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When Carlton woke up, he already had a gross taste in his mouth. Immediately, he envied people who weren't allergic to mint, because while cinnamon toothpaste was still toothpaste, he was pretty sure the stronger, lingering taste of mint would do a better job of eliminating that morning breath.
But of course, nothing in his life could be easy. So he made do with what he had.
When he opened his dresser to get out a pair of socks for the day, the knob broke off. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Don't get mad. It must be a screw on. But when he looked, he saw no divots etched into the handle where it would insert into the drawer.
He sighed, slamming the knob down on top of the dresser. Great. Now he'd have to leave the drawer perpetually cracked open.
Just another great day.
When he got into work, Carlton was immediately called out to a crime scene. He was glad for it, too. Getting right into work was exactly what he needed. None of the conversational sludge that he would get at the office, with McNab prattling on about his wife's new smoothie recipe, or Sanchez trying to convince him to go out for drinks with the other guys.
He stepped out of the car, locking it and dropping his keys into his pocket, but groaned audibly when a familiar blue car pulled up to the scene across the street.
“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” He rolled his eyes. Just his luck. Again.
Carlton started walking towards the victim's house, glancing behind him just in time to see Guster trip on the curb when they crossed the street. He snickered.
“Gus, buddy, are you alright? Normally you're so much more suave and collected.” Spencer asked him in that half-concerned voice.
“I'm fine, Shawn. I would be more suave and collected if someone hadn't woken me up at three in the morning for an ‘emergency’.” Guster put air quotes around the word.
“Oh, come on, Gus! It was an emergency!”
“No, you beating my high score in Space Invaders is not an emergency! You could've told me that this morning!” Guster defended. Carlton could agree with that.
Why was he listening to their conversation again?
Oh, right. Because for some reason, his brain had latched onto Spencer as the most recent object of his attraction.
He picked up his pace, since the crime scene in front of him was more important. When he walked in, it wasn't necessarily the prettiest sight, but there was no doubt in his mind it was murder. The body laying on the fluffy white carpet beside the dining room table was right beside a bloody knife. With any luck, there'd be prints on the knife, and this would be open and shut.
So why the hell was Spencer here?
Whatever. He only had a maximum of thirty seconds before he came waltzing in, took one look at the scene, and launched into theatrics about how Carlton's so far nonexistent suspect was wrong.
There were bloody fingerprints on the window across the room. A struggle, maybe? But then there would be more blood in other places. Maybe it was-
“-objectively it's a better movie, Gus. You've got Joe DiMaggio-”
“That's John DiMaggio, Shawn, and you have not-”
“I've heard it both ways.”
As Spencer prattled on about absolutely nothing important – and was that a smoothie in his hand? – Carlton suddenly found he couldn't focus anymore, and had lost his train of thought. With a sardonic smile, he approached the fake psychic, and immediately regretted that choice.
“Spencer, get off my crime scene. I don't even have the facts for the case yet, so you couldn't help me if you tried.”
“But Lassie, I'm-” Spencer stopped, his eyes going wide, and his hand going to the side of his head, “I'm having a vision!”
Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dear god.” He muttered.
Spencer flailed himself around, his hands pressing up against the nearest surface, which happened to be Carlton's chest. Of course.
“I see… Oh!” Spencer's voice pitched up to falsetto. “But Doctor, you're saying-” His voice went comically deep, and he turned around, his back pressed against Carlton's chest. Carlton felt his ears start burning. “-Yes, Yolanda, I'm afraid Samantha is… your long lost sister!” Spencer turned and basically threw his arms around Carlton, who scowled. His voice went falsetto again. “Oh, Doctor!”
“Spencer, get the hell off me!” Carlton tried to grab the back of Spencer's shirt to peel him off, but he didn't budge until after O'Hara walked in. She giggled.
“PDA on a crime scene? Carlton, I'm shocked.” She teased, and he knew she was joking, but it immediately triggered his defenses.
He peeled Spencer off definitively, shoving him towards the door a little too roughly. “Shut up, O'Hara. As if I'd ever want anything to do with Spencer. He's nothing but a disgrace to the job, who makes it his goal to make us look incompetent.” He didn't really mean half of it, and by the flicker of something akin to hurt on Spencer's face, he thought maybe he'd gone too far, but it was too late now.
“Jeez, Lassie, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the slab this morning.” Spencer spit the joke a little too forcefully and chuckled awkwardly. Had he managed to actually hurt him? “I think Gus and I will come by later, when you've rinsed some of that negativity from your aura.”
Spencer and Guster both turned to leave, though not without a small, polite wave from Guster.
Carlton looked over at O'Hara, who was giving him a stern look that usually only his mother should be giving him. “What?” He asked defensively, his voice cracking a bit.
“What's with you this morning? That was harsh, even for you.” O'Hara crossed her arms.
“He was practically groping me, O'Hara! Publicly!” Carlton defended, but she wouldn't budge. “You know it's ridiculous, and embarrassing.”
“Well, you know he can't control it during his visions. That's hardly fair.”
Carlton scoffed. “Please. They're not visions. They're excuses.” He rolled his eyes.
There was a beat of silence and eye contact between them, before Carlton sighed. “See if our victim or anyone she knew was in a soap opera or other television show.”
O'Hara smiled. “That's be-”
There was a scream from outside. Carlton's eyes widened, and he looked at O'Hara briefly, before drawing his sidearm and rushing outside.
Whatever he'd expected to see, it wasn't… this.
A white four door sedan was stopped in the intersection, a duck sitting several yards behind it and to the left. Guster was in front of the car, staring in horror at the bloody figure, limbs bent out of place, laying several feet away.
Spencer.
Carlton immediately sprinted towards him, kneeling, not caring about the blood immediately soaking his pants at the knees-
Carlton woke up in bed. Immediately, he sat up, looking at the clock beside his bed. 5:57 A.M. Was that all just a vivid nightmare? It felt real, but… it must have been.
So now he was not only dreaming about Spencer, but dreaming about his death. Great.
He got out of bed, and noticed he had awful morning breath. God, he sometimes wished he could use mint toothpaste. It even smelled more refreshing than the cinnamon could ever be.
When he started to get dressed, he went to open his dresser to grab his socks for the day, and the knob came off. He blinked, frowning down at it. “What the hell…?” Just like his dream, there were no divots to imply it could be screwed back in. And just like his dream, he put the knob down on top of the dresser to fix later.
He must have unconsciously noticed it was loose yesterday or something, and dreamt about it. Yeah, that made sense.
The next weird beat came at work, because the address for the crime scene he was called out to was the same as in his dream. Psychics didn't exist, but… he was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of prophetic dream, because he had no way of knowing that would be coming.
Still. It had to be some… freaky coincidence. It had to be.
He got out of the car, dropping his keys into his pocket, as he watched Spencer and Guster pull up in that little blue car, parking across the street.
Carlton started walking towards the house, but stopped when he heard a familiar conversation.
“Gus, buddy, are you alright? Normally you're so much more suave and collected.” Spencer asked him in that half-concerned voice.
“I'm fine, Shawn. I would be more suave and collected if someone hadn't woken me up at three in the morning for an ‘emergency’.” Guster put air quotes around the word.
“Oh, come on, Gus! It was an emergency!”
“No, you beating my high score in Space Invaders is not an emergency! You could've told me that this morning!” Guster defended.
Now Carlton knew whatever was happening wasn't a coincidence. He had dreamt this, and Spencer had died in the dream, and then he'd woken up.
What the hell?
Maybe he was given the chance by whatever god that might be, to save him. He could only know what was coming because he was meant to change it, right?
He rushed into the crime scene, seeing it exactly as he'd seen the night before. He couldn't even think about beginning to analyze it. Everything looked the same. There was no denying it now. He had seen this.
“-objectively it's a better movie, Gus. You've got Joe DiMaggio-”
“That's John DiMaggio, Shawn, and you have not-”
“I've heard it both ways.”
Before Spencer could continue going on about whatever film he'd begun debating with Guster, Carlton cut him off. “Spencer, you have no business here. Get the hell off my scene.” He grabbed him by the scruff of his collar. Maybe if he could get Spencer out earlier, he'd be in the car already when that car swerved.
“But Lassie, you need me here!”
“No arguments, no visions; I'm not taking any of your bullshit today. If you really want to involve yourself, go to the station and beg Chief Vick.” Carlton practically dragged him outside and shoved him towards the steps of the house.
“Jeez, Lassie. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the slab this morning.” Spencer forced that same stupid joke out, then turned. “Come on, Gus. Let's leave Grumpypants alone for a bit.”
Carlton stood smugly in the doorway and watched them walk away, as O'Hara approached him. “Carlton, that was mean, even for you.”
“It was necessary, O'Hara.” He told her, ignoring her righteous glare. “I'm sure Karen will put him on the case, anyway.”
He watched as Spencer got into the passenger seat of Guster's car. Good. As he was about to turn, sure enough, he saw the white sedan come and swerve out of the path of the duck…
And it crashed right into Guster's passenger side door.
Shit.
As he started sprinting, heart pounding-
Carlton woke up in bed. He sat up, looking beside him. The clock read 5:57 A.M. What was this? What was going on?
He looked at his dresser. The knob was still on. He stood up and walked up to it, and when he pulled the sock drawer open, sure enough, the knob came right off.
Right. Okay. So it was the same day, repeated. Time loops didn't exist. Neither did multi-level dreaming. But he must have been dealing with one of them, somehow.
On his way to the crime scene, he thought up a new plan. Clearly getting rid of Spencer early didn't work, so maybe he had to let him stick around longer. Then, once he heard the car crash outside, he'd kick him off the scene naturally, because Guster would be fussing over his car, anyway.
Perfect plan.
Of course, he still had to endure the embarrassment of Spencer's ‘vision’. But if it was that, or watching him die and trying again, he'd take the former.
“-oh, Doctor!”
Just like the first time, Carlton grabbed the back of his shirt to peel him off.
“PDA on a crime scene? Carlton, I'm shocked.” O'Hara teased as she walked in.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He muttered, finally detaching Spencer from his middle again. “What am I supposed to take away from this? What, was our victim an actress?” He asked Spencer.
“That's what the spirits are telling me, yes. She's a soap opera actress.” Spencer confirmed with a solemn nod. Carlton rolled his eyes.
“Right. O'Hara, make sure to look into that, see if Spencer's on the right track.” Carlton agreed. O'Hara and Spencer both perked up when he said that.
“Wow, look at you, Lassie; I'm impressed! You believed the spirits' message!” Spencer said, prompting Carlton to roll his eyes again.
“I’m not a damn idiot, Spencer!” Carlton nearly yelled, but everyone's heads turned towards the door when the loud boom of the car crash came from outside.
O'Hara was first out the door, followed by Spencer, then Lassiter. Guster, who came out behind him, gaped when he saw the sight across the street. “Oh my god! That's my car! That's a company car!” He started panicking.
But Carlton couldn't care less about that. At least Spencer wasn't dead this time.
“Oh my god, Gus.” O'Hara looked over at Guster sympathetically. “Here, I'll come with you to make sure you get the guy's information.”
Guster didn't listen, too busy heading towards catatonic shock, but he let O'Hara drag him along, leaving Carlton with Spencer on the steps.
“Do you think I could convince Gus to let me drive him home on Edward?” Spencer asked. “He's back at the station, so I'd need to go get him, but somehow I don't think Gus will go for it.”
“Edward?” Carlton asked dryly.
“My motorcycle. His name is Edward.” Spencer answered, as if it honestly made any more sense now.
“Of course it is.” Carlton muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'll see if O'Hara can give you a ride back to the station.”
“But she's helping Gus right now, and it could take forever! Especially if she arrests the guy for running, like she is now!” Spencer gestured, and sure enough, the guy was running, on foot, and O'Hara was giving chase impressively fast for those damn heels she was in.
Carlton groaned. “Fine. But you'll have to wait until I'm done at the crime scene.”
Spencer shrugged. “Faster than waiting for Jules to get back.”
With that, Carlton headed back inside. Spencer was alive.
It was another hour or so before Carlton was done processing the scene, and Spencer had been waiting around, having stopped bothering the crime scene techs after four times of Carlton telling him to quit it.
Carlton slammed the passenger side door shut once Spencer got in, pulling out carefully onto the road.
It was a strangely quiet car ride. Normally Spencer was making some sort of noise, even if he was just tapping his hand on his leg to some beat that must only exist in his head. He was suspiciously quiet.
Then Carlton heard a crunch.
His head snapped towards him. “Are you eating in my car?”
“I am. Would you care for a Frito?”
“No, I would care for a Frito! Put those away!” Carlton reached over with one hand to try to snatch the bag, but Spencer quickly tilted the bag over his open mouth.
He coughed, and Carlton saw the way his mouth tried to form words out of the corner of his eye. Shit. He looked back to the road, trying to find a safe way to pull over, and of course he was in the left lane. He turned on his siren and got over as quickly as he could, stepping out of the car and going around to the other side. When he tried to unbuckle Spencer's seatbelt to pull him out, it was jammed. Of course.
He was going to die again. Carlton grabbed his pocket knife, and started cutting the seatbelt-
He woke up again. 5:57 A.M. What kind of sick god was fucking with him?
Okay. Well, he made it a good way this time. If he could stop Spencer from eating in the first place – maybe confiscate the Fritos before getting in? – he could at least get him to the station.
He was getting a little sick of going through the motions each time, but this time, he'd at least be able to get him back to the station, at which point he'd leave, and no longer be Carlton's responsibility.
Of course, the universe might have assigned him a more cosmic level of responsibility for him, so he'd have to see how that went.
Crime scene. Annoying vision. Snap at Spencer. Car crash. Agree to take him to the station. Done.
Before he got in the car, Carlton stepped in front of Shawn, stopping him. “Give me the chips, Spencer. I'm not an idiot. I don't want you getting crumbs stuck in the upholstery.”
Spencer pouted, but handed over the bag of Fritos. “Man, I'm supposed to be the psychic one.”
“Tough. Get in the car.”
This time, Carlton did manage to get all the way to the station.
But the puddle of coffee that no one had bothered to clean up near the bullpen sent Spencer flying, hitting his head on the corner of a desk-
Dammit.
It was another ten loops before Carlton admitted that no matter what he did, Spencer would die in some ridiculous way. He was overwhelmed, he was sick of doing this over and over, and over.
On the twelfth loop, Carlton called out of work, and went straight to Spencer's apartment to gather him from there.
He knocked on the door, and Spencer opened it, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Lassie?” He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
“Spencer, I am losing my goddamn mind.” Carlton said, pushing past him and stepping inside. He knew he looked like a disheveled mess. He hadn't even looked in a mirror this morning. “It's only been twelve times now, and I'm losing it. I can't keep doing this.”
Spencer gave him a confused sideye. “Ooooo… kay. Lassie, I'm gonna need a little more context to work with here, buddy.”
“I'm stuck, Spencer.” He muttered, grabbing Spencer's arm desperately. “You have died eleven times. And every time you do, I wake up, and it's today again.”
Spencer nodded slowly, pursing his lips, his eyebrows knitting together. “Are you saying you're in a time loop?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. And for god's sake, I need out.” Carlton said through gritted teeth. “I figured since you're clearly the center of it, you would be the one who might know what to do to break it.”
Spencer was silent for a moment, his eyes searching Carlton's face. He knew he sounded crazy. Hell, he probably was crazy, at this point. But he knew that clearly the solution to this wasn't to save Spencer, or to let him die, so there had to be something else.
“Okay.” Spencer nodded. “Let me finish brushing my teeth here, and we'll talk. We'll figure this out.” He said. Carlton's shoulders slumped.
“Please be careful. I don't know if my pride can take coming to you like this again if you die.” Carlton muttered.
“I'll be fine, Lassie.” Spencer waved his hand, then disappeared into the bathroom for a moment. Fortunately, he came back out a moment later. “Alright, so I keep dying in these loops?”
Carlton had never seen Spencer look so serious about something. It felt really good to be taken seriously like this, for once, and he truly felt like Spencer was on his side.
“Yeah. The first time, you got hit by a car crossing the street. The second time, you were in Guster's car and got hit. Then you choked on a corn chip, then you slipped in a puddle of coffee and hit your head, then you got into a motorcycle crash, then you were electrocuted trying to-”
“Right, okay. So there's no rhyme or reason, so you've determined that saving me from a specific fate won't break the cycle, because I'll just die some other way.” Spencer confirmed, and Carlton nodded quickly.
“Right. So if I'm not just supposed to save you, why the hell am I stuck? Why am I looping?”
Spencer hummed, sitting down on the sofa. “Well, in the movies, time loops are normally some cosmic moral lesson. Like Groundhog Day, the universe is telling Phil to pull his head out of his ass and be nice for once, you know?”
“So, what, you think the- the universe is trying to tell me to be nice?” Carlton asked in disbelief.
“Well, Groundhog Day also isn't tied to a person, like me, right? You said you're resetting on my death each day?” Spencer asked, leaning back.
Carlton folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah. The instant you die, I wake up just before six again.”
“Alright, so explain what all the variables are. Besides as a result of your actions, has anything changed between loops?” Spencer asked sincerely.
Carlton thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don't think so. Anything that's changed has been my own doing. Although, you've died in some pretty unlikely ways.” He muttered.
“Ways which I am very curious to hear about.” Spencer admitted. “But not now. Right now, we should figure out what's causing the loop. So it's probably some moral lesson tied to me.”
A moral lesson tied to Spencer? That was ridiculous. But he'd take any solution at this point.
“So- so, what, I'm supposed to be nice to you, and you'll stop dying, and I'll escape?”
Spencer shrugged at that. “I guess we'll see. Why don't we go to the scene, and we'll both look for things that stand out and don't belong? Maybe if we find the anomaly, you can use it to know what direction to go in.”
Carlton nodded. Anything Spencer suggested at this point, he would do. “Alright. Sounds good.”
“Good.” Spencer stood up. “I'm gonna take a shower before we go. I'll be quick, Lassie.”
He watched as Spencer disappeared into the bathroom.
Oh goddammit.
The next loop, Carlton found himself blushing furiously after bursting into the bathroom on a nearly naked Spencer, insisting, “Don't touch that faucet!”
Then he died slipping on a fucking banana peel on the way to the car.
Carlton tried going to his apartment and talking first thing another six times, before he decided even that wasn't enough.
On the twentieth loop, he picked up his phone and called Spencer the instant he woke up. “Spencer. Don't eat. Don't shower. Hell, don't move. I am coming over, and I will explain when I get there.” He didn't wait for a response, hanging up the phone and throwing on the first clothes he found.
When he got to Spencer's apartment, this time, the door was unlocked, which meant he'd at least moved to do that. When he walked inside, a very confused, shirtless Spencer was sitting on the couch waiting for him, wearing just a pair of plaid pajama pants.
“You gonna tell me what's going on here, Lassifrass?” Spencer asked, actually sounding half wary.
He explained the time loop again, and was believed again, fortunately.
“Alright, well, have you tried it? Being nicer to me during the loops, I mean?” Spencer asked this time.
“Well… no. But why would that have anything to do with anything? I know you're not some fragile flower, Spencer. It's not like I hurt you when I'm less than kind to you.” Carlton folded his arms over his chest.
“Maybe that's not what it's about, then. But it's definitely about you and me.” Spencer said with a shrug, leaning forward on the sofa. “Go back to what happened the first day, before it was a loop. Did you do anything to me that might be the trigger?”
Carlton could hardly think back more than ten iterations right now, let alone the full twenty, but he did remember the brief flicker of hurt on Spencer's face that day.
“I said something that I think actually did hurt you.” Carlton admitted. “But I haven't hurt you every time. If it was about not hurting you, I wouldn't be stuck.”
“But that must be what caught his attention.” Spencer explained.
“His?”
Seriously? Did Spencer even die that time?
What did he mean by “his attention”? Did Spencer know something that he wasn't telling Carlton? Was there some sort of god he'd captured the attention of, that Spencer didn't think he'd believe in? Because he'd really believe in anything, at this point.
Iteration after iteration went by, but he couldn't get Spencer to elaborate. Each time, he just said he didn't know what was going through his head when he said it, and Carlton was more and more convinced it had just been a slip of the tongue.
It was around the 37th loop that he started really losing it.
He had decided to go back and try from the beginning again. Maybe try to spot anomalies, like Spencer had said. He saved Spencer from the car, just to buy himself time, and that was when he noticed – the duck.
It was different.
Before, it had been a plain, brown duck. But now it was a mallard, with the green head and everything. It stared at him from the street.
“You son of a bitch.” Carlton muttered, walking right up to the duck. “You're not a duck, are you?”
God, he must have been losing it, talking to a damn duck. It stared up at him, then tilted its head, then quacked.
“No, you're too calm for a duck. Too relaxed. What the hell are you?”
Besides, what did it matter if he looked crazy? The day would reset, and no one would remember this, anyway.
Carlton blinked, and suddenly time had stopped, and there was no longer a duck, but a man in front of him.
The man groaned exasperatedly. “Finally, something interesting!” He put a hand on his chin and began to slowly pace in front of Carlton, eyeing him like he was appraising him. “I didn't think you'd figure me out for a long time. That little psychic of yours was too much help.” He clucked his tongue.
“What the hell do you want with me? Why are you doing this?” Carlton snapped at him, finally letting some of his anger resurface.
“You've been so mean, Carlton. Pushing away everyone around you, and especially one in particular who…” The man rolled his wrist, “I'll admit, I've taken a liking to.”
He was clearly talking about Spencer. Carlton crossed his arms. “I don't treat him any differently than I ever have.”
“Why should I know that? It's not like I'm watching you all the time.” The man rolled his eyes, but smirked. “I set up in town, and I noticed you two. A lot of potential there, I said.” He explained, then pouted. “But all of it was being wasted.”
Carlton narrowed his eyes at the man. “Just what are you getting at?”
The man gave him another eye roll, clucking his tongue again and shaking his head as he paced. "You're not a fool, Carlton. You know what I'm talking about. And if you don't, well… you're a detective. So detect.”
“I'm sick of looping. Just give me a hint.” Carlton all but pleaded through gritted teeth, hoping it would hide his desperation.
The man raised his eyebrows unamusedly. “I've already given you enough hints. You really are just dense.” He gave a dramatic, exasperated sigh. “Fine. How about we play a game of hot and cold? Every time you get warmer, your day continues. But get too cold, and I'll reset.”
“Fine.” Carlton agreed, looking away from whatever devil he just made a deal with. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
The man grinned. “Loki, God of Mischief.”
Of course he was.
He was started over at the beginning of the loop. He woke up, got dressed, and went to work again. He got to the crime scene, heading inside, and waited for Spencer and Guster to walk in.
“-objectively it's a better movie, Gus. You've got Joe DiMaggio-”
“That's John DiMaggio, Shawn, and you have not-”
“I've heard it both ways.”
Alright, so Loki wanted him to be nicer. He could handle nicer.
“Spencer? What are you doing here? I barely have any info on this case yet, so there's no way you do.”
“The spirits have guided me here, Lassie, to offer a vision!” Spencer exclaimed dramatically.
Carlton rolled his eyes-
Really? He couldn't even roll his eyes at Spencer's antics?
He got back again to the crime scene, and watched Spencer walk in again, eyes scanning the room for a few seconds.
“Spencer? How are you on my case already?” Carlton raised an eyebrow.
“I was driving by, and the spirits called me here, Lassie! They drew me in!” Spencer insisted.
“Are you sure it wasn't-” Carlton's jaw snapped shut. That was a sarcastic remark that he couldn't finish if he didn't want Loki to reset things again. “You know what? Nevermind. You're here, and I'm sure you're going to have a ‘vision’ any minute now.”
“Indeed I am! I can feel it coming on, Lassie!” Spencer clung to his chest again, and Carlton begrudgingly let him, because a damn trickster god would judge him if he didn't.
The same obnoxious vision later, Carlton peeled Spencer off of him. “Are you done?” He asked dryly.
Carlton sighed.
Here we go again.
He made his way to the crime scene.
Spencer walked in, eyes flicking over the scene, delivered his stupid vision again.
“Do you need to publicly grope me every time you do that?”
Spencer walked in, barely looked around, gave his vision, clinging to Carlton.
“Personal space, please, Spencer.”
Another look around, another vision.
“Why do you use me as a prop instead of, say, Guster, who might be okay with-”
“Why can you never just say what the spirits tell you like a normal-”
“Did you really just-”
“Spencer, that was my ass-”
Carlton had lost track of the number of loops, at this point. He was exhausted, and completely at his wit's end, but there was clearly something he was missing here, or Loki would've let him past this singular moment by now.
So he took a deep breath. Maybe it was something to do with the case. Maybe he had to try to… to incorporate Spencer, somehow. Maybe he was supposed to listen to him.
But he'd done that in the first place. Not to his face, but he'd told O'Hara in the first couple iterations to look into the soap opera theory.
It finally started to click together when he calmed himself down before going into it, determined to look at things with fresh eyes.
In the moments he had before Spencer walked in, Carlton looked around the room in the same manner he'd seen Spencer do time and time again. This time, he saw something – two things, actually – an award on the wall from a small, local actor's guild, and some notes on the wall calendar on upcoming dates, including “DOOL read-through” and “wardrobe meeting”.
Then, when Spencer walked in, he saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly when his eyes flicked over those two areas, before he claimed he had a vision.
And with that, Carlton was struck with the wonderful realization:
He figured it out.
Spencer really was just a damn good detective, and that was about the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Spencer hadn't even looked at the room for five seconds, and he digested and processed that information.
Emboldened and slightly delirious, and certain that despite his revelation, he'd still get reset, Carlton grabbed Spencer's wrist when he pressed up against him. He leaned down and lowered his voice enough that only Spencer could hear. “If you want to touch me like that, at least take me to dinner first, Spencer.”
A blush slowly rose on Spencer's face.
“I would if you'd let me, Lassie.” Spencer said under his breath, looking up at Carlton with wide eyes.
Of course this didn't reset it.
Well, fuck it. Something would, eventually.
“Then I'll see you tonight at McTaggart's.” Carlton growled in his ear, releasing his wrist.
Spencer nodded quickly, and stepped away, stunned. Carlton couldn't help but smirk at that. Apparently that was an effective way to get Spencer to shut up.
Carlton blinked, and everything was quiet and still. Time stopped again, except for one CSI, who stood up and walked over with a smirk on his face. Loki.
“Now, was that really so hard?” Loki put his hands on his hips. “All you had to do was what you really wanted to do, Carlton.”
“Wait, so I'm stuck with this reality?” Carlton asked incredulously, his ears turning pink.
“I mean, if you really don't want it, I can always…” Loki trailed off, holding up his fingers, about to snap. Carlton shook his head quickly.
“No! No, no, no more.” Carlton looked over at the stunned smile currently frozen on Spencer's face, small and genuine. “Really, I… I don't think I actually mind this one.”
Loki chuckled, looking between the two. “No, I didn't think you would.” He grinned, putting a hand on Carlton's shoulder. “Enjoy.”
In an instant, Loki was gone, and time continued. The loop was surely broken now, and Carlton would need weeks to recuperate from the exhaustion of it all, but as he looked at Spencer's expression, he thought maybe it was just a little bit worth it.