A/N: Sorry, I'm a day late in updating! Way more interesting stuff in this chapter! Hope you like it!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Psych, otherwise Shawn would have been injured in every episode! ;)
Ch 2: What Just Happened?
Present Day
Shawn Spencer cocked his head to one side, raising an eyebrow at the mess that was once the neat little Psych office. Well, the halfway neat little Psych office. There was a huge, gaping hole in the middle of the window, from where the suit-clad assailant had jumped out, a thin layer of cracked glass along the edge, and Gus's table had cracked all the way from the middle, snapping it into two. Shawn squinted further, and he could almost see specks of blood on the totally nice carpet with a pineapple in the middle they had purchased two months back. Meaning that, of course, Gus's card had been charged when Shawn got his hands on it.
Grunting in pain, Shawn propped himself up against his desk, trying to scoot away from the pool of blood under his right palm.
His own blood, Shawn realized. That jolted him back to reality. Suddenly, Shawn was very aware of his surroundings, and of the voice calling his name over and over again.
"Shawn!" this time it was louder.
"Gus . . . ow . . ." Shawn mumbled, a sharp pain shooting up his right arm. So that's where all the blood was coming from.
Then something, or rather, someone slappedhis cheek, harder than necessary.
"Hey!" he protested. "Gus . . . I would like to invite you to stop being the bees on . . . pineapples— Gah! What the . . .!"
Now, Shawn sat up straight, glaring at his friend. "You pinched me! On my right arm!"
Whoops. Concussion, check.
"That's your left arm Shawn," Gus said slowly, making sure his buddy understood. "Now, man up. At least till I get you to the hospital."
"No, no, I meant right on my arm," Shawn tried to answer back. But it came out as, "Ho, ho, I met you on a dairy farm!"
"What do you mean – are you concussed? Did you bang your head somewhere? Do you know how badly you're hurt? I'm takin' you to the hospital, or I'm sure you'll lose your arm . . . and no, don't argue. You cannot learn to be a lefty through that fake online course you paid for with my cash!"
And before Shawn could point out the pros of multitasking and . . . the cons of being a . . . black pug with a lace collar . . . . .
"Shawn! Where did they go?" Shawn turned his head with a grunt of pain to see Juliet, her SIG-Sauer in hand.
Looking at his girlfriend, Shawn blinked twice, taking in her casual attire. A sleeveless white shirt, first few buttons undone. Her black jeans hugged her form, and her slender legs. Wait . . . can legs be slender? Or is it just for arms? Her hair now came down to her shoulders, ending around her collarbones.
Date, he realized. They had had a date that night. What was the time anyway? Was it too late for a walk along the shoreline? And was it a bad idea to walk hand in hand with my girlfriend after a huge conk on the head? Will that make me say stupid things?
"Of course, it will. You say stupid things in general life! God knows what will happen when you have a hard conk on your head," Gus snapped. Huh? Had he said all of that out loud?
Awkward.
"Shawn?" she said again, looking at him this time, pulling her gun down and relaxing the finger around the trigger. Looking at her, Shawn flashed back to when had taken down so . . . so many Serbian contract killers in the forest.
With her gun.
And a crossbow.
She knew how to use a crossbow. That was so hot.
Her lips were light pink, without any makeup . . . and Shawn's mind focused solely on how her lower lip got redder at the point where she was biting it. Her eyes were wide with worry and a strand of her blonde hair was brushing against her cheeks.
"Shawn!" Jules said again, this time louder. "Help me out here, sweetheart. Did you notice anything? Can you remember anything about them? Come on, use that hyper-observance and eidetic memory together!"
Shawn blinked again, slowly realizing that she had asked him a question. But it was hard to concentrate. And that wasn't just because of the dull throbbing at the base of his head. Shawn replayed the last few moments: how her eyes seemed to take in everything around the office as she asked him the question. And then those blue eyes turned back to him, a look of concern filling them. Gus was poking his best friend in the arm, but Shawn found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his girlfriend and his right arm.
"Shawn, hey," Jules said softly, striding over to where Shawn was propped up against his own desk, and put she put a palm against his cheek. "Okay, let's get you to a hospital first. I've called Lassiter. The ambulance will be here any moment now. Where does it hurt?"
"Huh?" Shawn managed, unable to focus at all.
"Where does it hurt, Shawn?" Gus repeated Juliet's question, looking at him with concern.
"My head's throbbing. It's heavy. And my right hand came off," Shawn mumbled.
"Your arm is fine, Shawn. It's just a flesh wound. Where does your head hurt? Here?" Juliet transferred her palm from her boyfriend's cheek to the side of his head, then gently to the back of his head.
"There," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into her palm. It felt cool against his warm and sweaty scalp. The funny thing was that he was pretty sure he had been hit on the top of his head, and the southern hemisphere of his cranium was throbbing with pain.
"Gus, did the bleeding stop?" she said after a few moments of silence.
"I think so. Now," Gus stood up, "if you'll excuse me, my gag reflex's acting up." Then he turned and strode to the bathroom. Juliet rolled her eyes, leaned over, and kissed her boyfriend on his temple, "You'll be fine, just close your eyes for a while."
Shawn nodded, slowly closing his eyes, with the feel of his girlfriend's hand against his skin and the sound of his best friend losing his breakfast in the bathroom. At least lunch was in an hour.
Shawn woke up to the sight of a vaguely familiar ceiling. And then he sat up bolt upright, getting the worst head rush in the history of mankind. He groaned in pain as the world blurred before his eyes, putting a hand to his head and trying not to put too much weight on his throbbing right arm, which felt stiff and unfamiliar.
"Ow . . ." he groaned, trying to blink away the blurry images.
"Shawn?" it was his sweet, sweet Jules.
Juliet had been sleeping with her head resting right beside Shawn's, initially, she massaged her boyfriend's forehead when they came in . . . and then ran her fingers through his soft hair and over his cheeks and lips. He'd sighed in his unconscious state and Juliet swore she could feel him leaning into her hand. Then, she'd fallen asleep beside him, waking up only when a text from Lassiter came in, updating her on Woody's report for the dead body found an hour after Shawn had been discharged from hospital.
Now she woke up, because she'd felt the sudden movement when Shawn jolted up in his childhood bed, and then had heard the pained groan. She lifted her head to see him grabbing the back of his head, wincing, and panting.
Putting a comforting arm on his back, she whispered, "It's okay . . . you're fine. Just lie down."
She helped him lie back, biting her lip in worry as his vision slowly sharpened, and he took in his surroundings.
"Jules," he said, "Why am I here?"
"Shawn, this is the safest place on earth for you right now, okay? We had no choice." And you're under observation, she added glumly in her mind.
"No. No way. Hell no. Uh-uh," he shook his head, wincing again. "I am not staying in my father's house. How could you guys even . . . I mean, is this some kind of cruel joke? Did Lassie put you up to this? No, scratch that, Grouch McJones doesn't joke. Was it dad's idea? It has to be. Gus wouldn't do something like that. He doesn't have the guts to do pranks. Which is weird because I'm pretty sure he asked me to call him 'Guts'. Where is that dollop of black magic anyway?"
"Wow. For a concussed person, you sure talk a lot. And none of that made any sense to me, sweetheart."
"Jules—"
"Listen to me right now, Shawn Spencer," Juliet said, adopting the strictest voice she could use with this guy. "I know you don't want to stay here, but you have to, and since you are an adult, if our nights together are any indication, you need to suck it up. Now, tell me what happened, give me a statement, and maybe Gus'll bring you a smoothie from across the street. Got it?"
Shawn frowned, opening his mouth and closing it again. He did make a cute goldfish.
"Um . . . by all means, sure, let's get started!" he said finally, grabbing her arm for some support as he sat up a bit in the bed. "You remember that robbery case Gus and I were working on?"
Juliet rolled her eyes, "Yes I do, Shawn. It was two days back."
"Really, so I've been out for less than a day?"
"Less than three hours."
"Man!" Shawn whined. "I thought that after my first mano-a-mano fight, I'd be out for at least a week."
"This wasn't exactly your first mano-a-mano fight."
"It's semantics."
"Shawn."
"Okay. Sorry. So, yesterday, Gus and I went to the victim's place, talked to her before Lassie came to get her statement, and when we were leaving, I was pretty sure I saw that writer guy from Explosion Gigantesca de Romance following us. Turns out, it was just a look-alike who turned up in the office this morning, gave me bam! One on the head from behind . . . and I fought with him in my dazed state and threw him out of the window."
"You mean . . . he escaped out of the window after you stumbled and banged your head on your desk?"
"I've heard it both way, sweetheart," he gave her a goofy grin.
"So . . . this thug looked like Lance Elliot?"
"Elliot. Huh! Did not know that. And no, it was this guy, medium built, in a grey business suit. He had one of those cloth pollution masks on his face, but the eyebrows just screamed threading. And I'm pretty sure . . ." he trailed off, closing his eyes, frowning. That was his 'I'm getting a clue' face. I watched somewhat fascinated, as he muttered something, replaying a part of his memory till he found the clue. If anyone asked me, I'd say that having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory and a very high IQ was amazing. Okay, it was fascinating, and if I wasn't a cop, I'd be giddy and lovesick all over the place. Not to mention he was funny. But right now, he was neck deep in hot water . . .
His eyes snapped open, focused and alert with concentration. "He was a cop, or ex-military. His hand, it was in a fist most of the time. But I'm pretty sure that the pointer finger was calloused, from pulling triggers for a long time. He had a beard; I could see some salt and pepper poking out from underneath the mask. Horrible hair . . . greasy, oily, black, backcomb . . ."
I nodded, "Okay, I'll give this to your dad. He'll take it down to the police station when he goes there."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second. Why you are not and my dad is going to the station?" he asked, holding up his left palm, a troubled expression on his face.
Juliet frowned and then looked away.
"Jules, what is it?"
"There was a body found near that smoothie place you and Gus love so much."
"The SmoothieMan?"
"Yes. And there was some DNA found on the killer, some blood on his finger tips, apparently, he had fought back pretty hard. And a piece of a shirt. And a strand or two of hair. We've analyzed it, but Woody is still performing more tests for any other evidence."
"Why? Isn't that huge stack evidence enough to put the bad guy away?"
"Yes. Yes, it is," Juliet said in a small voice. "But, well, we're looking for some other evidence . . . hopefully this guy will be proven innocent."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on here? Why don't you just bring him in for questioning? And why are you all working so much to prove this guy innocent? What am I missing? Wait . . . don't tell me, is Lassie the suspect?"
"No, Shawn. It is NOT Lassie— Carlton, I mean," Juliet said, mentally kicking herself for almost calling her partner 'Lassie'.
"It's your DNA all over the dead body, kid." Henry was leaning against the doorframe. Shawn's head snapped towards his dad's voice, disbelief on every cell of his face.
"What?"
"It's true, Shawn. That's why Juliet is here . . . you're in custody. And Gus is working his ass off at the station."
"What? I don't understand. How . . ." he trailed off, his mask of carelessness and goofiness long gone.
"Look, don't worry, we're trying our level best and I'm sure we'll find some evidence that does not point towards you," Juliet assured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"When did this happen?" Shawn said in a slightly hoarse voice.
"Woody said that the time of death was around the same time as the attack on you. But a group of punk teens reported it and hour after we brought you here," she said, leaning closer to him.
Shawn frowned . . . he was pretty sure he was missing something. But the headache was back, and the evidence he was missing seemed to take a backseat against the nauseating pain.
The last thing Shawn remembered before he fell asleep the next time was his father's voice forming new words in his head: There is evidence of you killing a guy, and you don't have an alibi. The only person who can confirm your innocence was trying to break your arms off. Now what are you going to do, Shawn?
I don't know, Dad. I'm tired. Shawn replied to hypothetical Henry before falling into a troubled slumber.
A/N: Will try to update by next week. This chapter was ready beforehand. Hope you think this story is worth it and hang on. I took a chance with Lance's name. His surname is definitely NOT 'Elliot'. Also, I made up the smoothie stand across Henry's street.
And I forgot to ask you for reviews on my last chapter, even though it was just a flashback. So pretty please with whatever-pleases-your-palate on top, DO review! It's a very pretty button, great graphics on it, nice design! Wonder how nice it will be to touch it . . . or click it, whatever! :)