"Family of Shawn Spencer?" a female voice called into the waiting room.
Henry stood up and the doctor walked to the very tired looking man. Everyone else crowded around causing the doctor's perfectly shaped eyebrows to arch.
"It's okay, they're family," said Henry.
"I'm Dr. Alice Rimmer. I was going to be consulting on Shawn's knee surgery tomorrow to fix his cartilage, but his trauma team asked me to stick around. Shawn's breathing was being supported before – he was further compromised," the doctor said uncomfortably. "But the team decided based on Shawn's oxygen saturation levels to intubate him. Shawn has a large contusion on his temple and on the back of his head which has caused a mild concussion; that coupled with the cold temperatures in – where he was uh, found, compromised his breathing, but with the intubation, his O2 levels have stabilized nicely. Shawn's feet need stitches in several places and his right heel is broken. With the stitches Shawn needs and the orthopedics, I will be responsible for, we feel it would be best to get him into surgery tonight and take care of everything at once. The sooner that's taken care of, the sooner we can extubate, which is ideal to prevent pneumonia or other complications that could further exacerbate any risks."
"Risks?" Henry asked. "Can I see him?"
"You can come with me; you may notice the same sort of equipment you saw before, but this time it's warming measures rather than cooling – Dr. Pomme briefed me on your son's injuries from earlier. As soon as your son is fully stable, we'll get started."
"Mr. Spencer," Gus said, emerging from an examination room leaning on an IV pole like it alone grounded him to the earth, startling everyone as he'd been so quiet and distant. "Can I see, Shawn, please?"
The Dr. nodded at Henry that Gus could come if it was okay with him.
"Of course, Gus," Henry said, putting his hand on Gus' shoulder.
XXXXXXX
Shawn's wounds had been cleaned but the blood-red lines under the medical tape stood out starkly against his paper-white skin. Wires snaked out near Shawn's chest which was covered in thick blankets. Gus brushed up against the IV bag as he stood next to his friend. It was dripping warmed fluids. Shawn's eyes were already closed with light gauze pads.
"Excuse me, dear," a nurse said to Henry as she gently put a surgical cap on Shawn's unruly, still wax-covered hair.
"Oh, he won't like that," Gus said sadly. "You look like Lunch Lady Doris, Shawn. Once you get out of here, I'm never going to let you live that down. You hear me? You're gonna be fine, okay?"
Before Henry was ready, before he'd found words that he could detach from his throat, the doctor announced that they were ready to take Shawn to surgery. It was just too soon, and the word risks stood out amongst the others the doctor had spoken.
"You were so brave, Shawn. Be brave once more then we can all go home. I'm proud of you, son."
Whatever Gus had to say to Shawn was in the quiet language of silence that only the two friends could ever share and yet somehow miraculously end up on the same page. A small part of Henry was jealous of the exchange, but he smiled in spite of himself. They were Spock and Captain Kirk, Gilligan and The Skipper, E.T. and Elliot and the perfect combination of all their heroes of watching TV together for decades (though they argued about which was which). They were Shawn and Gus - heroes.
XXXXXX
Most of Buzz McNabb's face was hidden beneath surgical tape and plastic tubes. His dark lashes fluttered over eyes that were roving in closed sockets. The officer was surrounded by strangers. Moments of basic lucidity laced with terror as being settled into the ICU recovery room was confused with Yin's relentless torments to his body and mind. His skin crawled with a thousand pins and needles from the cold and his jaws clenched together so tightly that the only thing keeping them from shattering like his sanity was the plastic tube that felt more like strangulation than lifesaving breaths of life.
"Whatever drugs that psycho gave this guy are still dampening the sedatives," a masked doctor said in frustration to an officer standing guard in the corner. It's frankly a miracle he survived the anesthetic."
The officer in the corner removed the surgical mask he'd been required to wear in the surgical suite but could only shake his head in sadness. Attitudes of the frontline officers had changed with proper information but that didn't change the fact that Officer McNabb was still under arrest with very serious charges pending.
The doctor stepped into the hall and before he bent to take a much-deserved drink of water from the fountain, he was surrounded and the door he had just appeared through, was shadowed by the form of yet another officer and two others.
"Our son … is he…" Mr. McNabb's weary voice croaked. The doctor explained Buzz's surgeries and risks as he did with any family but looked to Chief Vick when he was asked whether the McNabb's could see their son. After trading a significant look with the chief, the doctor gave the only news he had.
"Due to the nature of your son's injuries, surgery was the only option to save his life. Ideally, we'd have waited until the drugs he was exposed to both initially and during the subsequent attacks were flushed as they interfere with sedation. We were lucky that our anesthesiologist recently studied new techniques used on critically injured street drug users who are compromised by both their drug of choice and naloxone interventions before emergency surgeries, and even though we were unable to ascertain quickly the type of drug he was exposed to tonight, some of the techniques were still useful."
"Please thank him or her for us," Mrs. McNabb said quietly. "And, please tell my son that we love him."
"I have no say whether you can see your son or not, but," the doctor said, turning to Vick, "that young man is fighting to live and while his pain level is controlled as best we can, we can't induce a coma as we would have been able to do in ideal circumstances. He's going to need support."
"Please give me a moment," Chief Vick said, wiping what looked suspiciously like tears from her eyes as she set off down the hallway to where L.A. had set up a command center in the very room where they had met previously. She was back in minutes, cellphone in hand.
"Thank you for talking to the judge at this late hour, Chief," Vick was heard before hanging up. She turned to Buzz's parents.
"Mr. and Mrs. McNabb, I wish we were seeing you on a better occasion, but I was able to get your son released from police custody on his own recognizance. That means you will be able to see him at the hospital's discretion and he will be temporarily committed here under the psychiatric act – as um, this is so hard to say – The judge wants to make sure he's not a danger to himself or others. He'll remain in the ICU until he's stable. I want to assure you that I'm going to be working on an alternative to Buzz having to stay here once he's stable and I want to go on record to tell you that I believe Buzz is one of the best officers Santa Barbara has and that his integrity is unmarred based on what I believe to be irrefutable evidence. Your son is as much a victim as Mr. Spencer was - as everyone was."
Mr. and Mrs. McNabb sat down to wait until their son was out of recovery – if he in fact recovered.
XXXXXX
Throughout the following day, Chief Vick ordered her officers to go to the hotel rooms she had reserved nearby to eat and sleep. Henry and Gus had been harder to convince but both looked on the brink of collapse. Gus's rolled up sleeve revealed a bandage from where his IV had been.
"Would it make you feel better to know that I will not be leaving until Lassiter reports back for a medical follow-up later on and that police guards have been placed on McNabb and Shawn, guards that were handpicked by L.A.'s Chief?" Vick asked. "I know the press has been brutal, but I promise you, if they try to bother our boys, they will regret it and they will not get anywhere near them."
"It's an infamous case," Henry stated. "I had a reporter in my face as soon as I stepped into the men's room. How do these things leak out so fast?" … Henry smiled as Shawn's voice interrupted his thoughts as if his son were beside him … well, dad, at your age things tend to just leak out because…
Vick let the long pause in Henry's story go as further evidence that the man needed rest. She waited for him to continue.
"They already want to know about the "killer cop" and the psychic detective and why it took so long to put an end to the Yin/Yang killings."
"Well, we did sort of storm L.A. and close down a major tourist attraction and one of the city's largest hospitals," Vick reminded Henry. It's not so much a leak as a dam break."
"A damn dam break," Gus said, channeling Shawn as well.
"Shawn never does anything small," Henry smiled tightly. "Okay, but you'll call us if anything changes or if Shawn or Buzz wakes?"
"I promise, now go," Vick said, "I have tons of paperwork to keep me busy and I just might relieve one of the guards for a coffee break, I haven't been in the field in a long time and I've been given some privilege here."
XXXXXXXXXX
Shawn woke to voices he didn't recognize. He took stock of his body. He tried to draw his knees up to relieve his aching back and bit back a cry of pain behind the obstruction in his parched throat when his heel tried to support the weight of his leg. He tried to remain positive, he could feel his legs … even though they currently felt like raw, bloody stumps. He opened his eyes to muted light which did nothing to help with the blurriness. The pain in his head made him grateful that there were no bright lights around, he just might decide to follow the light back into oblivion or to where Father Westley assured many churchgoers it would lead … if there is such a place and if liars are allowed there, he thought sadly.
"Welcome back, Mr. Spencer," came a calming, female voice.
But that was the wrong thing to say because, at the moment, Shawn didn't know where exactly he was being welcomed back to. When a hand brushed against his, Shawn's vitals monitors sped up.
"N - nooo. Where 'm I?" Shawn tried to rasp around the respirator which he now fought. Didn't matter if the hands that touched him were gentle, Yang had caressed him in the past like a favorite pet or something worse. The nurse gently removed his hands from his respirator.
"Shawn, Mr. Spencer, listen, you're in the hospital. You're safe," the nurse soothed, pressing a call button to summon a doctor. "Listen, just as soon as we remove that ventilator you seem to be hating, we'll call your family and they'll be right over to see you, promise."
Shawn triggered the ventilator strongly trying to calm himself as figures came out of the mist all around him. He had no choice but to hope this wasn't some sick game of Yin's. But … Yin died, right? How? And … had Gus held a gun?
"Okay, Shawn, you're going to feel some discomfort as we remove the tube but I'm going to need you to cough as strongly as you can once it's clear, okay?" a man's voice instructed.
Shawn nodded as hands on both sides of him gently held his shoulders. He gagged as the ventilator tube snaked up his throat, tears leaking from the corners of his clouded eyes which did nothing to clear them. The hydraulic whoosh sound of his bed was accompanied by a groan as it insisted that the psychic detective give up his prone position. He coughed roughly, feeling a basin slipped against his chin and cheek and the taste of paraffin induced more than coughing. If he never saw another candle or Baby Bell Cheese again in his life he'd be happy.
Shawn lay back, exhausted as a nasal cannula was taped across his lip blowing in much-needed oxygen. Shawn was glad for the control of his own breaths. Now to figure out the rest of his body.
"Better?" the familiar voice of asked, leaning over his patient with a penlight at the ready.
"I'm just going to check your pupil responses and then we can talk pain, deal?"
"No – no more meds … can't th-think this way," Shawn slurred.
"I doubt the agony you're currently in is helping," Dr. Pomme replied as he pried Shawn's left eye wider and shone the light.
"Owwww, m'not in pain," Shawn howled.
"The sheets your fists are currently balled into would beg to differ," Pomme said kindly.
Shawn let go of the sheets and sucked in his breath until he got dizzy which did nothing to improve his vision as the doctor asked him to follow his finger with his eyes.
Shawn tried to tamp down the hope that flared in his chest when he could vaguely see the object in front of him as it moved slowly back and forth in front of him. After all, he couldn't even tell if it was a finger, he could just see something teasing at the edge of his vision.
"I'm encouraged by your being able to follow my finger. Your eyes are healing remarkably well all things considered with the bandages being off because of your … well, unfortunate…"
"Encounter with Mr. Yin," Shawn coughed. It was like saying Lord Voldemort's name. That brought an ironic smile to Shawn's chapped lips. Gus had whispered the name of the Dark Lord as he read some of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows aloud to Shawn when he thought he was asleep recovering from appendix surgery.
"Encounter with Mr. Yin. Sounds like a best seller to me," the nurse said. She meant well but that story was the stuff of nightmares,
"I'm thinking that in two or three days your vision will be restored and will continue to improve. Now as my boss' sheets are being shredded in your hands I assume you know your knee and heel have had some repairs. After some physiotherapy and rest, in four months or so you'll be back to …" Pomme looked at his charts, at least that's what Shawn thought he saw, "you'll be able to play the piano again." Yep, old Doc Rimmer has a sense of humor, wrote that in your chart."
Shawn suddenly realized he had no idea what time it was, or even what day. Any levity was forgotten when he understood what being here did to him. All he had felt was his own body, his own being. His brain didn't care that he was exhausted. The emptiness that had crept into his bones from the onslaught that was Yin, was suddenly, uncontrollably filled with images of everyone he loved suffering all at once, unrelenting as his eyes roved under clenched lids as if he could shut them out.
"How 'bout those pain meds now, Shawn?" Dr. Pomme asked kindly, trying to give Shawn a sense of control that was so important to victims of violence.
Shawn nodded mutely. He felt the warmth rush into him, his jaw unlocking, the sheets slipping from his fists again but his knuckles remaining stubbornly fisted. The images that were on fast forward before, slowed into a sluggish slide show, devoid of color like one of Yin's old black and white movies.
XXXXXXXX
Shawn counted the walking gait of the person hurrying up – or down the hall outside his room in a hurry. Dad. The room was dimmed, and Shawn didn't bother to try to focus his eyes, it hadn't helped any of the other forty-two times he'd tried in the last forty-two minutes. But the steps didn't stop.
"Shawn, thank God!" came Henry's voice. Warm breath right next to his ear, before he'd even had time to sense the hug that was in full progress and which from once, in a very long while, he didn't recoil but closed his eyes despite their uselessness and relished the safety that had always been present in his dad's arms.
Scents came to Shawn's nose. Henry's recent shower had not been with his usual line of Old Spice brand of soap, shampoo, aftershave, and deodorant. They were fresh, but smelled white … if white was a scent, generic and non-allergenic – ah, hotel toiletries then.
"'M okay, dad. Promise," Shawn rasped.
It was when Henry didn't reply right away that Shawn knew how okay he hadn't been in the last two days or so.
"How's Gus?" Shawn deflected, not wanting to ask about Juliet because he really didn't want to know if Buzz had been telling the truth about telling Juliet that he wasn't psychic. Then it dawned on Shawn all at once. Buzz knew. Yin had told him. Even if somehow, Juliet didn't know, it wouldn't be long until Buzz was debriefed if Buzz was still…
"Wait," Shawn pleaded before Henry could even answer his son's first question about his best friend. "Uh, um, dad, is Buzz still…"
"McNabb is putting up one hell of a fight. His body is nearly clear of the drugs Yin dosed him with and when his breathing improved doctors removed his respirator. He still hasn't woken but Vick said he's responding sporadically to his parent's voices."
"That's – that's good," Shawn said gratefully past the dryness in his throat.
Knowing that Shawn needed information quickly before his brain filled in gaps with fearful speculation, Henry attempted to anticipate his son's queries starting with the one he'd voiced first.
"Guster is just fine. Vick had rented him a room at the hotel, but he was so out of it when we got back that I insisted he sleep on one of the beds in my room. It was either that or stick him in here with you and then he wouldn't have slept at all. He'd have been watching you."
Shawn nodded in agreement, glad that his friend had been sent to rest.
Shawn lowered his voice, not that he needed to much, the sore throat from the ventilator had mostly taken any potential volume away He'd been unconscious, yet somehow, the voices from the ordeal had reached him in a jumble of memories like a jigsaw puzzle of a polar bear eating a marshmallow in a snowstorm.
Juliet to his left, Lassie to his left, Gus – somehow in front of him, Yin … everywhere. A shot.
"Dad, Gus … he…"
"That Juliet is one fine cop; she finally got a clear shot and…"
"Yeah," Shawn agreed quickly. He smiled sadly thinking about Juliet's chivalry which he dared not hope could extend to his lies. All he could do was be thankful that in time, his friends would heal, with or without him depending if they could forgive him.
"Dad, I tried to – to handle this on my own. I just wasn't fast enough, and I didn't know Yin had gotten to Buzz and now everything's so messed up. Gus is going to feel so guilty, Buzz probably told Juliet everything and Buzz's job and everything will be…"
Henry put his hand on Shawn's chest. "Easy there, kid, your monitors speed up any more and you'll have those nurses back in here kicking me out," Henry said gently. "And who else is a victim here? How many victims in this room, son?"
Shawn didn't bother opening his eyes back up or answering to the new version of the hat/victim game. He was exhausted and he couldn't see the understanding, sad smile on his father's face anyway. He didn't have to. And he hated the pity that accompanied it.
"You didn't ask for any of this, Shawn. And just so you know you're not dying because I'm being too nice to you, I mean, yes, you know the things you will need to eventually sort out but everything that happened with Yin and Yang, son, none of that is your fault. I've never been madder or prouder of you for trying to save people on your own but like it or not, sometimes even a person like you needs a hand."
Shawn let his dad's words wash over him as exhaustion claimed him as he heard his dad's weight taken by the plastic chair right beside his bed and a warm, reassuring hand clasped around his wrist.
XXXXXXXX
Shawn woke slowly to voices in his room. There was a great improvement to the way his head felt both in terms of clarity and comfort. He took an experimental sniff of the air. The waxy smell was gone, replaced with the usual hospital disinfectant smells and – was that lavender? He reached up and touched the top of his own head. Past a few bandages, his hair felt soft instead of like a mold of Sonic The Hedgehog.
"Gus?" Shawn queried without opening his eyes.
"Yeah, it's me, Shawn," Gus said nervously.
"Did you wash my hair? That's so…"
"Well, if you must know, Shawn, the nurse was going to use Dove. You know how you hate that stuff and how it dries your scalp out," Gus said defensively until he looked over to see his friend's eyes opened and a smile plastered to his tired face.
"It does indeed. Why my dad here, his head is already snowing from the hotel shampoo. Where did you get lavender oil at a hotel, Gus?" Shawn questioned as if avoiding normal questions after just waking up from near-death would make it all go away.
"Well, you see, there was a nice officer from the impound lot and she dropped off my stuff from the blueberry as a courtesy. You know I always keep a supply of grooming products on hand."
There was an awkward silence before Shawn found himself apologizing once again. His best friend was out of a job because of him. Had shot someone because of him.
"Your dad already told me what you're trying to do. I was just talking to McNabb's parents. Buzz is awake and blaming himself for everything, too. For the love of God, Shawn, just let it stop here. Bad people did this. All of it. The things that happened because of them in between were still one hundred percent their fault. Not yours. Not McNabb's. Not my-"
"Not yours," Shawn rasped tiredly as Henry passed him some ice chips.
Gus's eyes clouded with tears as he hugged his best friend so gently, afraid he might fall apart or disappear.
Shawn greeted visitors with false stoicism over the next few hours, doctors and officers alike. Everyone who came in who wasn't in the clouded form in Shawn's eyes of a petite blonde with a voice he was desperate for, got a cursory greeting and a subdued no I'm fine, really.
XXXXXXXX
After a short patient transfer flight from L.A. to Santa Barbara four days later. Shawn could be heard arguing uselessly that he should be able to go straight home, that he didn't need to be admitted to hospital any longer.
"I am not going in there," Shawn protested upon reading, Psychiatric Ward printed on the arch of the hallway ceiling above his gurney as it was whisked by. Well, it might have read, Psychic Ward with his slowly improving vision but that would be way too awesome.
"Mr. Spenser, need I remind you how much expense this tragedy has cost the taxpayers both of L.A. and Santa Barbara? McNabb is still technically under arrest … um, I mean the care of the state, under guard. Sharing a room with him makes financial sense since you are also under a protection order until we can ascertain whether you are still under threat," Vick said, leaning over his gurney and blocking all light with her authority despite her thin frame.
Despite knowing with no uncertainty that McNabb would never hurt a fly – or him, Shawn wasn't sure he was ready to face the man that had been programmed to kill him. But this was Shawn, it wasn't because he was scared for his safety, or mad at Buzz. It all came down to guilt. If he'd just stayed with Gus, if he'd just waited for help maybe Buzz would have been saved before so much damage had been done.
"Okay," Shawn said quietly.
Vick felt like crap for lying to Shawn like that. The truth was, the powers that be were so grateful that the Yin/Yang saga seemed at an end, that her budget had been approved for tying up loose ends like security and such. The truth was McNabb was slipping further away from them and guilt was eating her psychic detective alive. She needed her department back to normal. Too many good officers had lost their lives or senses to the maniacs called Yin and Yang and they would not claim any more, not under her watch. And if Shawn happened to benefit from McNabb's court-ordered psych evaluations and sessions as his roommate, so be it.
"Thanks, Karen," Henry sighed as Shawn was assured by a nurse that his residency in this ward was voluntary despite the fact that in addition to their assigned police guards, there were huge orderlies bustling about the wing.
McNabb was tucked into a bed in the rather spacious room. Shawn absently rubbed at his arm where his IV had been as McNabb's IVs were hung above him and his oxygen mask was fitted more snugly to his face. A nurse noted his vitals in a chart while the pale officer stared blankly at the ceiling.
Shawn flinched when two orderlies tried to help him from his gurney to his bed. He'd been transferring on his own for two days. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a nurse make a notation on a chart that he knew damn well was about him. So much for only being in the psych ward to help the taxpayer. He glared at his father who had tried to convince him to seek professional help for years
XXXXXXXX
Despite insisting that the flight hadn't left him spent, Shawn fell asleep quickly after getting settled in. When he awoke, The window to his right tried to allow the moon to shine in through the bars that interrupted its natural purpose. Shawn groped for the button to raise the head of his bed, gulping air that seemed too thick. He needed whole pictures now, not fragments, not captivity.
"Mr. Spenser, is everything alright?" a nurse asked, shutting off the heart monitor alarm that had blared.
"I – I need air. I need out of here. They said I can leave this room. Prove it. Now. I can't be here," he half commanded, half pleaded.
Shawn was shocked when the no-nonsense nurse left for a minute and returned with a wheelchair.
"Would you like to sit in the atrium for a bit, Mr. Spenser?" she asked kindly.
Now Shawn felt stupid. "Y – yes … yeah, that would be good," he replied, running a shaky hand over his face.
Shawn appreciated that the nurse didn't try to make small talk. She showed her ID badge to one of the guards who followed at a discreet distance to the atrium while the other guard stayed on the door to his and McNabb's room.
The floor-to-ceiling windows in the atrium of the psychiatric ward allowed a whitish-yellow full moon to stencil the shadows of small bushes and tall billowy plants onto the gleaming tiled floors. In one second, Shawn's sharp eyes detected movement among the branches, and he couldn't imagine why any sparrow in his right mind would want to be inside a place like this when all he wanted was to leave. Now. Then he spotted the sunflower seeds that had obviously been placed purposely near the small wishing well with the tiny waterfall.
"So, cunning, not crazy then, huh, little guy?" Shawn whispered to the sparrow who cocked his head to the side as if understanding the human sitting near him.
Once Shawn convinced himself that the moon was the same inside his room as out of it, it was okay again. His ribs still ached from the CPR and took turns with his leg pulsing in time with his heartbeat. But what hurt most was the admission that his nightmares included McNabb standing over his bed, ready to finish what Yin had started. Yin was living in his head and he needed to leave the building. McNabb needed to be exonerated, put out of his misery before the damage was irreparable and though Shawn had tried to tell Buzz that nothing was his fault, the officer would have to forgive himself first and to do that, he needed to touch base with his true self.
McNabb turned his head to face the window when Shawn came back into the room whereas before, he'd merely pretended to sleep.
"Nabby, I see you when you're sleeping, I see you when you wake, I know if you've been bad or good, so for the love of pineapple soup stop making me recite Santa Claus and talk to me, man."
Shawn could have sworn he'd heard Buzz snap his eyes shut. It was true, when one sense lagged, others picked up, and in Shawn's case, it was an enhanced experience to say the least.
Shawn had been hiding his pain all day. Every time he wanted to reach up and touch his sore chest or shift so his cast didn't feel so much a part of him, he fought off the urge, especially if his dad, Gus or anyone else was present. But it seemed now, he'd have to pull out the big guns. Shawn reached under his tee shirt and pulled the sticky heart monitors off of his chest after disconnecting the alarm just as he'd seen the nurse do. He couldn't have them give him away. If McNabb wanted to ignore him, then McNabb would have to ignore his own protective instincts, his own selflessness, his Nabbyness as Gus had once called it.
Shawn fumbled for the last of the monitors and yanked only to accidentally catch the edge of his bandages from where a drainage tube had been used to drain his lung.
"Ow, oh God," Shawn moaned, biting his lip and squinting his eyes shut tight.
McNabb peaked surreptitiously at him across the dimmed room, but he didn't speak.
So much for having to fake needing help to get McNabb to acknowledge him. Warmth trickled down his side. Shawn tried to sit up but his abdominal muscles protested and his broken leg refused to provide help by way of leverage.
"Shawn!" McNabb called hoarsely, his oxygen mask in his right hand from where he'd yanked it from his face and did a half sit up in alarm before falling back onto his own pillows in a world of hurt.
Shawn knew he had seconds before a nurse would appear.
"McNabb. You gotta talk to me, man, I don't think I can do this," Shawn pleaded in a minute of naked truth he assured himself was supreme acting. If McNabb would hobble on severed toes to get a parched Shawn a drink of water, he would talk to him now. Or maybe Yin really had taken his final victim…
"I called a n-nurse, Shawn. Stay … just stay calm." McNabb's voice broken with disuse and uncertainty held a touch of the level-headed police officer in its timbre and wasn't that a crappy thing that Shawn was using that word, - timbre, the very word that Cameron Lundtz had used on him during hostage negotiations and caveman-like competition over Juliet – who still hadn't been in to see him.
In minutes, Shawn's hasty attempt to reapply his heart monitors was thwarted. Somehow, the very clever detective hadn't caught when McNabb had pressed his call button to save him.
"A lot of people don't like the monitors, but we can't be taking them off, Shawn, may I call you Shawn?" the nurse said patiently.
We can't be taking them off? Shawn thought. Only one of me here. Is she talking to me like a patient, well, not a patient – a patient who belongs in this ward?
Shawn glimpsed his chest for the first time since being in the hospital. The fact that he'd technically died hit him squarely when the mottled purples, yellows and greens swirled in almost hand-shaped kaleidoscope quality. The bandages over where the drainage tubes had been were spotted in red from his animations to lure McNabb out and seeing them made them real. Made them hurt. When the nurse reapplied the sticky monitors on tiny, shaved patches of his chest, Shawn managed the audacity to voice his vanity.
"My sternum bush will never be the same," Shawn said sadly, trying to mask the myriad of poisonous things swirling in his brain.
McNabb looked over at his friend, no matter if no one would ever call McNabb friend after what he'd done to them. McNabb was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Just because he was an overgrown teddy bear didn't mean he was dumb. He'd seen the way Gus could always distract the overworked psychic's brain. He could see Shawn was getting overwhelmed now, how his eyes bolted out the window wanting to take his body with them, could see the veins sticking out in Shawn's neck as he rubbed absently at his eyes. Could see that Shawn was baiting him and failing at it because he was just as lost. Shawn gasped as his wounds were cleaned and redressed. And McNabb knew what he had to do.
"Sternum bush? You still have a sternum bush? Luxury, Mine's on the inside now. Lashed together to hold my insides in," McNabb said in a perfect English accent mimicking Monty Python's skit.
"Your insides are lashed together? Luxury, mine are still floating around like a sack of loose pebbles," Shawn mimicked in a less effective English accent.
'You puppies will never have a grand stern bush like mine," Carlton Lassiter growled, striding in like he owned the place.
"Lassieface, avert your eyes!" Shawn said, unable to shake his accent.
Lassiter froze, unable to do as Shawn instructed quick enough to avoid having his stomach turned at the sight of Shawn's chest. The tall officer collected himself in what he was sure was enough time to not be seen in a moment of empathy but hoping he hadn't interrupted McNabb's reluctant return to the living.
"Okay, Shawn, just a little sting as I apply the antiseptic," the nurse said and Shawn was shocked into not feeling it as Lassiter turned away, hand on his stomach looking ashen.
The nurse got Shawn a new tee-shirt and by the time Shawn lay back in his bed, he was worn and at a loss for words. He didn't know whether to be glad Lassiter interrupted he and McNabb's feeble attempts to find a new normal or mad. But the next thing that came out McNabb's mouth, cinched it. He didn't have the words to fix this.
"Th -thanks for coming, Sir," McNabb addressed Lassiter. Chief Vick wouldn't accept my badge and gun. I want – please – for you to take my wallet badge here," McNabb said, his voice breaking as he held out his palm which held his badge so tightly it had imprinted onto the tender skin there like a tattoo he'd held it for so long waiting for his head detective to come get it.
"No," Lassiter said before folding his tall frame into a significantly more comfortable chair than he'd sat in at the L.A. hospital.
"Sir?" McNabb questioned, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat.
"Exactly what part of no, don't you understand, Officer McNabb?" Lassiter repeated without even looking at his stricken subordinate. Shawn tried to ground himself from the pain of bandage changes by observing the goings-on.
Lassiter must have worked late. His gun was still holstered at his shoulder. It was past midnight. He took off his jacket and folded it across the other chair in between the two beds. He didn't acknowledge the clatter of McNabb's badge hitting the floor, nor did he attempt to pick it up. Shawn kept his eyes fixed on the head detective, grounded himself from the pain in pure observation as Lassiter pulled a book from his folded jacket and proceeded to read aloud.
"The Princess Bride, by S. Morgenstern. Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Wesley but she never called him that. "Farmboy, polish my horse's saddle, I want to see my face shining in it by morning." "As you wish," the farm boy whispered, watching Buttercup walk away."
Shawn had seen The Princess Bride. He wasn't some kid, home from school sick. Didn't need someone babysitting him, reading to him. He kicked himself to avoid pointing out that he was of sound mind, a grown-up, mostly tax-paying citizen – (well Gus usually took care of that), Afterall, faking a bit of PTSD usually got him some pineapple ice cream from the motherly nurse. And I am faking, Shawn thought to himself, his chin rising in silent challenge that didn't come. Ah, this is for McNabb … Okay then. He could be quiet, in a freaked-out sort of way as Lassiter's voice changed in narration of different characters along the way.
In the morning, Lassiter was gone. The book sat on a table near a potted plant with a bookmark placed somewhere between the Dread Pirate Roberts and the R.O.U.S's - rodents of unusual size, Shawn couldn't remember. Lassiter had succeeded, Shawn had slept a full night without waking.
Shawn looked over toward McNabb's bed. The officer was nowhere to be seen. In the movies, that always meant that someone had died. Shawn had to convince himself that a scenario like that was unlikely. Buzz had been stable upon transfer to Santa Barbara.
The guard outside the room heard Shawn's slight gasp as he raised the head of his bed and peaked around the corner of the door. "He's out for a scan," the guard told him.
Shawn let out a breath as the breakfast trays were brought into the room by overly cheerful candy-stripers. He groaned as he lifted the lid wondering what hellish, Oompa-Loompa-infested kitchen made the green Jell-O that seemed to supply all of California's hospitals. It hardly qualified as soft food with its grainy, undissolved crystals crunching between the teeth loud enough to be heard.
"You gonna eat that?" Gus asked cheerfully walking in and picking up a plastic spoon and scooping the disgusting snotty substance without waiting for an answer.
Gus was dressed in his other job clothing as Shawn liked to call his stylish suits.
"Wait," Shawn said, not wanting to have to remind his best friend that he'd been fired. If Gus was in this much denial, he might as well pull up a bed beside he and McNabb. " Why are you dressed like that?"
"I'm going to pick up my things from West Coast Pharmaceuticals today. I'm most certainly not going in there as a civilian, guards all over me watching that I don't steal something," Gus said indignantly. Shawn avoided pointing out that pharmaceutical reps were in fact, civilians because Gus fancied himself a superhero of modern medicine.
If there was an award for bad timing, the orderly who pushed an exhausted looking McNabb into the room would win hands down. Shawn and Gus tried to change the touchy subject of Gus' job loss, but the damage was done.
McNabb was settled into bed. He tried for silence but groaned trying to roll to face the window. Losing Gus his job was the least of his sins, he'd tried to kill Shawn and being forgiven was something he just wasn't ready for. His badge gleamed at him mockingly on the windowsill, placed where the sun would hit it. If he turned away from the people in the room, his badge would stare right back at him as no doubt Lassiter intended when he'd placed it there before leaving last night.
Shawn elbowed Gus, who was sitting on the side of his bed staring at the Jell-O. Gus followed his gaze to the figure in the bed whose shoulders were shaking as he tried to swallow his guilt. Inaudible apologies hiccupped.
"Gus, I'm so sorry. I can't fix this. I tried to resign, I told Vick I called your boss. I asked to be transferred to the jail ward…"
"You did what, McNabb?" Gus shouted. Don't you watch jail movies? Do you know what would happen to you if you went to jail! You're a cop! Come on, son!"
"And I'd deserve it," McNabb whispered.
"This is so messed up," Gus said sadly. He wanted to tell McNabb that he'd shot Yin and that even though technically it had been a public service, it didn't come without guilt. But somewhere deep down, it wasn't devoid of pride too and Gus wasn't proud of feeling that way.
Gus stirred the disgusting Jell-O without success. If anything, it now resembled the flavored Metamucil he'd been tasked to sell to doctors before he'd been fired. Well, the verbal constipation had to end now. The more Gus thought about the situation, the angrier he got at his boss for being so eager to believe him a thief.
"Oh for Pete's sake, McNabb, it's not your fault. Everybody knows that my boss is a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low life, snake licking, dirt eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog- kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-assed, bug- eyed, stiff- legged, spotty- lipped, worm- headed sack of sh-awn, do you have some Tylenol?"
"You do realize the irony of stealing Clark Griswald's speech verbatim from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation while defending yourself from being called a thief, right?" Shawn asked his best friend, a growing sense of pride in his chest when he caught McNabb shake his head.
"I've heard it both ways," Gus sassed, stealing Shawn's usual declaration too.
Hearing the two friends banter made McNabb miss Francine even more. Francine had been released from the hospital, but McNabb had flatly refused to see her. How could he face her after losing them their apartment? How could he have let her come into harm's way?
"You gonna eat that?" Gus asked McNabb's back about the green Jell-O that solidified further with every moment under its plastic wrap.
"You cannot be serious," McNabb sighed. "I just had a scope shoved down my throat to see if I'm healed enough to eat solid food and you want to eat my Jell-O?"
"Well, you did lose me my job," Gus said fairly. Shawn winced in the longest silence since – ever, until the shaking of McNabb's shoulders changed. He was laughing!
"You've done it again, you beautiful, magic lavender head," Shawn said, fist-bumping Gus as Gus snagged McNabb's Jell-O.
"You might as well face us, Buzz," Shawn coaxed. Having your back turned to us isn't going to help anything."
"I can't," McNabb whispered.
"Yes you can," Shawn said, irritation creeping into his voice. If he could face McNabb after what happened then it was only fair that the officer made an effort.
"No, I mean I can't. I'm stuck. I'm not supposed to be on my side. I'm gonna be in so much trouble when the nurse gets back."
"Well, I'd like to want to help you," Shawn said unhelpfully. "But…"
Gus took pity on McNabb after several painful attempts to un-turtle himself from his side.
Gus cringed in sympathy at the pain and effort it took for McNabb to roll onto his back even with his help. The veins stood out in the dark-haired man's neck and still pink from the wax forearms and a few tears escaped his scrunched-up eyes as he let out his breath.
"Oh god, Oh fu- rancine!" Buzz choked. Gus lowered his head and made his way to sit on Shawn's bed again feeling like an intruder in a private moment.
Buzz pushed himself up with his bandaged hands. All color drained from his face and he hunched like a caged animal clutching his abdomen as Francine was blocked from going to his side. Chief Vick stood behind her looking formidable with her arms crossed as she blocked the doorway. This reunion was going to happen, one way or another.
"I – I told you not to let her come here!" Buzz shouted, his eyes wild and still wet with pain. "I am dangerous! I can't hurt her again. I've ruined her life!"
Francine stood with her chin up looking at her husband, letting him finish his ludicrous speech. Vick was now flanked by the security guards and an orderly and the nurse pushed into the room having heard Buzz's heart monitors speed up.
"No, you can't hurt me again, Buzz, because you never hurt me a first time, there has to be a first in order for a second to happen. That wasn't you – it never was."
The nurse looked very used to these types of situations on her ward. She carried on under the watchful eyes of the security. Buzz only had eyes for Francine. The nurse easily slid a sedative into the port of McNabb's IV line and stood back and waited patiently.
In seconds, Buzz's body began to sway. Gus stepped forward while nodding to the orderly and helped the nurse lie Buzz back on his pillows and straighten his legs.
"Gus, can you – can you take Francine to her parent's house, p-please?"
Gus sniffled; he was already sympathetically crying as he refused Buzz's request. Gus made his way back to Shawn who begged his best friend to get the wheelchair and take him – anywhere.
As they left the room, Shawn looked back. Francine was bent over stroking her husband's brow under the watchful eyes of security and Buzz's slurred pleading for her to leave and his heartbreaking sobs erased the glimpse of peace they'd shared only moments before.
Chief Vick followed Shawn and Gus into the atrium but waited for an invitation to invade their personal space by the fountain. No one spoke. The bags under Shawn's eyes seemed to have grown, maybe filled with tears that he commanded to stay put.
"Gus, you actually cleptoed McNabb's Jell-O? The man is having a nervous breakdown," Shawn said in half-hearted disgust.
"He's having a nervous breakthrough, actually, Shawn. And I'm doing the man a favor. Sick people should not be eating this," Gus replied, squeezing the container into his mouth in lieu of the spoon he'd forgotten to poach.
Vick looked at her watch. Eight in the morning and already drained.
"The Jell-O was a mistake, at least for me. I'm allowed to eat as of yesterday," Shawn said, though the very thought of it was repulsive. 'I don't know about McNabb, that's why they did the scan this morning. I didn't eat yet because I just didn't want to eat in front of Buzz."
Gus immediately started reciting the riot act to his best friend, listing all the complications he could experience from not eating.
Gus, it's only been one day since they said I could eat and I've had smoothies, I'm not going to get scurvy in one day, m'not a pirate - as cool as that would be," Shawn replied.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Vick said, taking out her phone and moving away far enough to keep an eye on Shawn but not to be heard.
The nurse who had attended to Buzz walked by, her nose in a chart. As she slipped a pen behind her ear, Shawn caught her attention.
"How's he doing?"
"Your friend is resting now. He didn't further injure himself and he's been given a mild sedative. His wife has asked to stay so you will notice that one of your assigned guards will be present in the room rather than both outside"
Shawn's face darkened. He wasn't ready to answer the questions he knew that Francine would have.
Gus sat on the side of the fountain when Vick returned.
"I have some good news. Buzz's blood test results have come in. The high levels of drugs in his body and the evidence of how they were administered will exonerate him of any wrongdoing. Having said that, Internal Affairs have stuck their noses in and are closely monitoring the situation and asking for access to full psychiatric assessments as well as physical ones in order to determine how everything will appear on his record of service."
"So he basically gets a not-guilty-by-reason-of-insanity on his service record instead of a commendation, after all he's been through," Shawn said bitterly. "He wants to be a detective, this is just another thing that will help shut 'im down."
Vick raised her eyebrows but quickly realized there was no reason to be surprised. Shawn could always see right through situations to the heart.
'You know I will do my best to see that if – when – Buzz returns, he will be treated fairly.
"I know you will, Chief, I'm sorry. I just don't want … them to win.' They've taken enough, Shawn thought sadly. Juliet had yet to visit, either in L.A. or even back home. Maybe she couldn't face him knowing his secret, that he was a fraud. Maybe she had tons of paperwork to fill out in order to report his lies to the chief, maybe Buzz hadn't told her what Yin had told him, maybe she just didn't want to see him.
And Shawn's chest had an entirely different kind of ache to add to his broken ribs and bruises. Gus and Vick had the decency not to notice the glassy eyed smile he tried to give them.
"Damn concussion," Shawn said, "they warned me about the ... watery eyes."
"Oh yeah, that's a big symptom of concussion," Gus agreed entirely too quickly.
Shawn looked down at his hands resting in his blanketed lap feeling very old. Vick and Gus made small talk. Shawn smiled despite his tears. Come on Gus, you are not seriously trying to distract Vick for me with your line about Pluto, she's a married woman.
"Who ordered pancakes, original and potato?"
Shawn shook his head, not daring to look up. Was he really that crazy that he'd conjured her to come just because he needed to see her so badly?
"J – Jules – Juliet. I mean, O'Hara," Shawn jumbled out, quickly wiping the back of his hand across his face.
"Shawn, how are you? Gus?" Juliet said. "Chief asked me to bring by some grub for her favorite, starving, psychic detective." The blonde cop gave a significant nod to Shawn. If she knew, she wasn't saying a word and she wasn't going to. It took only a minute of intense study to realize that Juliet didn't know his secret. Buzz had never told her. The momentary elation of that thought deflated just as quickly. Then why hadn't she come to see him until her chief had probably ordered her to bring food?
The pancakes were from Shawn and Gus' favorite breakfast spot. The syrup was real maple, not table syrup, the smoky quality, though its smell seemed to warm him from the inside like sitting by a fire, still did nothing for his appetite.
Gus opened his eco-friendly container and sniffed appreciatively at the steam that danced out. Vick smiled as Gus forked a square of butter and meticulously covered every inch of the top pancake and cut into the stack, unfortunately snaking a mouthful before thinking to ask if Juliet had brought any sausage, which of course she had. She tossed him a carton of milk and smiled.
Shawn's hands were only slightly pink from the wax burns but they were still shiny with ointment. He made a conscious effort to appear enthusiastic about the food. If his dad got wind of him not eating, he'd never hear the end of it and he didn't want any more poking and prodding from the doctors or nurses either. His fingers slipped on the silverware Juliet had brought from the station, the officers had made an eco pact to avoid the plastic variety. Small talk was stuck in his throat somewhere between the apologies for not catching Yin sooner to avoid making her suffer and some vague desire to ask her if she'd heard about Pluto. Yep, he didn't even have a pickup line of his own for the strongest, most beautiful woman he'd ever met.
Before Shawn could register what was happening, Juliet had forked a piece of pancake from her own plate into his mouth. He'd swallowed without remembering if he'd even chewed and it wasn't the mapley goodness as Gus called it that was making him feel warm inside, it was Juliet's horrified expression.
"Oh, my – Oh, I'm so sorry, Shawn. I fed you a bite off my fork, that's so gross, I'm so sorry!"
It was the most wonderful thing Shawn had never tasted. Thinking at regular speed for the first time since his concussion and surgeries, he allowed his own pancakes to slide from his lap tray onto the floor only to look forlornly at them while the little sparrow who was sitting expectantly on the other bench looked positively elated.
'Oh, man, looks like my little buddy over there is having pancakes. I can wait until lunch. Butter fingers, you know?" he said, waving his shiny digits helplessly.
Juliet picked up the tray, crumbing a small bit up for Shawn's feathered friend. "Nonsense, we'll share," she said. "That place Vick sent me to that you guys like so much serves huge portions"
No one said a word when Juliet proceeded to continue shoveling food to Shawn on a one for me, one for you schedule but the change in the young psychic detective was instant and Vick saw a bit of color in her junior detective's pale face for the first time since she'd returned to Santa Barbara after exhaustive debriefings in L.A..
Ever the wingman and best friend a guy could ever have, Gus pointed out that the food in hospitals was, though nutritionally adequate to prevent scurvy and sudden onset piracy (SOP), lacked any incentive to want to eat due to its congealed, skinned-over, slimy, moist-even-the-damned-toast quality of the food.
"Well, maybe we can set up something, like take turns cooking for our boys," O'Hara stated. "Well, you know, not our boys, Chief, your boys. You know, your employees. Our fellow workers."
"I think that would be a lovely idea, detective, after all, I hear SOP can be very serious." Vick turned to Gus and smiled.
"My feathered buddy is full, think we should thirty-second-rule McNabb if he's allowed to eat if he's awake?"
"There's plenty more that hasn't been on a hospital floor," Vick said, shaking her head. "Probably enough for Buzz and Francie. I doubt she's had anything yet today, either. I know if I was in her shoes, I'd be too nervous to eat."
"If McNabb's awake from the mild sedative, we should pop in if he's calmed down, offer a bit of support before getting back to work," Vick said to Juliet before turning to Gus to ask him to help her clear the takeout containers. Gus smiled as Juliet took the handles of Shawn's wheelchair and began taking him back to his room.
Vick and Juliet hugged Francine who'd stood up, still not taking her hand from Buzz's whose eyes were red and glassy.
"Chief," Buzz greeted hoarsely.
"Officer McNabb," Vick greeted back. "I see that you've been given a breakfast tray.
Buzz's face turned a bit green. 'Yeah, just, can't right now."
"There's a lot of that going around," Vick said sternly. "You will need to be in peak physical shape upon your return to my department, is that clear, officer?"
'Y-yes ma'am," Buzz stammered before seeing her irate face replace her stern one. "I mean, Chief Vick. Yes, Chief."
"Good." Vick's demeanor softened. "Then you need to eat these pancakes instead of – what is that mess? In any case, there's enough for you and Francie there and we don't need any episodes of scurvy or piracy in our department, do we?"
"No, Chief," McNabb said a bit puzzled over the piracy comment as Francie raised his bed and he sniffed the offerings in the wrappers appreciatively.
"I'll head out with you," Gus said. "I have to go pick up my last paycheck and personal effects from Central Coast. Don't suppose I could get a ride? The Blueberry was a company car…"
"Of course, Mr. Guster," Vick said.
'I'll see you later Shawn, your dad is coming by in an hour."
Juliet came near Shawn's bed onto which he'd successfully transferred despite the exhaustion. He never wanted to appear weak in front of her, well, he had died in front of her but he'd been unconscious at the time, so it didn't count. Right?
'I'll, uh, see you, Shawn," Juliet said awkwardly, leaning down as if to hug but settling for a pat on the back. She smiled. Had Shawn sniffed her shampoo?
When Gus took one last look at his friend, whose eyes were already closing, the even breaths and soft smile on his lips let Gus know that with time, Shawn would be okay. Francine had taken a page out of Vick's books and ordered Buzz to try a bite of food, to which he complied without argument. Maybe, just maybe, Yin had finally failed.
A/N So a little downtime to heal in this chapter and then on to some more action with a surprise guest you will know from the show in the next chapter. It's all written, I'm just fixing as many errors as possible before posting. Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me. Be excellent to each other! Really.