A/N: So, this one is sad ONLY BECAUSE IT IS LONGER THAN THE MULTICHAPTER I'M WORKING ON. WHAT THE CRAP. Oh, writer's block. How I detest thee. This is also really kinda pathetic since it is based off of Stephen by Ke$ha. I was listening to it today, and realized that it would be really fun to write fic to. And I was originally gonna have a Victoria cameo, but you can see how that worked out. So, hope you enjoy this, and google the lyrics if you need to-it'll probably help. This hasn't been beta-ed, so any mistakes/bad characterization is my fault. ALAS. Review? It'll make me HAPPY.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the song. Just my hilariously sung rendition of it. Which belongs to my vocal cords.

Stephen - Ke$ha

Shawn Spencer, psychic sleuth extraordinaire, stepped out of his friend's blue car. It was a beautiful day, perfect for the department picnic. As he skipped to the trunk to get the pineapple upside-down cake that he had made, he called out to Gus.

"Gussy-pants, unlock the trunk?"

Gus sighed, rolled his eyes, and popped the trunk.

"You sure that Lassiter'll say yes to this crazy idea?"

The fake psychic snorted, picked up the cake, and slammed the trunk closed.

"Of course. If only you knew my infinite charm."

Shawn waggled his eyebrows, making his best friend roll his eyes again.

"Fine, Shawn," Gus sighed. "You're going first into this deathtrap, though."

No sooner had he said this, the fake psychic was across the parking lot, galloping eagerly towards the grassy part of the park. The pharmaceutical salesman followed him, an amused look on his face.

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The picnic had a surprisingly large turnout. Even more surprising was the fact that Lassiter had come. Or, to be more correct, O'Hara and Chief Vick had forced Carlton to come. For this, he was not grateful.

"Remind me why I'm here again?" he hissed at his partner.

"We are here, Carlton," the junior detective whispered sharply, "to relax and have some fun. Take a break from the job for maybe a couple hours to enjoy the company of co-workers."

Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Crime stops for no man, O'Hara."

As her eyebrows started to rise, he added quickly, "Or for any woman, either."

"Lassiepants! Jules!" came Shawn's voice from over the field.

"Wonderful. Yet another reason for me to have gone to the range or stayed at the precinct," the head detective muttered. His partner swatted his arm.

"Can you just at least pretend to have a good time?"

"Not when that is here."

"Carly-town, I am a he, not a that," Shawn replied indignantly.

Lassiter sighed and settled down for the longest two hours of his life.

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About an hour and a half later saw Carlton being fed pineapple upside-down cake. By the department psychic.

Could this day get any worse? He thought, trying to fend off insistent hands with a paper plate bearing the ghastly creation.

"C'mon Lassie! It has delicious flavor!" Shawn encouraged, pushing the plate towards the head detective.

"Fine!"

The fake psychic smiled as the head detective started on the delicious treat.

As soon as he's done, he'll see the digits on the paper…

"Spencer, what the hell is this?"

Lassiter dangled a single strip of paper in Shawn's face.

"Lassieface, that is my number. For calling slash dating purposes."

The fake psychic never recalled Carlton's face ever turning that shade of red.

"Spencer," he said, a little too sweetly, "Come with me over here."

Shawn followed obediently to the other end of the field.

"What the hell, Spencer. What the hell is the meaning of this?"

The younger man squirmed uncomfortably before bursting out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Lassie, really! Ah ha, it's just, your face! It's priceless!"

He was silenced by firm hands on his shoulders.

"So… this is your idea of some sick joke?"

Shawn blanched, before shaking his head furiously.

"No, no, no, Lassiepants! I was serious about the dating part. I want you to be mine and me to be yours."

Lassiter blushed.

"What?"

"You heard me loud and clear, Lassieface. You. Me. Date. Friday? Perfect! Pick me up at 6."

Carlton was left with his mouth agape as Shawn bounced back to the rest of the picnic.

Sweet Justice.

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The rest of Lassiter's week was graced by a lack of Spencer's presence. He had no idea if he would hold to the arranged date. The chivalrous, romantic side said he would, while the other side… well, it was the other side.

But, he thought, it is Spencer. Who knows if he's serious? What if he's… just kidding?

The more the insecurities clouded his mind, the more he decided against the impromptu date. So when Friday night came around, he settled in for a lonely night of movies and a bottle of scotch.

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Shawn was used to being late. In fact, most of the time, he was the one who was late. But by the time 10:00 rolled around Friday night, he knew he had been stood up. Sighing, he plopped down on his couch. He flipped on the TV and pulled out his cell phone, dialing familiar numbers that he shouldn't know by heart.

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Lassiter recognized the inane jingle from his phone as Spencer's self-assigned ringtone, and silenced it for what seemed the twentieth time that night. He sighed, turning his attention back to the television.

He's not serious. He's not serious. Is he…?

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"Hello, you've reached Detective Carlton Lassiter. Please leave a message at the beep."

Shawn sighed, deciding what to say.

"Hey Lassie. It's Shawn. Although… you probably already knew that. I mean, cell phones have caller ID and stuff and… right. Onto why I'm calling. I—well I did mean it when I asked you out for today. And you stood me up and it just feels really, really…"

The fake psychic flipped his phone shut and threw it angrily at the couch.

"Gah, why are you such an awkward seahorse?" he cried at the ceiling. He rubbed his head before recovering his phone and dialing Gus's number. Of course, he wouldn't want to hear about this, but it was better than no one. Or Henry.

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Shawn's long absence from the precinct was becoming increasingly noticeable. The Chief had already given case files to Gus to bring to Shawn, requesting that the psychic make his appearance in person soon. Lassiter was more jumpy every time the phone rang, and Juliet got distracted by every single person that walked in the door.

As Carlton's phone rang for the thirteenth time that day, Juliet decided to pick up.

Carlton's away from his desk, and it could be important business, she thought.

"Lassiter's desk, this is O'Hara."

"Jules? Jules, I've got to talk to Lassie."

Nope, not important.

"Um… Shawn, he's busy."

"Since when has that stopped anything?"

"Sorry Shawn. Can I take a message?"

"Uh… I guess. Today's Thursday, right?"

"Yeah…"

The junior detective could practically hear the smile in Shawn's voice.

"Perfect. I'll see you later? Maybe Monday."

"Sure… We all miss you, Shawn, come in soon."

The only response Juliet got was the dial tone. She glared at the phone before slamming it back into the receiver.

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As soon as seven rolled around, Lassiter was up and on the move towards his car. Juliet followed at a distance before gathering enough courage to ask the question that had been on her mind all day.

"Hey, Lassiter?"

The man turned around.

"Yes, O'Hara?"

"Where… um… where are you going?"

"Tom Blair's. Why?"

"Oh…" Juliet blushed, looking at her shoes nervously. "Nothing. Have a good time?"

The junior detective swore that the older man could've smiled at her.

"Thanks. Have a good night."

"You too, Lassiter," she whispered looking at his disappearing figure.

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As soon as Carlton walked into the bar, he knew something was off. It was slightly more crowded than usual. With… mostly men. And they were all huddled around a certain spot at the bar, which was… next to his. His face fell.

Spencer's here.

The head detective drew closer, trying to hear bits of conversation.

"So, Shawn, why'd you ask me out here?"

There was silence for a bit, and then, "But, I thought what we had was great!"

Lassiter blinked, and raised an eyebrow. Something was going on.

As the men began to disperse one by one, Shawn became more visible. He was obviously fatigued, as the bags under his eyes showed. The last man was talking to him, pleading for him to "hold on to that special bond" that they shared. Then Shawn blinked his eyes, and the man bit his lip before walking away. The fake psychic turned to face Lassiter.

"Hey."

"Hey."

There was silence for a little bit until Shawn broke it. As usual.

"Why didn't you return any of my calls?"

"I—um… I…"

"You thought I wasn't serious, or I was crazy, right?"

Lassiter's eyes fluttered as his heartbeat began to pick up.

And this is why I don't know if he's psychic or not.

The head detective sat down next to the younger man, ordering a scotch. Shawn emptied the glass in front of him.

"Do you not love me?"

Spencer's straightforward question nearly made Lassiter fall out of his seat.

"Wait, what?"

The fake psychic beckoned for another drink, which he promptly downed.

"I said, do you not love me?"

Lassiter stared at the table, only to be greeted by his reflection in the fresh scotch.

"Well… I…"

Shawn slumped onto Lassiter's left shoulder.

"'Cuz I don't take rejection well, Lassiepants," he slurred. "You're just my object of affection, my drug of choice, and my sick obsession."

The younger man started laughing at his babbling. He didn't seem to notice Carlton snake an arm around his shoulders to steady him on the barstool.

"Shawn," the older man started. The laughter died.

"I… didn't know if you were being serious. And I didn't want to get hurt again, so I… stood you up. And I'm sorry."

The fake psychic looked up at Carlton for a minute from his position on the head detective's shoulder.

"You know, Lassie," he mumbled, before stopping. "I wanna wrap you up in my love."

Shawn wrapped his arms around Lassiter's chest and pressed his mouth to the older man's lips. The detective's eyes widened in surprise, before he dissolved into the kiss. When they finally moved apart, the younger man had the largest smile on his face that Lassiter had ever seen.

"So, am I serious?"

"You sure are, weirdo," came the blissful reply.

But strangely, Carlton had never been happier.