It was if time had stopped.  Shawn had heard the gun shot, but the bullet never hit him.  Lassiter had pushed him out of the way.  And now, as he stared at the detective, everything else was gone.  Lassiter's blue eyes were filled with shock, and he took a small step towards the fake psychic, his hand out to try and steady himself, but his legs gave way and he fell to his knees.  Before Lassiter fell back, Shawn caught him, his arms wrapped around the lanky detective's chest.

"Spencer!  What the hell happened?" the detective growled from his place under the fake psychic.

"Sorry, Lassie-face, I tripped!"  Shawn was determined to convince the detective of this fact, otherwise he'd have to explain Operation:  Tackle Lassie And Make It Look Like An Accident, and Lassiter didn't seem to be the kind of guy to appreciate those particular details while he was in a tangled heap of arms and legs on the precinct floor.

"Just get the hell off me," he muttered, trying to disengage himself from the younger man.  Which was a little harder than he thought it would be.

Shawn stared at the red staining Lassiter's white shirt, and the warm blood was starting to soak into his own t-shirt.

"Shawn . . . ."

His name was barely a breath as Lassiter's lungs filled with blood and refused to hold in air, and even more blood bubbled past his lips.

"Lassie," Shawn whispered in his ear, and grinned when the detective jumped.

"Dammit, Spencer!"  Didn't the guy know they were on a stake out, and Shawn was supposed to stay in the car?!  Carlton was certain one of these days, the psychic was going to get his ass shot off for his recklessness.  Sure, he may threaten to be the one to pull the trigger, but that was the last thing he wanted to happen to the younger man.

"Lassie, no."  Shawn's voice broke on the words, and he couldn't stop the tears from spilling over.  "You can't leave me."  His arms tightened around the man he loved, the man he was losing.

"Shawn!"

The fake psychic turned at the sound of his name, slightly confused.  Lassie had spoken without the slight hint of sarcasm that usually accompanied his first name when the detective used it.  Although, Shawn's confusion could have been an after effect of nearly getting killed by an insane murderer.  Gus had told him to wait for Lassie and Jules, but as his own special kind of law enforcer, Shawn couldn't let the killer get away!

When Lassiter got to Shawn, he took the younger man's chin in his hand and tilted his face up and to the side.  "What is it with you and getting hit in the face with guns?" he asked, examining the lightly bleeding wound on the psychic's temple.

"Lassie, I didn't know you cared," he slurred slightly.  Okay, maybe he had gotten a hit a little harder than he thought.

"And we pay you to be a psychic.  Is anything else hurt?"

"If it did, would you kiss it better?"

Lassiter smirked, but he didn't say anything.

Lassiter winced as he tried to take in a breath.  He had one more thing to say to Shawn before he died.   It wasn't something he hadn't said before, but it was something that couldn't ever be said enough.  He was surprised the shot hadn't killed him instantly, but he was grateful for these last moments, even though the grief in Shawn's eyes hurt him far worse than the searing pain from the bullet wound.

"Shawn," he started again.  "I love you.  I always did."

"Please, Lassie, don't talk like that," Shawn replied between sobs.  "You're gonna be okay."  You have to okay, he thought.  I need you.

Lassiter laughed weakly, wincing at the pain.  "It doesn't take a psychic to know I'm not going to survive this."

Shawn looked in the direction of the door to his apartment, a large kitchen knife in his hand, ready to slice the next section of pineapple.  Someone was at the door, but he wasn't expecting anyone, and this was hardly the time for solicitors.  The knock came again, more insistent, so Shawn laid the knife down on the counter and went to open it.

"Lassie!" he said in surprise.  Then he grinned.  "Is this a booty call?"

"Not exactly," the lanky detective replied as Shawn moved out of the way to let him in.

Not exactly? Shawn thought as he closed the door.  "Okay, so to what do I owe this unexpected—"  Shawn "eep"ed when he suddenly found himself pinned to the wall by the older detective's lanky body.

Lassiter prevented the psychic from making any other smart-ass comments by keeping the younger man's mouth occupied.  During the kiss, he noticed with pleasure the psychic tasted like pineapples.

Shawn's hazel eyes were wide at the initial shock of Lassie's lips against his.  But once he realized what was happening and the fact this was, indeed, really happening, he let his eyes close and wrapped his arms around the older man's neck.

Shawn moved one of his hands behind Lassiter's head and pressed their foreheads together.

"Wait for me," he whispered, bushing his lips against his lover's in one final kiss.

"I will."

"I love you, Carlton.  I always will."

Shawn held Lassiter close, crying out his heart, as the soul of the man he loved faded away.