Wow…I just realized what a terribly long wait you guys had. Sorry about that! I had to keep rewriting this because I was never quite satisfied with it – it moved a bit too quickly. But, hey! Now Shawn and Neal finally meet! :)

Neal winced as he opened his eyes. His head pulsed painfully, and a ringing sound filled his ears.

Yep. Definitely got a concussion. Neal thought. He groaned involuntarily as he scooted himself into a sitting position. Then he bounced, sending a blinding pain through his skull, and with a little gasp, he lowered himself again, trying to see through the white in front of his eyes. He gradually became aware that he was in a moving vehicle, and as his vision cleared, he realized that he was in the back of a moving van. The lighting was dim – he wasn't sure where it was coming from – but he could just make out several pieces of furniture stacked against the walls, and boxes strewn about. There was a metallic sort of smell in the air that was familiar but he couldn't quite place. He realized that he was leaning on the far end of the moving van, where the door was.

He turned and felt along the bottom for the latch, but it was completely smooth. Except…

He recognized the paneling in front of a key, and tried to feel around to see if he could unscrew the panel to get through. He felt around in his suit jacket, but everything had been taken out of the pockets, including his lock picking set and his wallet. He couldn't even find the breath mint that he'd remembered putting in his pocket that morning, or his comb. If he had his comb, he could break off one of the teeth and use that, but no. Someone didn't like him, apparently.

"Don't bother."

Neal jumped a little (to his embarrassment) at the voice that seemed to come from only a foot away. He squinted his eyes in an effort to see, and finally his eyes focused on a man. He couldn't tell much about him, only that he had kind of…poofy hair on top. He couldn't see his expression, but when he spoke, he spoke as though it pained him to do so.

"I already tried while you were out." The man continued, and judging by the sound of his voice, he sounded like he was probably around the same age as Neal, maybe a couple of years younger. Of course, he couldn't be sure, unable to see in the darkness.

Neal sighed. "Well…I had to try."

"The name's Shawn Spencer," the other man said after a moment of contemplative silence.

"I'm Nick," Neal said a bit distantly, as though he wasn't really thinking about it.

Shawn laughed quietly, derisively. "Yeah," he said quietly, as though he was talking to himself. "If you say so."

Neal decided not to respond to Shawn's comment, instead saying, "Do you know where we're being taken?"

Shawn snorted. "I only woke up about half an hour before you did, and since then we've only made a round left turn and bumped over fifty-seven potholes. I'd say we've gone about thirty miles since then, give or take a few. But I have no idea what time of day it is, or how long we've been traveling, so that doesn't help any."

Just then the van bounced again, jostling them both, making them both wince.

Shawn muttered, "Fifty-eight."

Neal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the pain in his head. "Do you know what these guys want?" he asked after a minute, sounding strained.

"Most likely my face," Shawn said, sounding completely serious. "I don't blame them. It's a pretty good face."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Shawn," he said, sounding annoyed, but then he smiled mischievously, even though Shawn probably couldn't see it. "Obviously it's mysparkling personality and thousand-watt smile that's got them taking me away. It's not all about you, you know."

Neal could feel Shawn grinning. "I don't know, Nick. They did take me first. Why else would I have woken up before you did?"

"Hm," Neal said, sounding thoughtful. "You provide a fair point, Shawn, but you don't know that I have the brightest blue eyes in all of New York."

"Well, Nick, you don't know that I have amazing psychic abilities that will literally blow yourmind."

"Hm. I'm not sure whether I should be impressed and jealous, or weirded out and concerned for your mental health."

"Alright, you don't believe me? You don't think I'm really a psychic?" Shawn sounded indignant.

"Of course I believe you're psychic – just like I believe in the chances that there won't eventually be an iPhone 15 and that seductive mermaids that lure sailors to their deaths still exist – or ever did, for that matter."

"Whoa, man. Don't need to hit on the mermaids." Shawn sounded offended. "It's not their fault that the sailors have good taste and can't help but fall for their beauty."

"Are you serious?" Neal said disbelievingly, but still amused.

"Deadly," Shawn answered seriously, but there was still a certain note of mischief in his voice that questioned his response. He continued, "I can read you like how my best friend Gus reads his drug handbooks while he's studying for his yearly pharmaceutical test."

"Alright, then," Neal said derisively, sarcastically. "What can you tell me about me?"

"Hm…I'm getting…" There was a pause, and then suddenly Shawn started scooting away from him a little. Neal could barely see his silhouette, but he could see that he was at least a couple of inches farther away from him than he had been before. "You're a criminal! Oh, God! I'm trapped in the back of a moving van with a criminal!"

Neal raised his eyebrows, surprised that Shawn had deduced this so quickly. But then, after another couple of seconds, Neal could see Shawn's silhouette posture relax as he forgot about the issue at hand, and Shawn mumbled to himself, "But why would they kidnap me and you? I've never met you before...maybe I met someone you worked for...no, that's not right. You live in New York. Maybe someone moved? There were the Ricardo twins last year, but they're in jail. And then there was Bobby Sherman, but he's dead. Maybe Veronica Houston? No, I would know if it was a woman that took me - they shoot differently. I don't know what it is that makes 'em like that, but there's just something about the way they hold - "

"Wait, wait. Hold on," Neal said suddenly. "You were shot?"

"Uh-huh," Shawn said offhandedly. "Not my first time, either. Sorry you can't lay claim to that."

"That explains the smell," Neal muttered, ignoring Shawn's hidden innuendo as he got up and went over to him. "Where were you hit?"

"Uh-uh," Shawn said defiantly. "I am not going to let a criminal touch anywhere near a bullet hole on my body. You could rip the hole bigger, or something…no, sir, I don't feel like dying today, or any time in the near future."

"Quit being ridiculous," Neal said impatiently. "Now where were you hit?"

"Me ridiculous? Use your head, Nick – or whatever your real name is! I'm just a helpless guy from Santa Barbara, trapped in the back of a moving van with a convicted criminal! I hope you'll forgive me if I don't trust you anywhere near my gunshot wound! With my luck, you'll end up ripping an intestine and then my death would not only be long, but also very painful!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "You are being ridiculous," he argued. "I could smell your blood as soon as I woke up – obviously you've lost a lot of it. I've had a bit of experience with gunshot wounds before, and if you don't let me help you, you are going to die back here from loss of blood. So quit being a stubborn little son of a bitch, and let me help you."

"I will have you know, if I die from this, I'm going to sue you for every cent you own. I'll give it to Gus, and have him open a smoothie shop in my memory."

"Deal," Neal said distractedly as he moved over to Shawn, and looked at the wound on his torso with the dim lighting. He couldn't see much, but he knew that it was bad. There was blood all over Shawn's shirt and on his hands, obviously from holding his stomach for so long. Neal felt a little sick to his stomach at the sight, but he pushed through the nausea and touched the wound. Shawn hissed in pain, but said nothing as Neal continued to feel around the lesion.

"It didn't hit anything major," Neal reported, pulling back. "The bullet went straight through, so you should be fine – if you don't lose too much more blood."

"Thanks, Doc," Shawn said sarcastically. "That's real helpful, considering that I'm bleeding out as we speak. But that shouldn't be a problem, really – we don't really need blood in our bodies, do we? The human body is designed to withstand problems such as these, you know. My dad was shot a little while ago by this guy Jerry Carp, and he was just fine, even as old as he is. My friend Woody kept thinking that he was dying, but – aargh!"

Shawn's pain-filled yell echoed through the moving van as Neal used his tie to secure one of the smaller couch pillows to Shawn's wound, cinching it tight. Shawn instinctively grabbed Neal's arm, squeezing it and trying to push him away at the same time. But Neal only continued tying the tie, trying to ignore Shawn's pain.

When he finished, he sat back, saying, "Sorry about that, Shawn."

Shawn tried to breathe through his nose to calm himself down, squeezing his eyes shut to try and stop the oncoming tears. "It's fine," he said after a minute, sounding strained. "It'll help in the long run."

Okay…so the end sounds sudden, but I didn't want to make it too long and what happens next shouldn't be in the second chapter - it would seem too rushed. It shouldn't be too long before the next chapter is up…so bear with me, folks! :)