A/N: A HUGE thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys are awesome! Virtual pineapples to you all!
The dull light of the late afternoon sun was filtering in through the partially closed curtains, barely illuminating the living room. There was an annoyingly chipper bird just outside the window that continued to make its presence known at the most inconvenient times. Every time it chirped he cast a glance towards the window wondering if he would be justified in shooting the damned thing.
Lassiter tore his gaze away from the window again, having a vague suspicion that the Chief would not look lightly upon him shooting birds. However, looking away from the window was not helping him overcome his urge to shoot something or rather someone else. Why had he agreed to this in the first place? Guster had apparently needed to return to work and Henry Spencer had to go grocery shopping of all things. They hadn't wanted Spencer to be left alone, and while Lassiter could see their reasoning behind this, he was less clear on how exactly he had been nominated as babysitter.
He glanced reluctantly at his restlessly sleeping charge, noting how he didn't look that much better after twenty-four hours. At least Henry had said he'd been more lucid than what Lassiter had experienced in the car. Lassiter had no doubt that if the father had experienced that ride he would have insisted Shawn be taken to a hospital no matter how much he protested.
Running a hand through his hair he shifted his gaze to the files he'd spread out over the coffee table, illuminated by a single lamp beside it. He had called the Chief in the hopes that she would order him back to the station but she'd been eerily supportive of him staying in Henry Spencer's home. She'd pointed out that he did have the files with him anyway, so he could just as well look at them there as he could at the station. Carlton had been thoroughly tempted to disagree before he reminded himself that it was the Chief of police he was talking to.
He pulled the crime scene photos closer towards him, suppressing a wince at the brutality they displayed. The second body they'd found was a woman in much the same state as first body. Time of death had been put in the same time frame for both victims, but Lassiter didn't doubt that the two crimes were related and almost definitely committed by the same person. Their perpetrator was a particular peace of scum that Carlton would very much like to get off the streets of Santa Barbara as soon as possible. He'd left O'Hara at the station, but now he was seriously regretting it. She'd wanted to come of course, to see for herself how Spencer was doing, but she'd been working hard herself and the Chief had asked her to stay and continue with what she was doing. Lassiter didn't doubt that his partner would be sent home to get some sleep pretty soon as well. She didn't get much sleep the night before what with another body popping up and all.
Both victims had been in their mid-fifties, but that was disappointingly and pathetically all that had been gathered. Carlton sighed and rubbed both his hands over his face. It wasn't just his partner who had gone too long without sleep, but resting could come later. He wasn't going to waste time catching this guy, not after what he'd shown he was capable of doing.
He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards the kitchen, coffee cup in hand as a refill was required by now. Just as he was walking past the couch Spencer's breath hitched, and if Lassiter didn't know better he would say the younger man had done it on purpose. With a reluctant sigh he turned around and walked back to the coffee table, setting aside the mug and looked at Spencer.
Damn him for looking so much like a kid. It was very hard not to feel like he was kicking a puppy if he even considered having the urge to shoot the man. Spencer was starting to thrash around, his legs getting coiled in the blankets. His head was moving from side to side on the pillow and he was starting to mutter to himself, but his words were slurring so badly that Lassiter had no idea what he was trying to say.
"Spencer," Lassiter said, keeping his tone even as he took another step towards the couch.
His voice had no effect on the consultant. Lassiter glared at him, briefly wondering if this was another one of Spencer's jokes even though he knew that it wasn't. Why had he agreed to this? And, yes, he'd asked himself that numerous times before, but he still wasn't sure. At all.
"Spencer," he repeated a bit more urgently this time as Shawn's breath hitched and a sound that sounded suspiciously like sob escaped his lips, though Lassiter was going to pretend it was a laugh because he was not dealing with a crying Spencer as well.
He was sweating. Lassiter could see it glistening on his forehead, clinging to his hair as Spencer continued to thrash around in his attempts to throw off his fever demons. Vowing that somebody was going to pay, Lassiter took a firm hold of Shawn's shoulders, keeping him from falling off the couch and halting his movements. He repeated the kid's name again as well as squeezing both shoulders – hard – and finally he got the desired response.
Shawn jerked upright, nearly knocking into Lassiter's head, though the detective somehow managed to get out of the way in time.
"Take it easy, Spencer," Lassiter said as he absentmindedly rubbed his hands on his jacket.
Spencer was drawing in his breaths unevenly, though he was clearly trying to calm down. Finally he turned his head to squint up at Lassiter, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Lassie?"
Of course he had to sound as pathetically vulnerable as he looked, making Carlton look even meaner if he were to snap, growl or shout at the kid.
"Yeah," Carlton forced out instead of any of the less pleasant responses he had lying on the tip of his tongue.
"What are you…?" His voice faded and he seemed to be searching for the right words, but he didn't continue, instead bringing a hand up against his forehead, his jaw tightening as he suppressed a moan of pain. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he'd wanted to know though.
"What am I doing here?" Lassiter said questionably, looking at the younger man for confirmation and upon receiving a brief nod he continued, "I've been asking myself that question quite a few times."
Heaving in a shaky breath, Spencer kept his hand against his head, shielding his face from Lassiter. Carlton took in the noticeable shakes running through the other man's body and his brow furrowed in slight concern.
"Where's my dad?" The question reminded Carlton most of a five year old kid who'd got lost in the mall. The tone wasn't far off either, making the detective heave a sigh as he lowered his weight to sit uncomfortably on the coffee table.
"He had to buy some groceries," Lassiter informed him, "he'll be back soon."
"How long are you staying?" Spencer asked, his voice quiet but with a distinct higher pitch.
"'Till he comes back," Lassiter answered, eyeing Spencer. "Do you want anything for that headache?"
"I'm fine," Spencer ground out between clenched teeth. He must be more of an idiot than Lassiter already thought if he truly believed that Lassiter hadn't noticed how much pain he was obviously in.
"I'll get you something, just sit tight," Lassiter said as he gratefully pushed himself up from the coffee table which he concluded had definitely not been made to be used as a substitute for a chair.
"I said I'm fine," Shawn snapped, his tone stopping Lassiter on his journey towards the kitchen. The detective had never heard the younger man sound like that before. Lassiter turned around slowly and walked with calculated steps back towards the couch, stopping in front of it to look down at Spencer. He'd removed his hand from his face allowing Lassiter a clear view of the bloodshot eyes as well as the pale but flushed skin.
"Yeah, you really look it," Lassiter said sarcastically with a roll of the eyes, already starting to turn his back on Shawn again.
"Is this a joke to you?" Spencer's voice cracked slightly causing Lassiter to turn back to the couch.
"Excuse me?" He kept his voice low, just like when he was interrogating a highly dangerous criminal who also may or may not be clinically insane.
Spencer lowered his gaze, his jaw grinding against his teeth, his fingers clawing at the duvet. Lassiter watched him, unsure what to make of this different side to Shawn. He looked like a kid – vulnerable above all is, and Lassiter now desperately wished that Henry had chosen a different time to go grocery shopping.
Nodding once, Lassiter swiftly left the living room, to roam around the kitchen instead, quickly spotting the samples on the counter that Guster had left behind for his friend. It didn't take him nearly as long as he'd liked to locate a glass and fill it with water. He cast a glance into the living room, seeing Spencer now doubled over on the couch, his head held tightly in his hands. It would be incredibly easy to outwit and ridicule the man when he was in this condition, but Lassiter found he couldn't. There would be no sense of victory in such a sparring as his opponent would never be able to fight back.
Lassiter hung back, not wanting to go back into the room and its occupant. He cast a glance around the kitchen and snatched the samples off the counter, drawing in a deep breath before turning around to face the living room. A voiceover with the words "Prepare for doom"was sorely needed right now.
He walked back into the other room, not deliberately making his steps quiet, though somehow his shoes hardly made any noise against the floor. Spencer had had the chance to sit on the couch now with his back against the back of it, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was breathing hard, almost as if he was out of breath, his shaking hands clutching the blanket and duvet tightly.
Lassiter wordless held the glass out towards him. Spencer looked at the glass with a similar expression as when they'd been in the car and Lassiter had handed him his jacket.
"Drink," Carlton ordered, refusing to go into elaborate details about this task.
Spencer merely shook his head mutely as his eyes fell shut. This was actually worse than Lassiter had feared.
"Spencer, your father will kill me if he comes home to find you died of dehydration," Lassiter said in one breath.
Shawn raised his head slightly and opened one eye to peer up at Lassiter. He opened the other eye as well and shifted his gaze to the glass.
"I'll get sick," Shawn mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
"I hate to break this to you, Spencer, but you're already sick," Lassiter said, holding the glass out towards the younger man a bit more sternly.
Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly trying to find the words to explain what he was saying. Lassiter knew perfectly well what he meant. Henry had already warned him that the younger man had thrown up a couple of times. This had been another reason why he didn't want to stay.
The detective raised his eyebrows at Shawn, daring him to refuse the water again. For a moment Lassiter thought he was going to reject again, but apparently the man did possess an inkling of common sense as he reached towards the glass very slowly. He nearly looked green just thinking about drinking anything. Lassiter almost felt sorry for him. Almost. It was still Spencer after all.
"How high's your temperature?" Lassiter asked curiously after Shawn had taken a sip of the water.
"How should I know?" Shawn inquired quietly as Lassiter handed him the drugs. He stared at them for a while, looking at Lassiter almost for confirmation that he did have to take them. It seemed he understood what he was supposed to do as he quickly popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with the water.
"Have you eaten anything?" Lassiter questioned. Spencer glared at him. He'd take that as a no. He gathered that the nausea had most likely suffocated any appetite he might have had, though he would have to eat something pretty soon or he would get worse from the pills instead of better.
Spencer was incredibly stubborn even in his weakened state – though, this was hardly surprising considering the man's usual nature. He was leaning forward on the couch trying to get the glass back on the table without moving too much. It was becoming increasingly clear that he was not going to ask for help even when he needed it the most.
Before Shawn managed to topple forwards and off the couch, Lassiter wrenched the glass free from his grasp with very little difficulty and set it on the table. Spencer lowered his head again and it was beginning to dawn on Lassiter that, if possible, Spencer was even more uncomfortable with this situation than he was.
Remembering that he'd been about to refill his coffee earlier made for a very plausible excuse to make a hasty retreat back to the safety of the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, purposely doing so in an angle that made it impossible to see the living room unless he craned his neck backwards which he had no intention of doing.
He swirled the coffee around in the cup, looking into the murky depths of the liquid. He felt a lot more exhausted now than he had when he'd arrived. Who knew that a sick Spencer could be even more trying on his nerves than a regular Spencer – normal was most certainly the wrong word to use.
He lifted his head as a sudden realisation occurred to him. He'd had the files and crime scene photos spread out over the coffee table. He'd left Spencer alone with the files. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair before swiftly lifting his mug from where he'd put it on the counter and hurried back to the living room. True, the Chief had asked that Spencer looked over the files if he was up to it, but it was simple instinct by now for Lassiter to deny the consultant a case every time he was able.
To his surprise Spencer wasn't hastily putting the files back on the table to pretend he'd never touched them, nor was he holding them in his hands and reading them through without a care in the world if anyone caught him. This was most definitely unusual and anything that was out of place always made Lassiter wary.
He approached the couch cautiously, with a glance taking note that nothing seemed out of place on the table. He could have smacked himself when he finally did look at the couch.
Spencer wasn't there.
How he could have missed this vital detail in the first place was beyond him and he was ready to take on three extra shifts at least to make up for that embarrassment. He looked around the living room but saw no sign of the younger man. Setting the mug on the table, his brow furrowed and he walked back into the kitchen, looking around briefly, though he wasn't sure about the reason why as Spencer was most definitely not there.
Walking back to the living room he cast a glance up the stairs but he didn't believe that Shawn would have been able to climb to the top of them that fast in his current condition. A brief breeze caught his attention as it caressed his face with its cool fingers. No way was Spencer that much of an idiot.
As it turned out, he was.
Lassiter pushed open the door leading to the porch to find Spencer sitting in one of the chairs, the duvet curled rightly around him as he stared off into the distance.
"In the house," Lassiter growled as he glared down at the younger man. "Now."
To make himself even clearer just in case Shawn should have somehow misunderstood, he pointed forcefully at the house. Spencer's gaze shifted to nearly meet his, stopping short.
"I just wanted some air," Spencer croaked as though he thought that was a reasonable explanation.
"I don't care if you wanted to meet Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny," Lassiter said slowly, "I want you back in that house or your father will flay me alive if he comes home to find you sitting outside like a gawking idiot."
"I'm sorry," Spencer said apologetically making Carlton do a double take, momentarily loosing the threatening glare, "but I hate to break this to you, Lassie. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren't real."
Carlton actually growled this time, not caring how weak or vulnerable Spencer was as he took one step forward to fist his hand tightly in the back of the younger man's t-shirt, hauling him to his feet. As Spencer held on tightly to the duvet he nearly tripped over it, Lassiter keeping him somewhat upright with his grip around the shirt.
"Ow," Shawn whimpered in pain as nearly banged into the doorframe leading back into the house, but Lassiter ignored him and continued to force him through.
He led – or dragged whichever word was most preferred – Spencer back to the couch and pushed him down, Shawn just catching himself before he toppled to the floor instead.
"And stay there," Lassiter warned, keeping his voice just before a growl.
Spencer didn't answer but instead brought a fist up against his no doubt aching head. Lassiter's treatment had probably done anything to aid relieve any aches or pains.
"Could you just leave?" Shawn asked the question so quietly that Lassiter momentarily wondered if he was meant to hear it all. Spencer pushed himself up from the couch, wavering slightly but he managed to steady himself. He met Lassiter's gaze and must have realized that he had to come up with an explanation before he thought he could just leave. Spencer lowered his gaze, a muffled, "Bathroom," just audible as he shuffled past.
Carlton let him go. He sure as hell wasn't going to follow. He'd left the duvet behind this time so Lassiter doubted he was planning on going outside again. At least he'd had enough sense to bring the duvet with him on his little quest to the outdoors. The idiot. Sure it was still Santa Barbara and they weren't exactly known for cold temperatures, but the rainfall the day before seemed to had brought with it colder temperatures than what they normally had, making it surprisingly chilly outside.
With a huff Lassiter slumped down into the chair he'd previously occupied, quickly grabbing his mug again to take a much needed sip of the coffee. Of course it had cooled down. He looked towards the two files still lying in their rightful place on the table. He wasn't getting nearly as much work done as he'd planned. With a sigh he leaned forward to lean over the files, the light behind him illuminating them dully, darkening the rest of the room as he focused solely on the files and crime scene photos.
He heard Shawn before he saw him, his sock covered feet padding softly across the floor. There was a slight irregularity to his steps as though he had to pause every now or then. It wouldn't be a wonder to Lassiter if he had to use the wall on occasion to help regain his balance. Eventually Spencer entered the living room and Lassiter looked up from the files to see him shuffle towards the couch, one hand firmly glued to his forehead as though he was afraid it was going to fall off if he didn't. He groaned as he dropped down on the couch, having to tuck the blanket and duvet out from underneath him. He lay back down on the couch and Lassiter's eyes narrowed at the obvious rapid breathing Spencer was displaying, almost gasping for air.
"Spencer," Lassiter said, trying to sound calm after his previous loss of patience, "are you breathing okay?"
"In and out, Lassie," Shawn murmured as he pulled the blankets closer around himself.
"Any chest pain?" Lassiter inquired forcing Shawn to open his drooping eyelids again.
"I'm ill," Shawn retorted almost desperately, "what do you think?"
There was certainly no need to get snippy, but Lassiter put his outbursts down to the fact that he was, indeed, ill.
"Alright, Spencer," Lassiter looked back down at the files, waiting for something obvious to stand out that would work as a perfect excuse to bolt from Henry Spencer's home.
"When are you leaving?" Spencer asked, drawing Lassiter's attention away from the files again. Damn him.
"I told you already," Lassiter said gruffly, "Not until your dad's back."
Spencer groaned loudly, his hand landing with a smack against his face. Lassiter looked at him disapprovingly before turning back to his files. He was finding it harder to concentrate, Spencer lying just a few feet away from him a visual reminder of what the Chief had told him. He could always pretend that Spencer had been utterly delirious but he already knew that she would see right through him.
"Spencer," he said again with a reluctant sigh.
"What?" His voice was muffled and he sounded slightly groggy. Lassiter looked up to see his back was turned which certainly explained the muffled voice as his face would have to be almost plastered against the back of the couch.
"Take a look at these," Lassiter waited for Spencer to slowly roll back onto his back before collecting the crime scene photos and passing them to him one by one. He took them hesitantly, almost reluctantly. "They found another body close to the scene where you collapsed." Spencer's face remained expressionless as he shifted through the pictures, both from the first crime scene and from the second. "A man at the first scene, a woman at the second, both in their mid-fifties…"
"They were married," Spencer suddenly rasped.
"What?" Lassiter said immediately, wondering if maybe his previous conclusion that Spencer was not delirious was incorrect. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do," Shawn sighed and turned one picture so Lassiter could see. It was a close-up shot of the woman's left arm and hand. He shifted his gaze to where Spencer was tapping his finger against the photograph, but saw nothing besides the obvious gore.
"It's an arm."
"I know it's an arm," Spencer retorted, "I don't care about the arm. Look at her fingers."
Lassiter looked closer, in the end snatching the photo from Spencer's grasp to bring it further under the light. There. What was it with Spencer and tanning lines?
"And?" Lassiter said looking up at Spencer expectantly.
"And…" Spencer drawled, passing him a similarly posed photograph, this time of the man. It produced equivalent results.
"That doesn't mean they're married," Lassiter said waiting somewhat patiently for Spencer's response as the man was currently busy trying to bury himself in the blankets.
"No, I'm sure it's just a coincidence," Spencer said sardonically when he was finally satisfied with his position on the couch.
"No psychic vision?" Lassiter returned.
"Lassie, how do you think I knew to look at their hands?" Spencer questioned rhetorically, "Keep up now."
Lassiter ground his teeth together to keep himself from inflicting greater pain on Spencer than he was already experiencing.
"Never mind," he finally managed to ground out, seizing the remaining photographs from Spencer before he crumpled them.
"When's my dad coming back?"
"I don't now."
Lassiter took another gulp from his coffee, nearly spitting it back into the cup when he realised how cold it was. He made a face at the now rather horrible taste, glaring at the remaining coffee as though it had committed the ultimate act of betrayal. He pushed the offending mug aside and instead bent over the crime scene photos and the pathetically thin files.
"Why would he carve them up like that?" Spencer's voice drew his head up again, his brows scrunching together as he realised what he'd just asked.
"Because he's a psycho?" Lassiter suggested, not for the first time worrying for not only Spencer's sanity but also his own.
"It's more than that," Spencer mumbled, his head resting against the pillows, his eyes closed. Lassiter had no idea how this was his topic of choice to lull him to sleep.
"Just go to sleep, Spencer," Lassiter all but begged.
Spencer coughed loudly, forcing his body to roll away from its comfortable position. Finally, he stopped, leaving his body draped over the side of the couch as his lungs heaved for air. He groaned loudly as he pushed himself back to lie flat on the couch.
"He really didn't want these people to walk again," Spencer said as though he'd not just hacked up a lung, even though his voice was even more strained than before. "I mean, it's not just one fatal wound for both. Look at them."
"I have," Lassiter grumbled. "Many times."
"Good, then we agree," Spencer rasped.
Lassiter closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before looking at Shawn again.
"Go to sleep, Spencer. Now."
Hoped you enjoyed. :)
As always feedback is greatly appreciated.