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Carlton sighs, bracing himself for whatever bullshit Spencer is going to spew today as he watches the man walk through the station.
Since Guster is on vacation with his family or whatever, there’s nobody here to calm the ‘psychic’ down. While Guster is a double-edged sword, in that depending on the day, he’ll either make Spencer more or less annoying, things are usually worse when he isn’t around.
But, as he watches Spencer walk in, he notices that something seems off about him. He isn’t prancing around doing his fake psychic act, he’s practically stumbling, as if he’s injured. It has Carlton on guard, on edge like something is definitely going to happen today, and there’s the possibility that it might cause a lot of paperwork for him.
Great.
Spencer stumbles over and doesn’t even stop to harass him, just staggering past his desk and towards the Chief’s office. It’s strange, the man didn’t even spare him a glance.
What in sweet justice is going on?
He looks over at O’Hara, who also seems concerned, seemingly trying to decide whether to follow Spencer into the office or to just get on with her work. Carlton makes the decision for her, standing up abruptly and heading towards the office, and O’Hara trails after him. Through the glass on the door, Carlton can see the worried expression on Chief Vick’s face, and when he swings the door open, Spencer jolts, falling forwards and bracing himself with his hands on the Chief’s desk.
“Spencer?” The Chief asks, and O’Hara is by his side almost immediately, hand on his arm to steady him.
Carlton just stands near the door, only half-believing this isn’t an act. Spencer is known to be eccentric, after all, especially when he’s having one of his ‘psychic’ episodes.
“I’m fine,” He mutters, standing upright again, though Carlton can just barely see his eyes squinting, “What’s the case?”
O’Hara steps back when he puts a hand up to his head, his face scrunching up.
After a few moments, Spencer gasps, his hand dropping back down to the desk in front of him as he slowly shakes his head, “I’ve got nothing.”
The admission makes Carlton’s eyes widen. The man normally comes up with something, anything, even if it's entirely ridiculous, so for him to admit he isn’t getting anything ‘psychically’... Carlton doesn’t think he managed to mask his surprise as well as he usually does.
“Go home, Spencer.” The Chief says, and it takes Spencer a minute to even begin to protest.
“No, I’m fine, really. Just give me a sec, I can—”
The Chief sighs, “Lassiter, take him home.”
“No!” Spencer protests, before Carlton can, and he winces at his own volume, “I swear I’m fine. I can…”
He trails off, clenching his eyes shut again, and Carlton finally steps in, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Come on, Spencer.”
The man tries to shrug him off, but begrudgingly gives in when he’s unsuccessful, letting Carlton lead him out of the office.
It isn’t like Carlton wants to take the man home, but there’s clearly something wrong with him, and Carlton takes his duty to serve and protect very seriously. It isn’t like he’s personally worried about Spencer, of course, he couldn’t care less about the annoying man-child.
But when they’re outside in the car park, and Spencer suddenly goes slack in his arms, falling backwards into Carlton, he panics, wrapping his arms around the other man to stop him falling to the ground.
Well, shit. Carlton doesn’t even know his address, so how is he supposed to get him home when the man is clearly in no state to give him directions. He could go back and ask the Chief, but he probably shouldn’t leave the barely-conscious man unattended.
His own place it is, then.
He shoves Spencer into his car, more gently than he’d care to admit, and gets into the driver’s side. As he’s driving home, he contemplates turning on the sirens so he can get there quicker, but he figures Spencer wouldn’t exactly appreciate the loud noise. Plus, he isn’t supposed to use them for personal matters, which was definitely his main reason for not using them and not because he didn’t want to make Spencer’s condition worse.
It’s unsettling, having the usually overbearing man next to him in silence, barely even aware of anything that’s going on. Even when he was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, he was still yapping constantly. What could be so wrong with him now, that he isn’t making a sound?
When they finally make it to Carlton’s apartment, the other man seems to be a little more conscious, eyes still squinted but darting around, as if trying to figure out his surroundings.
“Lassie?” He whispers, as if he only just realised Carlton was dragging him into the elevator of his apartment building.
Before Carlton can reply, Spencer’s head is on his shoulder, basically nuzzling into his neck, and Carlton’s face does not heat up.
Spencer has always been touchy, usually just to get on Carlton’s nerves, but this is different. He doesn’t even seem to realise what he’s doing, simply seeking comfort from the only other person around, which just happens to be Carlton.
The elevator pings, and Spencer whimpers slightly at the noise. Sighing, Carlton wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him out, slowly heading towards his apartment.
“Give me a second.” Carlton whispers to the man, letting go of him to grab his keys from his pocket, but Spencer doesn’t move, his head still resting on Carlton’s shoulder. He sighs, managing to get his keys and unlock the door, and then he drags Spencer to his room.
Spencer just follows without question, and Carlton wonders if he actually trusts him this much, or if he’s simply in such a bad state that he’d trust anybody. It’s concerning, and Carlton is suddenly glad Vick made him take him home, because Spencer has a talent at putting himself in danger at the best of times, so in this state, he’d almost definitely somehow end up dead somewhere.
That thought makes Carlton’s stomach drop, and before he can analyse that reaction to the thought of something happening to a man he swears he doesn’t care about, said man flops onto Carlton’s bed, groaning in pain as he hits the mattress.
“I’m going to get some water,” Carlton says, “Stay here.”
Spencer just grunts in response, and it doesn’t seem like he could go anywhere else if he wanted to. While Carlton is grabbing a glass of water for the man, he wonders why the hell he even came into the station in the first place, when he’s in this state. He should’ve just stayed home, so they could have avoided all of this. Carlton would rather be at work than here, taking care of a grown man who seems to have absolutely no self-preservation instincts.
When he gets back to his room, Spencer has kicked his shoes off and seems to be a little more comfortable than he was when Carlton left. He places the water on the nightstand and turns to leave, but a hand on his wrist stops him in his tracks.
“Don’t.” Spencer mumbles, so quiet he has to strain his ears to hear it.
“What?”
Spencer groans, eyes flickering open as he looks directly at Carlton, though his eyes are glassy and barely focused.
“Don’t go,” He whispers, hand still wrapped around Carlton’s wrist, “Please.”
The pleading tone in his voice and the desperation in his eyes gives Carlton no choice but to comply.
“Let me just call the Chief—”
He tries prying Spencer's hand off his arm, but Spencer pulls him down so that he’s almost laying next to him.
“Stay.” He whispers, practically hugging Carlton’s arm.
Fuck.
Carlton tries to get comfortable, laying down properly and pulling his phone out of his pocket to call the Chief.
“Lassiter?”
“Spencer ended up passing out so I had to bring him back to mine. I don’t think he’ll be able to take care of himself in this state.”
That’s easier to say than admitting he wants to stay here and take care of the man, and Vick seems to understand the implication of his words.
“It’s fine, just stay and watch over him. O’Hara says she’s fine to take over for you today.”
“Thanks.” Carlton grunts, hanging up and putting his phone down.
He glances over at Spencer, whose eyes are closed again and he’s breathing deeply. That and the rise and fall of his chest are the only things that assure Carlton that the man is even alive, since his face is unnaturally pale and he has deep, dark circles around his eyes. Carlton has seen enough dead bodies to make the comparison between Spencer and one, and now he can’t help but contemplate why the thought makes him so deeply uncomfortable.
It’s the same feeling as when he wakes up from a nightmare in which O’Hara is fatally wounded because Carlton didn’t get there in time to have her back. The guilt over a scenario that hasn’t happened, making him feel like he can barely breathe. It’s almost happened so many times since he and Juliet became partners, and Carlton would never forgive himself if something happened to her because of his own incompetence.
So maybe he cares for Spencer more than he’d like to admit to himself, and he supposes that the current situation is proof of that. If he didn’t care, even a little, about the man, why would he be laying in bed with him, letting him cling onto his arm like some kind of koala?
Carlton sighs and grabs the book of military history off his nightstand, opening it to where he bent the corner of the last page he read.
He has no idea when he managed to fall asleep, but he’d awoken to the sound of whining coming from beside him.
It only takes him a second to remember that Spencer is with him, and is seemingly sick. And now happens to be whining like an injured animal, thrashing around in the sheets, but still clinging to Carlton’s arm like his life depends on it.
“Spencer? Wake up.”
The command does nothing to help the man, who is practically sobbing into the pillow.
“Spencer!”
Carlton tries shaking him, to no avail when Spencer flinches back from his touch, muscles tensing as he breathes heavily, still not opening his eyes.
“Please, no,” The man whimpers, and Carlton isn’t sure if he’s even still asleep, or if he’s experiencing some kind of waking nightmare, “Don’t—”
Suddenly, the thrashing resumes, though Spencer is now clutching his left shoulder, screaming, and Carlton knows he has to do something to wake him up, quickly.
Spencer won’t stop thrashing, and Carlton has no choice but to pin him down to the bed in order to stop the man from injuring either of them.
“Shawn, wake up! It’s just a dream.” He tries, but Spencer doesn’t wake up, still trying to escape his grasp.
Without thinking, Carlton lets go of one of Spencer’s wrists and does the only thing he can come up with: he slaps Spencer in the face. Not hard, just enough to jolt him awake.
And it works. Spencer’s eyes fly open, eyes darting around as he tries to figure out what’s happening, before his gaze finally falls on Carlton’s face, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of him.
“Lassie?” He asks, throat raw from screaming, “What’re you doin’ here?”
Carlton’s grip on Spencer’s arms loosens instinctively, “This is my apartment, Spencer. Don’t you remember what happened?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, seemingly processing the position they’re in.
“Oh God, did we…” He trails off, and Carlton freezes.
“What? No, you idiot! You fainted and I had to bring you here.”
Carlton lets go completely and rolls off of the other man, ignoring the warmth rising in his chest and up his neck.
“I… what?” Spencer asks, confused, “Oh, shit, it happened again didn’t it?”
Carlton’s eyes narrow, “Again?”
Spencer sighs, rubbing his head, “I get migraines sometimes, thanks to my powers.”
Carlton just rolls his eyes at the mention of his so-called ‘powers’.
“Thanks, Lassie.”
The gratitude is genuine, and Carlton just grunts in response, surprised at the sincerity.
He can feel Spencer’s eyes on him, intense and unashamed as he stares. Carlton is about to tell him to knock it off when the man speaks up.
“Hey, you should visit them. They’re worried about you.”
“What?”
“Your parents,” Spencer clarified, “They worry about you every day, and they miss you. At least call them once in a while, Lassie.”
Carlton’s eyes widen, “How did you—”
Spencer just taps his head, and Carlton rolls his eyes.
“Lucky guess.”
“Oh yeah?” Spencer smirks, closing his eyes, “You can admit it.”
Carlton sighs heavily, “What are you going on about now?”
“The person you care about more than you want to believe,” Spencer says, “The person you worry for. You don’t have to hide it, I have a feeling they feel the same way.”
He’d better not be talking about himself, “Who?”
“Dunno,” Spencer says, “I just know there’s someone on your mind.”
Fuck, it is him. The only other person he could be talking about is O’Hara, but she knows he cares about her, and she makes it clear she cares about him, too. They’re partners, it’s what they’re supposed to do.
But he was never supposed to care about Spencer, he has no reason to. He isn’t Carlton’s responsibility, and he should dislike the annoying man for his antics.
And yet…
“Whatever.”
Spencer laughs, genuinely, and Carlton tries to ignore the way his chest constricts at the sound.
“You called me Shawn.” Spencer says, suddenly, and Carlton glances over at him.
“Yeah, and? I was trying to wake you up.”
Spencer hums, and Carlton can’t help his curiosity.
“What was your nightmare about, anyway?”
Spencer’s hand moves to grab his shoulder, but Carlton isn’t sure if he even knows he did it, and it confirms his suspicions. Still, he listens when Spencer speaks.
“I really thought I was gonna die that day, Lassie,” He says, his voice no more than a whisper, “I was scared.”
“You know I—We wouldn’t have let that happen.”
Spencer chuckles, “Yeah, I guess, but… When I saw Gus and Jules, my dad and… and you, I was so relieved. I’ve never loved seeing your face more.”
Carlton rolls his eyes.
“Sorry about jumping on your car, though.”
“You really think I gave a damn about the car?” Carlton says, without really thinking about it.
Spencer looks at him, “You didn’t?”
“No, you idiot.”
Carlton doesn’t elaborate, but it seems he doesn’t have to, when Spencer shifts ever-so-slightly closer to him.
“You were worried?”
He doesn’t reply to that, not trusting himself not to blurt out his innermost thoughts that confirmed what Spencer wanted to hear. The thoughts that Carlton didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Thanks.” Spencer says, again, and Carlton just sighs again.
“How’s your head?” He asks, instead of responding to the show of gratitude.
Spencer hums, “Better, now. I must say, I’m surprised you brought me here and didn’t just drop me off at the Psych office.”
“Huh,” Carlton says, “I didn’t think of that.”
Spencer laughs, and Carlton glares at him.
“What? I was pretty busy trying not to let you get yourself killed. Not to mention the fact that you were clinging to me like your life actually depended on it.”
He’d meant it as a dig at Spencer, but he finds himself flushing at the words as well, remembering their closeness and how Spencer had trusted him to make sure he didn’t get hurt, even in his barely-conscious state.
Still, Spencer seems just as flustered, sputtering, “Did I actually?”
“Yeah, but it’s… fine.” Carlton mutters, half hoping Spencer wouldn’t hear his words and tease him for them.
“Oh,” Spencer mumbles, meaning he heard him but is choosing not to be annoying about it, “Cool.”
Or maybe he’s just too embarrassed to make a big deal out of it, which is a surprising look on Spencer. Spencer is many things, but easily-embarrassed isn’t one of them.
Suddenly, Spender shivers a little, subconsciously getting closer to Carlton, who doesn’t move a muscle.
“You alright?”
“Cold.” He mumbles, simply.
Carlton doesn’t think, can’t think, or he’d chicken out. He raises his hand and places it against Spencer’s forehead, who flinches slightly before relaxing into his touch.
“You don’t seem to have a fever.” Carlton says, but he doesn’t move his hand, because Spencer is leaning into it, eyes closed and seemingly content.
“You’re warm.” He mumbles, leaning in more.
And while Spencer is doing this, Carlton is flushing. Because the way Spencer looks right now, with his lips slightly parted and a slight blush on his cheeks, should be illegal. Carlton should arrest him right now for obstruction of justice, because how the hell is Carlton supposed to focus on solving cases with the memory of this moment ingrained in his mind?
His eyes widen as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and he instinctively pulls his hand away, feeling guilty for his thoughts about the man next to him. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Lassie?” Spencer whispers, questioning, “What’s wrong?”
“You should go if you’re feeling better.” Carlton says, sternly, breaking the peace between them. He can’t be having those kinds of thoughts about anyone, let alone Spencer of all people.
He can’t bring himself to look at Spencer after the words escape his lips, too scared of what kind of expression he may be wearing on his face. All he hears is shuffling, and Carlton assumes Spencer is getting up.
Instead, a hand touches his arm, and Carlton looks at Spencer in surprise.
“Are you serious?”
“When am I not?” Carlton says, avoiding eye contact.
Spencer lets out a laugh, though it clearly isn’t one of amusement.
“Right, yeah,” He says, “Of course.”
Carlton refuses to let the feeling of guilt spread, looking away as Spencer starts putting his shoes back on.
“Sorry for bothering you, Lassiter,” Spencer apologises, and Carlton’s brain is screaming at him to disagree, to tell the other man that he wasn’t bothering him at all, “It won’t happen again.”
Then, he hears the bedroom door close, and Carlton sighs, leaning back against the headboard. He knows he’s an asshole, but that’s nothing new.
He has, of course, always known Spencer was objectively attractive; that isn’t the kind of thing you can easily hide. But having the man so close to him, so trusting, letting Carlton take care of him like that… he just doesn’t understand it at all.
Nor does he understand the emotions stirring in his chest as he recalls Spencer hugging his arm while he slept, the crease of his brow easing when he was snuggled up next to him.
How can Spencer still trust him so much, when all Carlton has done is belittle the man and attempt to humiliate him? It makes no sense.
And why does the thought hurt Carlton? Because even now, he kicked Spencer out suddenly without an explanation, all because he was scared of his own feelings. He’s awful, he really is. Because Spencer trusted him to protect him while he was incapacitated, and Carlton basically just disregarded that trust and probably severed his chances of Spencer ever trusting him like that again.
Fuck.
Before he can talk himself out of it, he jumps out of bed and rushes out of his room, cursing when Spencer is nowhere to be seen. He looks out the window and sees him walking through the car park. In the rain.
God, Carlton really is a dick. What kind of person kicks out a sick person into the rain, knowing he has no vehicle to get home in? Without a second thought, he opens the window and shouts ‘Spencer!’
The man, thankfully, hears him, turning around and looking up with a surprised expression.
“Wait a minute!”
He slams the window shut and quickly puts his shoes on, grabbing his coat and slinging it over his shoulder as he runs down the stairs, thankful he’s only on the third floor. By the time he gets to the ground floor, Spencer is standing in the lobby, hair dripping.
Carlton rushes over and wraps his coat around the man’s shoulders, cursing at the way he shivers under his touch.
“Spenc—Shawn,” He says, using his sleeve to wipe the water from the psychic’s face while he stands there, dumbstruck, “I’m sorry, fuck.”
“It’s fine.” Spencer says, trying to pull away, but Carlton’s other hand raises to hold his cheek.
“No, it isn’t,” He admits, still panting from running down the stairs, “I’m an asshole.”
Spencer chuckles slightly, pulling the coat tighter around his body.
“I don’t want you to go,” Carlton says, not letting his fear stop him from speaking, this time, “You should stay. If—If you want to.”
Spencer’s eyes stare into Carlton’s own, searching for an indication of this possibly being a cruel joke or something, but there’s nothing there, Carlton knows, because it isn’t a joke at all. He wants Spencer to stay, he wants it so deeply in his bones.
He doesn’t entirely know why, but he wants to stay in the other man’s company for a while longer, as if he deserves that, after all of this.
But Spencer nods, agreeing to come back with him, even after everything.
It almost makes Carlton irrationally angry, because it makes no sense for Spencer to forgive him. He shouldn’t be looking at him with those eyes, full of trust and forgiveness, because Carlton doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.
But he doesn’t voice these thoughts, instead putting his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and pulling him in closer to try to warm him up, dragging him back into the elevator as the man is clearly in no state to be walking up three flights of stairs.
“I don’t hate you, Spencer.”
The words surprise even him, and the man in question turns to face him, confused.
“Hell, I don’t even dislike you. You’re a good man and—and a competent detective, psychic or not.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Lassie—”
Spencer cuts himself off when he looks in Carlton’s eyes and must see something there, because suddenly their faces are mere inches apart and Carlton can’t help his gaze flicking down to Spencer’s lips, which he must admit he’s thought about more than can be deemed appropriate — which is not at all.
As if actually sensing Carlton’s thoughts, Spencer’s tongue slips out and licks his bottom lip slightly, and Carlton’s eyes flicker back up to look into Spencer’s once again.
Fuck, is this seriously happening?
Spencer bites his lip lightly, and both of them lean in, lips ghosting against each other before the elevator dings, and they practically jump away from each other, startled.
They make their way back to Carlton’s apartment in tense silence, but as soon as Carlton shuts the door behind him, Spencer’s hands are grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.
“We both want this, right?” He asks, sounding breathless, and all Carlton can do is nod, surprised when Spencer immediately crashes their lips together, backing Carlton against the back of the door.
Carlton is surprised to find that instead of his head slamming on the hard surface, which would have been worth it, the blow is cushioned by Spencer’s hand, which is quick to tangle in his hair, as if he’s grappling for something to steady him. Carlton’s own hands fall to Spencer’s waist, gripping tightly as the kiss deepens.
They eventually have to break apart, their foreheads pressed together, and Carlton’s hand comes up to hold Spencer’s cheek, thumb gently caressing his cheekbone.
“Fuck, Lassie,” Spencer whispers, “Why have we never done that?”
Carlton lets out a laugh, “Because we’re idiots.”
Spencer grins, leaning back in to press a chaste kiss against Carlton’s lips and pressing his body closer, leaning his head on Carlton’s shoulder just like he had earlier this morning.
Only this time, the man kisses his neck, sucking in a way that makes a groan escape Carlton’s throat.
“Spencer—”
The man’s head snaps up, eyebrows raised.
“After all of this, you’re still calling me by my last name?”
Carlton rolls his eyes, “Shawn.”
“Better.” Shawn muses, leaning back down to plant more kisses on his neck, while Carlton lets his head hit the back of the door.
God, this man will be the death of him, he’s sure. Only, this time, he doesn’t mean that in a negative way.