((I got a little carried away here. A warning, this is slow burn. Music : Thank you by Dido slow and reverb. Enjoy! Comments and criticism greatly appreciated 🙃))
Carlton Lassiter woke abruptly, in a cold sweat. Glancing around, he realized he was home.
God dammit. It'd been 2 years and he still saw Spencer plummeting to the ground.
He shook his head. Getting up, he quietly put on a cup of coffee. The cheap, white plastic counters stained with the dark substance. The sun was barely peeking in through the closed curtains and illuminating the cold floor. Coffee waiting on the counter, Lassiter quickly went through the boring process of getting dressed. He opted for his button down, suspenders and slacks.
Keys, Coffee, Gun. He went through the mental checklist.
He walked to the red car parked on the curb outside his apartment, checking the street for cars before quickly circling around and planting himself in the front seat and his coffee in the cup holder.
Staring at the road ahead of him, the sun was still dim, but just bright enough that the road could be navigated without headlights.
For a moment, Lassiter wondered what would happen if he didn't come into work. If he just stayed in his car. Or maybe if he drove to the hospital.
Carlton rested his forehead on the steering wheel, letting his mind replay those memories.
---
That habit had been born a week after the incident. Carlton hadn't slept, just replaying it in his mind. It was one AM and he made the short drive to the tall hospital building. The same building he and Shawn frequented together to check autopsy reports or to question victims. Where he reluctantly let Shawn tag along in case he had one of his bullshit 'psychic' visions.
At this point Carlton would give anything to have that annoying voice steal the case file out of his hands, or to fall into Lassiter while pretending to talk to spirits. To be Alive still, and safe inside the station, or working on a case where he belonged.
Instead Carlton was slowly ascending the stairs to the hospital. The door was rusted, and it took a considerable amount of strength to open, making a terrible nail on chalkboard sound as it revealed the rooftop to the Santa Barbara head detective. It was dark, but the staircase didn't have lights, and Lassiter's eyes had adjusted to the darkness at this point.
The ceiling had the normal ventilation system, with four industrial fans off to the left corner. Small circles littered in a square pattern covered the entire roof. Lassiter didn't know what they were and he didn't care. The edge of the root was elevated, creating a parapet.
The same parapet he saw Shawn's black with white laces shoes step onto. He remembers everything from that moment. The shirt he was wearing, the mildly dirty jeans, and the expression on his face.
At this point Carlton had quit trying to not think about it. He stepped forward looking over the rest of the city. There was a small clump of large buildings, but Santa Barbara in general was suburban. This was the only downtown it had.
Briefly he could see Tom Blair's pub in the distance, before being clouded with unwelcome memories of the psychic detective. He averted his eyes and settled for staring down at the pavement.
After minutes passed, Lassiter stepped up onto the parapet, with the ground looming 6 stories below him. If there were people passing below him they may think this was a suicide attempt. That Carlton was about to join Shawn laying dead on the pavement. But Spencer would've known better. He would've walked up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Lassiter shuddered. It's like he could feel the ghost of a hand.
He would've said
"Hey Lasssssieeee, if you keep coming up here I might start thinking you care about me."
Carlton knew the voice was in his head, but it sounded so real, and he couldn't take reality right now, so he allowed his imagination to continue, speaking out loud to no one but the wind.
"Spencer." Carlton said in acknowledgement to the voice in his head. His voice disappeared with no echo into the clouded sky.
The Shawn in Lassiter's head put his hand on his chest, in mock hurt.
"Even when I'm dead, I still don't get to hear you say my first name."
Those words shocked Carlton out of it.
Shawn was dead. He wasn't here, and this was stupid.
He originally stepped up onto the parapet to see how Shawn felt, but now it was too much. The numbness was fading and Lassiter didn't have anything to distract him. He quickly stepped down, his coat flapping in the wind as he made his way back to the staircase.
---
No. He'd left that habit behind. No more pretend Shawn. No more fantasies that made life so much harder. Lassiter rejoined the world of consciousness and put the key into the ignition, hearing the strained rumble of his engine.
After the short drive to the station, Carlton had finished his coffee, immediately making a beeline to the coffee machine. He actively tried to ignore the pitiful glances everyone shot his way. They did this last year too. Last year he left work early after breaking a pane of two sided glass in one of the interrogation rooms.
But he was doing better this year. He'd stopped going to the roof for two months. He'd stopped imagining Shawn. He had nights where he went all 7 hours without dreaming about Shawn plummeting. The break room was warm, and even though the sun was up, the sky wasn't blue. Clouds blocked the light from reaching the ground.
Carlton supposed it was fitting at this point, that even the sky was recognizing this terrible anniversary.
O'Hara walked over to him, a manila folder in hand, as he blankly stared at the coffee machine.
"Morning Lassiter." She said. Carlton could hear the wariness in her voice. She was tip-toeing around the topic, afraid she might break him.
"Morning O'Hara. Any cases?" He asked blandly. He kept emotion out of his voice, like he would before.
This seemed to satisfy her worries, his seemingly normal demeanor.
"Yeah actually, a missing persons case" she informed him, handing over the case folder. He flipped it open, and thank God it wasn't open and shut. Yeah yeah yeah crime was bad, but he really needed a distraction today. He needed a case he could drown himself in, to block out any other thoughts.
"Thank you." He said. It was a new occurrence. After Shawn's death, Lassiter had started saying thank you, being more appreciative of his coworkers, and hoping that he never had to worry about losing them.
People died in his line of work. It was dangerous. Shawn wasn't a cop. He wasn't a detective. He was a citizen, and all those accusations were baseless. They'd been disproved a month later, with Lassiter lashing out at the press everytime he was asked about it.
After quickly pouring a cup of coffee and adding cream and sugar, he made his way to his desk, stranding O'Hara alone in the breakroom without a response.
Lassiter focused on the case.
Connor Mason was alone in his room. His parents checked on him, told him to get ready for his football game, then, thirty minutes later when they were supposed to drive him to it, he wasn't there, the window was open, and there was a ransom note on his desk asking for more money than his parents would make in a lifetime.
There were pictures of the boys room, nothing was misplaced and there was no sign of a struggle. Lassiter found himself doing something he often saw Shawn doing.
He shut his eyes and imagined the crime scene.
He imagined himself standing in the door looking into Connor's room.
His desk was pushed under the window, which was straight ahead. His bed was to the right of that, the head of it at the back wall. On the left was a closet, that Lassiter didn't know the contents of.
Connor was reported to often climb out the window, as it opened up onto the roof, where there was a small drop to the ground. Being 15, he had his learners permit, so often took the car to a church parking lot, when he got back, he would argue with his parents about needing time alone.
The car was not missing, or even out of place after Connor's disappearance.
Lassiter opened his eyes, and read over the case file again, pulling out a notebook and writing down every detail he thought may be important. By the time he considered himself done with the file, he stood up, and made his way to his car.
It was around 1:40pm, so Connor's parents wouldn't be home. No use in swinging by his house then. However, Connor had a close friend, and Carlton absolutely had the power to pull him out of school for questioning. So he drove to Connors high school.
Carlton scowled as he entered the main lobby. God did he hate this place. Walking up to the front desk he quickly showed his badge to the tall lady sitting in an uncomfortable office chair. She had librarian glasses on and looked like she was done with life.
"Carlton Lassiter, SBPD, I'm here to question the student Daniel Oakland." He said confidently. The lady squinted a little to see the fine print on his badge.
"Alright Mr. Lassie-turr" she mumbled under her breath. Carlton ignored the sharp pain in his gut. He was on a case. No need to reminisce on old nicknames. It was simply a mistake in pronunciation. Old people did that all the time.
She pushed a button on the school phone and pressed a few buttons, her acrylic nails clicking against the plastic.
"Please send Daniel Oakland to the front office." She said. She waited a couple seconds, for what Carlton assumed was the teacher's response, and then looked at Lassiter, nodding to a bench nearby.
He rolled his eyes but walked over and seated himself on the bench. It was oddly chilly in the lobby. Lassiter felt the urge to fiddle with his suspenders, but refrained for the sake of intimidation. When he saw a kid with short dark brown hair, baggy pants, and a Batman hoodie walking towards him, he made the assumption it was Daniel.
Carlton tried to study as much of him as he could without being seen as a creepy old dude.
He wore circular glasses and there were bags under his eyes. When he saw Lassiter, he was scared. He stopped for a second before continuing forward. Lassiter stood up and started approaching the boy.
"Hello Daniel, my name is-"
"Yeah yeah yeah you're a cop, what do you want from me?"
Lassiter glared at him, before realizing that he really should be able to control his temper better around a teenager. He took a breath, then continued.
"As you know, your friend Connor went missing two days ago, I'm looking for information on him."
Lassiter saw him flinch when he said Connor's name.
"Oh. Connor. I was waitin' for him at the game, then he never came. We had a lot riding in him and he just ghosted. When you find him, let him know I've got a bone to pick with him." Daniel said, monotone.
It was obvious this was a script. This was planned, and Daniel was lying. The case file special mentioned him being gone during the game. Lassiter nodded though.
"Alright. Thank you, you can head back to class." He said curtly. Daniel eyed him suspiciously, then turned around and went back down the hallway he came from.
Reluctantly, Lassiter approached the old secretary again.
"I need Daniel's address." He said, plain and simple. He knew there was going to be a power struggle, but he didn't care.
"Sorry, I can't give away students in-fah-mation sir."
"You can to the SBPD," he said. He did love pulling rank. It was a guilty pleasure of his.
The secretary scowled, but nodded, typing something on her computer. It seemed like the loud keys echoed through the entire school. He didn't know how she focused with that awful noise.
"Baker Street, 112A." She said, annoyance lacing her voice. Lassiter pulled out his notebook he'd been keeping in his back pocket and quickly scribbled down the address.
He then turned and vacated the empty lobby. He could question more students, but he was looking for any reason possible to leave that place.
Getting back into his car, he switched around the radio until he settled on one station. A song played, Lassiter didn't pay attention to the music as he took the route to 112A Baker Street. Then the music changed. He tensed. This was Shawn's favorite song. "Holding out for a hero" by Bonnie Tyler. Lassiter quickly turned the radio off, momentarily swerving in the process.
He didn't think about it. He didn't let himself consider anything that just happened. He quizzed himself on what to say once he got to the Oakley house.
Once he arrived, his palms were sweating, from the music or from nerves he did not consider. He ignored it and rapidly ascended the stairs to the porch. There was a rocking chair under the overhang, and a welcome mat that Carlton didn't pay attention to. He rapped confidently on the door. It took a little bit for the middle aged women to get the door.
"Hello, I'm Carlton Lassiter from the SBPD. I'm here to ask a favor." He said quickly, not bothering with formalities.
The woman's expression looked confused.
"You're Carlton Lassiter? I thought Mr. Lassiter stopped by a day ago. He asked Daniel about his poor friend Connor." She said, in a sweet voice.
This jarred Lassiter. Who could've been pretending to be him? It didn't matter. He pulled his badge from the inner pocket of his shirt once again and showed it to her.
"I'm Carlton Lassiter. I'm here to ask if I could check out your son's room." He said plainly. If someone was stealing his identity he could deal with it when he got back to the station. For now he had a case. Plus, he didn't want to think about a certain man who liked to pretend to be him on cases. Kkarlton Lassiter.
The women nodded and stepped to the side, ushering the head detective inside.
"Daniel's at school right now, but you might want to look out for mice. there's always a shuffling coming from that room and I just know those pests are back." She said with a tut. Lassiter nodded politely as she led him to the room. The door was dark brown with a little heart engraving with two letters that Carlton couldn't make out.
He turned the doorknob. It was sticky. He tried to keep the disgust out of his expression. No need to rub it in to Miss. Oakley. Speaking of, she had run off, exclaiming something about making tea. Lassiter had ignored her. He opened the door to a messy room. Clothes were strewn across the floor and the bed was unmade. Carlton carefully stepped across the room, avoiding trash and crumpled up flannel shirts. The room smelled of mountain dew and sweat. Lassiter looked around, finding nothing of interest. He sighed in annoyance.
He studied the bed, looking for anything out of place but found nothing. He then approached the closet, and thank God there was open carpet, and he didn't have to tiptoe around, worrying about tampering with evidence. It was a sliding door, with two separate doors overlapping. He slid one across.
He was not expecting to find a teenage boy wearing a plaid button up, breathing heavily staring at Lassiter.
Oh. This was Connor. Of course. Someone who wears a Batman hoodie and baggy pants doesn't typically own a lot of flannel.
"Hello Mr. Mason." Lassiter said, taking a step back, giving the boy room to exit the closet.
"Hiiii" he said awkwardly, rubbing his arm, and smiling slightly. He was blushing slightly from embarrassment. .
"Mind explaining to me why you're hiding in Daniel's closet?" Lassiter asked, his voice laced in sarcasm. He was reaching the end of his temper here. All of that to find he had run away to his friend's house?
"Uh. Sure." He said. Carlton looked at him expectantly.
A few moments passed, and then Carlton heard the sound of the door opening. He turned to look and saw Daniel. Perfect. Now they were both here. Daniel glanced between the two and quickly strode over, placing himself between Connor and Carlton.
Lassiter stepped back, uncomfortable with the close proximity to so much testosterone and sweat.
"This is my room." He growled, his voice was still squeaky though, and Carlton almost felt the urge to laugh.
"I had permission to enter. Now I need an explanation." He said blandly. He checked his watch, for effect and simply because he needed the time. 3:45. This whole thing had taken longer than he thought.
"I'm not telling you shit." Daniel spat. Connor placed a hand on Daniel's arm tenderly.
"Hey, it's okay. I'll be fine."
Daniel proceeded to look at Connor with concern, but nodded. Turning back to Lassiter, he kept a look of disdain on his face.
"What questions do you have?" He said, obviously reluctant to answer to Lassiter.
Carlton sighed. He could make this easier for them, they'd probably be more comfortable answering to O'Hara anyway.
"I'm gonna take you down to the station." Carlton saw the fear flash across their faces and quickly added "to get your statements."
Daniel relaxed.
---
The drive back to the station was awkward, though Lassiter learned some things about the two boys. They were holding hands in his back seat as he pulled into the station parking lot. They'd been whispering the whole time. Carlton had managed to make some of it out.
The two were together, that much was obvious. Connor didn't like football. He'd been forced into it by his dad who wanted to brag about having the perfect son. Grades, football, and hiding his boyfriend had amounted to too much, so Connor fled to Daniels house and had been staying there.
Lassiter actually sympathized with these two. He hoped that after this, Connors parents would appreciate him more. He unlocked the door for the two, and saw them quickly unlatch their hands.
Carlton sighed. This wasn't his job. He didn't have to comfort insecure teenagers. Yet, he did it anyway.
"You don't have to hide that here. The station is supportive." He pointed out, not letting his empathy affect his voice. He could tell his point got through though, because as they approached the steps, their hands were linked once again.
---
O'Hara had taken the boys from him, and he'd been able to leave early. Well, by 30 minutes. He didn't go to his car though. He walked in the direction of Santa Barbara cemetery. His feet were aching from the events of the day, but he didn't let it bother him. The city was silent on this road, like the whole place was mourning Shawn's death alongside Lassiter.
The steps he made on the pavement echoed in his own ears. He passed by the black spiked fence and hedges surrounded the cemetery on his way to the gate. The flower stand was there as always, with the woman Lassiter had learned the name of attending it.
He approached Olivia, smiling sadly.
"Hello again."
"Hi Mr. Lassiter. What would you like today? It's been a while." She mentioned. It had been a while. Two months since he had visited. It was a big improvement. Ever since the funeral, he had visited every single day, leaving a lily.
"A lily please." He said, fishing around for a few loose bills in his pocket.
"Hey, it's alright. It's a hard anniversary. Consider it a gift." She smiled at him. He smiled back.
"Thank you Olivia." He said genuinely. If anyone from the station saw him here they'd go back to giving him those looks every day. The look that told him they thought he was going to shatter at any moment. He hated it. He took the lily and quickly left the stand, waving to Olivia on the way in. The gravel crunched under his shoes as he made his way to the far left end. He passed the statue of the founder, and his grandparents graves. He turned onto the grass, careful to avoid stepping In front of other people. He knew that everyone here affected someone like Shawn affected him.
He reached the small semi circle grave. It was in the shape of an eye, half in the ground. It fit his whole psychic gig.
Gus had picked it out, and Lassiter hadn't been present enough to tell him it was stupid. But now he just stood in front of it staring. He sighed.
It was always mildly embarrassing talking to a gravestone, but it made Lassiter feel better.
"Hey Shawn. Been a while since I visited." He said, gently crouching down and placing the lily on the ground in front of the oddly shaped tombstone.
"I solved a case today. It was stupid and easy but it still would've been easier if you were there." He thought for a moment. He didn't have a lot to say today.
"Someone pretended to be me today. It reminded me of you. I'll have to find them. And arrest them probably. Honestly you should be arrested for the amount of times you impersonated an officer. But we never did. Because…" He trailed off. Because they liked Shawn. Everyone loved Shawn.
"Your favorite song came onto the radio." Lassiter smiled, sorrow painting his features.
"I almost ran myself off the road turning it off. I still can't bear to think about you. I drown myself in work to avoid seeing your face in my head. I've been doing better though. I haven't been to the roof in a while. I don't see you anymore. I don't hear your voice in my head, or see you talking to O'Hara in the breakroom. As much as it hurts that you're not there, the illusion was cruel."
Lassiter had to pause. He didn't need to get worked up. He still had to face the station to get his car, and they didn't need to see tear stains on his cheeks.
"I miss you. You were a pain in the ass, but I miss you. Every time I think about you I have to realize that I'm never going to see you again."
Carlton turned around and sat down on top of the stone, his legs extending in front of him, and his hands supporting him, laying on the cold stone.
"A grave really is too cold for you. You deserved an end as bubbly as you are. I-"
His voice cracked
"Why Shawn? Everyone knew those accusations were bullshit. Why would you tell me that? Why would you- why would you leave us because of something as stupid as that?" He needed to stop. Tears were pooling in his eyes now. He blinked them away and stood up, brushing his button up off. He gave the grave one last glance and walked back to the path.
Olivia waved at him as he left. He ignored her. He couldn't-
God fucking dammit!
He'd just gotten better. He'd just stopped thinking like that. He couldn't talk to anyone right now.
When he made it back to the station, he went straight to his desk, keeping his head down, ignoring the white noise of fans and papers in the background. He knew the chief and Juliet had seen him, and he couldn't force himself to care, swiftly pushing the door open, the cold metal boring into his skin. He felt droplets on his skin as he got to his car. The leather seats were too cold. He clicked on the heat.
The rumble of the ignition snapped him out of his rush.
He had no right to do that. He had just worried the chief and O'Hara and he hadn't even bothered to tell them he was leaving. He was basically ensuring he was going to lose his job. He dug his fingernails into his palm trying not to scream.
He closed his eyes. Briefly, the image of Shawn in his passenger seat plagued his mind. No. He had healthy coping mechanisms now. Deep breaths. In for 7, hold for 8, out for 4.
He opened his eyes again, but kept the breathing pattern. He pulled out of the station, instinct taking him to the familiar building. He opened the door, all his senses seemed heightened. What he wouldn't give for that first week again, where everything was just numb.
He circled around the building, locating the back door. He made eye contact with the janitor, taking out the trash. She didn't bother stopping him anymore. He opened the door slowly and started ascending the stairs. It didn't take long before he felt the familiar wind on his skin, and he was overlooking Santa Barbara.
He felt ashamed. He was supposed to be stronger than this. Carlton Lassiter was the head detective of the SBPD, not some kid.
He found himself stepping up onto the parapet, watching the few people who still walked pass by on the sidewalk below.
Lassiter wasn't impulsive. He wouldn't be jumping. He just needed that connection to Shawn to be there still. Every day he got further from the psychic and it seemed that everyone was forgetting him.
He heard the psychic's voice behind him.
"Lassie?"
"No." His voice was cold, even to himself. He was going to have to schedule a new appointment with his therapist. He'd been doing so good.
"It's been a while," Shawn said, stepping up beside Lassiter.
"Yeah. Yeah it has been." He affirmed, staring forward, at the horizon.
"You can't keep doing this."
"I know."
It was Carlton's own subconscious that was begging him to stop this repeated battering. The wind was stronger now, he could hear it whipping his coat around.
He stepped down, opting to sit down, with his legs out over the side. Cars passing didn't see him, and neither did the pedestrians. In plain sight, this was the only place Lassiter could be alone.
"I can't keep doing this." He echoed the words his own mind had created. Shawn was gone. Carlton closed his eyes and let the sounds of the city wrap around him.
((Kudos to the ones who got through that one! Thanks for toughing it through, next chapter will move faster!))