Disclaimers et al-- See Chapter 1.
Spoilers: References made to the deleted scenes in "Bianca's Toast/Scary Sherry"
(Absolutely fantastic episode. Shame the deleted scenes were cut from the aired episode.)
A/N:. Within the last 8 months I've managed to purchase a house, move and renovate said house from top to bottom. It's been an incredibly chaotic period and left very little time for writing (or sleeping for that matter). I'd like to thank you all for your patience. I've greatly appreciated the reviews and comments. My apologies if I haven't responded back to all of the notes yet. I'm playing catch-up right now and will get to them as soon as I have the opportunity.
Special Thanks! An extra big "Thank you!" to my amazing beta, k, whose amazing-ness knows no bounds.
Story Notes: I've taken many, many medical liberties with this chapter. (Actually, much in the way that TV shows tend to do.)
Summary: Recovery and resolutions. The long awaited Chapter 5.
Title: Disoriented by- Miss Weather
OoOo Chapter 5 oOoO
"Your memory is a monster; you forget- it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory, but it has you!" John Irving.
Lassiter hovered somewhere in between wakefulness and sleep. He tried to focus his thoughts, but they spiraled and swirled just out of his reach. From what he could discern, he was ensconced in a lead-filled fog. It was an altogether foreign sensation, like he had been drained until there was nothing left to tap into.
A sharp poke to his arm jarred him from his comfortable haze. There was nothing he could do to subdue his mind back into its former blissful state of unconsciousness. It was simple: awake meant pain.
Suffered enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.
But his body would not be deterred. Awareness of the world around him returned. His senses regained their acuity, hearing first. Garbled, muted voices slowly filtered through the fog that surrounded him.
Huh? Laughter? He listened patiently. Definitely laughter.
Loud chortles were followed by a series of giggles. He recognized the laugh instantly. Spencer. Lassiter tried to open his eyes, but it took too much , he opted to do nothing. His addled mind offered up only snippets of memories. Disjointed images of a cold concrete floor. Spencer worried and hovering over him. Nothing that would explain the laughter.
They had been trapped. He had been injured. Then what? Were they still trapped in that damn room?
Lassiter slowly moved his hand along something soft and warm. Definitely not the concrete floor in that storage room. A bed --hospital bed, he corrected himself.
He remembered now that had woken up before, couldn't remember how many times. The brief moments of semi, quasi-lucidness had included bright lights, pain, noisy nurses, and lots of questions. He desperately wanted to piece together his fragmented memories in quiet solitude. No witnesses. Is that too much to ask?
"Shut up, Spencer," he rasped.
"Hey, look who woke up like a Mister Grumpy Goat," Spencer replied, which immediately followed a loud "ow!"
"Shawn!" came a loud reprimand from a voice he hadn't heard in awhile. O'Hara.
"Geez, Jules. Have I not been abused enough lately?" Spencer whined. "Being trapped with Lassie and all. Don't you think I've suffered enough?"
Lassiter's eyes snapped open of their own accord, though, it took several long moments for his vision to clear. Blinking, he was greeted by the sight of his partner, seated next to his bed. He briefly scanned the room and found Spencer and Guster sitting at the foot of the bed.
It was odd to see the three of them sitting vigil. This wasn't what he expected and he didn't quite know what to make of it. He came to a quick conclusion that his brain was too damaged to process this.
A gentle squeeze to his right hand brought his attention back to his partner. Smiling brightly at him, she asked, "Hi, Carlton, how are you feeling?"
Good question. Minus the nausea and buzzing in his head, he felt very little at the moment. It was curious sensation that he didn't know how to articulate. He could tell that his quietness was distressing her, as she tightened her grip on his hand.
"We've been so worried about you. The doctors weaned you off sedation drugs the other night and figured that you should wake up within the day." Her words were warm, but hesitant.
Lassiter coughed harshly as he tried to reassure her. His throat was just too dry to offer up verbal communication. Apparently sensing his problem, O'Hara held a small cup of water with straw in front of him. Too tired and thirsty to feel indignant, he acquiesced to the help, savoring the precious liquid. Once finished, he gave her a small smile of thanks.
Realizing how pathetic he must look to his audience, Lassiter slowly shifted into a more propped-up position. However, his body wasn't inclined to tolerate such an action. The room spun sharply as he moved his head. Squeezing his eyes shut with a groan, he tried to ride out this wave of vertigo without any further embarrassment.
"Carlton, are you… okay? Should I call for the nurse? Carlton?" O'Hara asked frantically.
He was forced to ignore her questions for the moment as he focused his attention on controlling his breathing. Several deep breaths later, the dizziness had subsided.
"Carlton?!" O'Hara's grip on his hand increased exponentially.
"Easy, Jules. Give Lassie a break. He just woke up."
"Shawn, look at him! He needs a nurse."
Not wanting to be the cause of that worried tone in her voice, he forced his eyes back open. He tried not to grimace as he saw the look of genuine fear on her face.
With a sigh, he offered her a soft, "I'm okay."
Recognizing that the whispered words weren't going to be enough, Lassiter reached over with to pat her hand. "O'Hara, I'm okay," he said, as firmly as he could manage given the situation.
"Oh really? You don't look it. Lie still and I think I'll go fetch a nurse," she reproached.
"I'm fine!" he barked,.
Not in the mood treated like an invalid, Lassiter tugged his hand from hers. Unfortunately, that little movement rekindled the deep ache within his head. Groaning, he pressed his hands against his bandaged head.
"Don't touch that," Spencer scolded from his seat across the room. "Tsk-tsk. And here you two thought I would be the one to rile him up. Give him some space, Jules."
O'Hara looked aghast. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't help it, I worry."
Lassiter dropped his hands from his head with a small sigh. The headache had already faded to a dull roar. "No harm, O'Hara."
"Good. I'm going to step out for a minute to have Doctor Singh paged," O'Hara announced as she rose from her seat. She leaned across the bed to give him a quick hug before leaving.
Lassiter glanced over at the room's other occupants. Both men were sitting at a small table near the foot of the bed. He ignored his fatigue for the moment; there were still several questions that he needed addressed. Like how I got here for one. He glanced sharply at Spencer, who was making balloon animals at the foot of his bed.
"So, what happened?" he asked.
Spencer tossed aside the dachshund that he had been playing with and moved his chair closer. The younger man seemed to be back to his usual antics. This Shawn Spencer was definitely more familiar to Lassiter than the subdued one that had kept him company in the warehouse.
"What do you remember?' Spencer asked.
He considered the question. His thoughts were still clouded, but not as much as before. The thick fog that had taken up residence in his mind had started to lift.
"Trapped in a storage room with you, but the details are a bit grey."
"Really? How grey?" Spencer asked with a cheeky smile.
Perturbed, he asked, "How'd we get out?"
"Oh, allow me to tell the story of my amazing feat of heroics."
"Shawn," Guster warned, punching Spencer's shoulder.
"Ow." Spencer whined as he rubbed his arm, "What is this Beat on Shawn Day? Okay. Okay!" he said as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "SB County Sheriffs arrived and saved the day. They were able to get to us once the roads reopened."
Lassiter sighed. "Oh. Okay. There's something else that I wanted to ask you, but I just can't seem to remember it."
"Hey, Gus, can you give us a minute?" Spencer asked in an unusually sober tone.
"Sure thing. Glad to see you're awake. You gave us quite a scare," Guster said with a smile as he walked out of the room.
There was an awkward pause as Lassiter stared Spencer. The other man's gaze flitted around the room. He was clearly avoiding eye contact.
"So, how are you really feeling?" Spencer asked.
"Confused, tired. Pretty sure my head isn't going to explode anymore. So, better."
Spencer smiled at the comment. "Good. You should feel better. They're pumping you full of painkillers at the moment," he said, gesturing to the nearby IV.
Lassiter nodded, idly scratching at the IV line taped to his hand. "Did they find Lewis or Brackett?" he asked.
Spencer shook his head, regret etched on his face. "No, not yet. The Feds don't believe they've left the country, but there haven't been any new sightings."
"Stolen guns?"
"Confiscated. They were apparently trying to screw over the buyers and things backfired on them. Lewis was involved from the beginning."
Lassiter simply nodded. Not that this mattered right now. He didn't feel well enough for this discussion. There would be plenty of time for him to reflect on the week's events and the various twists and turns that it had taken.
Luckily, their conversation was interrupted as his doctor entered the room. Spencer spotted the arrival of the doctor first and quickly stood to leave.
"Shawn, wait," he called out.
Spencer froze, clearly surprised by the use of his first name. Who knew that would cause such a reaction? he wondered, enjoying the man's discomfort. Lassiter closely watched the man nod and sit down in nearby chair. He'd have to remember that tidbit for future occasions.
"Hello, Detective, Shawn," the older man said from his position at the side of Lassiter's bed. "We haven't been formally introduced yet. My name is Dr. Robert Singh and I'm a neurosurgeon here. I'd like to ask you some questions and perform a brief assessment."
Lassiter nodded his consent.
"What is your name?"
"Carlton Lassiter."
"Do you know where you are?"
"Hospital. And from the logo on your coat, the Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital."
"Good. I have three words that I would like you to remember: tire, bench and harmonica. Now, don't forget them."
As the doctor spoke, he checked Lassiter's pupil response with his penlight. Satisfied with his findings, he assessed reflexes and had Lassiter perform a series of movements with his arms, legs, and head. All of which left him tired and dizzy.
"Do you know what the month, date and year are?"
"Month is September, year is 2008 and date…" Lassiter's voice faded. "The last day I remember is the 12th."
"Good. Do not worry, Mr. Lassiter. Some memory loss is to be expected from incidents like that. It is September 16th. You've been under sedation following your surgery."
Don't worry? Easy for him to say. He sighed with a deep frown at the news of more lost time.
Satisfied with his assessment, Dr. Singh asked, "Now, Mr. Lassiter, do you remember my name?"
"Dr. Robert Singh."
"And what were the 3 words that I gave you to remember?"
"Tire, bench, harmonica."
"Excellent. You're making very good progress. How are you feeling this afternoon?"
"Tired and disoriented. Head aches a bit. Spencer was telling me about our rescue. How am I doing?" he asked.
"Good. It's not surprising that you're groggy and disoriented. We've been weaning you off the sedation drugs." Dr. Singh continued, "As to how you're doing, from a medical perspective, you've been making steady progress since your arrival. Mr. Lassiter, the bullet that hit you created a small skull fracture."
Lassiter nodded briefly, as he took in all of the information.
"We had to perform surgery to remove a small hematoma that had formed under the fracture, as well as to reduce the pressure that had been building around your brain from the swelling. We've kept you sedated for the last few days to alleviate that swelling. You are being given some strong painkillers to manage your headache."
He watched the doctor reach over to adjust something on the IV stand, felt the warmth of the drugs suppress the residual ache in his skull.
"Better?"
"Yes."
"Good," Dr. Singh said. "We will be scheduling you for another CT scan tomorrow morning and there will be periodic neuro-assessments throughout the next couple of days. Until then, rest. And don't be surprised if some of the disorientation lingers. It's to be expected following the injury and sedation. The call button for the nurse is located next to your head. If you need something, just ask."
Lassiter nodded again, as the doctor added, "Your friends have ingratiated themselves with our nursing staff, so I'm sure that everyone will be happy to help out where they can."
"Thank you, Doctor," Lassiter replied. His friends. He was surprised that the idea made him smile.
Spencer smiled widely and waved to the departing surgeon. "See, I told you everything would work out. You just needed to trust in the psychic."
Lassiter grimaced . His memories may have been jumbled, but he clearly remembered doubting the younger man. Clearing his throat, he said, "I don't remember much of what happened in there..."
Spencer quickly interrupted, "Yeah, you were pretty out of it."
"I can't remember if I thanked you at all? But I have the feeling that I didn't."
He saw Spencer start to squirm in his chair. Lassiter couldn't help but marvel at the amount of energy that he possessed. He had once mentioned to O'Hara that the psychic would be the perfect "poster child" for ADHD meds for adults. Despite her frown and quick reprimand, he knew that she secretly agreed.
Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Spencer interrupted again, "Yeah. Look, there's no need for that. I did nothing."
"Spencer," Lassiter groaned. He didn't have the energy or patience for an antsy Spencer. "Will you just shut up and listen?"
Satisfied that he wouldn't be interrupted further, he continued. "Good. I want to thank you. Don't make me regret this." He stretched his right hand out towards the other man.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, as he shook the young man's hand.
"No problem." Spencer smiled.
"And Spencer," Lassiter added softly, "if you pull a stunt like following me again, I will make it my duty to see that you never work on a case for the SBPD again. Understand?"
Lassiter watched as Spencer's smile rapidly faded to an unfamiliar expression. Offended? Exasperated? Disappointed? Perhaps a combination of the three. He just couldn't tell.
After a few moments of staring at him, Spencer's grin returned full force. "I'll keep that in mind."
Lassiter rolled his eyes at that comment. "And here I was thinking that I may have misjudged you."
"Oh?" Spencer asked, mildly curious.
"You are the biggest pain in the ass that I've ever had to deal with…" He paused to enjoy the look of amusement on Spencer's face.
"Aw, Lassie, such flattery. You certainly know how to make me blush." He winked then moved his hands to his forehead. "Hmm. My psychic powers tell me a 'but' coming."
Lassiter shook his head in exasperation, "You're an ass, but clearly you're not as useless as I thought you were."
Spencer laughed loudly at this. "Was that a compliment? Are we having a moment?"
"What? No." Lassiter frowned.
"This definitely feels like a moment."
"Shut up, Spencer," Lassiter grumbled as he closed his eyes. Eyes closed. End of conversation.
Spencer chuckled. "Do you need a hug? I think we should hug. Complete the moment and all."
"No. Now, get out of here," he mumbled, eyes firmly closed,his voice losing volume as fatigue took over. Damn. The warmth of the meds flowing through his body made it impossible to muster up enough energy for histhreatening "I'm Head Detective" tone of voice.
He heard scrapping sounds, a chair sliding against the floor. "Okay, Okay. You win. I'm going to step out and grab a drink. You want anything?"
Without opening his eyes, he shook his head "no."
"You sure? They have an amazing cafeteria here. Banana puddings, smoothies, double chocolate brownies," Spencer persisted.
He forced his eyes open, giving the fake psychic an appraising glare. He was about to tell Spencer "No" and "Leave," but something made him hesitate. Perhaps it was painkillers, or the look of genuine decency in Spencer's expression. Or perhaps it had more to do with the hours that he'd spent lying on that damn concrete floor listening to the man prattle on and on. Whatever the reason, he reconsidered his original response.
"How about a pineapple smoothie?" he mumbled softly.
"A what?!"
"You heard me," Lassiter grumbled. He closed his eyes quickly as he saw that damn smirk appear.
"Got it," Spencer said with a laugh, "One pineapple smoothie. I think I can manage that."
The End.
That's it folks! Thank you for reading this little exercise in h/c. It's been tremendous fun to write. So much fun that I may have to write a follow-up fic one of these days.
Once again, my apologies for this long hiatus!
As always, feedback, comments, and critique are welcome!