Disclaimers et al-- See Chapter 1

A/N: A HUGE thank you to all of you that left reviews! The feedback is most appreciated. Special thanks again to my extraordinary beta, k.

On a quick geographical note- I've taken some very vague "creative liberties" with geography. I'm from NY and haven't traveled west of the Mississippi. I "googled" Santa Barbara and points in and around there, but if I'm way off base, please let me know.

A guilt-ridden Shawn, a wounded Lassiter… Without further ado, Chapter 2.

Disoriented

by: Miss Weather


OoOo Chapter 2 oOoO

Anything that can go wrong, will—at the worst possible moment.- Finagle's Law

Shawn sighed deeply as he stared at the slouching detective seated next to him. One hour of rest Lassie, no more. Even with his skills of observation, he couldn't tell if the older man was asleep or had merely succumbed to his head injury.

Shawn couldn't help but grin at that odd scene before him. If only circumstances were different, the entertaining scene of a sleeping Lassiter being propped up by two large boxes would have provided him with enough Lassie jokes and stories for a month.

"But they aren't," he reminded himself with a frown.

Shawn stood and moved closer to inspect his "handiwork," carefully stepping over the man's outstretched legs. It looked ridiculously uncomfortable to Shawn and he couldn't figure out why Lassiter had insisted on sitting up.

Stupid, stubborn idiot.

He studied Lassiter, making mental notes of his coloring and breathing. The detective's face was a sickly, pale gray. His head was resting heavily against the boxes, leaving the right half of his face exposed. Despite the makeshift bandages, his face was coated with blood. Shawn's frown deepened as he saw fresh blood had soaked through the cloth. Cursing their luck for perhaps the hundredth time this evening, he scoped the room for more bandage material.

Head wounds bleed a lot, don't panic.

Walking over to his discarded sweatshirt, he stepped onto the bottom of the shirt and quickly tore off the thin hood. It wasn't much in the way of fabric, but he figured any little bit would help.

Shawn turned back to his patient. "Time to fix your bandages, Lassie."

He spoke because he had to. An uncomfortable silence had filled the room again, making the room feel even more claustrophobic than it had before. Shawn didn't like the quiet. Never had, never will. He had made it his mission to never leave any space quiet for long. To his delight, this served as a major source of annoyance for his family, friends, teachers, coworkers and employers (both past and present).

Shawn squatted in front of Lassiter to begin the process of adjusting the saturated bandages. He caught a glimpse of the wound and winced in sympathy for the unconscious detective.

The wound streaked from far side of his forehead to just above his temple, near his hairline. It was long and deep, surrounded by bruised and bloodied skin. As he replaced his makeshift bandage, he noticed that the bleeding had slowed somewhat since the first bandaging attempt about two hours ago. He heard Lassiter groan, as he firmly pressed down on the cloth and finished securing his bandages. Shawn eyed him throughout the process and was a bit disappointed when the other man didn't regain consciousness at any point. With the bandages more or less in place, he gently maneuvered the remnants of his sweatshirt under Lassiter's head.

Satisfied, Shawn stretched and started to pace again. Contrary to his earlier comments, he was worried, very worried. Things had gone to hell faster than he could have imagined. Lassiter was badly injured; Lewis and Brackett were probably on their way out of the country. They were trapped with no weapons, no water, no food, no cell phones and no way of calling for help.

"Odds are definitely against us, eh, Lassie?" Shawn quietly asked the other man.

He wasn't expecting an answer and continued on with his pacing. His spirits were somewhat higher after talking to Lassiter. Somewhat. He was still very concerned about the memory loss, fatigue and intense headache. Henry Spencer didn't raise an idiot. Shawn could easily see that the detective was in extreme pain. Unlike the TV shows, he knew that Lassiter wasn't going to make a spontaneous recovery. He had his fair share of accidents (motorcycle and otherwise) and knew a bad concussion when he saw one. Or at least, he hoped it was just a concussion and nothing more serious.

Shawn had been standing next to Lassiter when things went to hell. Gunfire had forced them to seek refuge behind a bunch of wooden crates. Lassiter provided cover fire, a stalling tactic, hoping that the "bad guys" would run out of ammo first. It was just the two of them and only one of the "good guys" had a gun.

In the blink of an eye, everything had changed for the worst. Shawn had been distracted by a series of very close shots, forcing him to cover his head as splinters went flying. He never saw it happen. When he turned his head to look back to check on Lassiter, he found the man lying on the floor.

Shawn flinched, recalling the scene. He had stared in mute horror, as the blood covered the man's head, spreading slowly on the concrete floor. He had been positive the detective was dead.

"Damn. Damn it. Damn it!" Shawn shouted as he kicked a small box.

He looked quickly to his left to see if his outburst had woken the detective. It hadn't.

"Calm down," Shawn told himself, as he rubbed his sore foot.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 9:30 pm. He figured he'd give Lassiter a bit longer, which would hopefully give him enough time to get a grip on things.

Shawn wearily rubbed his hands over his face as he thought back over the last two days. Nothing had gone as planned. He knew that he was partly responsible for this fiasco. He had been incredibly bored and looking for some adventure. Gus was out of town at some conference in Seattle, his father was away fishing, and Jules was home sick with the flu. Their P.I. business had no open cases; the SBPD hadn't called.

He had been left alone. Bored and alone, he thought dejectedly. Shawn was not one to sit around idle for long. It took a little deception and subtle questioning, but he was able to weasel the information that he wanted out of McNabb.

Shawn learned that Lassiter had been assigned to investigate a robbery involving stolen arms and ammunitions. And he wanted in. It took only a handful of "visions" for him to persuade the Chief to allow him to tag along while Jules was out. The case wasn't all that complicated and he had good reason to believe that he'd be able to one-up Lassiter and solve it with ease. They had probable suspects, an undercover officer in place and likely associations. It was just a matter of catching everyone in the act. They needed to identify where the seller and black market buyer were going to meet. Shawn had done some legwork and narrowed down the locations. After that, it was just a matter of going through the motions: the set-up, the "vision," and the reveal. His plan was perfect.

Not perfect, he thought as he glanced at the figure on the floor.

Shawn could feel his stomach churn sharply with the familiar pangs of guilt. He felt a weird sense of responsibility over happened tonight. He should have trusted his instincts. Who the hell am I kidding? My father was right. Missed the big picture. I was too focused on my plan. Screwed up big time, Shawn thought with a sad shake of his head. With all of his training, he wasn't able to spot the deception.

OoOoOoO

5 Days Earlier

"Chief, are kidding me?" Lassiter shouted at the woman seated across from him.

Shawn covered a smirk, watching the scene unfold with unbridled glee.

Karen Vick, Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department, scowled deeply. "Detective Lassiter, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you," she said with a cold, hard tone.

"But --" Lassiter tried to interrupt, but whatever argument he wanted to offer was squelched by a sharp look from the SBPD's Chief.

This wasn't going to be a win for Lassiter, Shawn thought. Even as a bystander in the conversation, Shawn could clearly see that Chief Vick had made up her mind. And much to his relief, the Head Detective wasn't going to dissuade her from her decision.

"No, buts, Carlton," she said as she stared intently. Shawn could tell that her tolerance for both of the men seated within her office was spent. "End of discussion. Mr. Spencer will be assisting in this case. He has provided valuable information thus far and I feel that he might offer up a different perspective that might help locate these stolen arms."

Shawn watched as Lassiter's head darted back and forth from the Chief to him, back to the Chief.

Not what you had in mind, eh, Lassie? He smiled brightly at the other man's obvious confusion and agitation.

Still looking at Lassiter, she continued, "Update Mr. Spencer and keep me appraised of the situation. That understood?"

Lassiter frowned deeply, but nodded. In one fluid motion, he stood and exited the Chief's office.

Shawn smiled and winked to the Chief as he moved to follow the other man out of the room.

"Oh, and Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't do anything that will make me regret my decision."

"No worries, Chief. I will be on my best behavior. Scout's honor," Shawn said, as he gave her a small salute.

Once excused from the Chief's office, Shawn made his way over to Lassiter's office. The detective was seated, and already on the phone. Shawn slowly walked over, eager to eavesdrop on the detective's conversation. Unfortunately for him, Lassiter hung up before he could hear anything worthwhile.

"So, partner. What's next?" Shawn asked cheerfully as he perched himself on the edge of Lassiter's desk.

Lassiter scowled. "First, we are not partners. Second, I don't have time to deal with your nonsense. So, if you want to play detective-- fine, but stay out of my way."

Shawn's eyebrows rose. "Oh, don't be that way, Lassie. You're just jealous because I've been able to do more for this case in the last 24 hours than you've been able to accomplish in the last two weeks."

He knew that he was dancing very close to the edge. And without Gus and Jules around to rein him in, he felt free to dance as close to that "edge" as he could. Antagonizing Lassiter might be fun, but only to a point. If he wasn't careful, he might blow his chances at getting to work this case. He briefly wondered if there could be cosmic backlash for his taunting. Shawn knew from experience that you couldn't poke at a snake without it eventually striking back. He was well acquainted with that particular lesson after his short-lived stint with Dave's Exotic Pet Emporium back in '99. Given plenty of time and opportunity, he knew that Lassiter would strike back.

Before either man could make a move, they were interrupted by the arrival of a younger detective. Shawn grinned, instantly recognizing the other man.

"Spencer? Shawn Spencer? That you?" the younger detective asked with a matching grin.

"Dude! Frank? Frankenstein! My long lost, evil twin brother," Shawn answered back with a melodramatic flare. "Oh wait, I can't remember, who was the evil twin? Never mind. How the hell are ya?"

Both men laughed as they shook hands in greeting. Clearly displeased with the antics (especially Shawn's), Lassiter interrupted the two with a loud "ahem."

The young detective standing before them was none other than Frank Lewis Jr., son of Santa Barbara's finest and former officer Frank Lewis Sr.

Lewis gave a small embarrassed grin as he greeted Lassiter. "Oh. Hi, Sir, Chief Vick said that I should meet up with you here."

Lassiter nodded. "I take it you two know each other?"

"Yeah, our fathers worked patrol together. I haven't seen this guy since... um… Since, we were 13?"

Shawn nodded in agreement. "Sounds about right."

Lassiter gave a quick look between the two men. "Okay. Getting back to things at hand, I wanted to review the final preparations with you before your meeting with Brackett and his people."

"So," Shawn interrupted, earning a dark glare from Lassiter, "what are you doing back here in Santa Barbara?"

"I'm out on loan from the SFPD," Lewis offered back with some hesitation as he noticed the other detective's scowl. "What I want to know is why are you here? You a cop, now? I thought Shawn Spencer would sooner become a priest than become a cop."

"Do you seriously have to do this now?" Lassiter grumbled, obviously irritated with his loss of control over the conversation.

Shawn laughed as he shook his head. "Not a cop, I'm head psychic and Lassiter's partner."

Lassiter allowed a grimace to slip at the mention of partnering, though he masked it faster than Shawn had thought was possible. "Detective Frank Lewis, Spencer will be observing and helping out with the case. And he is, most certainly, not my partner."

He made a small gesture to the younger detective, as he said "Lewis, here, is out on loan to us from SFPD. He will be our inside man and will establish contact once the meeting points are identified. Everyone up to date? Ready to return to the business at hand?"

"Psychic?" Lewis's eyes went wide as he inquired with a grin.

"Yep, psychic detective," Shawn answered.

"How very handy. Any thought on who will win tonight's game at Anaheim?"

Shawn furrowed his brow and placed his right hand near his temple, using his patented "in deep thought" pose.

"Hmm… I see shooting stars? No wait, not shooting; more like falling. Definitely falling. And they aren't stars, they're rays. Hmm…" Shawn flapped his arms frantically and said, "I see not one angel, but group of them. The spirits say the Angels are going to win. I'd put the spread by at least 3."

"Yeah. Considering that it's Tampa Bay that was probably far too easy of a question." Lewis smiled, amused. Though, as Shawn expected, Lassiter was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

The head detective rose from his seat and grumbled, "Stop encouraging him, Lewis. I need to grab some files. Let's meet back here in one hour." Not waiting for an answer, he moved up out of his desk chair, giving Shawn a quick push that easily removed him from his perch. "And you," he snapped, "Please don't be here when I get back."

"Aw, Lassie. You wound me."

"Shut up, Spencer," Lassiter warned as he walked away.

Once Lassiter was out of earshot, the two younger men started to laugh.

"Wow. Same old Shawn," Lewis said.

Shawn shrugged. "Yes, well, at times, I even amaze myself."

"Hey. Some of the guys and I are going to the watch the game at Monroe's tonight. Care to join us? Catch up on old times? We'll have plenty of food and beer. Besides, I'm curious to see if your predictions are right."

"Sure, and prepare to be astonished. My psychic skills are never wrong."

OoOoOoO

Present

And they weren't, at least about the baseball game. Shawn had been right; Anaheim beat Tampa Bay 6 to 2. Good guess. Lucky guess, he corrected. He had a good time, and managed to keep himself out of trouble the entire night. Lewis had always been a "substitute Gus", even when they were children. Not quite a replacement, more like a stand-in whenever Gus was away. The man had a wicked sense of humor and they seemed to still have quite a few things in common beyond their shared history.

Shawn sighed as he rubbed his head in frustration. He needed to focus; hindsight wasn't helping their situation.

Taking a quick look at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 10:00. It was time to wake Lassiter. He hoped that he hadn't made a mistake allowing the other man to sleep. Not that he could have really stopped the man, the body could only tolerate so much.

He crossed the small room, squatting in front of the detective. From Shawn's perspective, nothing had changed. Lassiter was still very pale and very unconscious.

"Time's up, Lassie. Rise and shine." Shawn said.

If Shawn had been expecting a reaction, he would have been disappointed, but he hadn't.

Undeterred: "Come on dude, time to wake up" Shawn said, as he none-too-gently shoved Lassiter's shoulder a couple of times. Still nothing. He was beginning to worry.

Taking bolder measures, Shawn firmly pinched the skin between the detective's thumb and index finger. This time he was rewarded with a response. Lassiter jerked his hand away and mumbled something.

"No napping!" he shouted, tapping the detective's face.

"Spencer?" came a weak, slurred response.

"Yep, got it in one. Time to open your eyes, Sunshine." Shawn waited patiently, as the recumbent detective slowly blinked his eyes open.

He was uneasy with the other man's sluggish reactions. He's tired and wounded. What are you expecting? Lassiter might be uptight, "by the book," pain in the ass, but seeing him this weak was something new for Shawn. It was something that disturbed him deeply.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah. Still here." Shawn sat quietly, watching Lassiter's bleary eyes try to focus.

"What happened?" Lassiter winced, as he automatically moved a hand towards his head.

Shawn reached out and grabbed the hand, "Stop that. What do you remember?"

He watched as the head detective's gaze wandered from one spot to another. He saw him close his eyes and slowly shake his head, as if he were trying to wake from a dream.

He tapped Lassiter on the shoulder after a couple minutes passed with no answer. "Um, you with me still?"

Lassiter sighed deeply, "Yeah. My head hurts. Everything's all blurred."

"Yeah." Damn it! Shawn cursed to himself. "You were shot. A bullet grazed your head."

The other man nodded slightly at the news and asked, "Where are we?"

Shawn sighed and sat down on the floor. "We've had this conversation before."

"We have?"

"Yeah. An hour ago."

Lassiter scowled at him, grabbing Shawn's arm. "I CAN'T remember, Spencer. WHERE ARE WE?"

Ok. Strike that. Not weak, Shawn thought. It took three tries for Shawn to extract his arm from the other man's grip. "Geesh, all right. You want to know where we are. We're locked in a room in some storage facility east of the city."

Lassiter looked around, as if he had misplaced something important. "Where's O'Hara?"

"Home sick."

"Guster?"

"Abandoned me for a convention in Seattle. The nerve of some people, going out of town for work and not telling their best friend that they've left until they are at the airport," Shawn ranted.

"Ah. So, it's just you and I?" Lassiter inquired, skeptically.

"Yep"

"That just doesn't make sense."

Shawn grinned at the last comment. "Yeah. I agree. Doesn't make sense, but here we are."

Lassiter merely nodded again. Shawn had to give the detective a lot of credit. Twice, he awoken to the same confusion, and twice he reacted in a very calm and collected manner. Or at least as calm as Lassiter could be in any situation. Shawn wasn't sure if he would have reacted similarly if their positions were reversed.

"We're trapped?"

"Door's locked." He jumped up and offered a quick demonstration.

It didn't go unnoticed that Lassiter didn't follow his movements. Shawn gave the door a sharp kick out of frustration, startling them both. His irritation with their situation was becoming unbearable. He took a breath, trying to channel some of his father's advice. Stay cool, Shawn. Nothing you can't handle.

"We're stuck. Lewis took our phones. Can't call for help. We just need to sit tight and wait for back-up to arrive," he reported.

"Lewis? As in Detective Lewis? What the hell does he have to do with this?" Lassiter shot back.

"A lot." Shawn sighed again, moving over to check on the injured detective. "But first, you're looking a bit rough. You okay?"

Rough was an understatement. Shawn was disturbed to see that how pale the detective had become in just minutes. His face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his features were pinched and tense. Shit. Not good.

"I'm a bit dizzy," Lassiter admitted

"A bit? Would you rather lay down?" He made a grand gesture to the floor. "Unfortunately, our accommodations are a tad lacking. We will have to complain to the management."

"No, I'm okay. How long have we been in here?" Lassiter asked. The man was constantly shifting his body, as Shawn watched him struggle to find a comfortable position.

"In here, as in the storage room? About two hours. In the building, not sure, maybe a little longer? Lost track of time when things got crazy."

Lassiter coughed roughly, before asking, "How do you know back-up is on their way?

Shawn hedged "Called after you were shot."

Not exactly a lie; Lewis had made an anonymous call to the local police reporting suspicious activity at the warehouse. It was the least the man could do. And as it was, Shawn had been forced to beg his former childhood friend for that small act of charity. He grimaced at the memory, and forcibly pushed it from his mind.

He knew that the police would be in no hurry to check out this particular call. Shawn saw firsthand the wildfires that raged in the northeastern parts of the county as he drove his bike here. Secluded location, limited road access, perfect for a trap. He knew the roads he traveled were more than likely closed, which would ultimately block any chance of rescue for the short term.

"I think you should start over and explain everything to me from the beginning. And I mean everything that's relevant, Spencer. None of your usual crap," Lassiter said from his position on the floor.

"You sure? Last time you dozed off."

"Yes. Just get on with it."


To Be Continued

OoOoOoO

Not exactly a cliffhanger, but it will have to do for the moment. Thanks for reading. Comments, critiques and feedback are welcome.