When Shawn woke up, everything was dark.

He was blind.

He was alone.

He was in pain.

He was back in the cellar.

It wasn't the first time he had imagined being rescued.

But this time it had felt so real. Hugging Lassie? His dad helping him up the stairs? It had to be real.

Wait. Had Lassie hugged him back? Maybe it wasn't real…

He couldn't accept that it wasn't over. He could not face another moment in this horrible hole. He could not stand the thought of Smoky returning. He couldn't.

He thought he heard noises—strange noises. Smoky must be back with some new torture. He panicked. He felt a grip on his arm. He tried to fight, even though it had never done him any good…

He couldn't get free.

Something stabbed.

Everything faded away again.

oO0Oo

The second time Shawn woke up, he slowly, cautiously raised heavy eyelids. There was a vague, pinkish glow.

He blinked sluggishly a few times, and the light didn't go away.

He could see!

Sort of.

This wasn't the cellar. Where was he? He blinked some more and tried to focus on the shapes in the room, but the harder he tried, the more his head hurt. He could see light, but everything else was just a blur of indistinct shapes.

There was one shape in particular that interested him, a dark shape that was closer than the others.

"Gus?" he whispered. He prayed his buddy was really there.

The lump moved. Came closer. "Hey, Shawn! How do you feel?"

His buddy was there. Shawn couldn't really see him, but he was definitely there. He wasn't in the cellar. The rescue had been real. From the smells and sounds, he guessed he was in the hospital.

Tears of relief filled his eyes. He squeezed them away and focused only on the fact that Gus was with him. He couldn't let himself think about anything else. He reached out a fist; Gus bumped it gently.

"Are you wearing your fireman pjs? Seriously, dude?" His voice was deceptively calm.

Gus knew better. "No! I'm not, Shawn! I'm wearing—" A pause. "You can see? That's awesome!" Gus said excitedly. "They said it should come back any time, but I didn't think… Shawn! That's great!"

"Still blurry," Shawn murmured sleepily. "But we're getting there." He swallowed and tried to look around the room. The pink glow seemed to be coming from a window. "What time is it?"

"Dawn… ish," Gus replied, shrugging. "There's been someone here with you every moment. The doctor said after what you've been through, it would be good if you weren't alone the next time you woke up. I guess the first time you woke up was… well..." Gus trailed off, not wanting to remind his best friend.

"Yeah," was Shawn's only response. He didn't want to think about any of that. He didn't want to think about the cellar or Frey or the things he would do… or the pain… the helplessness… being alone…

He didn't hear Gus.

"Shawn. Shawn? You're okay, Shawn." Then, "Hey, doc?"

Everything faded away again.

oO0Oo

They all took turns sitting with Shawn, although no one except Gus felt they could stay long. With Frey still free, the investigation was their top priority. But even Lassiter offered to take a turn, which surprised everyone.

Gus finished his route early and headed to the hospital to take over for the head detective. Partly, he wanted Lassiter out looking for Frey, and, partly, he wasn't at all sure about the detective's bedside manner.

As he walked down the hall to Shawn's room, Lassiter stormed out of it, looking furious.

"What's wrong? Is Shawn okay?" Gus asked, suddenly worried. Lassiter had left Shawn alone, and that wasn't supposed to happen. Ever. Every time Shawn was alone, or a stranger entered his room, he started to freak out.

"Doesn't he ever take anything seriously?" Lassiter demanded of Gus.

"Um… no… not really," Gus responded, still worried but now also confused.

"Therapy is a legitimate tool. No one should be ashamed to use it!" Lassiter growled in frustration.

Gus's eyebrows nearly climbed off his forehead. Had Lassiter offered to sit with Shawn in order to encourage him to seek therapy? That was weird on so many levels.

On second thought, he supposed it made sense. He knew Lassiter's own journey with therapy had started out rather rough, and it had taken him a while to see the benefits. Gus supposed it only made sense that he would assume Shawn felt the same. And after what Shawn had been through, he would definitely benefit.

But Lassiter was still staring at him, apparently expecting some kind of response.

Personally, Gus just wanted to get to Shawn's room. "You do know Shawn's mom is a psychiatrist?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lassiter responded dismissively. "She sometimes works with the department; everybody knows that."

"Detective Lassiter," Gus proceeded, trying not to make the detective feel more stupid than Shawn apparently had. "Shawn's been seeing a therapist... off and on... for most of his life. I guarantee you he doesn't see anything wrong with it."

Lassiter stared at him, disbelieving. "Then why would he…" Then it all fell into place. Shawn had been teasing him, making fun of the therapy Lassiter had sincerely suggested just so he could rile him up. "Sweet Lady Justice!"

Gus couldn't help but smile a little, although he tried to hide it for Lassiter's benefit. "I think he already has an appointment scheduled for tomorrow."

Lassiter turned on his heel and strode away angrily.

Gus knew Shawn too well, so he spoke to the detective's back, telling him what he needed to hear before he left. "He's also trying to show you he's going to be okay… That things will get back to normal. He wants things to be normal." Because 'normal'—at least for Shawn and Lassiter—was one driving the other crazy. The detective paused, but didn't turn, so Gus took that as permission to continue, "He told me what you did for him in the cellar, Lassie. He appreciates it."

Lassiter threw a growl over his shoulder, understanding, but not liking it. "He's got a funny way of showing it." And he was gone.

Gus sighed. "Yes. Yes, he does."

And he turned and went into Shawn's room.

Shawn was grinning when Gus came in. He had apparently heard most of their conversation through the door. "Dude! Did his ears get red? I bet his ears turned bright red."

Gus sucked his teeth. "Tch! Shawn!"

oO0Oo

Between the painful and exhausting physical therapy on his leg and shoulder, the emotionally draining sessions with his therapist, and the excruciatingly boring meetings with the nutritionist, Shawn slept a lot. Seriously, didn't the nutritionist understand that all he really needed was mole tacos and pineapple smoothies? Sadly, he couldn't convince anyone-not even Gus-to keep him supplied. Something about acidic fruits and certain spices being bad for his digestion right now. He only wished someone would give him a chance to prove how wrong they were. Pineapple would never betray him.

Shawn's internal clock was still way off. He had a hard time knowing day from night. His vision was improving, but he was still incredibly sensitive to light, so, while having the blinds on the windows open would have helped him tell time, he couldn't bear more than the pale rays of dawn he'd seen that first day with Gus.

Gus had promised to bring him some cool sunglasses the next time he visited. The ones the hospital supplied were just embarrassing. He'd rather sit in the dark.

And that's exactly what he was doing when his dad came to relieve Buzz.

"Hey, Dad."

Henry gave him a small smile, but, for some reason, he looked very uncomfortable as he turned on the small bedside light that was about all Shawn would tolerate. Henry knew that at this point, Shawn could see fairly well, but things like facial expressions, anything in small print, any sort of detail was mostly lost in a blur.

Usually, Henry mostly sat and read while Shawn dozed, so this was weird.

"Uh oh,"' thought Shawn silently while he waited for Henry to say whatever it was he didn't want to say. "What happened?" he teased out loud. "Did they cancel Extreme Fishing?" He suspected it had something to do with the investigation. It had only been a few days, but he knew they still hadn't found Frey. His stomach twisted at the thought.

"How're you feeling?" Henry asked, looking at his hands.

Shawn frowned a bit. He was entertained by Henry's discomfort but simultaneously concerned because Henry never hesitated to say what was on his mind. "Oh-kay…"

"Shawn..." Henry started, then stopped.

"Dementia setting in, Dad?"

"Shawn!" Henry rebuked, then shook his head, "Look son, you don't have to…"

And then Shawn put it together. It was Frey. They couldn't find him. They needed Shawn to give them a clue. It was police work 101. You almost always needed a statement from the victim. Why was his dad hesitating?

Ohhh. Henry didn't want him to have to remember.

Shawn smirked, snorted, and shook his head. "Really?" he was silently asking. "The man who knows how my brain works better than anyone. Does he really think there's any chance I haven't been thinking about it? Remembering every second? Really?"

"You made me this way, Dad," he said out loud, annoyed. "Do you really think I haven't been?" He fully expected Henry to staunchly defend himself and everything he'd taught Shawn, like he usually did.

But he didn't.

Instead, Shawn thought he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Henry said. He cursed himself for not being able to look his son in the eye, even if he wasn't sure Shawn would have known the difference.

Shawn didn't like this at all. Henry was supposed to argue with him!

The last few weeks must have been even harder on Henry than Shawn had thought. He knew his dad had nothing to feel guilty about. His dad was supposed to know it, too.

Shawn wanted no part of these feelings, this vulnerability. Before his dad could say any more, Shawn closed his eyes and put his fingers firmly to his temples. "You need a clue?" he asked silently. "I'll give you a clue."

Then, for the first time, he forced himself to purposefully examine his captivity.

Until that moment, the images had hit him randomly, usually when he least expected them and really didn't want them. He'd experienced the memories as a victim.

Now he was in control. Now he was using Frey's actions against him. Now Shawn would find something that could be used to catch his kidnapper. Now he experienced the memories as an investigator.

Henry, watching Shawn closely, heard his heart monitor speed up.

"Shawn…" he cautioned. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of, that forcing Shawn to remember would hurt him.

But the opposite was happening. For the first time, Shawn didn't feel like a victim.

His eyes popped open. "Boat!" he exclaimed, cutting off any further thoughts or feelings. "There's a boat… he's… living? staying? on a boat... Or he was…"

"How do you know?" Henry asked.

"The first time he"—deep breath—"came to... visit…" Shawn swallowed. He was surprised and pretty proud of himself that he was able to talk about it without totally freaking out. "He had some keys hanging on his belt." His heart rate was up, but it was more from excitement than panic. "It had one of those floaty, foam keychains. There was a picture, a wave inside a circle…" Shawn frowned harder. Closed his eyes again. Gave his head a little shake. There was something else…

He tried to catch the memory skirting around the edges of his mind… He grabbed it. "And underneath the cigarette smoke, he smelled like marine fuel—not gas."

Henry was nodding. "Ocean Alexander's logo. That's good work, son."

Shawn's eyes popped open, and he made a face at the compliment. Dad really needed to stop.

Henry just shrugged at him—"deal with it,"—and pulled out his phone.

oO0Oo

Once again, the investigation was re-energized. Because of Frey's status as an ex-con, his lack of funds, and the fact that he'd bounced from halfway house to halfway house in the years since his release, no one had considered a boat. Boats, especially the kind that Ocean Alexander typically built, would be well outside Frey's financial means.

Now they scoured every marina within a hundred miles of Santa Barbara.

Every Ocean Alexander boat had to be searched. That took time. They had to get warrants, they had to find the manpower in an already busy police force, and, sometimes, the police of neighboring towns. They had to convince the mostly wealthy and sometimes entitled people who owned these boats that someone might be squatting.

The search took days, and it only went that fast because Karen Vick moved heaven and earth and pulled in more than a few favors to get it done.

In the meantime, physically, Shawn had continued to improve. His shoulder had regained nearly its full range of motion. He could walk now, almost without a limp, although he still tired easily. His appetite had almost gotten back to normal, and his vision was much improved. The doctor said he could go home any time.

The idea of leaving the hospital absolutely terrified him.

oO0Oo
TBC
oO0Oo

A/N Thanks so much for sticking with me this far. Sorry about the shorter chapter. The last chapter was actually three chapters combined, so it makes this one seem a bit short. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. - Papaya