PLEASE NOTE: There will be separate warnings for some sections. Even if it doesn't come up until the second half of the section, I will post it in the first, just so that people can skip that particular part of the story if they feel necessary. With that said – there are mentions of drug use and overdose in this section.

A/N: I wanted to mention that one of my best friends, Totesumi, drew a really lovely Shassie pic for me. Look her up on Deviantart and check out her scrapbook to see it. (It's my current desktop.) She's an AMAZING artist, so check out her gallery and leave her some comments! : )

I've decided that, seeing as this is a Lassiecentric fic, I should keep portrayals of other groups Lassiter-related, or at least story-related (like at the end of the last chapter). You can still share your feelings on this in the comments, and I really appreciate all of the wonderful reviews, favorites, and watches I've been getting; you guys are the best!

Day Three: Buzz McNab

Buzz whistled quietly to himself as he hopped off the golf cart. "Don't worry, I've got it," he said, waving the driver away from the bags. He scooped his suitcase and duffel bag up awkwardly under his arms. "Thanks for the ride!"

The park ranger waved as he drove away, shaking his head slightly. Buzz didn't really mind – he got a lot of head shakes, though he could never figure out why. Francie had told him it was because he shocked people, but he didn't understand that. (She had told him that right after he had apologized to the very nice boy who had hit him with his bike. It really had been rude of him to stand in his way, after all.)

He heard very quiet snores coming from the bedroom, and he made sure to tiptoe his way in. He was surprised to see Lassiter. I thought they said they were putting us with who we were most comfortable with. He grinned to himself. Wow! I didn't realize Detective Lassiter was comfortable with me! I know he has a tough time showing it, though. I hope I don't bother him too much.

Buzz stumbled across Lassiter's things on the couch. Wonder what they're doing out here. He went to move one of the duffel bags, only to drop it and send Lassiter's things spilling across the floor.

Panic flooded his brain. "Oh no!" he groaned, falling to his knees and scrabbling to collect everything. A book on the Civil War, a toiletry bag, a collection of ties… he stuffed everything haphazardly into the bag, watching the bedroom door, waiting to see it swing open to reveal a furious head detective. His grasping fingers flitted over something smooth and almost sticky. He looked down and saw, to his surprise, a photograph.

I really shouldn't, he told himself. It's Detective Lassiter's personal stuff. His fingers settled more securely over the picture. Of course, I'm sure it would be fine if I just took a quick peek. It's just a picture, I doubt I'd get in trouble for just looking at it.

With one last, quick glance at the doorway, Buzz settled back and looked at the photo. It was pretty nondescript, but strangely intimate at the same time: a Polaroid of a teenage boy in the driver's seat of a car, with sandy blonde hair, dark eyes, and a huge smile. Buzz cocked his head to the side and stared at it, puzzled. He flipped it over to see a date written on the back: 1987. What would Lassiter be doing carrying an old picture of some teenager around?

"What the hell are you doing?"

Buzz's head snapped up at the deadly voice and saw Lassiter, in pajamas and with messy hair, looking more dangerous than anyone really had a right to before noon. "Well?" he scowled, moving slowly closer like a lion stalking its prey. Buzz really wished he wasn't sitting on the floor; he was at least three kinds of vulnerable, and vulnerability was the last thing someone should show Carlton Lassiter.

Before he knew it, Buzz had opened his mouth and begun a bumbling explanation. "I'm really sorry, sir, I was just trying to move your things so I could sit down, but then one of the bags tipped over and a bunch of stuff fell out, and I was putting it back, and –"

"And you decided to go through everything."

"No, no! That wasn't it at all! I just…" Buzz looked around hopelessly. Usually, when he found himself in a tight spot with Lassiter, Juliet was there to save him. He didn't know how to handle the temperamental detective on his own. "I was just looking at this picture," he half-whispered.

Lassiter gritted his teeth, then sighed. "Just give me that," he growled, snatching the photo out of Buzz's hands. "If you want to make it through these two days, McNab, you better keep your hands to yourself. Got it?"

Buzz nodded timidly, and watched as Lassiter stormed into the kitchen. He took a shaking breath, stunned at the fact that he managed to get off the hook so easily. It took several minutes for his brain to catch up with what had just happened.

Wow. Lassiter must REALLY like me! It was the only explanation he could think of – the grumpy detective would usually tear the head off of anyone who touched his stuff, particularly when said stuff was clearly very private.

"Detective Lassiter?" Buzz called, jumping up and half-racing to the kitchen. "Did you want me to make you some breakfast?"

Lassiter jumped slightly. He seemed to have been sitting at the kitchen table, staring, transfixed, at the photograph. "What – no! I'm forty-one years old, McNab. I think I can handle scrambling eggs."

"It's okay. I'm already making myself something." Ignoring Lassiter's splutters of protest, Buzz started pulling things out of the cabinet and refrigerator. "How does French toast sound?"

"I – it – McNab…" Lassiter gave up with a small sigh. "It sounds fine."

Buzz took this as permission to stick to Lassiter's side the entire day. It wasn't until seven o'clock at night that he took a break from his monologue.

"I really like music," he was rambling, washing dishes and not noticing Lassiter rubbing his eyes in frustration. "My friend Randy is a deputy in San Francisco, and he's in this band called The Randy Disher Project. They're pretty good. I think he'd send you a signed copy, if you want. He really likes signing stuff. Do you like rock music?"

Lassiter stood from the small table abruptly. When he saw Buzz's alarmed face, he cleared his throat. "I'm going to go take a shower," he said stiffly, then stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door decisively behind him.

Buzz frowned. Poor Lassiter. He seems so stressed. As he slid the last dish into the drying rack, he heard the shower switch on. The running water seemed to cause a sort of epiphany.

Oh, my goodness! The poor folks running this place are paying all of the utility bills! I didn't even think of that. They shouldn't have to pay for two showers. Here we are, staying here at the department's expense, and we're using all their hot water! That's not fair. Maybe I should join him? I mean, we're both men. And he said he wrestled in high school, so I'm sure he's showered with other people. He nodded resolutely. When he reached the door, his courage faltered, but it came back when the handle turned. Not realizing that the lock was broken, and instead assuming that Lassiter wasn't all that worried about being alone, he walked in and began to pull off his shirt.

Buzz had never seen Lassiter startled until the moment he stepped into the shower behind him. "Whoah, whoah!" the head detective yelped, grabbing the curtain and wrapping it around his waist as best as he could. His right hand flew up near his shoulder, where his gun was usually kept in its holster. "I hope for your sake that you just sustained massive head trauma and have no idea what you're doing!"

The younger man stared. Was it just his imagination, or was Lassiter blushing? "Well, I just thought, if you were already showering, I might as well…"

"Might as well what, McNab?" Lassiter snarled. He was definitely blushing now, and he seemed to be making a point out of staring at a spot up and to the right of Buzz's head instead of at him.

Buzz huddled over slightly, looking like a very large beaten puppy. "I just thought we could save water. It would be rude to make them pay for two showers." He up at Lassiter. "Is there a particular reason you don't want us to shower together?"

"No!" Lassiter said a little too quickly. "I just happen to feel that two men-"

The rookie cop was no longer listening. "Great!" He stuck his hand into the stream of water and started splashing it over his hair. "We can switch spots when you're done."

"Fine!" Lassiter had clearly given up. He started scrubbing roughly at his scalp, trying to force as much shampoo out of it as possible. His hurry made Buzz a little nervous.

He tried to think of anything to relax the detective. What was relaxing about showers? Buzz looked around, his gaze landing on a bottle of body soap. Of course! The relaxing thing about showers was getting clean, right? He could probably help with that. He squeezed a small puddle of soap into his palm and began to gently rub it across Lassiter's back.

Had Buzz been expecting anything out of the older man, it would have been a yell or, far less probable but still possible, a thank you. What he definitely hadn't been expecting, however, was the very slight gasp that hit his ears. That was a gasp he had heard from Francie more than once on their honeymoon, but he had certainly never given a man any reason to make that noise.

It was then that, for the first time, Buzz McNab truly got it.

All the clues lined up: the blush, the refusal to turn around, the rush to get out of the shower, and now the gasp. It pointed to one thing and one thing only. And did Buzz dare say what that thing was?

Both men were completely silent. Buzz had the feeling that Lassiter was holding his breath, waiting to see if Buzz knew exactly what had happened. His muscles were tense under the fingers the rookie still had splayed over his back.

"Sir?" Buzz said it so quietly even he could barely hear it over the rushing water. "Are you… aroused right now?"

Before he knew it, the Buzz was on his back on the bathroom floor, looking up at a pink-faced Lassiter, who was clutching a towel around his hips so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. In a shaking voice, the detective rasped, "Get. Out. Now."

"Detective Lassiter – "

"Did I stutter, McNab?"

Buzz had no idea that he could do a naked, sopping-wet, backwards crab-crawl as fast as he managed to. Once he was in the kitchen, the door was slammed in his face. Buzz wanted to ask for his clothes back, but the angry bangs and crashes coming from the bathroom scared him into settling for his pajamas.

For two hours, Buzz sat, paralyzed in fear, on the couch, wondering what the undoubtedly outraged head detective was planning for him. He had to remind himself over and over that there were no guns allowed on the premise to keep his fledgling panic attack from exploding, and he tried not to think of all the other ways Lassiter surely knew how to kill people and dispose of their bodies. When his watched beeped, signaling that it was nine o'clock, he decided it would be in his best interest to go to bed.

Buzz, however, was never a man to pay much attention to his best interests.

"Excuse me, Detective Lassiter? Are you okay?" Buzz called quietly through the bathroom door. When no answer came, he pushed at the door. It gave ever so slightly before it stopped. It seemed that Lassiter was bracing himself against the frame.

"I'm fine, McNab. And if you want to keep your limbs where they are, you'll walk away right now."

"It-It's okay, sir. I promise. I'm not mad or anything. And besides, you can't sleep in there."

"Like hell, I can't." The same tenacity that edged into Lassiter's voice when he was arguing with Shawn over a case.

"Please come out. We can – "

"What? Talk about it?" Buzz could almost see Lassiter shaking his head. "And say what, McNab? 'So, how's that whole liking-men thing going for you?'"

"Talking might make you feel better…"

Lassiter laughed, sounding a little delirious. "Of course! We'll just talk it out! Why didn't I think of that? You're right, McNab. Talking about it will make it seem almost as if you never found out the secret that I've been spending my entire life trying to protect."

Even Buzz could hear the sarcasm. He bit his lip. What was he supposed to do? None of the rules that he'd spent so many years memorizing at the station could help him now. There was no protocol for this kind of thing, especially when it came to Lassiter.

"Let me make this easy for you, McNab. You go to bed. I'll sleep in here. After tomorrow, we'll pretend we don't know each other. And you will say nothing about what happened here for fear of POW-level torture. Understood?"

Buzz looked down at his feet, ashamed. Without answering, he shuffled off to bed, slipping beneath the covers and wondering how anyone could possibly screw up this badly.

Hopefully the next update will come sooner. Thank you all so much for reading, and please review! You guys always make my day. : )