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A/N
---Here is the promised ‘rule-breaking' story. 
Two of my personal (Not saying they need to be anyone else's!) guidelines: 1. Don't write OCs unless they are for the purpose of this story only (a la  ‘guest star' on the show); 2. Put the characters (pretty much) back the way you found them when you're done. 
Yeah, I kinda threw my rules out the window for this one.  As I explained the first time I told my beta about this story: "I was in a bad mood one afternoon and I killed Shawn."  Yep you read right.  This is my death-fic.  I mostly write sci-fi, so every time previously that I've killed someone, I could bring them back to life.  Not this time.  Sorry.  (Sorta.)   (Okay, not really.)

---My beta, DinerGuy, is fantastic.  She is a grammar and punctuation ninja.  She helps me keep everyone in character, and she helps the story make sense outside my head.  She also has excellent suggestions in word-smithing.  She's made of awesome.

---If you don't like death fics, please spare yourself and don't read this. 

--Finally, to those of you who don't like to know ahead of time whether it's a death-fic or not, I apologize.  In my defense, we kinda start with the ‘end' so you wouldn't have been in suspense for long anyway. 

Enjoy...

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Moving Through Molasses
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oO0Oo Chapter 1: Discovery

Carlton Lassiter had a very bad feeling.

It had been a quiet week at the SBPD - too quiet.  He and O'Hara had solved two cases. One was a string of electronics store robberies where a clerk had been killed.  The other was a missing persons case that turned out to be a suicide.  Poor guy'd lost his job, his wife had left him, and he'd driven up into the hills above Santa Barbara and shot himself.  He'd even had the decency to leave a note.

The only pleasant thing about either case was that Spencer hadn't been around to bother him.  Guster was attending a pharmaceuticals conference in Seattle and the annoying man-child that O'Hara somehow loved had announced to the entire station that he was going along.  He'd told them he hoped they (meaning Lassiter) would be able to get along without him for a few days.  The head detective hadn't minded the jab one bit since it meant that Spencer was leaving.

Carlton had been treated to four whole days without any psychic nonsense.  He'd also appreciated the reprieve from the idiotic cooing noises Spencer caused his usually professional and capable partner to make.  They'd solved their cases in peace.

But now he had a truly horrible feeling in his gut.  He'd just gotten the call that a body had been discovered in a nearby park.  No ID had been found, but somehow - inexplicably - he had a feeling that it was Spencer.  Ridiculous, really...  Spencer was off doing something stupid and immature in Seattle with his best friend.  He certainly wasn't dead.  A simple phone call would confirm it, but there was no way Lassiter would give him the satisfaction of thinking he was worried about him.

Still, his bad feeling wouldn't go away.

Maybe it was the way Spencer had looked at him the day he'd left with Gus.  Or maybe it was the fact that just before the pain-in-the-rear left, he'd asked Lassiter to look after ‘Jules' with just a hint too much seriousness in his voice.  He'd known the fake psychic for too long not to suspect he was up to something.  And now this...

When they arrived at the park, he asked O'Hara to interview the freaked-out dog walker who'd spotted the body while he did a preliminary of the scene.  He couldn't explain why he did it, and she frowned at him, puzzled because of the odd request, but she didn't argue.

Carlton made his way to the bottom of the brush-filled ravine where a single uniform waited, making sure no one disturbed the scene until the proper authorities arrived.  He nodded at the man and then looked at the still form lying crumpled, face-down in the mud.  It looked sickeningly familiar.  The hair was matted with leaves and mud, but it was the right color.  The shirt seemed a familiar style, but he couldn't be certain until he turned the man over.

He knew he shouldn't disturb anything until photos were taken, but he also knew he couldn't wait that long.

The thought occurred to him that this was just the kind of thing Spencer was always doing - throwing procedure out the window in order to get the facts he needed.

Growling at the uniform to prevent him from protesting, he bent down and laid a hand on the dead man's shoulder.  Taking a deep breath, he swallowed and lifted the body just enough to see the face.

Hazel eyes, wide and empty, stared at nothing.  A mouth that should have been smirking at him was slightly open and marred by the detritus that covered the ravine floor.  For once he wished his gut feelings weren't quite so accurate.  It was Spencer.  Or, he corrected himself, it used to be.

He lowered the body to its previous position and clenched his fists.  It was all he could do to resist a sudden and overwhelming urge to roll the man gently onto his back, clean the mud off his face, and arrange his limbs and features into more pleasant positions.

He straightened as a singular thought seized him:  There was no way he would allow O'Hara to see the man she loved like this.

The horrible feeling of dread that had sat in his gut all morning was now replaced by pure, unadulterated fury.  Spencer was a good man, an honorable man, a talented detective and... he was a friend. 

Carlton was surprised and baffled by his own thoughts, but they were true.

He really hoped that Spencer had somehow known how true they were.

The man didn't deserve this.  And Carlton silently swore that, no matter what, his killer would be brought to justice.

Growling one last time at the uniform who was now completely perplexed, he scrambled up the steep bank to stop his partner before she arrived at the scene.

She met him as he neared the parking lot, still frowning at his odd behavior.  "Carlton, what -"

"O'Hara."  His voice was rough with emotion.  He stood in front of her and took hold of her left elbow.  Silently, he made one last, valiant attempt to get his own feelings under control.

She looked up at him.  Her partner wouldn't make direct eye contact with her, but at the same time he was somehow managing to look into her soul.  "Carlton, I've seen dead bodies before."

He closed his eyes briefly and when they opened she thought she detected wetness there.  "Not like this," he responded softly.

Her eyes narrowed as they looked into his.  "Carlton..."  Then she braced herself.  "Is it someone we know?"

He just looked at her.  If only it were that - if only it were some distant acquaintance.  It would be sad, but it wouldn't be this.  It wouldn't be utterly devastating.  He had never understood it, but the pair had truly loved each other.  He reached forward and took her other elbow.

She rested her hands on his forearms.  "Carlton... tell me," she whispered, her eyes now wide.

He shook his head slightly.  "O'Hara..."  He sighed.  "Juliet..."  Then he watched her, and it was like watching a car accident in slow motion.

First, realization slammed into her with a sickening thud, sending her spinning out of control.  Then she ran into anger, which sent her skidding across denial, until she came to a rest in numbness.  Sadness and loss shattered her, the splinters of a once happy life scattering around the two of them.

Carlton pulled her into his arms just in time.  He had hoped she would simply sob into his shoulder as she had once before.  It would have been easier.  But no; she tried to run to the empty shell where love had once lived.  He held her tighter as she struggled.

He knew, with her police training, she could have escaped from him, but instead she grabbed fistfuls of his coat and tugged angrily.  "No!  He's in Seattle.  He and Gus...  He's fine.  He called me last night.  Everything was fine.  You're wrong, Carlton!  You're wrong!"  Tear-filled eyes looked up into his desperately, and her voice turned commanding.  "Tell me you're wrong, Carlton.  Tell me it's a mistake."  When he only met her gaze evenly, her voice softened.  "Please, Carlton - tell me you're not sure - please..."

Then CSU arrived and prepared to process the scene.

"O'Hara."  He tried to reach her.  He wanted to spare her the embarrassment of being seen completely out of control.

She managed to gain some semblance of restraint, although Carlton, still holding her arm, could feel her trembling.  "I want to see him."

Carlton was impressed with the firmness of her voice, but then again, the strength his partner possessed should have stopped surprising him long ago.

Before he could respond, Woody strolled by, prepared to play his usual part in a murder scene.

"Woody!" she called to him, and Carlton was again impressed with his partner, with her level of empathy, that even at this moment, she thought to protect someone else's feelings.

The coroner paused and turned towards them in surprise.

"Tell him," O'Hara whispered.  Shoulders drooping, her arms dropped limply to her sides.

Lassiter reluctantly released her and walked over.  He leaned in and shared the victim's identity quietly.  Woody started and looked at the detective sharply for a moment.  Something in his expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and then he nodded.  He looked over at Juliet.  After considering for a moment, he set down his body bag and walked over to her.

At first, she ignored him.  Having been released by her partner, she started to walk past them, her steps firm and sure.  Lassiter grabbed her arm, gently but firmly, again.  He shot a look at the coroner but spoke to her.  "Let Strode see him first, O'Hara.  Trust me."

She shook her head furiously.  "I..."

Woody stopped her with a gesture.  He waved a hand toward two large rocks that kept vehicles from driving onto the path.  "Please, Juliet," he invited her to sit.

Frowning in pain but too numb to argue, she sat and looked at the odd coroner.

"Juliet," he began softly, sitting down with her as if they were in her living room.  "Death and I are old friends.  We've known each other for a very long time, and we understand each other.  Kinda like you and Shawn do... did...  You know?"

She stared at him,  but did not respond.

"Everybody meets death sooner or later."  He said it as if it was a commonplace occurrence and, of course, to him it was.  "And it's my job to find out how they met and help them get acquainted.  It's what I do, and I'm very good at it." He leaned closer to her.  "I know that Shawn would appreciate it if you let me help him with that before you saw him.  Do you understand, Juliet?"

Carlton stared at the coroner.  No wonder he and the psychic were friends.  They both had the oddest quality of being completely idiotic most of the time, but incredibly, unbelievably wise, intelligent, and gentle when the situation called for it.  A stab of sadness cut through him as he realized he was really going to miss Spencer.

"Okay," O'Hara whispered.

Woody nodded at her and patted her knee.  Then he walked down the path towards the body of a man he had greatly liked and admired, one of his few true friends.   He understood Death... but he didn't always agree with Death.  Shawn Spencer had been taken far too soon.

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TBC...
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