14

Buzz dragged a hand down his face and shook his head to clear it. If there was one thing he hated, it was working the night shift. And if there was anything he hated more than the night shift, it was responding to false burglary calls far out of town in the middle of the night. Especially when one of his friends was missing.

The thought of Shawn suffering made a cold ice cube slid down into the pit of his stomach. The psychic certainly never deserved that. Buzz shook his head again and tried not to think about it. He still had several hours in his shift left, and he didn't want to spend it moping. He wanted to be productive, useful.

He was sure that Shawn would be found. Safe and sound.

At least, he was sure that Shawn would be telling him that if he could, just to make Buzz feel better. The psychic was just that sort of wonderful person.

The rain had finally begun to stop, so Buzz switched off the wipers. He still drove a bit more slowly than the regular speed limit. Although the cruiser's tires were new and well-treaded, he always felt it was better to be safe than sorry. The road was deserted, anyway, but the dark forest on either side of him was decidedly creepy, particularly this time of night. Or morning, actually, considering it was about 4:30 am.

Buzz let off of the gas pedal a bit as he rounded a corner, but then gasped and slammed on the brakes. The cruiser screeched to a stop on the slick road, the high beams illuminating a lone figure a ways ahead. The man was lying prostrate at the edge of the road, unmoving.

"Oh, no," the rookie breathed, an ice cube sliding down his stomach. A hit and run, he was sure.

The young officer quickly unbuckled and climbed out of the police car, shooting off a quick prayer that the poor guy was still alive. His hopes were low, though, because as he neared he caught the dark stains on the man's shirt, which was soaked through and clung to his pale skin. He knelt beside him and pressed his fingers to his jugular, holding his breath.

It was faint, and slow, but a pulse was there.

Instincts kicking in, Buzz grasped the talkie on his shoulder and spoke into it. "Dispatch, this is Officer McNab. I need an ambulance to Mountain Drive, near the intersection of El Cielito. I have a hit and run, I think."

The radio crackled, informing him that his information and request was being relayed. "Do you have the victim's condition?"

Buzz gently moved the man to get a better look at him without moving him from his position. His heart skipped a few beats. The beard was scruffier than usual, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it was: "Shawn…"

And then he was moving, more determined than ever. As Buzz hurried back to his cruiser, he watched his surroundings warily and spoke into the talkie again. "The victim is missing person Shawn Spencer. It is not a hit and run. Contact Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara. ETA on the bus?"

"Ambulance ETA eight minutes," responded Dispatch. "Backup ETA ten minutes."

"10-4."

Handing moving to the gun holstered at his hip, the officer kept an ear and eye out for any movement and popped the trunk of the car. There was a blanket in there for emergencies, and this was certainly an emergency. Shawn was blue in the lips, and wasn't shivering, a definite sign of severe hypothermia. Scratchy blanket tucked firmly under one arm, Buzz practically sprinted back to his friend. With one last look around to confirm that no one was sticking close so as to finish Shawn off, Buzz started to work.

"Come on, Shawn," he muttered, trying to get the freezing wet clothes off of him while moving the injured man as little as possible. "Shawn, can you hear me? Shawn!"

He gave up on the shirt for the moment and decided that it would be easier to take off his jeans. Buzz moved to do so, not fully comprehending the implication behind the fact that the waistband was already unbuttoned. He had hardly pulled them halfway down his buttocks when Shawn suddenly stirred, making a small noise in his throat.

"Shawn!" Buzz said. "Hold on, just let me—"

Shawn didn't seem to hear him, eyes wide but unseeing. He reached down towards Buzz's hands and tried to pry them away, but his cold, stiff fingers could only scrabble helplessly at the officer's knuckles. When Shawn tried to crawl away, Buzz abandoned his task and resorted to wrapping the blanket over his wet clothes, hoping at least to warm him a little.

It broke his heart to see Shawn like this, disoriented and sluggish—and scared.

"Shawn, listen to me," Buzz said, a bit loudly in an attempt to break through Shawn's haze. The psychic's eyes began to droop, his muscles going lax once more. "No, no, don't go to sleep! Shawn, stay awake! Please, Shawn!" He shook him a little, but it did not rouse him.

Buzz sat back on his heels and listened, heart in his throat, for the sound of sirens. So far, nothing.

"Dispatch," he said in a shaky voice, thumbing the talkie. "ETA on that ambulance?"