"Why are we moving?" Shawn sounded confused as Lassiter continued to inch his way around the truck.
"I don't know, but I'd rather be prepared when the door does open." Lassiter was feeling out of his depth without the familiar weight of his glock hanging from his holster.
"Why didn't you bring me a jacket?" Shawn was as close to Lassiter as he could get to try and stay warm.
"Because I didn't think we'd be stuck in a refrigerator truck." Lassiter snapped. He knew that Spencer needed to be talking to keep from sleeping, but the incessant questions were starting to get on the detective's nerves.
"I told you I was in trouble,"
"You've told me a lot of things," Lassiter reminded him. "You've called my phone playing practical jokes every other weekend for the past two years."
"Well that's different," Shawn protested. "Those times I was laughing when I called you."
"You giggled over the phone," Lassiter said coldly. "Now shut it, I'm trying to focus."
The truck made a sharp turn and Lassiter found himself being thrown against the side of the truck as he lost his balance, bringing Shawn down with him.
"Damn it," he hissed as he stood, trying to find his balance in the moving truck. His cheek was stinging, he probably had a cut.
"Lassie, I really don't feel good," Shawn said, moments before he pulled Lassiter over to a corner of the truck and hurled.
Lassiter couldn't see it happen, but the retching noise followed by a groan from Spencer was enough to confirm his suspicions.
"At least we know that's not an exit," Shawn joked as Lassiter lead them away from the vomit. It was going to smell horrible in a few minutes.
Lassiter tried to remember what the outside of the truck had looked like. He wasn't sure if he was remembering that there was a side exit, or if he was just wishing there was.
He almost laughed out loud when he felt a seam in the truck's wall. There was a door there, but Lassiter wasn't sure if he would be able to open it from the inside.
"Spencer, help me figure this thing out," he yanked on the handcuffs to get the psychic's attention. Shawn didn't respond and Lassiter yanked on the cuffs again. "Spencer," he snapped.
"Right," Shawn took a shaky breath. "There's a latch at the top I think, if this is a truck made prior to 1998."
"How the hell do you know that?" Lassiter was still feeling around for anything that could be used to open the door.
"Nevermind, I was making that up anyway," Shawn laughed, "I saw one when I was scoping out the trucks earlier. I think this guy probably used one to move Morgan Greene's body."
"Spencer, there were three trucks in the warehouse." Lassiter pointed out, grunting in effort as he tried in vain to reach the top of the truck.
"Well, then I hope our guy was nice enough to pick the easy to escape one." Shawn grumbled. "Stop jerking the cuffs, you're chaffing my wrist." He pulled against Lassiter.
"If you would help, then we could get out of these cuffs faster." Lassiter snapped back. "C'mon, I'll hoist you up and you can reach the latch."
"This isn't going to work," Shawn told him as he felt Lassiter crouch down. "My hand will have to stay as low as yours."
"It'll give us the extra foot we need," Lassiter assured him.
"Sure," Shawn muttered, "and then we'll jump handcuffed out of a moving truck and die artfully like paintings as our bodies bounce along the highway."
"Just climb up there," Lassiter snapped again.
Shawn gave a deep sigh of frustration and then put his free hand on Lassiter's shoulders and put his foot into the detective's cupped hands. "Go ahead and lift," he told the detective.
It would have been unsteady even if Shawn had been able to use both of his hands. He wasn't feeling well and what little was left in his stomach was threatening to come back up. He couldn't throw up on Lassiter, the man would be pissed.
"Just a little bit more," Shawn called down. He could brush a latch with his fingertips but he couldn't quite reach it.
As Lassiter tried to lift the psychic more, Shawn suddenly felt himself slipping and even though he couldn't see in the pitch black he had a feeling his world was turning upside down.
Lassiter couldn't catch the younger man, he felt his arm being twisted in the cuffs and then Spencer fell on top of him. His head connected with the floor of the truck and he heard a yelp of pain from Spencer.
Then the world went black again.
OoO OoO OoO OoO
It was harder for Lassiter to come out of the fog this time. He knew it was because he'd already been out once. He tried to piece together his thoughts. He remembered trying to find a way out and then Spencer fell...
Spencer, Lassiter's heart started beating faster as he felt for the psychic using his free hand.
"Spencer?" He called out when his hand felt the other man's shirt. Lassiter's voice was hoarse; how long had he been out? "Damn it, Spencer, O'Hara will kill me if we don't make it out of this alive."
"I'm here," Shawn whispered, "I think,"
"What happened?" Lassiter asked, sitting up. He put his free hand down to steady himself and accidentally jerked on the cuffs.
"Ow! Not that, Lassie!" Shawn hissed in pain as Lassiter pulled on the cuffs. "I think my arm is broken,"
"Broken, that's not good," Lassiter stated, trying to shake the fog from his head, the cold becoming slightly unbearable and Spencer injured there wasn't a lot of time.
"No shit, Sherlock," Spencer's usual joviality missing. He shifted, trying to alleviate the pain and only made it worse.
"How bad is it?" Lassiter couldn't see a thing in the pitch black of the truck.
"Pretty bad," the smirk in Shawn's voice was back, but Lassiter could also hear the desperation. "Plus, it's my most important arm. I'll have to give up all hope of even playing professional handball."
"You don't play handball at all," Lassiter wasn't going to think about the nitty gritty of the medical stuff. The best he could hope to do in the car is stabilize his arm, but Lassiter wasn't exactly carrying around a spare splint.
"I could though, if I weren't so concerned about my modeling career," Shawn defended himself.
"Can you cut it out with the wisecracks?" Lassiter snapped, "we are going to die in this God forsaken vehicle if we don't find a way out soon. I'm not sure what we'll die of first, lack of air or from the cold." As if to drive his point home, a blast of air blew from the freezer at the front of the truck. Lassiter could feel the temperature dropping.
"Well, you'd better come up with some ideas," Shawn's teeth were chattering at this point. "Because I'm not wearing a GPS watch."
"Why don't you come up with some ideas?" Lassiter snapped. "Why do I have to save us?"
"Because, I'm hurt," Lassiter could feel the glare from Shawn even in the dark. "And because it's your job to save people, Lassie."
"Which is what I should be doing right now and you should be at your hole in the wall of a mess you call an office. We shouldn't even be here." Lassiter sat back, trying not to jostle Spencer's arm.
"No more escape plans that involve me climbing, okay?" Shawn let his head rest against the side of the truck.
"You can't sleep," Lassiter growled.
"Why not? I'm tired and there's nothing to do." Shawn bit back a wince as the truck hit a pothole.
"You have a concussion, probably a severe one."
"If I can't sleep then I'm going to have to talk," Shawn told him.
Lassiter gave a long suffering sigh, "what do you want to talk about?"
"Jules," Shawn decided after thinking for a minute. "She's really pretty," he said sadly. "I'm never gonna get to see that beautiful face cartilage again. She just bought this really pretty blue dress too. She looks amazing in it, her legs-"
"Change the topic, Spencer, I'm not talking about my partner's attributes." Lassiter said through gritted teeth.
"Hey, Lassie, remember that time you thought your condo was haunted and then it turned out you were being drugged by a crazy lady and you chased Gus around with your sword?" Shawn said after another lull. "That case was really crazy, and you never reimbursed us for the snacks we bought for your sleepover."
"I took the money and used it to pay for the carpet cleaning I needed after you and Guster ground cheetos into it."
Shawn gave a snort of disbelief, "Gus and I would never waste cheetos. That orange dust was probably part of your crazy shenanigans."
"Hey, Spencer, remember that time that you investigated a crime and got yourself shot and everyone else had to run around trying to save your ass?"
"Yes, I do, I still have the scar. It's pretty manly looking," Lassiter could hear the smile in Shawn's voice.
"Would it kill you to see the darker side of things for once?" Lassiter was already getting tired of talking.
Spencer didn't answer and Lassiter was about to ask his question again when he realized why the other man had gone quiet. They weren't moving any more.
"He's probably going to kill us," Shawn whispered.
"We've been driving for almost an hour," Lassiter was guessing, unless he had been out for a lot longer after Shawn's fall. "We could be halfway to Sacramento by now."
"Maybe he stopped for a slurpee," Shawn mumbled, his eyelids were feeling very heavy.
"Something tells me he isn't the kind of guy who drinks slurpees," Lassiter felt Shawn's head slump over on his shoulder. "No! You're not falling asleep on me, Spencer!"
The yelling made Shawn jump and then he hissed in pain as his arm was jostled. "What the heck, Lassie?" He said through gritted teeth, "you can't do that to me."
"You can't sleep," Lassiter told him, feeling a little bad about the psychic's pain. "We need to keep alert and awake."
"Then you're gonna have to entertain me, Lassie, I don't do so well at this whole being vigilant thing."
"You would have made a horrible cop," Lassiter complained.
"I said entertain me, not berate me using my dad's lectures from high school," Shawn told him. "I think I would have done pretty well, but I am a free spirit Lassie, I can't be working for the man." He sat there for a second. "Lassie, what if we tried securing my arm and then we tried getting out of here?"
"I can't secure your arm," Lassiter had already thought about it. "I could use my tie, but then my arm would be tied to you and two one handed people wouldn't do anyone any good."
"It might make my arm hurt a little less," Shawn said through gritted teeth as he reached with his good arm to feel for Lassiter's tie.
"That's not my tie!" Lassiter brushed Shawn's searching hand away and pulled the tie off himself. "Spencer, I don't know if I can do this in the dark. Especially not with one hand."
"I'll be your other hand," Shawn assured him. "Just tie my arm!" He was getting frustrated.
Lassiter had to twist his hand in the cuffs to be able to use his hands to move Spencer's useless arm. Shawn was whimpering by the time he got the arm situated where he thought it would be the most stable. Lassiter's own cuffed hand was going to be tied somewhere near the psychic's ribs. If Morgan Greene's killer decided to come into the truck then, they were both doomed.
"Hold this end of the tie," Lassiter told Shawn, his voice muffled from holding the other end in his mouth.
Shawn didn't respond, but grabbed the makeshift bandage. He felt like he was going to vomit again. The pain in his arm was making his woozy.
Lassiter took the tie from his mouth and then started to pull it tight. "On the count of three we're going to pull. One, two, three," he yanked and at that exact moment Shawn finally couldn't fight the urge anymore. He turned his head and retched up what little was left in his stomach.
Without the counterbalance of Shawn's weight, Lassiter had over pulled and succeeded in hitting himself in the face. He fell backwards, the cut from earlier stinging and Lassiter knew he would have a world record bruise there for the next few days.
"Son of a-" he snapped as he hit the floor of the truck. He knew he had pulled on Spencer's arm. "Spencer, are you alright?"
"Lassie," Shawn's voice was almost non-existent. "Please don't do that again. That hurts like the dickens." He was trying to lighten the mood, but his arm felt like it was on fire.
"We need a new plan," Lassiter told him.
"Break my thumb," Shawn said immediately. "My arm is already broken, break my thumb. Then you can get the door open or at least fight the guy when he comes to kill us."
"I'm not going to break your thumb, Spencer,"
"Just break it!" Shawn's voice was back. "We can sit here and argue, or we can get out of here. Break my thumb, Lassie."
Lassiter used the tie to dab at his cheek. "We'll get out of here, with both of your thumbs intact, don't worry."
"I'll tell Jules it was my idea, you won't get in trouble for it." Shawn assured him.
"I'm not worried about O'Hara," Lassiter snapped. "I'm more concerned with you whining about it once I do break it." His reason was harsh, but his voice was gentler than it had been before.
"Lassie," Shawn wasn't going to argue with him, it hurt too much to argue. "What time is it?"
Lassiter glanced at his watch, "it's almost four." He briefly wondered if anyone at the station had noticed his absence.
"Jules is giving her lecture right now," Shawn said softly.
Lassiter nodded, even though he knew Spencer couldn't see him. He was starting to get tired and talking was a lot of effort. Silence settled in the truck, except for the blowing of the fan.
"Lassie," Shawn's voice was tired sounding, too. But there was also a note of sadness. "Can you promise me something?"
"What?" Lassiter was wary.
"Can you take care of Jules when you get out of this?" Shawn's voice cracked. "Take care of her, make sure she eats. She'll be heartbroken when I'm gone."
"Spencer, you aren't going to die in here." Lassiter rolled his eyes.
"But what if I do? Death is unfair, Lassie, especially to men with great hair." A choked sob came out of Shawn. "Also, when you tell everyone this story, can you leave out the part where I cried. Because that isn't very manly at all."
"Stop blubbering, you aren't going to die!" Lassiter snapped. "We're going to get out of this alive and you'll have a cast that you can draw all sorts of stupid things on."
"Can it be orange?" Shawn's voice was small and for a minute he sounded like the five year-old he was acting like.
"It can be rainbow if you want," Lassiter said, exasperatedly. "I'll promise you one thing, and one thing only, Spencer. I am going to get you out of this alive."