"All right, Lassiter," the DA growled, flipping on the lights to his office as Juliet and Lassiter followed him inside. "I have four open homicide trials, two armed robberies and a whole slew of car-jackings. Do you want to tell me why the hell I'm opening my office at four o'clock in the morning to get a file on some punk teenager who got pulled over with half an ounce of pot on him? What does it have to do with the SBPD bombing?"

"I don't know, Jensen." Lassiter told him honestly, leaning against the desk in the center of the room while Jensen rummaged through a stack of identical manila folders. "Probably nothing…except that file is the reason Spencer and McNab were at the station. It was the only thing in my desk Spencer could have been after. I want to know why he was poking around on a case he had nothing to do with. It might be a lead, it might not…but it's somewhere to start, at least."

Jensen handed him the file. "How are McNab and Spencer doing?" he asked quietly. "Any word yet?"

Lassiter shrugged stiffly, his eyes hardening as he flipped through the thin file, which only had a few pages in it. "Not yet. They just got buried under a damn building. It's not good."

Jensen nodded. "I'm sorry. When you catch the son of a bitch who did it, I'll charge him with whatever will stick. I promise. Just do it by the book so his lawyer can't get him off on a technicality."

Lassiter nodded blankly, not really listening as his brow furrowed in confusion over something in the file.

"What is it?" Juliet asked, walking over and looking over his shoulder at the reports.

"I don't know…" Lassiter murmured.

He thought for a moment, scrutinizing the forms carefully.

"Look at this, O'Hara," he said finally, hand them over to her. "Johnson made the bust on the Murphy kid. His name's on the report."

"So?" Juliet shrugged, reading it over quickly and handing it back to him. "He pulled him over for going through a stop sign and busted him for possession when the car smelled like pot. What's the big deal?"

"He made the bust…" Lassiter continued, the wheels in his head spinning furiously as he tried to remember that night. "But he didn't say anything in his initial report about the amount of drugs in the vehicle. I was there when they brought the kid in. There were at least a couple of ounces."

"If there were a couple of ounces, Lassiter, we would have charged him with Intent to Sell!" Jensen snapped impatiently. "I told you that on the phone today! And Johnson didn't have to say the amounts in his initial report, because when he booked the pot into evidence he logged it in at half an ounce! Look at the next page. It's a copy of the evidence log from that night."

"I did look at it." Lassiter returned, shoving the page in his face. "And Johnson made the bust, but he's not the one who logged the drugs into evidence. Another cop did."

"Who?" Juliet asked.

"Davis."

"Why would Davis book drugs from Johnson's bust?" Juliet wondered aloud, her brow furrowing. "They're not partners."

"And what the hell does any of this have to do with the SBPD blowing up?" Jensen added.

"I don't know…" Lassiter muttered, shutting the file. "But it's a place to start."

Shawn could feel the painkillers flowing through the IV sticking out of his arm.

They weren't working.

Not even a little bit

In fact, the pain surging from his head through his entire body was kicking the painkiller's ass.

He clenched his eyes shut, biting back the groans that wanted to escape his lips.

In the corner of the dark room, Henry was asleep in a chair. After Shawn had woken up, he had only lasted about an hour before finally succumbing to sleep.

Shawn held his breath, listening to his father's quiet, rhythmic snoring.

It was something to concentrate on besides the pain…

He exhaled slowly, trying to match his breathing to his father's.

"I'm glad you're here…"

The memory stuck him so suddenly it almost knocked the wind out of him.

"I'm glad you're here…"

He could actually hear Buzz's wheezing, gasping voice forcing the words out as he struggled to stay conscious underground. It echoed off the walls of the almost silent room, sending another searing burst of pain surging through Shawn's body.

He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, trying to count the raised, stucco bumps.

No matter how many times he told the doctor he couldn't remember anything, told his father he couldn't remember anything, he couldn't really believe the lie himself.

He couldn't convince himself he didn't remember anything.

He remembered every damn detail…

Every damn moment,

"Are you sure Detective Lassiter won't mind…?"

His body lurched as a cold chill shot painfully down his spine.

This time he couldn't fight it. He groaned, louder than he meant to.

Henry was instantly awake. "Shawn?" he grunted, shaking himself out of his daze and stumbling over to his son's bed. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Shawn gasped, feeling his face turning pale as he shook his head feverishly. "Nothing…"

Henry glanced at the IV. "Do you need more painkillers?"

"No. They're working. Just…Buzz…"

Henry sighed, shaking his head. "Gus is checking on him. Last I knew, he wasn't awake yet. But you know that, Shawn."

"I know…"

Henry rubbed his head sleepily, walking back to his chair and pulling his jacket over him again.

"It just should be me…" Shawn murmured into the darkness when he heard his father's snoring start up again. "I should be the one who's not waking up."