He's a little slow on the uptake, what with the ringing in his ears and all, but he catches the gist of what the Chief is saying before her thought is fully formed, and then he is standing.
His legs quiver beneath a burden that is no longer there, but his hands are steady. His hands are always steady. It is clearer now than ever before that they must not be allowed to falter, not when lives are cradled in his hands that he never intended to be responsible for.
It starts in the pit of his chest, this threat to his control that coalesces into a desire born out of fear and fury.
He has plenty to say, but no words – there is no coherency to his thoughts, just fuel for a fire that should have ended when Abigail was cradled safely in his arms and he had the knowledge that Juliet would be similarly comforted by Lassiter.
The door cracks sharply against the glass walls of Vick's office, marking his exit. It vibrates without shattering for she too must stay the course. They are not given the option of quitting, not in these roles.
Her voice carries out into the hallway as he navigates the crowd, pitched to reach his ears though his mind is closed.
He breaks into a sprint at the doors, sidestepping around McNabb and his concerned eyes. It is raining when he emerges into the parking lot, but that is only fitting, he feels.
There is a presence at his back, and his temper flares. He loses himself in the blur of buildings and cars and people, sweeping his eyes across the landscape because he can't afford to miss anything, not again. A bent head and a spilled drink might mark the beginning where it could mean the end, if he could just see a face.
The quiet shadowing becomes unbearable when it becomes evident that he is not going to lose his newfound follower, and Shawn whirls on Lassiter in a fit of pique, getting right up in his face. "What?"
His anger is not meant for Lassiter but it is felt all the same, though not through his voice. He keeps his voice calm, because he can't afford to lose it when tensions run high. He can't afford to lose it when there are two lives on the line and he is responsible for them both.
He throws his arms out, telling the world to bring it on, letting the last dregs of adrenaline fade into a bitter rebellion. Lassiter's face betrays no emotion to this outburst, and Shawn rubs a hand over his face in frustration, this release denied him as well.
He moves to brush by Lassiter, stopped when the detective places a hand on his arm to still his movements. Shawn jerks away, reflexively spinning with his attacker's wrist in tow and the intention to flip the situation.
Lassiter guards against the counter-attack, twisting Spencer's arm up and around his back. Muscles stiff from a long night spent chasing the leads of a psychopath protest the sudden tensing, but he shakes it off. Lassiter can see how the rest of this scene is going to play out and braces for impact pre-emptively.
Shawn continues to struggle, but Lassiter doesn't back down, letting the other man back them up into an alley. He corners Spencer between the brick wall and the side of a dumpster. Even as Shawn's hands fly up to defend himself, Lassiter steps back with the palms of his hands held out to show he is not a threat.
He doesn't know where Spencer is or what he's seeing – all he knows is that Spencer is not here, not at all.
"With this tendency of yours to stalk, it's no wonder you're divorced," Shawn says next, and it's so far below the belt that generations have fought wars over more honourable insults. He marvels when he finds himself standing thirty seconds later, rather bleeding on the ground. It would not be uncalled for at this point.
"You can beat yourself up if you like Spencer, but I will not be the whip in your hand." Lassiter isn't blind, but furthermore, he isn't ignoble. It is obvious that Spencer is hurting. He seeks condemnation for his response to Yin, and has escalated to provoking it where it is not so freely given.
Rumours of the end of his relationship with Abigail Lytar have circulated around the station by now, as gossip about its inhabitants always does. Out of respect for Spencer's privacy, he has not paid them any mind. Nevertheless, it is evident enough in the way Spencer carries himself that they are true.
This is not how he intended to spend his evening, but that is of no consequence now. "Come on, Spencer," he says gruffly, turning to leave.
Shawn remains where he is for a minute, and Lassiter's resolve softens as he turns back. "You're shaking. You can be just as angry in a dry place."
Since making the decision to follow Spencer out of the station, it was Lassiter's intention to spend an evening with his colleague (an altogether safer word than usually-adversary-sometimes-friend) commiserating over lost loves. God knows he understands the guilt that comes with choosing a career in law enforcement over a committed relationship.
But the flinch Spencer gives at his words – where the trigger lies in what he said, he really doesn't know – suggests he has his work cut out for him.
Shawn is not brittle, by any means. He snaps first to attention, then to some semblance of himself. Lassiter doesn't know how to treat him with kid gloves, but it would only be patronizing at this stage in the game, anyways.
"Lead on, MacDuff." The hoarseness of his voice is written off as a tickle in his throat. As he follows Lassiter out of the alley, Shawn clenches the fingers of his left hand into a fist, and then holds them out flat.
His legs quiver beneath a burden that is no longer there, but his hands should be steady. His hands should always be steady. It is clearer now than ever before that they must not be allowed to falter, not when lives are cradled in his hands that he never intended to be responsible for.
Yet Lassiter is right.
-
It is almost painfully obvious when Spencer spots O'Hara, and Lassiter feels faintly abashed to be witnessing what is so obviously a private moment. He glances over at Guster, who nods to signify all has been calm.
Before leaving his partner to follow Spencer into the deluge, he had made sure Juliet would have somebody. The last thing she needs is people in her face, pushing and prodding and pressuring, but Gus is first and foremost a friend. He knows when to hug and when to speak and when to just be there, and Lassiter feels comfortable enough leaving him with his partner. Gus is doing the same with him, after all.
Shawn narrows in on her, to the exclusion of everything else. He hovers in the doorway of Lassiter's new living room – Juliet did not want to go home, and his door could never be closed to her -- skittish and disbelieving. Juliet is strong and resilient and so remarkably solid after the day's events that she is almost surreal. Shawn breathes in that illusion like it's a direct supply of oxygen, drinking it in like it is going out-of-style. He's uncharacteristically hesitant, like he's afraid of what will happen if he comes any closer.
Juliet has never been one to sit back before though, and she isn't about to start now. She closes the gap between them until it is negligible. Shawn is soaked through from the pier and the rain. He looks cowed, almost; his hair tamed by the rain and his energy humbled by recent events.
His hand is on her shoulder and her arm is around his neck and then they are pulling each other close, hugging and laughing and crying.
"Jules, I'm--."
"—it's okay--."
"—can't believe, I--."
What passes between them is not so much a conversation as confirmation – a peculiar form of comfort taken in their shared peril – but by the time they pull apart, there is an ease in O'Hara's eyes that lets Lassiter breathe easier, in turn.
"--the right choice--."
"—wish I could have been there--."
"—Abigail needed saving too--."
They're babbling now, voices overlapping as they try to get everything out, all at once.
"You're wet," Juliet says at last, her expression a decided frown at his appearance. His damp clothes have bled onto the oversized jersey she has exchanged the formal jacket for. "…and freezing. Probably too hypothermic to shiver," she mutters, biting her lip out of concern. If it is blown a tad out of proportion, they let it pass by unnoticed, the distraction from their thoughts welcoming.
Shawn's hands are warm and steadfast, Juliet's mere presence steadying. Their relationship of late has been complicated, but he stands with her now as friends. Along with Lassiter, he counts her among his closest friends. Shawn has a whole lot of friends and Spencer has a whole lot of enemies, but there are few who have known the whole and stayed regardless.
"Carlton, can you get him some dry clothes?" When Juliet O'Hara finds herself a mission, let nobody stand in her way. She enlists Gus with a flick of her fingers, dispatching him to find a towel.
Trust Gus to be prepared for any occasion, however. He produces a pair of Shawn's pyjamas out of nowhere, with the offhanded explanation that Shawn was, "going to end up with me tonight anyways."
"Gus and I were just going to watch a movie," Juliet says once Shawn is no longer dripping all over Lassiter's carpet. "Come on, we've got it narrowed down to five." She leads him into the living room by the hand, where Lassiter takes in his rearranged furniture with a blink. She's pushed the couch up against the wall to make room on the floor in front of the TV, blankets and pillows arranged on the floor already.
"You guys seem pretty set here – why don't Lassie and I make the popcorn, while you two finish deciding?" Shawn suggests offhandedly.
Carlton nods, following the younger man into the kitchen. Shawn begins rummaging through his cupboards without preamble, looking for bowls – how he deduces the location of the actual popcorn immediately but misses the dish to put it in, Lassiter will never know.
"I'm sorry," Shawn says at last, once the bag is pop-pop-popping away in the microwave, "For what I said earlier."
Lassiter doesn't say anything to that, and it is equal parts acceptance in the present and threat for the future.
There's a bruise on Spencer's arm-- sustained during his rescue of Abigail Lytar, no doubt, and Lassiter is reminded that Mary Lightly and the waitress were not Yin's only victims.
He sighs with the knowledge of the conversation he is about to initiate. Sweet justice, Spencer. When did he turn into the confidante of the bunch?
Deep down, he admits to himself that he takes pride in the trust they have gifted him with.
"You know this wasn't your fault, right Spencer?"
It is a fairly stock saying; delivered with an awkwardness Carlton just can't seem to rid himself of in these types of situations. But his sincerity is never once in question, and that is the important thing.
Spencer makes a non-committal noise, the underlying denial lying in his lack of a response.
Lassiter knows this is not a problem he can solve for Spencer – it is one that will stay with him long after tonight's storm has passed. The power of guilt lies in the way it seeps into one's thoughts, poisoning them systematically.
Shawn is not to blame just as he is not innocent – one cannot be accepted without the other, but making peace with both is easier said than done. Lassiter has been there over the years, and it is a special form of hell he doesn't wish on anyone.
He doesn't know quite what to say, so he brushes Spencer's arm as he moves past him to the fridge. "You know where to find me," he says, and lets that stand in for everything else.
-
They have the choices narrowed down to Toy Story, Aladdin, and Mulan by the time the popcorn appears. Shawn doesn't even blink at the choices. Juliet isn't about to tolerate a damsel-in-distress fairytale, the Lion King's 'Hakuna Matata' theme is out due to Mufasa's death, and a Disney-reliable happily-ever-after is what they require tonight. It might not be realistic, but they have had enough realism to last them a lifetime.
Juliet is curled up beside Gus on his floor, and Lassiter finds himself smiling at the sight of his partner making herself at home in his living room. It scares him senseless that he almost lost that today. He eases weary bones down next to the two, setting the popcorn down between them. Shawn plops down as well, leaning in to pick up the DVD cases and offer commentary on each of their choices.
No, he corrects himself. He almost lost two of them today.
Just when he's ready to count Spencer out as a friend, the man goes and does something to change his opinion. He had been willing to write Spencer off after the case with the shark, but contrary to the sensationalist headline giving Spencer credit in the newspaper that the duo had dropped on his desk, the actual article had attributed the bulk of the case to him.
A crack of thunder threatens to break the sky apart, and Gus jumps a remarkable foot and a half. Shawn tenses, shuffling closer until Juliet just laughs and throws the afghan blanket she has claimed over them both.
Lassiter thinks it looks oddly comfortable, but he wouldn't know how to go about joining in.
Juliet nestles down further into the cocoon of warmth, turning to glance at him. "Come on, get in here, Carlton," she smiles, holding up the section of empty blanket she's kept for him.
He grumbles about sleeping on the floor, but it is all in good humour. He tells himself that though there are other blankets scattered about the floor, this one is simply the warmest.
He doesn't know how to go about putting an arm around Juliet without sending the wrong message, but she anticipates that as well, resting against his side in the easy intimacy of a close-but-platonic partnership.
Shawn cuddles up against Gus, throwing an arm over his best friend's torso that rests just so his hand grazes Juliet's shoulder as well.
As Lassiter plucks the TV remote off his coffee table and starts skipping through the previews, Spencer and Guster immediately start bickering about who gets to be Woody versus Buzz Light-Year while Juliet hogs all the popcorn.
Lassiter closes his eyes and thinks about movie theatres and bus stops; about people like Mary Lightly who have given their lives in the pursuit of serial killers like Yin. He regrets suspecting Lightly's role in the case now, regardless of the evidence of the time.
Closing his eyes, he thinks about clock towers and piers.
He almost lost them today, he thinks, taking a moment to appreciate that he has not.
And outside, it rains.