"If he's down there," Juliet spoke into her radio, "we're going to need a chopper."
Her white knuckles gripped the steering wheel as she followed the patrol car to the ravine where Smith claimed they had dumped Lassiter a few hours ago.
"There's one standing by…if he's there." The Chief's voice crackled back.
The word hung in the air like a heavy fog.
If…
If…
If...
If Smith was telling the truth, and Lassiter had been alive three hours ago…
If he was still alive now…
If they could even find him…
Not if! Juliet told herself again, for the millionth time.
There is no if…
When she arrived at the ravine, there were already officers canvassing the bottom, sinking up to their ankles in the thick mud as their lights swept through the muck, seeing absolutely nothing.
She watched the search breathlessly from the precipice, her heart pounding so hard she could almost feel her shirt pulsing.
Finally, the radio in her hand sputtered to life again.
"We got him…"
"Is he—" She started, but couldn't even finish the question.
"…He's alive…barely…" the answer came a moment later. "…barely…"
But Juliet didn't hear the barely.
All she heard was the alive…
All the mattered was the alive.
"Spencer."
Shawn groaned, rolling over.
This time, however, he didn't have to look at the clock.
He knew what time it was…
Too damn early in the morning to be getting another call from Lassie…
"Lassie…"
"Shut up, Spencer."
The words were slurred together in an all too familiar, unceasing cadence.
"Are you drunk?"
"Not enough."
"God, it was your first day back to work!" Shawn chided, more upset about being woken up than Lassie's drinking habits.
Lassiter just snorted.
"Trust me…after putting up with O'Hara for the day, I've earned a drink or two…or six…God, she won't even let me move! I can't even get my own damn pen without her trying to help! I can take care of myself! It's not like I busted both knees!"
"Actually, you did. You only started walking two days ago."
"Shut up, Spencer. I didn't call to talk about my knees."
"Then why did you call?" Shawn demanded, rolling his eyes with a yawn. "At this ungodly hour…drunk…again…"
"Because I beat you."
"Not this again…" Shawn groaned, wishing he had a wall to bang his head against.
"I did. The warehouse….I beat you."
"Judging from your knees, I'd say someone beat you first…"
"Shut up and listen. I cracked it that night at the bar. I had it. Cold. All of it."
"All of it?" Shawn repeated, unable to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. "You had all of it?"
"Most of it." Lassiter admitted after a moment, his words coming out faster and more slurred than before. "I remembered the John Doe from the second bank robbery investigation….I knew I'd interviewed him…but I couldn't remember who he was…until I was at the bar. By my fourth scotch, I remembered he was the one who'd been picked up on a drunk and disorderly, which was why I never interviewed him again…just like someone at another one of the banks…from there, on my sixth scotch, it was easy. I didn't have the names, but I figured it out, Spencer. I beat you."
"Okay. Fine. You beat me. Can I please go back to sleep this time? Or do you plan on actually getting murdered tonight? Because I have an early morning tomorrow…I have to be up by 10…"
"I'm not finished." Lassiter snapped.
Shawn sighed loudly.
"Lassie--"
"Did your dad really handcuff you to a hospital bed?" He demanded suddenly, seemingly from left field.
Shawn hadn't seen that one coming…
"What?"
Lassie was laughing now.
"You heard me, Spencer."
"No! Who told you that?"
"He did."
"Figures." Shawn mumbled bitterly. "Everyone at the precinct probably knows…"
"So?"
"Yes. Fine. My dad handcuffed me to a hospital bed." Shawn admitted flatly. "Are you happy?"
"That's why I called, Spencer."
"To ask me that? That couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Shawn shouted.
"No. I had to be drunk when I asked."
"Why?"
Shawn could hear Lassiter's hessitation.
For a long moment, there was silence on the line.
"Why did you have to be drunk?" Shawn demanded again.
When Lassiter finally spoke, it was in a quiet, sullen mumble.
"So…I could…say…thanks, Spencer."
Shawn almost dropped the phone.
Just how much had Lassie had to drink, anyway?
"What?" He asked, certain he had heard wrong.
"I'm not saying it again!" Lassie shouted. "There's not enough scotch on earth for that."
Shawn laughed, despite the early hour.
"Anytime, Lassie."