A/N: Hello all! I'm back in the Psych fandom again! I'm actually not sure if I like this one as much as I liked my other one, "A Late Night Call" but here it is nonetheless. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! Also, my decision to spell Shawn's nickname for Lassiter with a "y" instead of an "ie" is based on personal preference and the episode "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me, Oops He's Dead" where Shawn writes a note to Lassiter while in the midst of a "psychic vision" and he spells it "Lassy". So that's how I am going to spell it too. 'Kay? Cool. Once again, I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of the related characters. I do own my orginal character, Marco Reese. No infringement or copyright is intented, this is purely for the enjoyment of myself and whoever may choose to read it.
Of Waiting and Worrying
"Lassy, get down!"
Spencer's voice rang in his ears even as the psychic launched himself through the air at him and the sound of a gunshot momentarily deafened him. For an instant Spencer stiffened against him before rolling to the side. A moment later Lassiter was up and firing at the maniac with the gun, hitting him once in the shoulder and once in the hand holding the gun, effectively causing him to drop the weapon.
"You have the right to remain silent…"
"Please don't do this! Please, you don't understand!" the shooter, Marco Reese pleaded.
"…Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law…"
Lassiter happened to glance at Spencer while reading Reese his rights and his words died in his throat. The psychic was lying face down on the concrete floor and the back of his shirt was soaking through with blood.
Jerking his head out of his hands Head Detective Carlton Lassiter sighed and stood up from the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Spencer had taken a bullet for him. For him. Then the annoying "psychic" detective had proceeded to bleed all over the floor he was lying on. So much blood…
"Spencer!"
Lassiter shoved the now wounded Reese against the basement wall and cuffed him to some piping and an instant later was on his knees at the psychic's side.
"Idiot! You jumped right in front of it!"
"Yes Lassy. That was kind of the point," Shawn murmured, his breath hitching as Lassiter peeled his shirt up to examine the wound.
"Will you sit down Lassiter?"
Henry Spencer's snarling voice jerked the detective out of his reverie.
"It's bad enough my son is in there having surgery to remove a bullet and possibly one of his lungs, your pacing isn't helping anybody!"
"Sorry," Lassiter muttered, somehow not sure if he was apologizing for his pacing or for Shawn's life now hanging in the balance. He moved to sit down, firmly ignoring Guster's eyes on him. The man had been staring at him for the past hour, expression faintly puzzled.
Lassiter wondered if the man was trying to figure out why. Why his best friend had jumped in front of that bullet. He wondered if Guster figured that by staring at him long enough he might spot whatever Spencer had seen that had made him worth saving.
"Help's on the way Spencer. I radioed for paramedics," Lassiter told him while pressing his expensive suit jacket onto the bullet wound in the fake psychic's back. "You'll be okay."
"Didn't know you cared Lassy," Spencer panted. "Soon you'll be hugging me," he joked weakly and for a moment Lassiter felt relieved. If Spencer was joking, albeit weakly, than he couldn't be too bad off, right?
"Did you get him?" Spencer asked suddenly, straining to lift himself up, gaze searching for Reese.
"Yeah, I got him," Lassiter told him, pushing him back down. "Don't try to move Spencer. You'll aggravate your injuries and they'll bleed even more."
The psychic nodded faintly and strangely enough his cooperation worried the detective more than anything else thus far. There was something fundamentally wrong about Shawn Spencer lying so still. The psychic was normally so exuberant that Lassiter had a hard time convincing himself that the now quiet and bleeding man on the floor was in fact the same person.
The fake psychic's breathing hitched then and Lassiter frowned as the man started to cough, his whole body shuddering with the force of it. Blood gurgled in Spencer's mouth and he spat it on the floor. The detective shifted uneasily as the realization of what the blood probably meant sank in.
"Bullet… must've… hit… lung…" Spencer murmured faintly and Lassiter didn't have time to register his surprise before the psychic's head sagged to the floor and his eyes closed.
"Why was my son with you in the first place?" Henry Spencer demanded, once again startling the detective out of his thoughts.
Lassiter sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to decide what to tell the distraught father. "O'Hara's sick," he said abruptly after a moment. "She couldn't come in. I don't know where Guster was but when Spencer…"
Here Lassiter stopped, glancing at Henry and Gus. "Shawn," he forced himself to say, "When Shawn showed up a the precinct alone the chief, I suppose thinking it would be reasonable since we were both temporarily without a partner, put us together on the Marco Reese case. Reese allegedly stole some family jewels from an old widow and then went missing. We got a tip that a friend of his had a summer house that he had used in the past and we might find some evidence against him there. They were right. We found the diamonds. Reese wasn't supposed to be there though… there was nothing to indicate he would be…"
"But you were wrong. He was there," Henry said accusingly.
"Lassy, get down!"
"Yeah. He was there. Waiting for us."
Carlton sighed, the crazed gleam in Marco Reese's eyes flashing again in his memory.
"Some detective. Maybe if you paid a little more attention to the details my son wouldn't be in surgery now," Henry snarled, his temper flaring as fear and worry for his son got the better of him.
"Do not make the mistake of thinking I don't take my work seriously," Lassiter snapped, glad to have someone to take his frustration out on, but Henry wasn't listening.
"And where the hell were you Gus?!" the elder Spencer yelled, turning a glare on his son's best friend.
"I had to do my route. My boss has been more insistent lately," Gus muttered, nodding vaguely to his briefcase with his pharmaceutical drugs on the chair beside him. "We argued… I told Shawn he could figure this one out by himself… I didn't think…" Gus trailed off, taking a deep breath and putting his head in his hands.
"That's right. You sure as hell didn't think," Henry snapped as Lassiter looked away from the distressed young man.
Spencer had been suspiciously quiet about why Guster hadn't been there, saying only that he was "busy being a boring snail face." Whatever the hell that meant.
"Yeah, he was probably just tired of being around you," Lassiter remembers saying. He remembers how Spencer had gotten oddly quiet for a moment before saying some crap along the lines of having a "psychic vibe" on the house they were going to.
"Lassy, get down!"
Shawn leaping toward him.
The ground hard and solid underneath him.
Blood gurgling in the psychic's mouth.
It should have been him.
"Carlton!" Juliet O'Hara's worried voice rang through the hospital waiting room and Lassiter frowned, standing up to greet his partner.
"O'Hara, you look awful," he said, taking in her bloodshot and feverish eyes, pale complexion, and runny nose.
"Gee thanks, just what every woman loves to hear," Juliet replied sarcastically.
"Aren't you supposed to be home sick?" Lassiter asked, ignoring her.
"The chief told me about Shawn," Juliet explained, turning to Gus and Henry. "Gus, Mr. Spencer. How is he?"
"Detective," Henry greeted shortly.
"Hey Juliet," Gus muttered. "We don't know yet how Shawn is."
"Mind if I wait with you?" Juliet asked softly.
"Anyone here for Shawn Spencer?" the doctor questioned from the doorway of the waiting room. Lassiter, Henry, Gus, and Juliet all stood anxiously and the doctor blinked in surprise as they all rushed toward him.
"How's my son?" Henry demanded hoarsely.
Recovering quickly the doctor smiled. "He'll be all right. We had to remove the lung with the bullet in it but he'll be able to function just fine with the remaining lung. In other words he'll make a complete recovery. He's very lucky."
"Thank God," Gus murmured, running a shaky hand over his shaved head as Henry sagged into a chair in relief, letting out a ragged breath.
"When can we see him?" Juliet questioned while Lassiter leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
"He's still unconscious from the surgery but he should be waking up within the next half hour or so. You're all welcome to visit with him and wait for him to wake up. Try not to excite him though. He really shouldn't be moving around too much," the doctor informed them.
"Forgive me Doctor, but you obviously don't know my son," Henry snorted.
Lassiter lingered in the back of the hospital room, out of Spencer's line of sight as everyone else gathered around the groggy but newly awakened psychic's bed. He wasn't sure why he was still there. Spencer was going to be fine. He had done his duty by staying to make sure of that fact; he didn't need to stay. So why wasn't he leaving?
"Jules, I knew you liked me," the head detective heard the psychic saying teasingly. "You got up out of your sickbed just to see me. I'm touched."
"Well Shawn you did jump in front of my partner and take a bullet for him. That was very brave of you. I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't come after that."
Brave indeed. Not that Lassiter had any intention of telling Spencer that. The man was annoying enough as it was. He didn't need to know what Lassiter thought of what he had done for him.
"Well Shawn I need to get going, you get some rest," he heard his partner saying a few minutes later, her hand lingering on his for a moment as she bent down and gave the psychic a kiss on the cheek.
"I could get used to this," Shawn murmured sleepily, the painkillers starting to take effect once more. "You rest too Jules. Get better," he told her softly.
"I'm going to go too Shawn. You sleep, I'll be back first thing in the morning, okay?" Gus said and Shawn grinned.
"Make sure you bring me a smoothie!"
Gus rolled his eyes but grinned before growing serious. "Listen Shawn, about before, at the Psych office," he started hesitantly.
"Dude, forget it. No biggie," Shawn interrupted and Gus grinned gratefully. "And don't forget the pineapple smoothie!" Shawn called as Gus exited the door.
Once Gus was gone Shawn turned to his father who studied him carefully, "How are you doing kid?" he asked.
"Thirsty," Shawn murmured. "Think you can get me something to drink?"
Henry raised his eyebrows and his glance flickered to Lassiter, still behind the bed, before going back to his son. "Sure thing, pal. Be back in a few."
After Henry left Lassiter stood still and silent. Did Spencer know he was here? No one had mentioned his presence and he knew Shawn couldn't see him… still, that glance from Henry…
"Lassy, I know you're there. Why don't you stop hiding?"
That answered that question. Scowling the detective moved to where the fake psychic could see him. "I wasn't hiding Spencer," he said, managing to put just the right amount of scorn into his words and inside he smirked in satisfaction.
"Right," Shawn drawled. "That's why you were sulking behind the bed and not saying anything."
"How'd you know I was there anyway?" Lassiter demanded irritably.
"I could sense your aura. You have a very distinct vibe," Shawn said without a moment's hesitation.
Lassiter rolled his eyes and Shawn grinned, making an obvious effort at staying awake now, reminding the detective forcibly of another time the psychic had struggled to stay conscious.
"Did you get him?"
"Why did you do that Spencer? Why did you jump in front of me?" the head detective asked after a moment, once again remembering Shawn's flying leap toward him.
"Lassy, get down!"
"The spirits told me to," Shawn murmured, his eyes closing.
"Bullshit! Seriously Spencer. Why?" Lassiter demanded, unwilling to take any of the man's psychic mumbo-jumbo.
The psychic slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the detective. "Why not?" he murmured, eyes closing again. "Couldn't let… you… be shot." With an immense effort Shawn opened his eyes once more. "'Sides," he slurred, "Couldn't let you… have all the glory."
Lassiter stared at the psychic in shock as he grinned blearily, his breathing evening out as he slipped into a blissful unconsciousness. After a moment the detective smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Thanks Spencer," he said softly, not really expecting an answer.
"No pro'lem," Shawn slurred quietly and Lassiter turned back for a moment, as he was about to walk out the door. The "psychic" would be back to irritating the hell out of him soon enough, he knew, but for now, at this moment he didn't mind.
Exiting the room he spotted Henry sitting in a chair just outside the door and he stopped. "Finished?" Henry asked, standing.
"Yes. He's sleeping now," Lassiter told him and the father nodded.
"Listen, Carlton. I'm sorry about my behavior earlier. I was out of line," Henry said awkwardly.
"You were worried. I get it," Lassiter told him, brushing the apology aside. "We all were. He's a good guy. You did a good job with him."
Henry nodded. "I appreciate that Detective."
Lassiter smiled a bit before something seemed to occur to him and he frowned. "If you tell him I said that I'll deny it," he said quickly and Henry grinned.
"Understood," the psychic's father said.
Nodding the detective straightened his sleeves and said, "I've got to get going, the paperwork doesn't do itself you know. I'll see you around Henry."
With that he left. Spencer was going to be okay and he, Lassiter, would get at least a week's break from the man as he recovered. All was right with the world.
FIN
A/N: REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!