I'LL BE RIGHT HERE
Chapter Thirty Five
"I knew what the cold was… It was death. Then the cold faded and then I felt warmth. It was the warmth of you."
(From: 'The Astronaut's Wife'.)
-x0x-
Now…
In the whole of his life, Shawn had never been quite so relieved to feel his father's strong arms wrapped around him.
The moment of falling had almost stopped his heart, right there in mid-air. But he wasn't Henry Spencer's son for nothing. All those lessons, drummed into him day after day when he was a child… they had driven him mad, yet he couldn't ignore the sense behind them, or forget the knowledge, just as his father had intended. Then there was Henry's stubborn streak, inherited and twisted by his son into more of a single-minded recklessness; a flat refusal to yield in the face of overwhelming odds. Arrogant stupidity, Shawn sometimes called it, on the rare occasions when he was plagued by self-doubt. Pig-headedness was the colourful phrase that Gus used. "Shawn, you'd argue with the devil if he was dragging you straight to hell."
"Yes, and I'd win," Shawn agreed. "You know I don't like to be told what to do."
And yet.
And yet it was Henry's lesson that taught him how to fall, and how to slip between the waves, protecting himself from the shock of the freezing water by covering his nose and mouth so that he didn't inhale on impact and flood his lungs.
It was Henry who taught him the best way to float – the Dead Man, an ominous name for a hopeful strategy. Lying on his front seemed counter-intuitive but Shawn chose to believe in his father's wisdom, and rolled over like an obedient puppy.
It was Henry who taught him that cold water could have an alarming effect on a person's mental state. Which was why, when he heard the distant voice and saw a bobbing head, Shawn felt certain that he was hallucinating.
He had sunk to the depths and risen with a struggle. Every breath of air was a victory but Shawn was still afraid. If his mind was playing tricks on him… If he was all alone… If the current swept him away from the ship altogether… What then? Magnum had lasted for hours, treading water – but Magnum (as Henry had reminded eleven year-old Shawn with brutal honesty) was only a fictional character.
Clinging to all that remained of his optimism, Shawn cried out to the bobbing illusion. When it replied, sounding just like his father, the hope that he felt made him tingle all over – or was that the creeping cold? No, he thought. Don't go there…
Dad? Is that you? I'm not dead – I'm right here…
"So tired," he murmured, through the water that bubbled around his lips.
As Henry reached his side and gripped his arm, like the wonderful flesh and blood man that he was, Shawn tried to be strong but inside he was overcome by such a powerful sense of relief that he almost cried. The Spencer men were not accustomed to sharing their feelings and so he slipped the mask back on as quickly as he could, all the while half-suspecting that Henry had seen right through him and knew exactly what it was that Shawn felt unable to say.
With the sling wrapped around him, and Henry behind him, Shawn surrendered all control at last and let himself be pulled along through the water like a marlin on a line. Maybe that was a foolish mistake, but he didn't care anymore. It was pleasant at first; almost funny, in fact - but the adrenaline that had kept him going for so long was finally leaving him and, as it did so, Shawn began to shiver in earnest. Henry's grip was iron. It squeezed the air out of his lungs, but there was too much water surging all around him and he was afraid to breathe in. With an effort, he clamped his hand back over his mouth and held it there, terrified.
"Breathe, kid," his father said, into his ear.
"C-can't," he burst out, and back went the hand.
Henry shifted his grip without loosening it. "Better?"
Shawn tried to nod. His head felt so much heavier than usual and his neck was rigid.
"Close your eyes." There was a tremor behind the familiar words, and Shawn, with a jolt, understood what his father had risked to save him.
"N-no hats, Dad…"
"No hats," Henry agreed. "No room. Damn, it's cold. Shawn, c-concentrate. Pick something…"
His first thought was Juliet, as always. But Shawn shook his head, dislodging the memory of her perfect smile, and the comical faces she pulled whenever she thought no one was paying attention. Henry – his father – was the one who held him right now, and that grip was so powerful, it grounded him in a way he had never thought possible. How could he think about anything else?
Once more, he lifted his hand away from his mouth.
"You c-came," he said.
"They couldn't stop me."
It was easy to imagine Henry's rueful grin. Shawn smiled as well, and took in a great gulp of air, spitting out the water that came with it. Salty, but not like potato chips. The after-taste was horrible. "I b-bet Lassie tried. Where is he?"
"On board the ship."
"And… J-Jules…?" He was almost afraid to ask the question.
"Yes, Shawn," said his father. "She's here too."
The tension that he hadn't even known was there began to melt away. She's here too, he repeated – aloud, or in his head? He couldn't quite be sure, but the thought was a peaceful one. He drifted for a while, forgetting his surroundings. It was a shock when he felt several new pairs of hands upon him. Shuddering out of his reverie, he found himself staring up into the face of his best friend, and his eyes grew wide.
"'M dreaming, right?" he said solemnly.
Gus gave him a wild look, but when he replied, his tone was deceptively light. "What did I tell you, Shawn? No emergencies."
"Sorry, b-buddy," Shawn mumbled. "I couldn't call 911. I lost my ph-phone…"
-x0x-
"Mr. Spencer."
He was wrapped up in blankets and shiny foil, like a breakfast burrito. His wet clothes had gone, which was mildly disconcerting. His thoughts were blurry and his limbs were shaking uncontrollably.
"Mr. Spencer. Shawn."
"Oh, hey, Chief," he said, opening his eyes. The world around him was indistinct. "You look f-fuzzy."
Chief Vick's sigh was remarkably expressive. "It's been a long night," she confessed.
"No kidding," he said lightly, and turned away, blinking to try and restore his vision.
"How are you feeling?"
Dumb question, Shawn thought, but he appreciated the ritual nonetheless, and the kindness that hid behind it. "Popsicle," he mumbled.
Vick snorted. "Yes," she admitted, "that is what you remind me of. Both of you."
That made him sit up – or, at least, he tried to. "Dad okay?"
"Oh yes, he's fine… for an obstinate fool."
"D-don't mean that."
"No," she said, with a rush of warmth. "I don't." Then her voice softened. "I'm glad you're safe. The pair of you," she whispered.
Me too, Shawn replied in his head, and once again he drifted.
-x0x-
When he came back to himself for the second time, Gus was sitting beside him, gnawing on a power bar.
Shawn began to salivate. With a rush, he remembered how hungry he was. "Got any more of those?"
"What? Oh!" Gus almost dropped the bar, trying not to look guilty. "You know me, Shawn. I stress-eat when I'm nervous."
"You must be… nervous a lot," Shawn replied with a faint chuckle. "Gimme…"
Working one hand free took longer than he had expected but at least the constant shivering had subsided. Score a point for the magic silver blanket. Maybe we ought to get one for the Psych office. They're pretty snug, Shawn thought happily.
Meanwhile, Gus was staring at the state of his finger. The layers of micropore had washed away and it was all too easy to see the damage. "Shawn…"
"Not now. Just… give me the power bar." He snatched it from his friend and crammed it into his mouth. When he tried to swallow, however, it congealed into an unpleasant lump and steadfastly refused to go down any further. Shawn retched in dismay, coughing it up like a cat with a hairball and dropping it onto the deck, where it lay between them. Gus tried not to look at it. His lips were pursed. "Or not," Shawn muttered, red in the face. "Maybe a drink...?"
Gus scurried away and came back with a squishy foil packet of something wet and sweet. Shawn sucked at it greedily. When it was all gone, he lay back again, feeling much better. "So, how was your day?" he ventured.
"Oh," said Gus, "you know. Fun at the office. Some pretty good quiches. Then I found out my friends were missing, so I gave my speech away to the worst of all possible candidates. And then…" He lowered his voice. "I had to share a tiny boat with Lassie and the Dunlap sisters…"
"Sounds awful." Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Aside from the quiches, of course."
Gus stared at him silently, burdened by a heavy thought that dragged his shoulders down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled at last.
"So you should be. Um… why?" said Shawn, feeling confused.
"I left you with Cal. And I told you not to call me. If I hadn't, maybe you and Dennis…" Gus faltered. Then he looked up at the ship, which was towering over them. "Where is Dennis, by the way? And why did Meek bring you here? Shawn, what on earth is going on?"
"Buddy," Shawn sighed. "It's a long story. Fetch the chief, 'cos I don't want to tell it twice. And then make yourself comfortable…"