Author's Note: This was inspired by the song 'Wish You Were Here' by Incubus. I really tried to capture the sound of the song, at least the quieter parts, and I suggest you listen to it at some point because it's a wicked great song. I even put in some of the lyrics!
[*]
He digs his toes into the sand, reveling in the silky coolness that seeps between his them and caresses his feet. The breeze is even softer, brushing over him like a caring mother stroking her child, the easy crash of the dark waves in the background her crooning lullaby. The ocean is the deepest blue, glittering in unbelievably bright specks from the tiniest hint of a crescent moon. He gazes out into the boundless stretch, admiring the broken mirror effect of the waters, made just choppy enough from the wind and their own endless pulse that every few inches seems to be its own platform, to absorb and reflect its own snippet of light before dipping, merging, creating a new creature.
The wind gusts into him and he braces himself against it, closing his eyes, imagining his own figure in his mind's eye. Clothes tugging back from the force of it, hair flying around, skin glowing in the sparse light, body held aloft, weightless, by the smooth tide of air. Then he imagines what he wants to see, a dark figure beside him, wide smile on his face, soft hand reaching toward his own outstretched palm. For an instant, he can almost believe he feels the touch on his fingers.
The breeze dies down, and he falls.
[*]
"Shawn, are you sure you should be here?" She asked quietly. It'd been a few minutes since he stormed out of the Chief's office, unable to handle any more of her 'condolences,' her 'deepest apologies.' He wants his damn job back, is that too much to ask?
"I'm still a psychic Jules, what happened doesn't change that," he explained, trying to sound like the reasonable, goofy friend she's known for the past several years.
"We just thought that, without Gus-"
"What?" He snapped, sitting up straight. "You thought I'd quit?" His voice is too sharp, even though he's not being too loud, the unusually angry tone from him is turning heads. "You thought I'd run away? What would he think of me then? What would G-" He swallowed around the word, and Juliet's round, shocked eyes softened in understanding. "He wouldn't want me to run away, Jules." He sank back into the seat.
"I think you're right, Mr. Spencer." He swiveled the borrowed rolly-chair around to see the Chief's stoic expression and sympathetic eyes. "We could certainly use your help around here, and if I know you, I bet you could use the job."
"Thanks, Chief." Having had enough contact with over-emotional woman for today, he gave Juliet a quick wave before walking away. But, because he was still, after all, Shawn Spencer, he turned around. "And Jules?" She looked up. "The assistant did it. Check his credit card bill."
She digs around on her desk for the right paper, laughing when she reads it through.
[*]
He lays his head onto the sand, remembering those times when they'd run into his house by the beach and his dad would admonish them for being sandy. He'd shake his long hair like a dog, Gus laughing, his father smiling even despite his protests.
The sand feels cold now on his flat back as he stares at the dead blackness of the sky. When they were teenagers Gus and he would lay on the beach, discussing school and girls and Gus's parents' marital bliss. And sometimes Shawn would tear up a little about his own parental units and Gus would either hold him or pretend not to notice; the quieter of the two always knowing what his best friend needed. And sometimes Gus would stare up at the sky just like this and talk about the different layers of air and the compilation of the atmosphere, and say that one day he'd see the Northern lights, or the Southern lights, but probably the Northern because they were closer. His voice started going faster, and got so excited, so passionate and his eyes were brighter than the moon. He doesn't know if Gus ever got to see the Northern lights, they lost contact while he was traveling and Gus was safely in college, but he doesn't think so. It could've happened, though, and he imagines the look of wonder and amazement on his friend's face as he takes in that natural wonder.
A star sparkles to him. There are so many out tonight, they seem brighter than ever before. As they twinkle, he remembers that story Gus' mom told them when they were little and Gus' father's sister died. That she was in heaven and was looking down at them, protecting them. That every time someone died, there was a new star in the sky and that was where they looked down from. And they'd lapped it up. Shawn had told the story to his father excitedly, but he'd been kindly, if bluntly, disillusioned. He couldn't bring himself to explain it to Gus, though, not when the seven-year-old had been speaking to his Aunt Jackie every night from his bedroom window.
The star sparkles again. He tilts his head, blinking sand out of his eyes. It does it again. He reaches his hand into the pocket of his jeans, finding the lighter he and Gus had used to signal UFOs. When Henry had found out, he'd rolled his eyes at the foolishness and grounded Shawn for the theft.
He sparks on the lighter, holding it above him. He waves it from side to side, slowly. It sputters in the breeze, but doesn't go out.
"You remember this, Gus?"
The star sparkles.
[*]
"Shawn, no!"
He shook off her arm, jumping out from their crouched position behind the parked car. Jules immediately propped herself over the hood of the car, gaining a clear line of sight to the tall, scruffy blonde who was now aiming his weapon at the teenager he held with his other hand. The wide-eyed boy, who'd expected nothing more than a few ounces of something illegal, shivered with fear as the hand around his bicep tightened. Seeing Shawn's move, Lassiter mirrored her a few cars down.
"Is this really what you want, Milton?" Shawn asked calmly as he started toward the dealer. "You hurt that kid, your life is over."
"My life's already over!" The blonde roared. His eyes flashed to the two detectives, guns trained unflinchingly, then back to Shawn's eyes.
"Maybe. You're definitely going to jail for a few years." He sidled closer as he talked, arms keeping up a slow, steady movement to mask the distance closing between them. "But if you hurt him, you'll get another ten years tacked onto your sentence, easy." He was within ten feet of the dealer now, his voice quiet and deadly.
Juliet exchanged a loaded glance with Lassiter. This could either end very well, or very badly. He took his supporting hand away from his gun for a few short seconds, enough to signal her to move in closer, silently. She nodded, bending back behind the car and moving away from him, weaving through the lot toward the trio.
"Or if you kill him, the state of California will kill you. Is that what you want, Milton? You want to die?"
There were sirens in the distance, back-up on its way. It wouldn't get here soon enough. Lassiter checked back over his shoulder quickly and swore in his head when he was unable to catch any sight of red and blue flashes cutting through the darkness of the night.
"Do you want to die, Milton?" Shawn's shout cracked through the loaded air. Lassiter inspected the scene. He couldn't see Shawn's face, but the dealer's had gone slack and he was staring at Shawn.
"Careful Spencer," he whispered.
"'Cause I do." Lassiter's eyes widened as he heard the quiet words, and he sprinted around the cars the moment he saw Shawn move.
The gunshot echoed around the lot, the reverberation nearly muffling Juliet's scream and the terrified shout of the teen. Juliet got there first, tugging Shawn off the dealer and covering him with her firearm while Lassiter kicked the dirt bag's gun away. "Clear!" He shouted, and she immediately turned to Shawn.
Lassiter checked Milton's pulse, judged him alive, and rolled him over to cuff the man's hands behind his back. He noted the blood collecting in his hair and guessed that Shawn had probably given the man a concussion. He ran his eyes over the teen, who was curled up, eyes wide with horror, hands covering the scream that wanted to pour out of his mouth. But he didn't seem wounded, so Lassiter looked over at his partner.
And saw red.
He swore out loud this time and crouch next to Juliet, who had tears trailing helplessly down her cheeks as she pressed her hands over the pulsing crimson in the center of the psychic's chest.
"Spencer?" He gasped. "Shawn!"
"Gus?" The man's voice gurgled out of his mouth, followed by a red bubble that popped when he coughed.
Juliet gasped, more tears flowing. "There's an ambulance on the way Shawn, just hang in there!"
"Gus?" Shawn whispered. "Wish…" He choked, hacked, took a wet gasp for air. "Wish you were he-here." His eyes, crossed as he spoke focused on a distant point and his lips curled in a distinctive Shawn Spencer grin.
"Shawn?" Juliet asked, pressing harder on his chest. There wasn't a response. "Shawn! No… NO!" She shrieked, hitting the downed man on the shoulder. Her palm left a bloody print on one of the few lime green areas left on the shirt. Lassiter wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as she succumbed to sobs, releasing the water that had welled up in his own eyes as Shawn had taken his last few breaths. 'I'm the cop, it should've been me. It never should've been the consultant, the civilian! Not Spencer…'
He looked up, as he rocked his partner back and forth. It wasn't a prayer, because there wasn't any structure and not many words, and he didn't say anyone's name because he'd never been strict. And he knew Shawn had laughed at the concept of religion. But there were tears, and there was affection, and caring and camaraderie and a hope for peace. 'Be safe, be happy.'
[*]
"Yeah, I remember that."
He looks up. Blinks. Smiles. Stands.
"Gus! You're here?"
"No." He's smiling, eyes filled with kindness and sorrow and a few tears as he shakes his head.
"No?"
"No. You're here."
Shawn ponders this. Then smiles. "I'm glad."