty little secret,” he says quickly, firmly.

This time, Spencer does stop in his tracks. His next words are careful.

“Secret? Come on, Lassie. You know I’m an open book.”

“I know everything.”

“Everything?”

For a moment, Spencer stands entirely still.

“You’re not a psychic.”

Spencer heaves a theatrical sigh and faces Lassiter again.

“This again? We’ve been dancing this dance for years. Don’t you get tired of it? The same record over and over?”

“Don’t worry. I think there’s a change in beat up ahead.”

Lassiter reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carefully folded piece of paper. He holds it out in triumph but Spencer only raises an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“Evidence,” Lassiter says, completely smug and unashamed of it.

Spencer’s face is frozen, still smiling. He’s not sure how to play this yet. But he’s going to know soon.

“For what?”

This is the moment Lassiter has been waiting for. The comeuppance.

He deserves this. After years of mockery, snickering and inconvenience, Spencer deserves to get what’s coming to him and Lassiter deserves to lean back and watch.

Finally. He’s going to wipe that self-satisfied grin off of Spencer’s face. Catch him off guard, at a loss for words. Finally, Spencer will be the one feeling unmoored, and confused, and out of control.

“It’s the phone number of the victim’s sister,” Lassiter says coolly.

The change is instant. It’s not what Spencer was expecting to hear. The smile drops, his eyes widen just barely. A tiny little frown between his eyebrows. Lassiter has never seen anything more thrilling.

“The one you pretended to ‘divine’ at the crime scene earlier today, remember? I stayed a bit longer and found it sticking out of a planner, close to where you were standing. You must have noticed it within seconds.”

“Circumstantial,” Spencer says but there’s a hint of fear in his voice. Good.

“That’s not all. This morning, I saw you steal a confidential police file and five minutes later pretend you ‘sensed’ what you learned from it. I think you’ll find that this combined with some other facts I’ve found will paint a pretty picture of your criminal activities. I had the pleasure of spending some time with your mother and your father, you know?”

“Where are you going with this?”

Oh, this is good. This is so good.

After years of fantasizing, anticipating, hoping, Lassiter is finally getting his hands on him.

“Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for suspicion of fraud and… probably a million other misdemeanours.” Lassiter is sure to keep any levity out of his voice, so that Spencer will realize Lassiter is not going to cut him any slack or treat him differently than a stranger.

Lassiter is quick, this time advancing on him, getting into his personal space. Oh, have the tables turned.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Spencer says, raising his hands placatingly. “Don’t do anything hasty. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Of course, Spencer would try to manipulate his way out of this, claiming they’re ‘friends’ when they’ve never even been friendly.

Spencer’s better lies have always been a bit more believable. He’s slipping already.

“We’ve never been friends. Friends don’t lie to each other at every available opportunity.”

“Why are you doing this?” Spencer says, stumbling back a step.

“I told you, didn’t I? That I’d arrest you as soon as I had proof. And I have proof now.”

“Come on, really? That little piece of paper?”

Lassiter’s gaze darkens. He takes another step.

“Hey, hey – wait. Wait. Why are you acting all Javert up in my face, like I’m a younger, prettier Jean Valjean, when we both know I’m really more of a Cosette? Or an Eponine, considering…”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you’re going all Catch-Me-If-You-Can on my ass. Last time I checked, your last name was not Hanratty, although, admittedly, you do look a bit ratty after twelve hours of work. Maybe you should go home and change? We can just forget about all this. What you need is a good night’s rest.”

You’re not going to get out of it this time. I’m not letting you get away. You’re not going talk your way around it like you do everything else. This time, I have you.

“I need you to be compliant and stop resisting arrest,” Lassiter says.

“Hey, you don’t see me resisting,” Spencer says, still holding his hands up, as if Lassiter doesn’t know he never carries a weapon. “I’m just a little confused. I thought you were all bark and no bite. Were you really serious about this all along?”

A cruel little smile ghosts across Lassiter’s face.

“Oh, I’m dead serious.”

In one smooth motion, he pulls out his handcuffs and lets them jiggle a little in the air.

“Wait, wait, slow down. This is moving a little fast, even for me, Lassie. I’m not opposed to the handcuffs, but I usually prefer them fuzzy, pink and tied to a bedpost. We haven’t even established a safeword.”

He’s still babbling. Can really not even this shut him up? This easy for him to get back his flippancy? Well, Lassiter is going to do his best to snuff it out.

“Hands behind your back.”

“I think I’ll pick chupacabra or maybe sarcoidosis. What do you think?” Spencer keeps blabbing on even as Lassiter grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.

“That you should shut up.”

The handcuffs close with a satisfying click.

“Walk,” Lassiter snarls and pushes Spencer forward. “You have the right to remain silent.”

He steers both of them down the stairs.

“Yeah, I don’t need the whole spiel. I’ve heard you do it a million times.”

“Anything you say can and will be -”

“Lassie.”

Yeah, Lassiter is sick of this – the mocking nickname, the false friendly tone.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

“Carlton.”

Lassiter almost – almost – falters. Spencer has never called him that before, not once. And he’s never sounded so pleading before either.

But that’s the whole point of this. This is what it feels like to hold the winning hand. The Royal Flush.

“You have the right to an attorney.”

“Head Detective,” Spencer says.

The pleading is gone from his voice and only defeat is left.

Lassiter briefly stops in his step, then pushes forward, tightening his grip on Spencer’s arms. Spencer has never called him that either. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as Lassiter had thought it would.

Still, he has started this and he’s not stopping now. He shouldn’t. He’s in the right – he’s always been right.

“If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you.”

Spencer twists out of his grip and turns to face him. It only works because Lassiter doesn’t expect it.

“Please. Don’t do this,” Spencer says, serious.

“I already have,” Lassiter says. “I told Chief Vick in her office earlier. You can definitely kiss your ‘psychic’ detective agency good-bye. And I left a voice message for O’Hara. She’s going to be so disappointed in you. Because, unlike me, she actually believed in your bullcrap. In you.”

Spencer’s eyes blow wide and for the first time, he actually looks guilty. A queasy feeling rises in Lassiter’s stomach but he squashes it down. Spencer brought this on himself.

“The only thing that remains to be seen is not if you go to jail, but for how long.”

By the look in Spencer’s eyes, he knows it too.

They have finally arrived at the interrogation rooms and Lassiter pushes Spencer into the nearest one.

Lassiter doesn’t let go of Spencer until he’s pushed him down in his seat, on the other side of the table this time. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me. Let’s do this.

Lassiter knows that tonight is going to turn everything around. Nothing will ever be the same, no matter what happens now. When they walk out of this interrogation room, if they ever will, both of them will be irrevocably changed.

This is not a police station tonight. This is Dante’s Inferno and we are never going to find our way out. This Satre’s hell and you are the only person in the universe who can push all my buttons. Let’s find out what we’re made of, you and I.

 Spencer is looking at him with watchful eyes, as Lassiter closes the door and sits down across from him.

  We’ll see who blinks first.

Shawn has never seen Lassiter look so determined. He really means business this time. There won’t be any fake-outs, or close escapes, or leniency for an easy-going psychic. He’s really in for it now.

The room looks all wrong from this side. Lassiter is staring him down like no concessions, no benefit of the doubt, no mercy. Carlton Lassiter is on fire today. He won’t walk out of here without a confession – not without Shawn’s pride, dignity and the last scraps of their friendship. However much Shawn had any of these things in the first place.

Earlier, Shawn had almost been frozen when Lassie spoke those damning words. I know everything. He hadn’t known how that accusation would continue. A million little signs that may have given him away. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Shawn imagined him saying. I know what’s going on in your head. It’s sick. Even more perverted than anything I could have imagined. You like me.

That little secret, Shawn can still hold onto at least. But what Lassiter really went on to say may be even worse. This is not just Shawn’s heart on the line. This is… everything.

“For legal reasons, I have to inform you that this conversation will be audio and video recorded.”

Shawn’s eyes flick to the camera in the corner of the ceiling. Then he looks back to Lassiter.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Shawn says in a last-ditch effort. “I really am psychic.”

The suspect… The suspect’s palms are sweating and his wrists tremble ever so slightly against the handcuffs. The suspect is holding eye contact for too long. The suspect’s shoulders are angled towards the door just a little bit.

These are all signs of deception.

These are all signs that the suspect is a filthy little liar.

The Expert Liar, cheat for a living, swindle in his nine to five, has tripped up at last.

The suspect is looking more guilty by the second.

Shawn Spencer is a liar. And everyone can see it. Even the detective Shawn usually runs circles around.

“Give it up, Spencer. This is getting pathetic. The jig is up,” Lassiter says. “But then, you’ve never known when to quit.”

“What happened to I ‘astound’ you? That was nice, don’t you want to go back to that?”

Lassie’s eyebrow twitches once. “I never said that.”

Yes. Shawn has him on the hook now.

“You may have not been entirely sober but I don’t think that devalues what you said. And it really was a lovely evening. When’s the last time you let loose like that? Maybe we should -”

“Stop babbling. You’re not going to distract me this time.”

Maybe not that on the hook, after all.

“Come on, Lassie. Do you really have to do the whole routine? Treat me like a thug, with the eyebrows and the vibrato and the elbow-squeezing? This was a victimless crime.”

It’s a bit closer to a confession than Shawn would like, but there’s probably no way around it at this point. Maybe he can still bargain, though. He’ll save the confession for later.

“Victimless? I think the whole department has suffered under your shenanigans. Your lies have hurt all of us.”

All of us? Like Lassie is included in that? Is that why he’s mad? But Shawn never had him fooled. Why would he care so much?

“You gotta admit, the handcuffs are overkill.”

Lassiter hasn’t even taken them off in here, as if Shawn was prone to violent outbursts. As if he was the most untrustworthy criminal to ever walk the earth. But these are just Lassie’s mind games. He wants to see Shawn squirm, make him uncomfortable.

A good lawyer might argue that the arrest was unethical because of police misconduct in the form of excessive force. But Lassie’s obviously past caring about such minor details.

“Stop deflecting. You are going to answer my questions.”

“You haven’t asked me a question.”

“Shut it, smartass.”

“My butt accepts the compliment, though it would have preferred ‘cute’ or -”

“Where were you yesterday at 11pm?”

Shawn gulps and subtly shifts back in his seat.

“Wow, no foreplay? Straight to the meat? That’s cold, Lassie.”

“Answer the question.”

Shawn hesitates, not sure how to play this. Lie again, Gus as his alibi? Or should he just tell the truth? There’s no point to the lies anymore.

But… the truth?

The truth weighs so heavy Shawn can barely lift it. The lies were so fast, so easy, so good. Now… not a word will pass his lips. Not even if Shawn wanted it to.

“Let me answer that for you. Half past eleven, a blue car was spotted across the street from the victim’s apartment. Guster was with you. You found the key under the doormat and broke in. You searched the drawers, not even wearing gloves – amateur mistake. I found your fingerprints everywhere. You tampered with the crime scene, searching for clues. Playing Sherlock Holmes. How am I doing so far?”

“That’s an interesting story you’ve come up with. Who knew your imagination was this good?”

“I don’t have an imagination,” Lassiter says darkly.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Admit it,” Lassiter insists. “You’re not psychic. It’s all just good old-fashioned detective work.”

Lassiter sounds cocksure of himself. Obviously, any good will Shawn thought he had accrued over the years is completely gone. All that’s left is an ice-cold intensity. A stony glare. There will be no friendly prison visits. Maybe some gloating, rubbing it in. I-told-you-so visits.

Whatever idle thoughts Shawn may have entertained, of getting all up in Lassie’s personal space and seeing a blush spread high on his cheeks - of dragging him to a pottery class just to see that persistent frown line between his eyebrows disappear – of kicking his ass at paint ball to see that glint in Lassie’s eyes that shows he is just a little bit impressed – none of it matters now.

Of course, that dream was unlikely before but it’s impossible now. Lassie’s hands on the table, his mirthless smirk. Impossible.

“Is that your whole theory? I’m just better at your job than you? That I’m some sort of genius detective? Me?” Shawn let out another bout of nervous laughter. “Yeah, right. Who’s gonna believe that?”

Lassiter didn’t, all these years ago, when they first met. How have the tables turned so suddenly?

“I think you’re smarter than you’re letting on. You want people to believe you are bumbling idiot. But I’ve seen through your act. Stop hiding.”

Shawn feels like he’s been pinned down like a dead butterfly in a display case.

How will that phone call to his dad go over? All your life, you’ve only disappointed me, but somehow you still always manage to find a new low.

He probably won’t even pay bail for a while, to really teach Shawn a lesson.

Maybe Shawn shouldn’t tell him at all. What would be the point? He’ll use his one phone call to order a sloppy joe from a burger joint. Although, Lassiter hasn’t even offered him a phone call. He has no patience for Shawn or even for police procedure today. Shawn really must have done a number on him to get him to this point.

“How about that one phone call?” Shawn says quietly, with no real hope of getting one.

What about that look on Gus’ face when he gets called in to the police station? What will he say? I’ve always known you have a habit of fucking up your own life, but why the hell did you have to drag me into it? 

“You’ll go to jail for this,” Lassiter continues, ignoring the question.

Jules, more sad than mad, maybe. I believed in you. 

Shawn blinks and looks away, trying to focus on what Lassiter was saying.

“Don’t spoil the ending,” Shawn says, going for wry, “here’s a hint – it involves me, you and a beautiful white stallion. Plus the sun half-hidden behind the horizon.”

“If you start talking, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you with the judge,” Lassiter says, almost sweetly. “I don’t think you’ll do too well in prison.”

“Oh, please. It’ll be great,” Shawn says. “I’ll finally have time to do my summer reading and to fold a thousand origami cranes. Life goals!”

Shawn has a terrible sense that he’s about to run out of jokes, which rarely ever happens. And it’s never good when he does.

“You know what I think?” Lassie says lowly but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I think they’ll eat you up. In close quarters with all these murderers who you had a hand in putting away. Aren’t you even a little bit afraid?”

Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it. Don’t think about being trapped in one place for years with no hope of ever getting away. Don’t think about being stuck with that monotony, doing the same thing every day.  

“I think I’ll be just fine,” Shawn says. “I’ll bake apology cookies, with raisin, for the petty undertone. And then we’ll braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.”

Lassiter is not buying any of this. None of Shawn’s usual tricks are working. This really is the end.

Finally, though, the smug look slips off his face and he’s frowning again.

“This isn’t make-belief on the playground, Spencer. This is real life. Do you think I’m bluffing?”

For a while, Shawn thought he was. That maybe this was just some light ribbing, getting back at Shawn for any pranks he may have played. But clearly, that’s not what this is. This is Lassiter having enough. For good.

“When will you finally take this seriously?” Lassiter says, raising his voice a little.

Shawn is still getting to him after all. He’s not reacting the way Lassie wants him to. Maybe he wants him cowering in fear. He can have that. Maybe he wants Shawn quiet, composed and earnest. He can have that too.

Maybe he wants Shawn to tell the truth for once. That one, Shawn is not so sure about.

Shawn takes a deep, bracing breath.

“You want me to be serious, fine, here goes – don’t drag Gus or my dad into this. They had nothing to do with it. It was all my idea, my plan, my game. And if you want to hear me say it -” Shawn closes his eyes for one painful moment. “Fine. You win. You’ve finally won.”

Lassiter sinks back in his chair in silence. He’s never looked so stunned.

“Does it feel good?” Shawn says, not even managing a mocking tone. “Is it everything you ever wanted?”

Lassiter only blinks, giving no indication of what he’s thinking. Well, Shawn can guess. He’s good at that, at least.

“You want me to beg? Fine,” Shawn says. “Please, Head Dective Lassiter.”

A small flinch at that. But it’s what he wants. It’s what Lassie’s always wanted. What he thinks is respect.

“Don’t arrest Gus,” Shawn goes on. “You know he’s a gentle soul and he wouldn’t make it five minutes in prison.”

“And you would?”

“I’ll cope. And if I don’t… you know I had it coming.”

Lassiter still shows no reaction but Shawn holds his gaze because this is the only thing that matters now. The only thing worth bargaining for.

“That’s my condition,” Shawn says. “Just that. Then you’ll get my whole confession.”

Still nothing.

Shawn is starting to feel a little desperate. What else to grasp for, what else could move him?

“I’ve saved your life before. Don’t you owe me?”

“I’ve saved yours more,” Lassiter snaps back, and it almost feels like their regular banter if there weren’t a hard edge to his voice.

“I didn’t know you were keeping count,” Shawn says quietly.

He really underestimated how much Lassiter really hated him all along. He can usually get a good grasp on a situation fairly quickly but he’s not infallible. And this one, he got horrifically, painfully, life-destroyingly wrong.

He and Lassiter were never frenemies. Or bantering. Or having fun under the guise of annoyance. The unsubtle death threats were never playful.

They were never friends with gentle insult benefits. Maybe there’s no such thing.

For a moment, Lassiter hesitates. For so long that Shawn thinks it’ll be a straight no. He knows it’s a hard ask. Lassiter follows the law to the latter and he has to know Gus was involved in the scam.

“You know what? Fine,” Lassiter says. “I don’t care what happens to Guster. Or your father. The evidence is mostly focused on you. You’re the one under arrest. Tell me everything.”

Shawn breathes a quiet sigh of relief. When Lassiter promises something, he is always going to keep it. It’s one of his better qualities.

Gus is safe. It doesn’t matter that Shawn is losing everything.

“Okay,” Shawn says slowly. “No more subterfudge.”

“Subterfuge.”

“I’m not psychic.”

It seems like both of them are surprised he said it, just like that. Plainly.

This should be the moment of triumph for Lassiter but he looks a little lost at the confession, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Then what are you?”

“A fraud. Just like you said.”

“But how do you do what you do?”

Shawn’s teeth grind together. He doesn’t really like talking about this, but he doesn’t have a choice now.

“I notice things, I guess. I put together the dots. I bamboozle murderers into confessing by pretending to be psychic. It’s not exactly hard.”

“It’s not?”

One of Lassiter’s eyebrows is raised.

“Of course it’s easy. That’s why people cheat. That’s how people coast through life. And founding a psychic detective agency – that’s the ultimate cheat code. Or it was, at least.”

“What else?”

“I pretend to be whoever it takes to get people to trust me. Mailman, disgruntled customer, happily married – you name it. Ah, and I have an eidetic memory. That comes in handy.”

Lassiter shoots him a contemplative look.

“You know a lot about police work.”

“That’s all thanks to the old man. He tortured me with enough drills, and police games, and gun practise – how many hats are in the room? He really loved that one.”

“You really expect me to believe your dad is some kind of maniac training children to become supercops?”

“I didn’t say that,” Shawn says, then chuckles. “It was only one child.”

Lassiter crosses his arms and studies Shawn’s face.

“You don’t even regret any of it, do you?”“I regret not getting out of Santa Barbara before you figured me out.”

“Coward,” Lassiter scoffs.

“Hey, you know me.” Shawn raises his shoulders and does his best ‘What can you do?’ expression. “Coward to the core.”

Lassiter keeps watching him. Shawn wonders what he’s hoping to find.

“You did go to the victim’s apartment yesterday?”

“Of course I did. I do it all the time. I don’t exactly have a handy police badge that can get me places.”

“There’s a reason we have police procedure. You can’t just search people’s houses without a warrant.”

“Then there’s a reason why you let so many criminals get away with it before I came along,” Shawns says. “What I do gets results. What I do gives closure to families who spend weeks waiting for news from the police. I help people. How does it matter how I got there?”

“Oh, it matters, Spencer. You see, all these arrests you quote unquote ‘helped’ with will be called into question now,” Lassiter says bitterly. “You didn’t do shit. You didn’t help anyone. Countless criminals are going to walk because you wanted to play detective. Was it worth it?”

Shawn slightly flinches back in his seat. He hopes Lassiter is wrong about that. He did get a confession out of the criminals most of the time. What he did still matters – Lassiter has to be wrong about that.

 If it was all for nothing – if he never made a difference – if he even made it worse, in fact, then –

He can’t –

Where’s a time machine when you need one? Would he still do it all over again? Even knowing he would be found out in the end? On some level, he did know. It’s lasted longer than he thought it would, really.

Maybe he would go back to last week, skip town, and never give Lassiter the chance to ruin everything.

“I know I helped some people,” Shawn ends up saying.

Maybe not everyone. Maybe not many. But some.

“How many more lives did you ruin? When every two-bit criminal files for an appeal?”

“I never meant for that. I never wanted any of this.”

Shawn can feel his voice go wobbly. He tries to swallow down the wetness in his throat.

Lassiter’s eyebrows are doing something ugly to his face. He’s all worked up now.

“You’ve defrauded the Santa Barabara police department. Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” Lassiter says, voice full of condescension. “And you know what the worst part is? You thought you could get away with it. You played us all for fools.”

With an angry slap on the table, Lassiter stands up and begins walking back and forth.

Us again. Why is Lassiter including himself in the duped masses? He never believed Shawn. At least, he never acted like he did. He was too rational-minded for that. Lassiter should be feeling vindication, smugness, not betrayal. It doesn’t add up.

Lassiter turns to Shawn abruptly.

“Why did you do it, you sick bastard? To make a mockery out of all of us? For shit’s and giggles? Tell me! Were you just bored?”

Lassie’s in full interrogation mode now. But he doesn’t sound professional now, he sounds – affected. If Shawn didn’t know better, he’d say Lassie sounds hurt. But that can’t be right. Can it?

“Maybe. Maybe I just wanted an excuse.”

“An excuse to taunt the police,” Lassiter says sternly.

“No. To stay. To settle down for once. Maybe I treated it like a joke at first, but deep down I wanted it more than I ever wanted anything in my life.”

And now he is losing it. His streak of luck finally at an end.

“And maybe it did feel nice, helping people. Making a difference somehow. Helping a father find his lost daughter. Stopping a murderer from killing people.”

God, Shawn knows how phony it sounds. He’s not a good person, he’s an attention-seeker. The station in uproar, cheers and applause after an arrest. Isn’t that what he really did it for?

He can’t make a case for himself. Not when it’s Lassiter interrogating him.

Lassiter always knows. He knows this time, too.

He scoffs.

“Did you really think you were some kind of knight in shining armour? Please,” he says. “You’re a circus clown. Smoke and mirrors. You entertain. You lie to everyone close to you. You cheat. You’re a bad joke.”

Before coming back to Santa Barbara, Shawn did think he was a joke. He just also always assumed he was a good one.

“Fair enough.”

“You make a spectacle out of everything. Every time you pranced around the station, groping me, flinging yourself into my lap – did it ever mean anything? You did it for your little magic trick. For the pizzazz, the showmanship. Is that all? Is that the only reason you ever did it?”

What is Lassiter fishing for? Shawn is certainly not going to confess to his stupid little crush. It’s the last thing he has left to lose.

“Guess so.”

“Flirting with O’Hara. Pretending to be my – friend. Was it all just so we would buy your act?”

Lassiter sounds bitter and hateful but – and maybe Shawn is totally losing his mind now – there is a hint of desperation.

Friend? Did Lassie really use to see him as that? Is it all Shawn’s fault after all, for having lied? Even if Lassie knew, the lie still matters…

“No. It was never about that. I never lied about that. I’m… I’m sorry, Lassie. I promise I really do care about all of you. And I never meant to make you feel like a fool.”

“Well, you did! You think a lame apology is going to make up for it?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s too late for that! You were never going to come clean.”

Lassiter leans forward on the table.

“I can’t even count the charges I could get you on. That’s – what? Breaking and entering, probably impersonating an officer, petty theft, fraud, obstruction of justice. You’re a real conman, Spencer. Nothing more than a low-life criminal, just like all the rest. And you – what? Fancied yourself a hero?”

Shawn can’t do anything but stare at Lassiter wide-eyed.

“Well, it’s time for reality to come knocking,” Lassiter continues spitefully. “You’re not a hero. You’re nothing.”

Wow. Lassiter really hates him now. Not before, maybe, but right now, here, and probably for the rest of time: Lassiter hates him.

None of Lassiter’s jabs have hurt as much as this before. He’s taken off the kid gloves now.

It’s hard to think of something to say in response to that. You’re nothing.

“What about when I helped exonerate you?” Shawn says. “When I cleared your name. Was that nothing too?”

That day Drimmer framed Lassie, when it almost seemed like Lassiter trusted him… it seems so far away now.

“I don’t -”

“I guess now we know you’d never do the same thing for me. You’d be the first in line to slap on the handcuffs.”

“That’s not true,” Lassiter says, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“Aha!” Shawn yells out. “Look at the evidence.”

He jiggles his wrists until his handcuffs clink together.

“There’s a crucial difference,” Lassiter says. “You’re guilty.”

At that, Shawn deflates. Another failed attempt at defending himself. Maybe he should throw in the towel. There’s not much to defend.

“Fine,” he says, giving in. “You’re right. Congratulations, detective. After years of pointing a finger at the wrong guy, you’re finally right on the money. You’ve caught the culprit. And you’re finally one step ahead of me. Isn’t that enough? Can’t you just let me go now?”

“You know I can’t do that. Not even if I wanted to.”

Shawn gauges his gaze, trying to figure out if he does want to or not, but Lassiter is not giving him anything.

“Oh, Lassie. Don’t you think there are much more fun ways we could be spending our time? The two of us, alone in a darkened room… The mind bagels.”

Shawn falls back on flirting. It’s fun, even if it’s never gotten him anywhere.

Lassie is starting to look agitated again. So agitated, he gets out of his seat and starts pacing again.

“Boggles. And I’ve just about had enough of this.” Lassie points his finger accusingly. “Your flippant attitude. And the constant touching! What was up with that? Don’t tell me it was part of your ‘process’.”

“The spirits work in mysterious ways?”

“Screw you, Spencer.”

He paces back and forth two more times. He puts his hand to his chin in thought, then fixes Shawn with another glare.

“And when exactly were you planning to leave us high and dry again?”

“What?”

Lassiter has become so erratic, somehow he’s turned even more unpredictable than Shawn on a good day with his leaps of logic.

“Obviously you weren’t planning to run your little scheme forever. You probably already had an exit strategy in place.”

“Well… I mean -”

“Answer the question! Are you or are you not flirting with me?”

Shawn is stunned into silence. Lassie is fuming across the room, heaving angry breaths like he just ran a marathon to work up to this question.

“Not at this present moment, no.”

Lassiter shoots him a withering look and Shawn falters. What is he supposed to do with that? What that Lassie want to hear?

Is he leading up to another accusation about workplace harassment or what’s going on? It sounds like Lassie is voicing a question that has been bothering him for a long time.

“What do you want me to say?” Shawn says quietly.

It’s lose-lose, no matter what. Confessing attraction to a man who quite possibly hates Shawn more than anyone else in the world, including murderers he condemned to life in prison, or another lie? Lassie’s not going to be happy either way. And nothing is going to take away that disappointed, angry look on his face.

Pretend it was all a prank? Yeah, like that would go over well.

Confess to having feelings? Like Lassiter needs more reasons to sell him out.

They should let sleeping dogs lie. Not speak another word of this ever again. It’s off-topic anyway. How did they get here from accusing Shawn of fraud?

“How about the truth, for once,” Lassie says, sounding almost gentle this time.

Shawn swallows and looks away. He can’t take being looked at any longer.

“You really don’t get it, do you, Lassie?” Shawns says. “You don’t want the truth from me. You never did. Don’t you remember you’re the one who refused to believe me when this all started?”

Lassiter freezes in shock. Does he really not remember their first meeting? Shawn does. Shawn remembers everything, for forever.

He remembers calling in tips for the police. He remembers telling Lassiter the truth and Lassiter being nothing but convinced he’d committed a crime. He remembers finding a way out of it.

Was that really so bad?

He remembers everyone but Lassiter falling for the lie. Is it really so bad, wanting to be believed?

“The truth is not fun, or pretty, and more often than not, it tastes like a seven-day-old donut without sprinkles,” Shawn says, resigned. “No one’s ever wanted the truth from me and I highly doubt you’re the first one.”

“Of course I want the truth.”

Lassiter sounds offended. The truth is at the core of his being. At least, he thinks it is.

“Fine, I’ll concede to that.” Shawn nods. “Truth and justice above all else, right? I guess I never had a chance in the first place. There was never any danger of you liking me, that’s for sure.”

That just figures. Of course Lassiter was never going to like him. The way Shawn gets people to like him is by charming them, by lying to them. And Lassiter hates liars.

He just wants this conversation to be over. He’s sure it’s gone on for hours and they’re not getting anywhere. If he’s going to go to jail, so be it. His arms are starting to ache, being pulled behind his back. But Lassiter is not showing any signs of mercy.

He only looks vaguely confused, his eyes staring unblinkingly. Motionless, like the fight’s gone out of him. So Shawn does him the favour of elaborating.

“Nobody wants to know that a civilian who’s never gone to college can outsmart the whole of the SBPD within minutes. People like hearing how I had tea and biscuits with Oscar from Bert and Ernie and lived with a seagull in a lighthouse during my travels. They don’t want to hear how I got mugged three weeks in and had to sleep on park benches and go dumpster diving. Until I finally found a job scrubbing toilets in a retirement home.”

Lassiter drops back into his seat, like his legs suddenly won’t hold him anymore. He keeps looking at Shawn and Shawn wants to look away, but he can’t. Even if he never wanted Lassiter – or anyone – to hear this. Not even Gus.

“When I’m facing down a murderer, you don’t want me to freak out and have a panic attack. You want me to get the job done. When I get stabbed at or shot and end up in the hospital and you ask me if I’m fine, you want me to say ‘sure’ and keep smiling and go back to normal. So I do. I suck it up. That’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always been doing. Don’t pretend it’s not what you wanted now.”

Lassiter more than anyone. Lassiter would freak if Shawn had ever showed what he was really feeling. And he’s the reason Shawn started the ruse in the first place.

“You’re crazy,” Lassiter says only, completely stunned.

“But have you ever been bored of me?”

Shawn leans back in his chair until his arms press against the backrest and smiles. He’s made his whole point and there’s nothing left to say. He holds Lassiter’s gaze, calm and steady, in a way that says gotcha.

“Christ, Spencer. There’s something really wrong with you.”

“My point exactly. You get it, Lassie,” Shawn says agreeably. “If no for my jokes and my stories, what else would anyone stick around for?”

Anyone else might have looked at Shawn with pity at this point, but Lassiter has never pitied him. It’s possible he doesn’t know how.

“I always make it so easy, you know?”

“Easy to like, hard to love?”

“Something like that…”

Shawn wants this conversation to be over, yesterday. This much emotion and honesty is going to give him hives for sure. And he’s not even in therapy. He’s not getting anything out of this. Except…

Lassie, please. Understand.

 Lassiter does not look like he understands. He looks faintly horrified. It’s nothing less than Shawn expects from anyone he opens up to. His father certainly never wanted to see it. His mother couldn’t get away fast enough.

First girlfriends, random hook-ups, before Shawn learned to leave first.

“And you know,” Shawn adds. “You’ve always known. You always see through my act. That’s why you never liked me.”

“Quit the pity party. You don’t really believe any of that. I mean, you’re… you. You’re always overflowing with unearned self-confidence.”

Shawn only shrugs.

“I guess I have my moments of self-awareness.”

“Come on, Spencer.” Lassiter seems uncomfortable. Like Shawn is forcing him to comfort him, when that was never his intention. “I mean, I wouldn’t know, of course… but some might say… you have some… positive qualities.”

Shawn snorts.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m not. I’m serious. You’re brave. Tenacious. If you’re not a psychic… you’re actually quite… brilliant.”

You astound me. Lassie isn’t even wasted this time. Shawn leans forward, drinking in every word. He’s probably never going to hear this again.

“It’s admirable, how you care about… Guster, and. Your family.”

Still, Shawn can’t hear any more of this.

“My point is… sometimes people need to lie,” Shawn says. “Sometimes, a lie is not just easier but better than the truth. Sometimes a lie is just… reality in a trench coat. Like, maybe I do get visions. Other people just call them memories. Maybe putting my finger to my temple helps me think. Don’t you think that’s close enough, even if it’s not technically ‘true’?”

“I don’t know, Spencer. I don’t think the law cares about any of that.”

“But you do, don’t you?”

Shawn can’t help but plead a little.

“Just do me this one favour,” he says. “You could just open the cuffs. Leave the room for ten minutes. You’ll never have to see me again.”

“I’m a cop, Shawn! I can’t just let something like this slide. I swore to uphold the law. If I let this go now, it would be aiding and abetting.”

“Oh.”

Shawn’s mouth drops open. That’s interesting. That’s very interesting. He takes in Lassie’s posture, a little too straight. His tightly pressed-together lips. Not the face of a man at ease with his decision.

“’Oh’, what?!”

Lassie is losing his patience again.

But Shawn has figured him out now. He hopes he has, at least.

“You called me Shawn,” he says. “I see what’s going on here.”

The glint in Lassie’s eyes says he’s both baffled and frustrated and maybe a little scared, but he’s hanging on Shawn’s lips as Shawn holds his dramatic pause.

“You care about me,” Shawn finishes, like he’s just cracked a case.

It explains everything about this, the strange reaction, the aggressive questions. How personal Lassie is taking this.

“Have you not been listening to a word I said?”

“I have. And it’s very interesting. ‘Shawn’.”

“I…”

Lassie looks taken aback.

“It’s your name,” he says irritably. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“A name which you never use. Especially not when you’re angry at me.”

Lassie shakes his head.

“Whether I care or not… it doesn’t matter. You’re still going to jail.”

It does matter. Even if there’s nothing Lassie can do, it matters. It means that Shawn didn’t imagine their almost friendship. And Lassie still cares, even if he doesn’t care… enough.

It means, even if Lassie doesn’t like him, he tolerates him… to some degree. And he also wishes they didn’t have to end up this way.

“Don’t… Don’t try to sidetrack this interrogation,” Lassie says, a bit flustered, then gets up again. “Dammit, Spencer.”

Shawn is pretty sure he’s going to miss this. Getting on Lassie’s nerves. Getting any kind of reaction out of him. He’ll miss it almost as much as hanging out with Gus and the adrenaline and the ‘click’ moment when it all comes together.

“Look. I know you can’t help me. Maybe you’ll never be able to trust me. But can you… forgive me?”

Lassie looks at him for one long moment that stretches into an eternity. Shawn can look into him to. Underneath the postering, the intimidating, he is scared, too. And hurt. That’s Shawn’s fault. Maybe he can make that right, if nothing else.

“I do. Forgive you,” he says slowly.

Shawn smiles at him. Whatever happens now, he’s at ease. It’ll be fine. Or, it won’t be fine, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Right now, he is sitting across from Carlton Lassiter, and he knows that he is forgiven. There’s no bad blood, after all. Maybe Lassie will even visit him in prison, who knows.

That’s as good a happy ending as he could have hoped for.

Lassiter is beginning to think he has made a huge mistake. An apocalyptic let’s-rewind-this-whole-day kind of mistake. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling, no matter how much he tells himself he’s in the right. It feels wrong. Even though it shouldn’t.

Still, he pushes onward.

“So, how did you figure it all out today, that that woman, Nancy Grainger, killed our victim Anderson?”

At this point, he mostly asks out of curiosity. Spencer – Shawn doesn’t disappoint.

“I recognized her lipstick. In the back of his kitchen cupboards, I spotted a glass with an old lipstick stain that didn’t get clean in the dishwasher. The shade matched. So she was at his apartment a few days ago, even though she claimed she never met him before.”

Usually, Shawn’s explanations include more flailing and ‘sensing’. Somehow, Lassiter likes this much better. Factual. Simple.

“In the dust pattern on the book shelf, I noticed that someone had taken out a book, even though he doesn’t usually read,” Shawn continues. “I read the inscription and lo-and-behold – it was from dear Nancy. A gift, because they used to date. The inscription mentioned another friend. Questioned her and found out she recently told Nancy that Anderson had been cheating on her. She confronted him, things escalated, he died.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Lassiter nods slowly.

“It all seems so simple, the way you say it.”

He shakes his head, baffled. He mutters, more to himself, than to Spencer: “I should have seen it. How did I not catch that?”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Shawn says. “You don’t trust your instincts enough and you care too much about police procedure. That’s really all there is to it.”

“I don’t think so. I think you… are a really good detective.”

Shawn smiles a little sadly. “Thanks, Lassie.”

The compliment is too little too late. Lassiter should have approached this whole thing differently. He couldn’t think past the hurt and the anger and acted too impulsively. Spencer always does that to him. He always makes him act before thinking.

But this time, he may have been a little too harsh. The handcuffs really were overkill.

“Why not do it the right way?” Lassiter asks. “Go to the academy, become a real cop. You could have had it all.”

Why couldn’t he have done everything by the book? Lassiter could have met him as a colleague. Maybe they could have become partners, without the deceit and the lies.

Maybe they never would have argued as much, butted heads as much. But then, Spencer wouldn’t be Spencer, he supposes.

Lassiter probably never would have arrested him then, ruining whatever trust they had built between them.

“Hey, you were there when I got arrested. Ring a bell?”

“So you threw away your chance to impress some girl, is that it?”

Shawn chuckles darkly.

“Now you’re really starting to sound like my dad.”

Lassiter is getting the sense that is not a good thing, after what he has heard about Henry Spencer today.

They both fall quiet. What is there left to say?

“Run out of questions?” Shawn says quietly. “Got all your evidence?”

He’s never been so quiet, so meek, before. Lassiter used to wish he had a remote to turn down his volume. Now it just feels wrong.

“Yeah.”

“Enough to put me away for life?”

Shawn still has a tiny smirk, but it’s not a good joke.

“Plenty,” Lassiter says, playing along anyway.

“At least you’re not treating me like a stranger and a criminal anymore,” Shawn says, small.

Everything about him is small now. Lassiter did that. He took a man who has always been larger than life and drained the life out of him until there was nothing left but the husk of him. He looks smaller than Lassiter thought him capable of being.

Lassiter thought nothing he said or did could hurt Shawn or even touch him. But tonight, he crossed some invisible line. Or maybe he has always been wrong about that too.

This – the arrest, the interrogation, everything – was all a bad idea. A capital B Bad Idea.

Spencer doesn’t just look small – he looks scared. Like his life is spreading in front of him, an endless wasteland of misery, stuck in a prison, without Psych to give him purpose, without Guster by his side. Like his life will be a living hell and it’s all Lassiter’s fault.

“I just wanted to catch you off-guard for once,” Lassiter says, guilty and upset about feeling guilty. “Is that too much to ask?”

“I think you’re asking a lot more of me. You always have.” Shawn sounds neither distressed, nor flippant. He sounds nothing like himself. “But that’s okay. I’ll miss you, La- head detective.”

For a second, Lassiter is sure that Shawn is punishing him. Then it dawns on him. Shawn is just doing what Lassiter has always wanted. What he always asked of him. Polite, quiet, respectful, serious. Miserable.

It’s awful. It’s wrong. It’s…

Oh God. Lassiter has gotten this all wrong.

He wants Spencer back. He wants everything back the way it was before. He wants to press the undo button.

He never really wanted to arrest Shawn. He certainly never wanted to see him in prison. Briefly, he shudders at the thought – Shawn in a prison uniform, with tired eyes and a bad haircut. He could never have done that to Shawn. The whole concept is ludicrous.

On top of that, he was blowing this whole thing out of proportion, because of his own… feelings. He’d felt upset and wanted to take it out on the cause. But it’s not even Spencer’s fault, entirely.

God, Lassiter really does miss everything. No wonder Shawn always gets to the conclusion first. Lassiter is not even smart enough to understand himself.

He doesn’t hate Spencer. He doesn’t want Spencer gone. To his utter and complete mortification, he likes Spencer.

How embarrassing. This whole drama, just because he wanted to know where he stood with Spencer. He may as well have slid him a piece of paper asking, ‘do you like me?’ with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ options to cross.

Now how can he fix this?

“So you just figure everything out,” Lassiter concludes. “What about now? You didn’t see any of this coming, with your great observation and deductive reasoning skills? Guess you’re not all-knowing after all.”

Shawn only shrugs, still looking miserable.

“If you really were that smart, maybe you would have noticed that I’ve had this piece of paper with my evidence in my pocket all day and I waited until the whole station was empty to confront you. What do you think that means, genius?”

Shawn’s eyes light up after a moment.

“You’ve been having second thoughts. And third thoughts. Maybe even fourth thoughts!”

“I think it was more of a second thought, back to first thought, back to second thought kind of thing.”

In a moment of lunacy, Lassiter pictures a devil and a grumpier devil on his shoulder, arguing. Arrest Spencer! - No, you should just let him go, it would be so much paperwork. – No, arrest him, you know you want to. 

“And you’ve arrived at the second thought. I’m proud of you!”

Spencer is chipper again because he can change his moods like flicking a switch.

Lassiter walks over to him, careful not to touch his hands as he unlocks the handcuffs. Shawn rubs his wrists. He doesn’t move until Lassiter is across the room and has opened the door.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lassiter says.

Get out of here, forget about everything that happened, go back to normal.

“Yes,” Shawn says, immediately on board. He’s out of his seat in an instant. “You are not going to regret this, Lassie. Just give me a 24 hour head start and you’ll be rid of me for good.”

What? Lassiter’s heart starts racing. Why is he talking about leaving? Did Lassiter push him too far with this? Has he had enough, happy to start over somewhere far, far away from sceptic police officers?

“Head start?” Lassiter says carefully.

“Before you come after me. Or, ideally, you don’t come after me. And you also don’t start hanging ‘Wanted’ posters all over town.”

“What?”

“I know you can’t really stand me but after everything we’ve been through, you can do me this one favour, right? I won’t forget this, Lassie. You’re the best. I’d say I’ll pay you back, but… well…”

He’ll never come back, is what he’s implying. Shawn Spencer, gone from his life forever. Everything Lassiter ever wanted. Only it’s not what he wants at all.

Lassiter grabs Shawn by the shirt and pushes him up against the wall.

“You. Are NOT. Running away,” Lassiter says through gritted teeth.

“Then why did you uncuff me? I’m getting some mixed signals here, Lassie, you’re always so hot and so cold. A girl doesn’t know what to think.”

“Do I have to spell everything out for you? I’m letting you go. You’re not under arrest. If you leave town, I’ll shoot you.”

Shawn is looking in his eyes, down at his lips, at his eyes again. He seems distracted by the proximity.

“With the… the mixed signals again… What about… uhm…”

“Chief Vick? O’Hara’s voicemail? I never told them. I lied about that.”

“Oh my god. You sly dog. You are so crafty, wow. I did not expect -”

Shawn sounds delighted, almost giddy now. The tone in his voice makes Lassiter feel lighter too.

“What about the recordings?” Shawn says. His eyes flicker to the camera in the room.

“Oh. That was never on.”

“I can’t believe this.” Shawn is full-on grinning now. “You’re so cunning, you know what you are?”

“What?”

“You’re just the same as me.”

“I know.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“I know.”

Somehow, Lassiter’s head has drifted closer to Shawn’s. It’s hard to think straight.

The way Spencer is looking at him, Lassiter is suddenly gripped by a strange sense of hope. That this isn't just another doomed attempt at love. That maybe Shawn feels the same thrumming bout of insanity. That maybe for once - just this once - something could go Lassiter's way. Shawn's heartbeat is going fast but his face is relaxed. Like it's not fear, but... just maybe...

“So you’re really going to let me go?”

“Oh no,” Lassiter says, gripping Shawn’s shoulders. “You’re not getting away that easily. You’re coming home with me, Spencer. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

He hopes the insinuation is clear but Shawn is not usually slow on the uptake. When Shawn doesn’t answer, some of his confidence fades.

It was the wrong thing to say. Decidedly unromantic and easily misconstrued. But Lassiter hasn't tried flirting since Victoria all these years ago and if he's honest with himself, probably even longer... so he might be rusty.

He should say something better, something nice... but nice has always eluded him.

“Unless you don’t want to,” he adds slowly.

He doesn’t want to make Shawn feel trapped or cowed or like he has to do anything he doesn’t want to. And certainly not to get favours from Lassiter.

Spencer pushes back. He always pushes back.

"And what exactly am I signing up for? A private prison cell with you as my personal guard?"

His tone is still light but there's a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"No! I was thinking more like... a boyfriend position," Lassiter says awkwardly. "If... if that's what you want..."

Shawn's face softens.

“I have no objections, Lassie,” Shawn says quietly.

The look in his eyes says that it’s true.

Lassiter can’t help but kiss him. He can’t help but breathe into him, take Shawn’s face into his hands that he wants so badly to keep.

Yes. This is it. He has him now. He finally has Shawn Spencer exactly where he wants him. Under his hands.

He smiles into the kiss.

Mixed signals indeed. Today he has arrested, interrogated and kissed Shawn Spencer. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Exactly the way he wants him. Full of energy. Full of life. Doing what pleases him when it pleases him. Unrestrained and uninhibited.

And free.