A/N: I watched "Earth, Wind and Wait for It…", and it totally sprung me from some massive times writer's block. I don't own the characters, or any references to the established plot (USA, Steve Franks, etc.), or "Pretty in Pink" and "Breakfast Club" (I know they belong to somebody, but I don't know who) but this story is all me. Spoilers from "Earth, Wind and Wait for It…" and "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing".

Detective Carlton Lassiter tossed in his bed, unable (for what he wished were the first time) to sleep. The red numbers on his clock glowed brightly, casting light against one wall of his room, mocking him in his pursuit of slumber. As much as Lassiter wished he could drift fitfully off, as he had so many times before, he knew he would only dream, and the dreams would be full of scenes he'd rather forget. The moment, the eternal moment, just played again and again through his mind, plunging him further and further into the dark hole that had opened in his mind earlier that day.

The car. The car had been parked out front, and that had been his first clue. Spencer's message had been frantic, a rallying call to meet at what Lassiter knew in his gut was another target of their arsonist. Murderer. Arson-killer. Murdering fire bug. There had to be a term for that in one of the protocol books. Lassiter knew Spencer well enough to know that he wouldn't wait for backup before charging headlong into the building. Guster would be on his heels, for all the good it would do either of them.

Standing next to his car, staring across at the building, Lassiter's breathing had quickened as he thought of Spencer throwing himself into danger. Again. He had sniffed the air, and his heart had sunk when he smelled the sweet odor all around him.

Oh, no. Oh, sweet Lady Justice, no. Spencer, what—. He hadn't been able to finish the thought, as the building had picked that moment to explode. The door that flew off the building was the same blue as their car, and Lassiter held on to that thought, wrapped his mind in it, tried to use it to block out all the other, horrible thoughts that were pounding to get it.

The only conscious thought that had passed through Lassiter's mind after that was that O'Hara was facing away from him, that it was safe. Lassiter let all the awful realizations wash over him at once, and it was like falling off a building. Spencer was dead; he had been in the building, and the building was gone now. Spencer was a thousand pieces of charred ash, flung carelessly around a burnt out room, and now Lassiter was never going to get to tell him…. Lassiter had sworn to himself in that moment that he would catch the bastard that had done this to him, to them, if it was the last thing he did, and as sure as he continued to draw breath, he would see someone pay.

Lassiter had felt his knees buckle, and his vision had clouded with…no, they had just been watery from the dust in the air Lassiter told himself as he stared up at his ceiling, forcing the memories to make the sense they hadn't at the time. He had run toward the burning building because it was connected to the case, not because he was terrified for Shawn. The thumping in his chest was the adrenaline, not fear. And the joy he had felt, the heart-lifting, pulse-pounding, soaring joy he had felt the moment he realized it was Spencer walking out of the building…well, that had just been the subtle acknowledgement of a colleague's survival. He would have been just as pleased, he told himself, if he had seen Guster walk out of the building, or O'Hara, or the chief, or McNabb…well, maybe not McNabb.

Lassiter chuckled humorlessly and wondered (again, for what he wished was the first time) if that made him a bad person. He was a good cop, a great cop, and he always had been, but he wasn't nearly young or naïve enough to think that that necessarily made him a good man. The two weren't mutually exclusive, he knew, and some of the best men he had ever known had been cops. But so had all the worst.

Drimmer's sick smile flashed through his mind, floating over the ceiling, and Lassiter shuddered. That must be it, Lassiter thought, the reason Spencer was so stuck in his mind. It hadn't been that long ago that he and Spencer had been stuck together in a life and death scenario. Maybe he had gone back into work too soon, maybe he hadn't given himself time to cope, maybe he was finding excuses to trap himself in that scenario again. Or maybe he was lying to himself. Maybe he knew exactly how Spencer had gotten into his head.

Lassiter had never given Spencer the benefit of the doubt, never for a moment believed in Spencer and his silly psychic nonsense. But Spencer had always believed in him. Spencer had put his life in Lassiter's hands a dozen times over, charged into situations blind, just trusting that the big cop hero would charge in at the last minute to point his gun and apprehend the criminals. Spencer had even put his reputation on the line to prove that Lassiter wasn't some suspect-murdering psycho-cop. Spencer had always believed in him, and Lassiter had never let him down. Until today. Lassiter hated thinking that he had failed in a responsibility he had never agreed to take on, but all the same, he felt like a failure.

What Lassiter couldn't understand was why Spencer didn't seem nearly as upset by all this as Lassiter was. He had trusted Lassiter to be there for him, but somehow he just shrugged it off when Lassiter let him down. Maybe Spencer was a fool, maybe the man didn't understand how disappointment and betrayal were supposed to work. Or maybe Lassiter didn't mean as much to Spencer as he thought.

Lassiter rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and trying to bury once more the thoughts he had hoped to banish. He didn't have those feelings for Spencer, he was just traumatized, and it was late, and it had been such a long day. He told himself that everything would go back to normal after a little sleep, but every time his mind began to settle, he heard the explosion all over again, and he felt like doing something stupid.

Lassiter knew that if Spencer hadn't come out of the building when he did, he would have charged in to find him. He knew it without doubt, but it was a confusing thought. He had never been a reckless man, never thought of himself as being that invested in Spencer's livelihood. He knew that, if it came down to it, he would take a bullet for Spencer as readily as he would anyone else from the department, or any other civilian. That was what being a cop was about: doing whatever was necessary to keep those around him safe. What it was not about was stupid risks and burning buildings.

Lassiter groaned, rolling over again, and this time it was Spencer himself looking down from the ceiling. "Why?" Lassiter asked out loud, his hoarse voice breaking the night's silence. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Spencer's face, which Lassiter knew on some level was just his imagination and not really looking down from his ceiling, smiled. "Come on, Lassieface, you know you love me!"

"No," Lassiter told him, his voice hollow and overly defensive. "I don't—I do not…I…."

Spencer's grin deepened. "See that? You can't even deny it to yourself anymore."

Lassiter closed his eyes with a groan. He had been trying to understand Spencer since the day they met, even though a part of him was sure he would never succeed. Even though he had never bought any of the horse crap Spencer was able to sell around the station, Lassiter had never been able to hate the other man, no matter how hard he had tried. He had wanted to, at first, when all he saw when he looked at Spencer was a waste of time and resources. But, as time went on, as Spencer proved himself again and again, Lassiter had to admit that he respected the lying idiot, and that maybe there was nothing wrong with that.

There was something about Spencer, something different, something important. Over the years, as Lassiter had witnessed every deep depravity humanity was capable of, he had let it influence his life, let it change him. When he had been a young uniform, there was a clear line between work and home. After he had made detective, he let the line blur a little, bringing work home from time to time, then all the time, whatever it took to get on top. By the time he had become head detective, all Lassiter saw when he met someone was a list of potential future crimes.

Lassiter knew he didn't see people the same way anymore, had even expected it. His mentor had called it the burden of experience, something all cops went through. You either learned how to deal with it, or you let it change you. Lassiter knew he had changed a long time ago, and he had stopped trying to change back after Victoria left. But when he looked at Spencer, much as he wanted to, he couldn't see the crimes or the violence or the rage he saw in even the nicest people on the street. He just saw a decent man trying to make the world a little better, even if he was lying to make it happen.

Lassiter pulled his pillow up over his face, hiding like a child from his own mind. "I see you in there, Lassie," Spencer's voice said. "You can't hide from me."

"Then what do you want?" Lassiter asked into the pillow, not even feeling ridiculous as he spoke to what was essentially himself out loud.

The answer, even though he knew it was his own, surprised him all the same. "It's not about what I want, Lassie. It's about what you want."

Lassiter moved the pillow, and, sure enough, he saw Spencer's face across his ceiling fan, looking down on him with an indulgent smile. "And what do I want?" he asked skeptically.

Spencer blinked rapidly and pouted his lips. "You tell me you're not thinking of where you left your car keys, how much gas is left in the car, how much traffic there would be at this time of night and the best route to Chez Spencer, and I'll leave you alone right now. But we both know you want to hop out of bed, drive down to whatever cupcake factory I'm living in now, and tell me you hate it when I make you think you let me down. You didn't, by the way. That was all on me."

If it had actually been Spencer he was talking to, Lassiter might have felt better. As it was, he knew he was just telling himself what he wanted to hear, really anything to make himself feel better. All the same, Lassiter threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the bed. If he wasn't going to sleep tonight, he could at least do something stupid.

Shawn Spencer stared at his television, not really seeing "Pretty in Pink" as it played across the screen. He knew Jon Cryer was saying something, but he couldn't tell how far into the movie he was, or even how long he'd been sitting on the couch. All he knew was that it was dark, and the movie hadn't been playing when he sat down.

Opportunities to truly let his mind work were few and far between, and Shawn savored them for as long as he could. Shawn knew something was wrong about the day he had had, maybe the case, maybe not. He knew he had missed something, and nothing drove him crazy like the feeling that something had escaped him.

Shawn had spent his evening, into what looked like night, reliving every moment of the day, and so far, all he had come up with was that Gus had probably been right about the whole amendment thing, and that the arson inspector had recently switched brands of soap. That was the only way to account for the scent.

Shawn's mental VCR was just winding up to his harrowing escape from the burning building. He paused for a moment to consider the fact that his mind still used a VCR, and to consider springing for the upgrade to DVD, but that would probably have put the whole system down for refitting, and who had the time for that these days? Shawn grinned, trying to focus once more on the building.

The explosion had been a surprise. The fire had finally worked its way to Army's stockpile of accelerant and just gone into overdrive. Luckily, that had been on the opposite end of the large open room. Less luckily, it was still a large, open room with no convenient walls to stop the fire from coming straight at them. After Gus had made his girly little grunting sounds as he lifted the large, older man, the two of them had set out for the door. Shawn had kept one eye on Gus the whole time, unwilling to leave him behind. But Gus had surprised him, the persistent little tree monkey. Sometimes Shawn forgot how brave Gus could be when other people's lives were on the line.

The smoke was everywhere, strong and hot and acrid. Shawn could barely see as he struggled forward, making a path toward the natural light of the space where the door had once been. It was barely distinguishable from the light of the fire all around him, but Shawn had to believe that he was heading in the right direction, or the doubt would get all four of them killed. Shawn knew that if he stopped, if he wavered, if he hesitated for even a moment, Army would get his wish and they'd all be dead.

Shawn could barely see as he marched forward, but suddenly the heat was a little less intense, the smoke was a little thinner, and his eyes stung from the light. There were sirens, and voices, and there was Lassie. Shawn had known that would be the first face he saw and, as usual, Lassie didn't disappoint. He was standing with Jules in the parking lot, running toward them, and was that just the slightest falter in his stride? After dropping the arson investigator off with the ambulance workers, Shawn had walked back over to Gus, ready for the wrap-up and the lecture his admittedly impulsive actions would incur. Instead, Lassie had just put a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

Shawn focused on his memory of Lassie, the first moment he had seen him standing next to his car. Shawn saw the shoulders sag, the corner of his mouth quirk up momentarily, watched as some great stress just drained out of the man. But it was the eyes that told the real story, Shawn realized. There was a teeny tiny glimmer in Lassie's eyes, the kind the man would normally have been able to control or blink back. Lassie had cried for him, just a little.

Then Shawn started to really think about the fire, seeing it from the other side of the walls. There was an explosion, and the door had been blown off its hinges. When Lassie and Jules rolled up in Lassie's car, they would have seen the Blueberry, and then an explosion. Lassie had thought they were dead. Lassie had thought he was dead, and then he had cried.

That was it; that was what Shawn had missed. Lassie liked him! More than that, Lassie might even…. Shawn smiled as the opening theme to "The Breakfast Club" played. He sprang up off the couch, pacing the length of his makeshift living room. Lassie, Lassie and his adorable little face, loved him! He had to call Gus! It had been a long time since Shawn had questioned his instinctive first response to alert Gus to any new developments in his life, but this was one of the rare times it seemed odd to him at all.

Just as Shawn was beginning to form a complicated plan to trick Lassie into admitting that he loved him, there was a fierce knock at his door. Glancing over at the clock, Shawn realized it was just past three in the morning. There was a limited list of people who could be coming around at this time of night (Gus, Dad…um…uhhhhhh…the chief was probably up at this hour…).

As he walked to the front door, Shawn glanced out the window to see a familiar car parked next to his bike in the parking lot out front. He couldn't help grinning as he opened the door, but the smile fell as he found himself struggling to breathe. Lassiter charged into the space, forcing Shawn up against the opposite wall. Okay, might have misread this one.

Lassie looked deep into his eyes for a moment, and Shawn couldn't help losing himself in the intense blue gaze. "Spencer, I don't know if I came here to kill you or…."

"Or what?" Shawn asked breathlessly. He could feel the pressure of Lassie's body pressing against his, and the heat he could feel from the other man's body would have been enough to take the breath from him regardless.

Lassie's hands tightened in Shawn's shirt, and his face pulled even closer. They were less than an inch apart now, and his whole field of vision was full of Lassie's intent eyes. He was so…angry, but there was something beneath the anger. "If you ever do anything that reckless again, I swear on my badge, my gun and the siren I keep in my car that I will put you away myself."

Shawn chuckled, a nervous sound. "Gee, Lassie, I didn't know you cared."

Lassie's eyes narrowed, and, for a second, Shawn was afraid he was about to get the punch he'd been half-expecting since the day he and Lassie had met. "Yes you did," Lassie told him, in a tone that allowed for no argument.

Not that Shawn would have had the opportunity, anyway. His mouth was a little busy.

As Lassie's hands released Shawn's shirt and began to move over the skin under his shirt, Shawn realized he didn't even mind missing the opportunity to ask if that was a gun in Lassie's pocket or if he was just glad to see him. It was probably both.

Let me know what you think, and there are more stories to come. Sorry for the hiatus, but I think I might just be back.