Disclaimers—This is fan fiction. No profit is involved. All recognizable characters belong to Steve Franks and the USA Network (not me). No infringement intended. Just taking the gang out for a little fun.
Feedback—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.
Spoilers—Everything through season 3 is fair game.
Main Characters- My first team/ensemble fic!! Shawn and Lassiter centric (of course), but the entire 'crew' is featured in this one. Gen fic. (No slash except for what you bring yourself).
A/N: My follow-up to 'Disoriented'. Pre-requisite reading is not mandatory. But there will be references, so if you're confused, go there first. This story takes place about six months after the events of 'Disoriented' and Lassiter's back at work and all is well in the world. If only life were ever that simple…
Special Thanks: HUGE thank you to my lovely and very talented betas, k and em. You guys rock! I'm forever grateful for all of your support and encouragement.
Summary: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.
Of Things Not Seen
By: Miss Weather
Tell me why you're here
I came to disappear
(R.E.M.)
SUNDAY EVENING
Ike's Tavern
Why the hell did I agree to this?
It wasn't the first time that Shawn had asked himself that question this evening. Sighing, he took a sip from his beer as he surveyed the bar. It certainly wasn't a social establishment that would be highlighted on any of Santa Barbara's "Best Kept Secret" lists. Small, poorly lit and mostly deserted, with only a handful of customers scattered throughout. Perhaps the usual patrons had other plans tonight. Plans like he'd once had. Plans that had included free beer and barbeque at the McNab residence. The very same plans that he abandoned for this.
Shawn frowned at the thought and reminded himself that he was doing this out of concern for a colleague. Shaking his head, he corrected himself: it wasn't out of concern; it was because she'd asked. And he couldn't say "no" to her.
Electing to ignore his inner voice, he scanned the bar for a particular patron. As expected, the man in question was sitting alone at a corner table, drinking himself into oblivion.
"Great. Just great," Shawn muttered.
At least, he's still conscious, Shawn thought, taking in the other man's rumpled appearance as he strolled to the table. With beer in hand and all doubts cast aside, he committed himself to his next course of action.
"Fancy seeing you here, Lassie," Shawn said as he approached the table. "Of all of the gin joints in Santa Barbara…"
"What are you doing here, Spencer?" Lassiter growled before downing the liquor in his glass.
"Just having a drink with a coworker."
Lassiter's head darted from side to side. "Oh? Who?"
"You," he said with a forced smile, taking a seat across from Lassiter.
The other man grunted as he signaled for the waitress to bring him a refill. "Go away. Spencer."
"Come on, Lassie. Can't two…er… pals share a drink on a nice Sunday evening?"
"We're not pals."
"Okay. Coworkers. Satisfied?" Shawn offered. "So, coworker, compatriot, my brother in blue got any good 'water cooler' gossip? I heard from Susan in Personnel, who heard from Lawson in Transportation, who heard from Sgt. Patterson in-- "
"Spencer. Stop," Lassiter snapped, sullen.
To Shawn's surprise, the words didn't hold the expected degree of hostility. Alcohol, fatigue or perhaps a combination of the two had already dulled Lassiter and his ire.
Not that Shawn could blame him. Everyone was entitled to having an off week; Lassiter was no exception. If the detective wanted to drink his problems away in lieu of confronting them, who was he to criticize? He knew that it had been a really miserable week for the head detective.
"Okay. Look. I'll level with you: Jules is worried. I'm here because she asked," Shawn admitted.
"Tell her that I'm fine and go home."
With a shake of his head he said, "No can do. You know how she can be. She's persistent with a capital p. She'd be here if she could."
Lassiter nodded, but declined to offer anything else to the conversation.
Unperturbed by the other man's silence, Shawn continued, "Okay. I know that it's been a bad week and all."
"A bad week? Do tell, what's a bad week in your world? Not having time to grab one of those godawful pineapple concoctions? Losing a bet to Guster?" Lassiter shook his head in disgust.
"Ha-ha. Hi-larious, Lassie. I figured between the case and the wedding, it's enough to constitute a pretty crappy week for most. Can I just say you look awfully mopey for someone who doesn't have pay alimony any longer?" The words flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.
"Who told you?!" he hissed.
Shawn waved his hands dismissively, hoping to avoid an argument with the drunken detective. "About your ex-wife, I…"
Lassiter interrupted sharply, "Doesn't matter. I don't want to know." He sneered at Shawn before allowing his gaze to drift back to his empty glass. "Didn't realize that my private business made for such entertaining office gossip."
"Lassie…" Shawn paused to reconsider his approach. "Okay. My bad. I didn't mean for it to come across like that. It's just that Jules is concerned. Hell. Everyone's noticed that you haven't been your…er… typical curmudgeon self lately."
Lassiter scowled, turning to take a newly refilled glass from the waitress. He took a large swallow from the glass. "It's none of your concern, Spencer. Just get out of here."
Shawn wanted to do as Lassiter asked more than anything. The contemptuous tone in the man's voice chafed on his nerves. However, he forced himself to remain seated. This isn't about me.
He frowned, watching Lassiter quickly polish off the drink in his hand. How many has he had? Enough to be intoxicated, but not-on-the-floor drunk. From the look of it, Lassiter wasn't as drunk as he wanted to be. Not even close.
Silence stretched between the two.
The lull gave Shawn an opportunity to better organize his thoughts or at least attempt to. He barely managed to suppress a cringe as the unmistakable sounds of Jimmy Buffet filtered through the establishment.
This is hell.
Shawn sighed. "None of my concern? You didn't yell at me once today, which is off-putting to say the least. And, you missed the connection between the philandering Mrs. Philips and her handyman. It was so obvious! You're off your game."
"I don't need work advice from a fake psychic."
Nonplussed, Shawn went on. "Not to mention those dark circles and that pasty complexion. I'm guessing that you aren't going for a Goth look. Have you slept at all?"
He paused for an answer that never came. Not that he really expected one. "Come on! You can't keep this up. No sleep, non-stop work and this" Shawn said as he gestured to the empty glass. "People are starting to talk."
"Duly noted, Spencer. You came. You saw. You can leave now."
"Okay," he relented. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your ex and all."
Lassiter nodded faintly. "So, how did you find me?" he asked as Shawn stood to leave the table.
Seeing this as his olive branch, Shawn sat down again. "Followed you, which is another thing you missed today. Some head detective," he quipped with forced levity.
Not appreciating the attempt to be baited, Lassiter grumbled. "I thought we had an understanding about that."
"Oh. That?" Shawn asked with an exaggerated shrug. "Thought that was just during work hours. You mean I can't follow you around outside of work? Gee Lassie, you need to specify these things ahead of time."
"Enough! I didn't come here to chat."
"Nope. You came here to wallow. How's that going for you? "
"Swell. Why are you still here?"
"Just trying to avoid a repeat performance of the last time I found you drinking alone. Not sure your brain can handle another fall."
"Shut up, Spencer!" Lassiter shouted, emphasizing the words with a slam of his empty glass.
"Listen, I know things have been rough for you the past year. Really rough, but we're here for you." Lassiter balked at this with a roll his eyes.
"Too forced? Not sincere enough?" Shawn asked, nonchalantly. "Give me a minute. I think I can do better."
"Please, sweet merciful justice, stop before you embarrass yourself," Lassiter commented dryly.
He huffed with mock indignation. "Man! Is it so outrageous that you have coworkers that are worried about you?"
"What is this? I don't need a pep talk."
Shawn snorted. "Look at yourself, sitting alone, drunk. What's going on buddy?"
"So, you're an armchair psychologist too? Don't psychoanalyze me, Spencer. Not now, not ever," Lassiter retorted.
"Perhaps my amazing track record is the reason for your current funk?" Shawn smiled brightly, placing a strong emphasis on each word. "It is astounding." Shawn watched with some delight, as the other man's jaw clenched tightly.
Lassiter slammed both hands on the table. "You arrogant pain in the ass…"
"No, wait," Shawn interrupted. "The spirits say that this has something to do with the SBPD's latest high profile case. Pretty UCSB co-ed goes missing after partying on some rich guy's yacht and the media has been in a frenzy ever since."
Lassiter sneered. "Well, gee, Spencer, so thrilled that you stopped by to tell me what I already know."
"By the way, Gus and I are free to help now that we're finished with the Philips and Mayfield cases. I know that the Chief originally said no, but it sounds like you could use my assistance once again."
Shawn's eagerness to assist with the case had been quashed by the Chief. In no uncertain terms was "Team PSYCH" to help investigate the Gray case at this point in time. According to Vick, there had been growing concern that that the psychic's antics might lead to unwanted scrutiny from both the media outlets and a court of law. For the time being, Shawn was forced to sit this one out.
Lassiter shook his head sharply. "Drop the act. I don't care what you've heard or think you can offer. We don't need you and your fake psychic mumbo-jumbo on this case. Things are precarious enough as is."
"Precarious?" Shawn repeated, unable to ignore the opportunity to satisfy his own curiosity. Much to his irritation, both Lassiter and O'Hara had followed Vick's orders to the letter and had been completely tight-lipped about the case.
"Yes, precarious. When I don't have reporters trying to shove cameras in my face, I have attorneys constantly interfering with the Department's case. And now our witness has gone missing." Lassiter clenched his hand into a fist, anger barely contained. "That bastard belongs behind bars. I'm tired of watching criminals walk away because of mistakes and legal technicalities."
"Sounds like you definitely need my phenomenal powers of psychic awesomeness."
Lassiter sighed and ignored the obvious jibe. He rubbed his hands over his face before muttering, "I'm just sick to death of having to remind myself why I do this."
Shawn was taken aback perhaps more so by the detective's tone than the actual words. He sounded beleaguered.
After a long pause, Shawn prompted, "Lassie?"
"Leave it, Spencer. I'm just tired. That's all. Just leave it," Lassiter answered quietly.
"Tired because you haven't slept in a week," Shawn pointed out. "Dude, you need a vacation."
"Need I remind you that I just got back from an extended break?"
"Recovering from a head injury doesn't count as a vacation. You know a little fun in the sun wouldn't hurt you. Your aura is just atrocious," Shawn said with a quick smile.
"So, that's you're answer: a vacation," Lassiter said with all the irritation that Shawn had come to expect for the head detective.
He nodded. "It'll do you a world of good. Cheer you up."
"Cheer me up? What are we, ten?" Lassiter complained. "Not to disregard your magical vacation theory, but I don't need or want one. What I need is more evidence for this case. I know he did it. I know he's responsible. I just need to prove it."
"And you aren't going to prove it from here. Come on."
"What?"
"I'll drive you home."
Lassiter glared at him in disbelief. "With what? Your bike? Absolutely not! No way in hell I'm riding on that bike with you."
"No. No! I borrowed Gus's car." Shuddering, Shawn added, "Oh, that's just great. Now, I'll have that image stuck in my brain for days. Thanks for that. You ready?"
"No need," Lassiter said with a scowl at his empty glass. He took a quick glance at his watch before adding, "Cab will be coming for me in about 30 minutes. I'll be fine until then."
"You sure?" Shawn asked.
Lassiter nodded. "Yes, Spencer, I'm sure. I'm capable of walking to a cab by myself. Despite what O'Hara might think, I don't need a babysitter."
Shawn hesitated for a moment before standing to leave. "Okay, I'm gone. I did my good deed for the day."
"Spencer," Lassiter called out to him. "When you talk to O'Hara tonight, tell her I'm fine and I'll see her Monday morning."
He offered a wide grin and quirky "thumbs up" to Lassiter. "Got it, Buddy."
Before leaving the bar, Shawn made one quick stop to ask their waitress to bring the detective a cup of coffee. Four creams, three sugars. After a little deliberation, he also left his number with her. It was purely precautionary on his part, or so he told himself. After all, experience had taught him that the detective might need more assistance than a cab to get home safely.
40 MINUTES LATER…
Lassiter managed to exit the bar and step into the cab with only a barest of stumbles, an impressive feat given his level of impairment. Conversing with Spencer was reason enough for him to believe that he was seriously intoxicated. Without a doubt, his better judgment had clearly abandoned him. Four glasses of 12 oz malt liquor consumed in less than two hours, roughly equated to a BAC of approximately 0.08-0.09. He'd spent enough years on the force to be able to estimate a simple BAC with relative ease, even in his current drunken state.
Sighing deeply, he settled into the seat. The cup of coffee had done little to clear his head and the stiflingly breeze from the open window didn't help. Despite his best efforts, his excursion to the bar had done little for his mood.
Lassiter had ventured out seeking a little reprieve from what Spencer had deemed "a bad week." But instead of the numbness that he'd strived for, he found nothing but melancholy and a $50 tab. And worse yet, he had a whole other set of problems to deal with. To his dismay, he knew that he couldn't ignore the events of the night, at least, not completely.
Somewhere in the last ten months, his perky (but competent) partner had become quite the mother hen. Much to Lassiter's chagrin, O'Hara was a professional busybody, who cared a little too much about everyone's welfare. Be it family, friend, coworker, or victim, she had plenty of compassion for everyone. Truth be told, he had no desire to change that: it made her O'Hara.
However, as endearing as the quality may have been, he found it incredibly infuriating to be on the receiving end. He was a grown man for God's sake, not one of her young nephews! And he certainly didn't need her sending the Department's resident jackass out after him.
He clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd just have to find the right opportunity to tell when he was sober and hang-over free. Definitely by Tuesday at the latest.
The cab ride to his apartment was quick and relatively painless. He managed to exit and pay the cab driver without incident. The combination of scotch and fatigue had stripped him of his coordination, leaving him feeling unnaturally heavy. He adjusted his gait, steering himself back onto the path towards his front door.
Lassiter kept his focus on his feet, taking measured steps to avoid any unnecessary falls. His only goal at the moment was to make it to his bed before passing out.
His slow progress was interrupted by a voice from behind. "Excuse me, sir? You dropped your wallet."
Before he could turn fully to respond, he felt his head snap back, exploding in pain. Had Lassiter been sober, he might have avoided the blow (if not the situation in its entirety). But he wasn't. He never saw it coming, never even caught a glimpse of his attacker. All he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him as his vision faded to black.
TBC…
Thanks for reading!
Comments and feedback are welcome!