Gus sighed and checked his phone. It was three forty-five in the morning, and he was sitting beside Shawn's bed in the hospital, waiting for Shawn to wake up or Henry or the Chief to call. Until one of those things happened he was useless. For about the millionth time, he berated himself for not getting Shawn out of the country when he realized Shawn was going after Despereaux. Just this once, he should have exercised some basic self-control, hell, self-preservation,in the face of Shawn's infectious, blasé enthusiasm.
Most people, when faced with danger, had a fight-or-flight response. As in, an instinct to get themselves out of danger. Shawn, when faced with danger, had an ooh-shiny response. And Gus knew this. Didn't understand, but knew. Still couldn't do anything about it except clean up afterward, apparently.
Lulled by the soft rustle of the hospital functioning outside the door, Gus fell into a bitter sleep. He dreamed of finding Shawn slumped in the back hallway of the museum in a pool of his own blood, of flashing emergency lights and Despereaux smirking –
"Gus?" The rasping whisper yanked him out of his doze and he lunged for the bed still half-asleep.
"Shawn?" Gus leaned over the bed and gently squeezed Shawn's shoulder, not wanting to jostle him. The side of his friend's face was one huge bruise, mottled purple over his forehead and cheekbone and creating huge dark circles under his eyes. Shawn blinked slowly and licked his lips. "Hey, Shawn? Can you hear me?"
Shawn made a tiny noise that could have been Gus' name, then squeezed his eyes shut and began rolling his head from side to side as his breathing sped up and he clutched the blankets. "Nn… no… Gus? Wha… where…"
Without looking, Gus fumbled until he found the button to call a nurse and hit it. Shawn was getting more agitated by the second, his breathing bordering on hyperventilation and every muscle tensed. Gus held on to his shoulder, feeling even more useless than before. "It's ok, you're ok, you're in the hospital. Despereaux clocked you one, dude. Guess he didn't… Shawn? You hearing me? Shawn?"
Suddenly the door burst open to admit the Loudest Nurse In Canada, at least going by Shawn's reaction, which was to gasp and clutch his head, his whole body jerking away from the door and toward Gus.
"Careful!" Gus did his best not to glare, but it was hard. "He's got a concussion, he just woke up. I'm not sure how aware he is at the mo – Shawn? What? Oh – " Shawn's frantic grab for Gus' arm got his attention just time and Gus got the emesis basin under Shawn's chin as Shawn began to heave. The nurse made a concerned clucking noise and moved forward to take the basin, allowing Gus to sit on the bed and hold Shawn on his side, rubbing his back and supporting his neck. Apparently his delicate gag reflex had decided to give him a break for the sight of his friend in pain. Or maybe guilt was suppressing it.
The vomiting went on for endless minutes, punctuated by gasps and tears, and Gus took Shawn's hand to stop him from digging his nails into his head. Finally Shawn flopped back onto the pillows, shaking and drenched in sweat.
As the nurse went into the bathroom to clean the basin, Gus lightly shook the hand he was still holding. "Shawn? Buddy? You in there?"
After a few more minutes of blinking and shaking, Shawn breathed, "Hey… man…" He squinted up at Gus. "Wha… y'got away?"
"Yes, and I cannot believe you made me run away and leave you there. How are you feeling? There's a nurse around somewhere, she can probably get moving on checking you out so you can get something for the pain."
"Mmnnaah…" Shawn's eyes were sliding closed. "S'okay… I'll jus' go… back t'sleep…"
"Woah, no, Shawn, you should really – hey! Nurse! Shawn, come on, open your eyes." The nurse darted back to the bed and Gus patted Shawn's cheek, trying to get him to focus. As they watched, Shawn's eyes closed and his hands went slack against the blankets.
"Dammit." Gus ran a hand over his face. "What does this mean? Is he going to be ok?"
"Yes, you really shouldn't worry too much at this stage. We would have liked to get him to stay awake long enough to answer some questions, but he knew his name and who you were, and I he seemed to know a little about how he got here, right?"
"Yeah, he asked me about what happened – so this is ok? He's not going to, I don't know, slip into a coma or something?"
Finally, the nurse showed some personality as she chuckled and patted him on the arm. "No, honey, this is actually a good sign. It's good you're here for him, too, it always helps to wake up to a familiar face. You want some coffee? I know you've been here awhile."
If he'd been alone, Gus would have punched the air he felt so relieved. He settled for grinning and saying, "Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."
A few hours later, the sun was filling the room in a golden haze and Gus was once again jolted from a restless sleep, this time by his cell phone. With uncoordinated hands he fumbled it out of his pocket and said, "H'lo?"
"Guster! Why are the Canadian police asking me to verify you and Spencer's identities? Did you go after Despereaux?" Lassiter's growl woke him up far more effectively than the coffee had.
"What? Who? No, we were just… in a… museum accident. Innocent bystanders, really, victims, possibly."
"Guster. Spencer called me. To ask about Despereaux. Said, and I quote, 'I'm looking right at him.' Now if working, and I use the word loosely, with you two has taught me anything, it is that Spencer is pathological when it comes to going after criminals. Now, why did the Canadian police call me at five in the fucking morning?"
Gus slapped a hand over his eyes. "Right, I remember that now. Look, Lassie – Lassiter, we did do some investigating, and we were just about to… um… go to the police when…" he trailed off, wondering how to make Lassiter believe a story he wouldn't have believed if he hadn't been there. Someday he was going to have a life that didn't sound like a terrible A-Team ripoff.
"When what, Guster? Adding suspense to the story is not going to make me hate you less."
"Fine. Despereaux took us prisoner, ok? And Shawn – he distracted Despereaux so I could get away and I called the police, but by the time we got back to the museum Despereaux was gone and Shawn was unconscious and now he's in the hospital and I really need to get him out of this country before he's lucid enough to try and continue the investigation because I am apparently just as pathological as he is in that I can refuse him the last bite of my Pop-Tart but I can't keep him from actively endangering his life." Those were not tears making Gus' eyes sting. He was just tired.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute. Then Lassiter said, with slightly less malice in his voice, "Christ. Another thing I've learned is that my disbelief should be permanently suspended when it comes to Spencer. Fine, I will talk to the Canadians about your involvement, but Guster?"
"Yes?"
"Follow your own advice. Get him home."
PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH
Hospitals in the early morning tended to be rather peaceful, in Pierre's experience. For some reason few really terrible traumas happened around sunrise. Unfortunately, this lull in activity did nothing for the smell.
It was a risk coming here, especially with several hundred thousand dollars worth of stolen art just sitting in the hotel room which he really should have checked out of by now. After all, the events at the museum would have done nothing for his anonymity here. It might be best to vacate North America entirely for the time being.
But first… there, room 503, which a quick rifle through the nurses' station had told him was Shawn Spencer's. And there by the bed was Spencer's shrill little friend, Ed or Bill or some other boring name. Pierre pulled the brim of his cap lower over his face and settled on a bench to wait. They had to have been here all night; surely he'd be wanting coffee or breakfast or just to stretch his legs soon?
Ten minutes later, Pierre's impatience was growing overwhelming. Surely the friend wasn't going to sit by Shawn's bedside constantly until he woke up? What was this, some sort of painfully overwrought romance? The thought made him clench his teeth and narrow his eyes at the back of the friend's head, visible through the window in the door.
Odd, how much emotion Shawn's very presence had produced in him in the past twenty-four hours. He'd been a hairsbreadth from ending the man's life in a blind fury last night, and now… this was getting dangerously close to a mistake. He needed to get out before he was recognized or did something truly moronic like sweeping Shawn from his bed and taking him along to Europe.
Pierre stood and walked back to the nurses' station at the end of the hall, then thought better and took the elevator down to the first floor station. "Excuse me," he said in a flat Canadian accent to the nurse, "I'm a representative of the Heller Museum, I was told the two Americans who were involved in the robbery were here?"
"Yes, they came in last night. One of them has a concussion, however, I'm not sure if he'll be up to talking yet, Mr…?"
"Stanley. Peter Stanley, and that's perfectly all right, I only need to speak to one of them. Just doing the due diligence for the Museum, you understand. If you could send someone to fetch him?" He gave her his most harmless and responsible smile.
She dithered, and Pierrre imagined police pouring through the big glass doors at the far end of the lobby. "I won't take but a few minutes of his time, ma'am. I'm sure he's as eager to put this business behind him as I am to get the artifacts returned to their rightful place." He attempted a stern expression, which had never been his strongest, but it seemed to work.
"Oh, um… alright. I'll send someone for him, Mr. Stanley."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm just going over for a cup of coffee, please tell him I'll be in the waiting area." Flashing a grin at her, he ambled in the direction of the coffee shop, then went straight for the elevator once he was out of her sight.
He was just in time, when the doors opened on the fifth floor, to duck around a corner to avoid being seen by Shawn's friend, who looked rather irritated as he jabbed the button for the ground floor. Perfect. Let him wander around looking for some museum representative for awhile instead of hanging all over Shawn.
Pierre paused outside the door to Shawn's room, looking in through the window. The room was bathed in the clean light of sunrise, and the light caught in Shawn's hair and gilded the lines of his face and bare torso. Pierre's fingers twitched, wishing they had a paintbrush. Softly, he opened the door and slipped inside.
The click of the door shutting behind him seemed to wake the bed's occupant; he twitched and drew in a breath, letting it out in a soft moan. Pierre moved to the side of the bed and gently turned Shawn's head so he could see the damage he'd caused. It was considerable, a short gash over his temple and bruising spreading out in a kind of half-mask over his face, blood pooling to give him what appeared to be two black eyes.
"Wha… Gus, ssstop it…. hurts…" Eyes still closed, Shawn rolled his head away from Pierre's hand, frowning.
"I apologize. I certainly don't wish to harm you any more… though I'm sure you'll agree you left me no choice in this particular instance."
At the sound of Pierre's voice, Shawn's eyes flew open wide and he jerked away, struggling to sit up in the bed. "Wha… th'hell? How… where's Gus?"
Stifling a grin, Pierre raised his empty hands. The kid was simply adorable, slurring and uncoordinated, yet still slowly trying to move away. Pierre was sure that if he made any sudden moves, Shawn would topple right off the side of the bed onto the floor. "I sent your friend on a small errand. He'll be with you again shortly. I simply had to see if you had any more hilariously overblown threats regarding your competence and my continued operation."
This produced more blinking and a wince, and Shawn raised one hand to clutch at his head. When it appeared no response was forthcoming, Pierre sighed and said, "I suppose you could call this my 'I-told-you-so'. You will never catch me, because I am better than you, and now we both know it. If you've cast me as the villain in your little crime drama, then I shall act the villain. And," Pierre slowly leaned down, watching the way Shawn's eyes widened and small tremors ran over his body as his breathing sped up. Beautiful. This was a sight he would remember for a long time.
Wrapping a hand around the back of Shawn's neck, Pierre breathed against Shawn's lips, "I wanted to do this," then he engulfed Shawn's mouth with his own, relishing the tiny whimper Shawn made around his tongue, the yielding heat of Shawn's lips.
When he pulled back, Shawn was gasping and flushed, gripping the blanket like he was trying to stop it from escaping. "I… I don't… y-you…" he gulped a few times, staring up at Pierre.
Desired result attained; enough rash action for the day. Time to leave. "Well, this has been quite enjoyable. For us both, I think," Pierre nodded at the slight but definite bulge of the blanket over Shawn's groin and grinned at the full-body blush this caused. "Until next time." He opened the door and, seeing the hallway clear, slipped out and made for the stairs.
A/N: Holy crap, I'm back. Sorry for the delay, I just had no idea where this story was going. I think I have a handle on it now though. So I'm not making any promises about the speed of updates, especially since have two other fics going at the moment (what is wrong with me? Why do I do this to myself?) but I do promise I will finish this thing. Eventually. As always, your patience is much appreciated, and thank you for reviewing! It's reviews that kick my ass and get me writing again, so hit that button! Peace!