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The cupboard was cramped and smelled faintly of dust and old wood. Shawn tried not to focus on how the walls seemed to press closer with every passing second. He could feel Lassiter’s simmering anger in the small space. It was dim within, lit only by the faint lines of light slipping through the cracks around the door. Shawn squinted into the darkness, trying to make out Lassiter’s expression, but it was useless. Still, he didn’t need to see the detective’s face to know how furious he was. He could feel it.
This was, admittedly, all Shawn’s fault. Lassiter hadn’t said a word since they’d wedged themselves inside, but the growling sound the detective made under his breath was a clear warning. Shawn shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Lassiter’s fury prickling at his nerves.
He had never been good with long silences and knew that soon his own mind would not allow him to remain quiet. For once, Shawn didn’t want to deflect with a joke. He wanted Lassiter to understand why he was like this, why he acted the fool, why he pushed people’s buttons. “He didn’t let me be a kid,” Shawn blurted out. “He just wouldn’t.”
There was silence for long enough that Shawn assumed Lassie had made the decision that they would not be talking and that was that. Then Lassiter replied low, the growl still there, “What are you on about Spencer?”
Shawn had at last adjusted to the small amount of light, he could see the way the Head Detective was glaring. It was likely enough to make a boxer weep. He, on the other hand, had very few survival instincts. Well, that remained true until a gun was aimed at his head, his instinct got much stronger when he could directly see the danger.
He struggled to form a reply. How was he meant to explain? The truth, obviously, but how to say it, he never had before, he wasn’t allowed to. “I have a lot of energy. I did as a kid, too. I mean, that is likely not a surprise to you.”
“Not really,” Lassie sneered. “You better be going somewhere with this. I am not sure I have ever been as tempted to shoot you as I am right now.”
Which was fair, honestly Shawn was surprised the detective was still letting him talk. Given the circumstances, he had every right to be irritated—maybe even furious—but he just sat there, arms folded; his patience high by Lassie standards.
“He didn’t let me do anything that my head wanted to do.” It was so hard to combine words in a way that helped Lassie understand. As a kid, he had wanted to live hundreds of imagined lives, but that was completely unacceptable to his father. His father wanted a boy who behaved like a man. Shawn wanted to be, well, everything.
“I don’t mean he stops me from doing dangerous things. I mean, my imagination, I couldn’t just go with it. I still did, even when he told me not to. I still pretended to be a pirate, spaceman, soldier, and so on. But he didn’t want that. He wanted me to just do what he wanted. He constantly stopped things. I wanted to create worlds; he wanted me to count hats.”
There was an unmistakable air of 'what the heck are you nattering on about this time' in Carlton’s demeanour, despite that, he continued to permit Shawn to live, so that was a good sign. “Fine, you were a daydreamer, so what, Spencer?”
“No, but I. Please just listen because I can’t really.” He trailed off, lost in how to make the other man understand, in denial about why he wanted Lassie to understand; no, he does not have a crush. The touching was all accidental. It mattered to him that the other knew, that maybe he would stop seeing Shawn as someone always just trying to have fun.
Lassiter let out a long sigh that spoke more of reluctance than words could. Clearly, he’d rather stay silent, but he spoke anyway, his tone resigned. “Go on. Pretend I didn’t interrupt, alright?”
Shawn was touched that the man was allowing him to continue and wondered how bad his voice must have sounded for the other man to be so nice to him. But he did as requested. “I wasn’t allowed. Henry wouldn’t let me.” However, the words quickly failed him and he fell silent for long enough that the detective spoke up once more.
“Honestly, Spencer, I could have guessed Henry was strict, likely what you needed. So, where are you going with this?”
Realising that he could not get his point across the way he was currently going about it, he started again completely. It would likely confuse the other man even more and add to his anger. But as the old saying goes 'try, try and try again; if Way One doesn’t work, kick it over the fence and do something seemingly random,' that's how Shawn heard it anyway. “This cupboard is small.”
“Woo, such observation skills there.” Obviously, the kindness and pity that had made Lassiter tell him to keep going had already fading, and part of Shawn wanted to be furious. He was actually trying to bare his soul, his longest-held secret to the other man, and he was, as he often did, acting like Shawn was the most annoying thing in existence. On the other hand, the man had allowed more than Spencer would have guessed he could get away with, considering the glare that still creased Lassiter’s face.
Shawn pushed on, through vaguely gritted teeth, “So are car trunks, even smaller and tighter, and you can’t sit up. A basement is small when tied to one part of it; it is also dark and cold. Don’t even get me started on how small they seem when blindfolded.”
Lassiter whispered, “What?” but Shawn kept talking.
“And when your arms are completely tied down by rope literally encircling the whole of your body till you are practically in a cocoon, that’s suffocating. They are not comfortable, none of them; all quite scary too. It sucked. But it wasn’t as scary as being forced to stand straight so the noose that is already tight around your neck does not get any tighter. 'Training Shawn' he'd say. Or folded into a ball in a chest for a weekend, which is the smallest of all. 'I won't be disrespected.' Or wrists pulled above your head in the corner of the room, sleeping only with your head pressed to the wall every night for the whole week, and having to go to school and act like your arms and shoulders don’t kill. And having to write all the way through their ache. 'Next time you will do as I said.' And it was all too much.”
Throughout this speech, Carlton had been whispering ‘Spencer, Shawn, Spencer, shit Shawn, Shawn.‘ But Shawn couldn’t hear him.
“And it never ends, cause you once called a boy pretty, and now every one of your father's cop friends thinks that toughing you up is needed. That you are gonna be a sissy, someone little bitch, pathetic little wimp, not fucking good enough, never enough.”
Carlton’s hand slammed over Spencer’s lips. Even in the near blackness of the cupboard, Shawn could make out the devastation etched across the Detective’s face. His eyes held a slight, unsteady sheen, and for one unsettling moment, Shawn feared the older man might cry. Lassie’s hand remained over Spencer’s lips, unmoving, as if he’d forgotten it was there. They lingered in that silent, uncomfortable space, every second stretching like a thread about to snap.
“There you are.” Neither moved at the sound of Jule’s voice. They should have leapt from their positions, shocked by the door opening, by O’Hara’s voice, by the light that now consumed them. Instead, they still seemed to be stuck in the moment. “Carlton, as annoying as I am sure Shawn has been while you have been in this cupboard, I think you might want to let go of his mouth.”
“He wasn’t being annoying.” The detective muttered, hand still on Spencer’s mouth. Suddenly, he shook his head, his hand slowly falling back to his side. Then, in a shot of movement, he was shoving himself to his feet and pushing past Juliet to leave the cupboard.
“Everything okay, Shawn?” she asked.
“Yes.” He replied, wincing at how broken his voice sounded.
“Shawn, if he…”
“I am fine.”
He staggered to his feet, brushing past the female detective without a word, and practically bolted from the building. As he burst outside, the sudden flood of daylight made him wince, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. The gentle breeze, surprisingly cool, felt almost violent against his skin, jolting him like a slap. The noise and chaos of the city hit Shawn all at once: the blare of horns, voices, the thick, layered smell of exhaust and street food. It was an unnerving contrast to the silence he’d just left.
He stumbled forward, glancing briefly at Carlton, who was leaning against his car, staring off into the distance, likely contemplating all he had just learnt. There was no question of stopping to speak to him in Shawn’s mind. He would happily forget this had all ever happened; there was a reason he had never discussed it in the past. For the life of him now that he stood in the open air he could not figure out why he decided to tell the other man.
He pushed onward toward Gus’s car, fumbling with the handle before finally pulling the door open and collapsing inside without so much as a greeting. They weren’t going to be needed to wrap up this case. The police just needed to chase down the guys and arrest them; Pysch’s job was done.
During the drive back to the office, Shawn ignored everything Gus said, did not reply to any of the questions, and did not join any of the jokes. Just remained silent. His mind was racing though.
He thought about how he would have been weak and panicked in the enclosed space if he had been alone. He wondered if Lassie would treat him differently and wasn’t sure what he wanted. His crush being a bit kinder to him would be nice but also he really doesn’t want to be treated like he is broken. Also there was no crush. Most of all his mind raced with how much he hated his dad, and himself for letting the man back in.
He fell out of the car and stumbled into the office, flopping onto the sofa. “Shawn, are you okay?” Gus said hesitantly. He gave a feeble nod in reply, hard to even see from how his face was shoved into the sofa. “I think we could use some sleep. Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No.” he replied loudly as he knew it would be muffled by his position anyway.
“Shawn, let me...”
“I am happy here; goodbye, Gus.” There was a tense silence where Shawn knew Gus’s eyes must be on him, examining him, dissecting him. But he remained still hopeful that he would soon hear the door open and Gus leave.
“Shawn, I love you, man.” Tears trickled out of his eyes, so he pressed his face deeper into the sofa. He heard the door swing shut and then couldn’t hold in the sobs any longer.
--
When he woke the next morning still lying on the sofa, his back making him regret every decision in his life up to that moment. Gus must already be there cause the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods filled his nose.
“Are you okay?”
Shawn jolted, twisting toward the unexpected voice of a certain head detective and promptly tumbled off the sofa. He lay there for a moment, internally sighing and thinking to himself well at least he had given the man material for endless teasing, that would be sure to make him happy. But as the Carlton’s face appeared above him and Shawn began to blush; there was no hint of amusement in the man’s expression. Instead, he looked genuinely concerned.
“Shit, sorry,” the detective said softly, crouching down, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?” “
“You already asked that.”
“Glad your ears are working.” He replied dryly, “How about an answer?”
“I slept on the sofa.” Shawn said like it was an answer.
“Understood.” He gently pulled Spencer up with a hand under his arm and pushed him back on the sofa. Wandering off and grabbing the box from a bakery and the two coffee cups. He sat beside Shawn, opened the box, and offered him one. “We caught them just after midnight.”
“Good, congratulations.”
“I told the chief we couldn’t have done it without you, so you will get your check.”
Shawn just shrugged, trying to brush off the gratitude.
“Oh, and by the way,” Carlton continued deadpan, “I drove by your father’s house and punched him in the face. So… there’s a chance I’ll be arrested soon.”
Spencer let out a huff of laughter. “Sounds like something I’d do.”
Lassie smirked. “Well, you’ve put away a lot of criminals, so you must be doing something right.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“Someone needed too.”
Without a word, Shawn reached out and gripped Carlton’s hand, his hold just a smudge too tight, but the other man didn’t try to stop it. With his other hand, he picked up a pastry and took a bite, chewing slowly. He kept his eyes fixed anywhere but on Lassie’s, knowing that if he dared to meet his gaze, the tears would fall all over again.