Still don't own them…
Psych
I stood up, ignoring the spike of pain that jolted my side and the dizziness that washed through me. I headed toward the doorway to Henry's back porch, the door open and hitting me with the cool, early morning breeze of the Santa Barbara fall and revealing that stupid van. I closed it, heading toward the window. I peered through the blinds, watching the van continue on its way. As grateful as I was for these lucky breaks, I couldn't help but wonder when my luck was going to take a turn. There was only so much good stuff that could happen before the bad caught up.
"Okay, it's gone," I whispered heading inside the house. O'Hara was steps behind me, I could feel her eyes boring into me, as she said, "You were shot, weren't you?"
"O'Hara," I started but stopped as another wave of dizziness hit me, causing me legs to nearly buckle and me to grab the nearest counter.
"Carlton," two voices echoed through my head, two sets of hands grabbed me and guided me to the kitchen table. Once sitting, I laid my head on the hardwood surface begging the dizziness to pass. If I was down I couldn't help either one, and that wasn't an option at all. It wasn't even close to an option, not even in the ball park. Not even the gum that sat outside the ballpark, waiting for unsuspecting… Oh God, Spencer is in my head now.
"Carlton, we have to get you to a hospital," O'Hara said, her voice pulling me back to reality.
"No," I snapped raising my head and trying to push myself to my feet.
"Carlton, I agree with Juliet," Spencer said pushing me effortlessly back into the chair. "I really don't want you bleeding to death. Plus," the next words I knew Spencer didn't want to utter, but he pressed on anyway, "a ton of your cop buddies may be more helpful than just us."
And that was how I ended up sitting in the backseat of O'Hara's Bug, my head leaning against the window, watching the scenery fly by. Spencer's words, his sacrifice, were mostly what convinced me to get help. I knew he didn't want to go back to the hospital. I knew he didn't want to be surrounded by people who would constantly reassure him that it was normal to have no memory after the ordeal he went through, and that it would come back in its own time. It was probably going to be too much to bear, but he was doing it for me. The lengths he would go, even without a memory, to help someone, even a person who's not his biggest fan, astound me sometimes.
"Carlton, we're almost there," O'Hara said from the front seat. Her voice was quiet, keeping her from waking Spencer, who had fell asleep almost as soon as her car took off. He looked younger in sleep, of course if you notice everyone does, less burdened. Plus, it kept him quiet. Which is always a plus when dealing with Shawn Spencer. That was very uncalled for, I know, but also true.
"I see that, O'Hara," I replied my foot nudging the bag Spencer had packed. It was a few of Henry's old clothes-a pair of jeans (something I haven't worn since my college years), an old SBPD sweatshirt, and a pair of Henry's sneakers (again, something I haven't worn in a while). I guess it was better than running around in bloody clothes or the lime green Hawaiian shirt I was still wearing, also covered in blood.
"If you hadn't of started bleeding in front of me, would you have told me about the wound?" her blue eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. I could have easily lied, told her 'yes,' but there was no point. I had a feeling she would have seen right through it anyway, so I said, "No, O'Hara, I probably wouldn't have told you. Not right away, at least."
"Not right away, huh? When then, Carlton? After you bled to death? Huh? Huh? When I had to go down to the morgue to ID your body? Oh, wait, I forget, the medical examiner knows you. Meaning he would just call Vick who would, in turn, call me! How do you think I would have felt, Carlton, if you or Shawn were to have died? How would Gus or Henry feel if Shawn had died? Did you even think about that?" I was pretty sure O'Hara had no idea she was screaming at me, her final few sentences echoing through the car and causing Spencer to jerk awake.
"O'Hara," I spoke over her, trying to get her to calm down. "You can yell at me later. Just watch the road, now." And she did, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel and body language clearly screaming 'Leave me alone or I will shoot you.'
Spencer glanced back at me, a small shake of his head telling me exactly what he thought. He agreed with O'Hara, I should have said something earlier, should have gotten help sooner. Didn't they see that I was trying to keep Spencer alive? That if it wasn't for me the memory less dumbass wouldn't even be sitting up front.
Speaking of Spencer, he suddenly bowed forward, his face in his hands. I pushed myself up, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. "Spencer," I said quietly.
"Who's Abigail?" he asked without looking up. The look that crossed O'Hara's face was quick, but I definitely caught it. It was pure jealously, simple as that. She didn't have a problem with Shawn's ex per se, but I knew she had a problem with the fact that Spencer had originally chosen Abigail over her… What? I can notice things, too.
"She's your ex-girlfriend," O'Hara said trying to sound nonchalant. It almost worked, if she didn't sniff afterward. "You two dated for about a year, but ended up breaking up."
"I…I stood her up for our first date," he continued still keeping his face hidden. "We…we met back up at our… thirteen year reunion?" Ah, the reunion I remember fondly, despite never going to that school. My date ended up handcuffed and sent to jail. I hated her anyway.
"Yeah, that's her." Juliet had barely withheld disdain in her voice. She was getting sick of the Abigail talk and I could kind of see why. Out of all the things Spencer could remember first-his dad, Guster, his mother, hell even the time he was shot and kidnapped-he remembers an ex-girlfriend, and not just any ex, but O'Hara's competition for so long. Man, women can be so petty sometimes. So, says the guy who wants to string his ex-wife's new boyfriend up by his balls and dangle him over a cage of hungry lions. I guess everyone is petty in their own way.
Spencer caught the disdain, too, because he fell silent and looked up. He tried to catch O'Hara's eye, but to no avail. Giving up, he looked out the window and we continued to drive to the hospital in silence.
PSYCH
"You're lucky, Detective Lassiter," Reynard said as she stitched up my wound. "This could have been a lot worse."
"Yeah, well, that's me. Mr. Lucky," I grumbled trying hard not to wince. Despite the anesthetic she laced the wound with, it still hurt when she continued to pull on it.
I sat on a gurney, the curtain drawn to give me privacy, waiting for the doctor to finish up my stitches. O'Hara and Spencer, after putting his foot down over being admitted-"I don't feel like being studied for the next twelve hours, thank you, so please don't take this the wrong way, but fuck off and leave me alone", were down in the cafeteria waiting for me to get moved to a room. I was really starting to regret agreeing to the damn hospital visit.
"Detective Lassiter," a new voice said making me move from 'really' into 'definitely' territory. Vick yanked the curtain aside, stopping short of me. It was hospital policy, despite my pleading, to call the cops when dealing with a gunshot wound. And of course, Karen would elect herself to take the call.
"Karen," I said meeting her eyes.
"Please, Chief, save any telling offs until he's not at risk of pulling his sutures," Reynard cut in, making the red head my number one favorite person.
"That I can't promise, Dr. Reynard," Karen said in a deadly calm voice. It was boiling beneath the surface, the lecture. I felt like a teenager who had gotten in trouble by his parent. I was half expecting her to ground me for a week, take away my Nintendo or whatever kids played with these days.
"Well, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. If you can't be civilized then I don't want you around my patient." I could have sworn Karen's hand inched toward her gun when Reynard said that, but I could be wrong.
"Fine," Karen sighed, backing away from us. "I'll just go check on Mr. Spencer. Where is he?"
"Cafeteria," Reynard said stiffly, obviously still not over the telling off he gave her.
"Thanks." Vick nodded and left us be. I could hear her heels clicking down the hallway until they disappeared around the corner.
"I probably prolonged the screaming for a few hours," Reynard said flashing me a small smile. I heard a faint snap, telling me I was done being stitched like a ragdoll. She smeared anti-bacterial cream on a new piece of gauze and placed it over my wound. It was cold, making me shiver slightly, but I ignored it.
"You are done," she said once my side was taped. "I'll just go see if that room's ready." She walked away, her sneakered feet almost soundless on the linoleum floor.
I let my eyes wander around the small cubical, catching sight of the plastic bag O'Hara left sitting in a purple chair in the corner. I could easily change my clothes and leave, Reynard never needed to be the wiser, but I thought better of it. Spencer was right, a band of police officers would make catching those assholes easier than just Spencer and me. And O'Hara, too, I guess.
The lights overhead flickered, catching my attention. I didn't recall the lights ever doing that before, but I passed it off as a maintenance thing. Maybe someone was working on another light and hit the wrong wire. No biggie…
I barely thought those last two words when the power blinked off, the generator kicking on seconds later. Mostly used to keep the important machines running, the hallway was partially dark. Save for the floodlights that snapped on.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I slid off the gurney and peaked outside. Nurses and doctors were racing back and forth, a few carrying radios, trying to figure out what was going on. I had a vague notion, but I had to be sure. Pulling myself back into the cubical, I raced to the purple chair and took out the clean clothes Spencer packed for me.
I quickly changed, noting that Henry's clothes were a tad smaller than my own, and raced out into the hallway. While running toward the stairs, I nearly tripped over the shoelaces I had neglected to tie. Regardless of his clothes being small on me, his shoes weren't. My feet nearly slipped out of them a couple times, making me almost turn around and get mine. But there was no time; I had to make sure my hunch wasn't right.
I can honestly say adrenaline was the only thing helping me run as fast as I was going. Without it, I would definitely be walking as slow as molasses down these stairs. Adrenaline aside, I was quickly becoming dizzy and tired. It wasn't even four flights, I shouldn't be tired, but I was. It was complete bullshit.
I heard a scream, making me speed up. I burst through the basement doorway, racing past the morgue and a supply closet to reach the cafeteria. A gunshot rang out, a second scream, and I was sprinting now. I just made it to the door when I heard a window smash and a familiar voice exclaim, "Juliet!"
I pushed the door open, nearly tripping over a body. I glanced down, my heart sputtering. Karen wasn't moving, blood pouring from a chest wound. Before I could kneel and see how hurt she was, see if she was even alive, I heard another familiar voice scream, "CARLTON!"
My head automatically followed the voice, my heart stopping in mid-beat. Juliet was being carried out by the tattooed man. She was beating his back with her fists, her legs kicking uselessly. I had enough time to see his spider tattoo disappear around the corner before Spencer called, "We need to go after her."
I was torn. Juliet was my partner, my friend; I couldn't let her get taken. But Vick was also my friend, my superior, and seriously hurt. She could be… No, I couldn't think it, couldn't even write it. I had no idea what to do.
