In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing.
Shawn knew the exact moment when the cartoon anvil of obviousness dropped on the Wile E. Coyote of his long-held assumption that he and Gus would be together forever, like Thelma and Louise only without the sweet ride. It was a warm day, a slight breeze coming from the southwest, bringing with it the scent of gardenia, salt water, and mustard, which made him think of hot dogs, then backyard barbecues, then pools, then sharing a pool between two houses and that's when Shawn knew. Yep, he knew that sharing that kidney-shaped pool with a fiberglass-rock hot tub, underwater speakers, and built-in cup holders wasn't going to be enough.
In theory, it should've been. They'd planned it since they were six, this girl-hating man club they'd build together. Until one day, girls were allowed and the dream was altered. After all, girls were great, girls were fun, girls were awesome.
But despite all that, there was one thing they were most definitely not.
They weren't Gus.
So with the most-definitely-not-Guses out of the picture, Shawn embarked on a hero's quest, a journey of discovery, a path of learning that would hopefully lead him right to Gus' heart. But winning that heart, that was the trick. Gus had no reason to believe that Shawn was serious about happily-ever-aftering with him, especially given Shawn's less-than-cohesive romantic history.
But that was going to be part of this quest, to learn from others the best way to tell Gus how he felt and how the two of them really needed to get their acts together—really together, in the best sense of the word together—and get on with their lives. Their courtship would be a delicate, passionate pas de deux—and it had to be settled by Monday, because they had tickets to the mini-track and Shawn wanted to make sure he and Gus were ready to face the world as a freshly minted couple.
Where to start?
"Lassie! Hey, Lassie, wait up!"
"Not now, Spencer. Can it wait?"
"No, it can't, this is important. Super duper, life-or-death important."
Lassiter stopped in his tracks and turned, his eyes scanning the squad room like a gunfighter squinting into the setting sun. After giving a little grunt of satisfaction, he looked directly at Shawn with an impatient scowl.
"All right. Three minutes."
"Great." Shawn hitched his hip onto a nearby desk, foot swinging as he ignored the mutterings of its occupant as papers were knocked askew. "Here's the thing. I need to know—even though I know it'll bring up some bummer memories—exactly how you proposed to Mrs. Lassie."
Lassiter's eyes widened. "That's life or death? Spencer—"
"No, wait, I know it sounds silly—or not, coming from me—but I need your advice. I need to know how a man of the world like you captured the heart of the woman of your dreams."
The not-so-subtle flattery worked, as it usually did. Lassiter's eyes softened, his expression turning distant as he paused, momentarily lost in memories.
"It was perfect," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, I knew she was the one almost from the moment I saw her. And I knew exactly how I'd propose."
Shawn leaned forward, wide-eyed with anticipation. "Yeah? How did you do it?"
Lassiter glanced at Shawn, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. "I went up into the hills and killed a deer."
"Uh, interesting technique." Shawn straightened up, interested despite knowing that killing one of God's precious creatures was not the way to make Gus want to cleave unto Shawn forever and ever, amen. "How'd that work for you?"
Lassiter was lost in remembrance as he lifted his arms as if holding a rifle, one eye peering down an imaginary sight. "He was magnificent, a sixteen-pointer," he murmured, dropping his arms. "I field-dressed him on the spot and tied him to the hood of my truck. Then I drove straight to her house, slung him over my shoulders, walked up to her door and rang the bell. When she opened the door, I dropped it on her porch and proposed."
"I'm, uh, missing out on the significance of shooting Bambi as a form of courtship."
"Are you kidding? It's a classic demonstration, Spencer. A man shows up, bearing the fruits of the hunt—it clearly sends a message that I'm a good provider, that I'm reliable and capable. Jeez, you really don't know anything about women, do you?"
"Soon to be a moot point, but okay, I'll bite. How did the future Mrs.-Ex-Mrs. Lassie react to you showing up with a deer carcass on your back?"
Lassiter grimaced, then shrugged. "Not exactly as I'd expected. The 911 call was totally unnecessary, by the way. I apologized, and after we talked it over, she saw that I'd only meant to impress her."
"Hey, that's sweet, Lassie, it really is. Nice of her to give you a second chance."
"Well," Lassiter shifted on his feet, his gaze on the toes of his well-shined shoes, "we couldn't actually talk until the restraining order was straightened out, but yeah, once we got that cleared up, things went my way."
"Okay," Shawn sighed. He slid off the desk and glanced around, brightening when he saw Juliet sitting at her desk. "Thanks, Lassie," he said. He gave Lassiter's arm a pat as he moved around him. "Not what I was hoping for, but it makes for a good, if slightly creepy, story."
"Spencer, wait," Lassiter called, "why was this so important?"
Shawn pivoted in mid-stride, arms held out from his sides in the classic "duh" pose. "I'm going to propose to Gus, you big romantic killer of innocent creatures. Isn't it obvious?"
Lassiter's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Ah, I get it. This is some kind of set up, isn't it? Swear to God, Spencer, if I go home tonight and find a dead animal on my porch—"
"Fear not, great white—make that fashionably pale—hunter, no animals will be harmed in the making of this happiest of futures for one Shawn Spencer."
"Future? What, are you serious?"
Shawn frowned at him. "Of course I'm serious. What makes you think I'd joke about something like this?"
Ten minutes later, Shawn hid a yawn behind his hand as Juliet finished explaining that while she'd always dreamed of having a traditional proposal—flowers, diamond, the poor slob (that was Shawn's interpretation) down on one knee—she actually felt that marriage was too important for one person to have all the decision-making power and that it was something that two people in love should agree upon together—
"Shawn! Are you listening to me?"
Shawn's elbow slipped off the desk, dislodging his jaw from his other palm that he'd been using to keep his head propped up.
"Sorry," he said, and he meant it. He liked Juliet, he liked her a lot, and valued her opinion about sixty to eighty percent of the time. But between her and Lassie, he wasn't having a lot of luck figuring out the best way to propose to Gus, and this was too important to leave to improvisation. After all, there'd be enough time for that on the honeymoon. Well, and pretty much the rest of their lives. "It's just—see, I'm trying to figure out a way to propose to Gus, and I was hoping to get some direction from Santa Barbara's finest. Or, conversely, you and Lassie."
Juliet blinked at him. "Propose what to Gus?"
Shawn blinked right back. "Marriage. You know, tying the knot, the old ball and chain, matrimonial bliss—how many more euphemisms are there for marriage, I wonder?"
"Shawn, you can't be serious. I mean, I guess you can be, on rare occasions, but—"
Shawn stood up. "Why doesn't anyone believe that I want to marry Gus? Why is it so far beyond the realm of possibility that I'd want to spend the rest of my life with my best friend?"
"Well, but," Juliet stuttered, "that's just it, right? He's your best friend, but you're not—I mean he's not—you know, the two of you—"
"Oh, right, I get it now." Shawn held up his hands in surrender. "It's that boy-boy thing that's confusing everyone. Perfectly understandable. But if I'm not worried about it, I don't know why everyone else should be."
"It's not just about you," Juliet pointed out. "Even if you're okay with the, uh, boy-boy thing, are you sure Gus is?"
Shawn stared at her. "Am I sure? Do you really think I'm that insensitive? I'd never put Gus on the spot like that if I didn't believe, deep in my heart of hearts, that Gus not only has no problems with the boy-boy thing, he can be downright giddy about it. Guess what his favorite summer Olympic sport is."
"Uh—"
"Water polo, Jules. Enough said."
"That's hardly proof—"
Shawn prevented her from continuing by placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's a guy-guy boy-boy thing. I wouldn't expect you to understand. Anyway, gotta run. Maybe the chief can give me some guidance."
"Mr. Spencer, can't you see I'm in the middle of an interrogation?"
Shawn glanced at the pudgy-faced, sweaty individual seated across from the chief. Since he was growing impatient with his lack of progress, his usually protracted and much polished hand-to-brow my GOD I'm having a VISION act needed to be shortened considerably.
Swiping his pinky over his eyebrow, he nodded. "Yep, no problem, this guy didn't do it. Can we talk?"
"What do you mean, he didn't do it?" Chief Vick said. "We caught him red-handed, a weapon in one hand, a sack of stolen diamonds in the other. He was ID'd by seven different people as the gunman, we have him on camera committing the crime, and he's confessed."
Shawn glanced at the perp, who shrugged and nodded.
"Sorry." Shawn pulled a metal chair up to the table and sat down. "My bad. Hey, if I batted a thousand, I'd have my own TV show, right? Then I'd wear snazzy vests, use expensive hair pomade, and have a tragic past. But I digress. Here's the thing. I need your help and I'm running out of time."
"All right," Vick sighed, "what is it?" Then she frowned, glancing beyond Shawn to the interrogation room door. "And where's Mr. Guster?"
"At work, but he'll be getting back this afternoon, and I want this settled by tonight."
"Want what settled?"
"I'll get to that, but first, here's my question. How did Mr. Chief propose to you?"
"Mr.—oh, my husband. How did he propose to me?" Vick leaned back in her chair, her expression relaxing into a gentle smile. "It was quite lovely, really. We had a nice dinner at a great restaurant, then we decided to walk barefoot along the beach. We laughed, we talked, we took off our—well, anyway, at one point, we looked at each other and we just knew that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. I'm not sure who said the exact words, but it didn't matter."
"Aw, that's so cute," the diamond thief murmured approvingly. "Very romantic."
Shawn rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah, it is, but I don't think that will work. Gus hates walking barefoot on the beach, says he doesn't like getting sand in his toe cleavage."
"I'm sorry," Vick said, "but what does a marriage proposal have to do with Mr. Guster?"
Leaning forward, Shawn dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm going to ask Gus to make an honest man of me."
Unsurprisingly, he received the same confused stare from Vick as he had from Lassiter and Juliet.
"Why would you do that?" Vick asked. "That does sound a lot like a marriage proposal—"
"And that's what it is and yes, before you ask, I'm serious."
"Why, Mr. Spencer," Vick sputtered, "I had no idea that you and Gus—I mean Mr. Guster—that the two of you—I just didn't—"
"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around."
"I think it's nice," the diamond thief said, "you asking your boyfriend to marry you. Mazel tov."
"Thanks, man." Shawn extended his hand for the thief to shake, but pulled back when he saw that the man was shackled to the table. "Are you sure you stole those diamonds?"
The thief stared down at the table, his eyes filling with moisture. "Yeah, I done it," he muttered.
"Hmm, okay." Shawn turned back to Vick. "Any last words of advice before I pledge my troth?"
Vick had that glazed look in her eyes that Shawn was all too familiar with, the one that screamed "I can't take you seriously except when I can and I'm not sure if this qualifies."
"Just, uh, just be honest," she said. "Honesty, Mr. Spencer. That's the key."
"Honesty, right, got it." Might be worth a try, Shawn added silently.
"Dad, we need to talk."
"Not now, Shawn, I'm busy."
"You're not busy, you're tinkering with an engine that hasn't run properly in ten years for a boat that has more leaks than the Bush administration. Surely you can spare me a few moments of your precious time."
Henry straightened up and set aside his wrench. "Yeah, well, when you say 'we need to talk,' it usually means you're in some kind of trouble or I'm going to get involved in something I'm going to regret or both. So forgive me if I'd rather stay on task here."
"Dad, I'm—God, I can't believe I'm saying this again—I'm serious. I need your advice."
"Just my advice? Not my car or my house or my police contacts or any of a hundred other things you've asked for over the years?"
"Just some fatherly advice, the kind of advice that could help shape my entire future."
Reaching for a rag, Henry sighed. "All right. What's the problem?"
"It's not a problem, really. I've just come to realize that there's something I need in my life and I'm not sure how to go about getting it."
"Ah, okay. This is about Abigail, isn't it?"
"Abigail? No, Abigail's gone, Dad, remember? Besides, even if she were here, this wouldn't be about her."
"Then what is it, this thing that you need so badly?"
"It's not a thing, Dad. It's a Gus."
"It's a what?"
"Not a what. A Gus. My Gus. Burton Guster, the Gus I love."
"I know you love Gus, he's your best friend, but what does that have to do—oh, wait a minute. Are you telling me that you're in love with Gus? That Gus is the thing—I mean person—that will make you happy?"
"Yes!" Shawn pumped his fists in the air. "Finally, someone gets it!"
"Oh, I get it. I'm just surprised it's taken you this long to figure it out."
Shawn's little happy dance was stopped in mid-stomp. "Say what?"
"Really, Shawn, for someone who takes such pride in noticing the teeniest, tiniest detail, the fact that you've finally realized that you have those kinds of feelings for Gus is actually pretty funny."
"Funny, Dad? Really?"
"Oh, don't get so bent out of shape. To be honest, I'm happy for you."
"Happy. He's not surprised, he's happy." Shawn shook his head and took a step back. "Frankly, you're freaking me the hell out. Why aren't you shocked?"
"You've always underestimated me, Shawn. You forget, I've been watching you and Gus for the better part of twenty-five years. Here, follow along with me." Henry held up his hand and began ticking his fingers with each point. "Every relationship either of you has ever had has ended in disaster. Every time you have a fight, you always forgive each other, regardless of how stupid you've been. You practically live together as it is. There's no one either of you would rather spend time with and any time there's even a hint of someone else, you both become possessive and jealous yet try and remain cool and supportive. And, finally, I've seen Gus check out your ass more times than I can count, and you find more reasons to touch him than is really necessary between two platonic friends. So tell me, Shawn, why in the hell should I be shocked?"
It wasn't often that Shawn found himself speechless, but this was one of those times. He gaped at Henry, mouth ajar and eyes wide, his brain furiously working over every thing his dad had just confided and eventually latching on to the most important part.
"Gus checks out my ass?"
Henry turned aside, but not before Shawn caught of glimpse of the burgeoning grin on his dad's face. "Yes, he checks out your ass. He also stares at that necklace a lot, which is probably why you wear it."
Shawn reached up and fingered the necklace, his insides warming to the idea that Gus thought of him that way. After contemplating that happy thought for a few seconds, he looked back at his dad with a frown.
"But still, happy? Are you sure that's the word you want to use?"
"Yes, happy, as in I'm glad that my son has a shot at having a fulfilling, adult relationship with someone he loves and, to point out the obvious, someone I love, too. You know Gus is like a son to me, and if you want to make it official, that's all right with me."
"Oh, my God," Shawn whispered, "you just gave us your blessing, didn't you?"
Henry seemed startled by the idea, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess I did. So don't screw it up."
"Forget it, Shawn. You asked me to marry you once already and I said yes. Then you reneged. Deal's off."
"This is different."
"Why is this different? Is it because we're in jail, two counties away from Santa Barbara, covered head to toe in mud, waiting for your father to come bail us out again? How is this different?"
Shawn peeked around from the edge of the scratchy gray blanket that lay draped over his head and shoulders. Gus sat beside him on the metal bunk, close enough for their thighs to touch, an identical blanket covering his head and shielding his eyes from Shawn's view.
"C'mon, dude, we were six the first time! I thought marriage meant you had to share your Legos with me!"
"Yeah, well, I'm not impressed that you chose this particular moment to ask me again. What happened to flowers? And a nice dinner? Maybe a walk on the beach? That's how you ask someone to marry them."
"Next thing I know you'll be asking for a dead moose or something."
"What?"
"Nothing. Gus, listen to me." Shawn shoved the blanket off his head and shifted until he faced Gus' profile. "I know my timing is bad, but I just couldn't wait anymore."
"You couldn't wait until we proved that the diamond thief really wasn't a diamond thief but the father-in-law of the real diamond thief? You couldn't wait until after we got home and washed off the mud that you insisted we had to roll around in so that we'd be camouflaged in the light of a full moon? You couldn't wait until your dad got us out of jail for trespassing?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Remember when you were dating that she-wolf—"
"She was nice, admit it."
"Okay, the nice she-wolf, and we talked about the pool we'd share between our two houses some day?"
Gus shifted a little, bringing their thighs closer together, but his blanket-covered head remained bowed. "Yeah. So?"
"That was it! That was when I realized that I didn't want to share a pool with you and not share everything else."
"By everything, you mean—"
"I mean—" Shawn lowered his voice and leaned toward Gus. "I mean everything. The good parts and the bad parts and yes, the sexy parts. Especially the sexy parts."
Shawn watched with his heart in his throat as Gus lifted his hand to his blanket and slowly pushed it away from his face. He'd know his answer as soon as he had a chance to look Gus in the eye, and while he was fairly certain of the outcome, the fact that they were sitting side by side in the otherwise empty intake cell of the county jail might make Gus a bit shy.
He needn't have worried. Even before he saw the gleam in Gus' eyes, he saw the tell-tale quirk of Gus' mouth, the slight lift on the mud-crusted left side that foretold not only of pleasures to come, but of Gus' complete satisfaction that he finally had Shawn exactly where he wanted him.
Which didn't mean Gus wasn't going to play hard to get.
"I don't know, Shawn," Gus was saying. "I have a few conditions."
"Of course you do, you wouldn't be Gus without them. Go ahead, Master Snuggle Pants, list your conditions."
"Fine. First of all, we tell our families. I'm not going to be anyone's undercover lover, you got that?"
"No problem. My dad already knows."
"He does?"
"Trust me, this whole thing is no surprise to him. He's all but picked out the names of our kids."
"Huh. Okay, number two. You can call me Master Snuggle Pants again, but only in private. Say it in front of company and I'll have to hurt you."
"Done."
"Three." Gus paused to clear his throat. "You have to promise me that you're going to, uh, that you'll, you know, that you'll—"
Seeing the expression in Gus' eyes, Shawn knew that the next condition was serious. "Just say it, Gus."
"That you'll take this seriously. You're my best friend. I don't want to lose that because one day you're gonna decide all this is just a funny joke."
Shawn reached a hand toward Gus, then stopped and curled his fingers into his palm. "Dude," he whispered, "you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now. But," he continued more loudly, "I know sometimes I come across as a little flaky, but there's one thing I've always been true to, one thing that I've always held to be more important than anything else in my life."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Shawn held up his fist. "You."
Gus looked at Shawn, eyes searching for the truth. Shawn put every bit of sincerity he possessed into his expression, praying that in this moment, of all the moments they'd had together, over all the years they'd loved each other, that Gus would tap into that special wavelength that the two of them had shared for so long.
He let himself exhale again when Gus slowly lifted his own hand, fingers tucked inward, and gently knocked their fists together.
"And what," Gus murmured in a sexy rumble of a voice that started Shawn's toes a-tingling, "do I get to call you in an intimate moment?"
"Aw, man," Shawn breathed. "Anything you want." He watched with fascination as Gus dropped his gaze to the necklace that nestled against Shawn's throat. It lingered there just long enough to make a point, then Gus was looking at Shawn again, a small smile on his lips.
"See, I knew you'd be easy."
"Easy, yes, but not cheap. You really have to share your Legos with me now. For better or for worse, through Comic Con and beyond, right?"
"Oh, Shawn, you finally know what's really right."
"And it always will be."
"Yeah, man. I do, too."