Two and a half hours.
He's been in surgery for two and a half hours, and still, there was no news.
Juliet was curled up in a chair in the far corner of the ER waiting room, alone and numb.
Somewhere beyond the blur of the tears still in her eyes, were the others.
Gus, sat with his head in his hands, leaning over his knees, looking like nothing more than a lost child.
Henry, pacing the room, red-rimmed eyes staring at the door to the ER, only stopping every so often to demand news from the nurses who had no news to give.
And Lassiter, seated stiffly in an empty row of chairs, shifting his glance between all three of them.
No one had spoken.
For over two hours, Juliet couldn't stop seeing it.
Over and over and over.
Everything that happened the moment the bullet left that gun.
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
Juliet turned, facing the man who was still backing away from her, step by step, money in his hand, gun held out, aimed at her.
A smile tugged at twisted lips, and she knew he was going to pull the trigger.
And she had nowhere to run.
And suddenly she was frozen, rooted to the ground in the most fear she's ever felt, second only to finding the collapsed form of the man she loved lying in the dirt of a forgotten forest.
She screwed her eyes shut.
But then, she heard it: a collective intake of breath from the crowd of officers behind her, and…
…a rustle of leaves?
Juliet's eyes cracked open.
And then widened.
A dark blur had shot out of the forest, half-running, half-staggering, but fully hellbent.
Shawn.
Juliet could only stare in frozen, frigid shock and awe, as Shawn ran toward her, his face nothing but determination—
She realized what he was doing a second too late.
Shawn launched himself forward between herself and his kidnapper, at the exact moment the gunshot cracked the air.
"SHAWN!" screamed Juliet, voice tearing out of her throat, heart lurching as he crashed to the ground.
Not even caring about the man with the gun, Juliet scrambled off the ground, heart in her throat as another cough wracked her, half-collapsing at his side. Gunshots sprayed above her as the bastard was taken down just before he made it around the corner of the building, in a shot that Juliet somehow knew only her partner could have successfully made.
But there was no satisfaction that the man was dead.
Because Shawn—bloody, broken, bruised—laid crumpled at her knees.
Eyes shut.
Unmoving.
The only thing that was moving, however, was the blood, slowly inching out from beneath him like black water.
"Oh, my—" breathed Juliet, lungs finally finding the semblance of breath only to lose it again, watching the blood spread too far, too fast.
The bullet that had been meant for her had found him.
No, not found him.
He'd taken it.
"No, no, no, no," gasped Juliet, her shaking, trembling hand finding his shoulder, the one that hadn't been injured, and she shook, hard. "Shawn!"
But he didn't move.
Somehow, he was even more still than he had been when she found him in that forest.
"Shawn, no," she breathed, her voice half a sob, her trembling hands finding his shirt, drenched with the crimson that was spilling beneath her knees like water trying to drown her, and ripped the shirt apart, a true sob breaking out of her at the sheer black and blue of broken bones and mistreatment—
But above all, the hole in his shoulder, bleeding a river of his life onto the dirty pavement.
She quickly pressed both hands over the wound, pressing down hard, stemming the flow as best as she could, with no time to check to see if there was an exit wound—but if all the blood beneath her was any indication, she didn't have to look to know there was one—pressed down with all her weight as crimson trickled through her fingers, like the life draining out of him.
He didn't so much as flinch at the pressure.
It made a sob break out of her chest.
"SHAWN!" she cried, shaking him even as she pressed her weight into him. Tears were falling freely, into his shirt, mixing into his blood.
He was so still.
He was too still.
Somewhere above the rush of blood and the pound of her own heart in her ears, she heard the chaos around, the yelling of orders, the pound of footsteps—three sets that she knew by heart.
It was when Henry approached and saw his son, that Juliet's tears only fell faster.
The older man faltered to a stop, losing all the color in his face as he took in the sight. "Shawn—" the man breathed, voice stuttering, falling quickly to his own knees at Shawn's other side. "SHAWN!" he cried, and the same fear in Juliet's heart was in the man's eyes as he took in the state of his only son.
He shook him, hard, but Shawn remained still. "Shawn," he choked out. "God, no—"
And another sob found its way out of Juliet's chest.
"Get that bus over here NOW!" cried Vick, and Juliet had never once heard her sound less like a Chief of Police, and more like a simply terrified, desperate person.
"Sweet justice—"
Lassiter stopped short at Juliet's side, panting from running, face going white.
"Oh, my god—" breathed Gus over her shoulder, freezing there like a statue. "Shawn!"
But it was Lassiter's voice that felt like a shot to Juliet's own heart.
"Is… is he…?"
Henry pressed two shaking fingers to Shawn's neck, Vick standing over his shoulder with wide, terrified eyes.
Because Henry's fingers were still pressed to Shawn's neck.
And tears were brimming in the older man's eyes.
"I can't feel it, Karen," he choked out, a tear falling down his own cheek, frantically moving his fingers on Shawn's neck. "I can't feel anything!"
Another sob broke through Juliet's chest.
He was dying.
Shawn was dying.
And suddenly gentle but urgent hands were on her, pulling her backward, but she fought them, desperate, terrified, not wanting to let him go—
"O'Hara, they're paramedics," came Lassiter's voice from somewhere.
"Please, Detective, we need space to work."
Space.
"Shawn, I think… I know—"
"O'Hara…"
"—I need—"
"O'Hara."
A sob wracked her.
"Juliet."
This was not the space she asked for.
This was not at all the space she asked for.
"Juliet—they're going to help him—you have to let go—"
Someone pulled her away, familiar hands.
And suddenly he was out of sight.
She fought the hands, feeling them tighten around her.
She couldn't lose him.
She only knew that she couldn't lose him.
And she couldn't face the blind panic that she might already have.
The sound of a door swinging open snapped Juliet out of the memory.
Juliet's eyes snapped to it, seeing another doctor walk through.
Just like she did, she saw Henry freeze mid-pace, Gus jerk to his feet, and Lassiter straighten in his chair.
A young doctor—Dr. Bauer, from the embroidery on the white coat—hesitated in the doorway to the surgical ward. He was holding a clipboard, and he looked down to read off of it. "Family and friends of Shawn Spencer?"
Cold panic spread like ice through her.
This was it.
Either Shawn was alive, or he was—
Hot tears burned her eyes as her heart dropped low to her stomach.
She stumbled off the chair.
All her years as a detective, and this was the scariest moment of her life.
"Sh-Shawn?" Juliet choked out, walking quickly on numb legs to the doctor.
Please.
Please, just let him be okay.
Henry, Gus and Lassiter followed her, all eyes on the doctor, all ears fearing the same words.
"Is he okay?!" breathed Gus, voice choked.
"He pulled through," said the doctor, without hesitation, giving them a tired smile.
Juliet felt relief wash through her like a tidal wave, nearly enough to send her crashing to the floor.
He was alive.
He was alive.
He pulled through.
He was alive.
Fresh tears suddenly brimmed and fell, like rain on a desert.
"Thank god," breathed Henry. He sank back to the chair behind him, rubbing his face.
Gus shut his eyes and mumbled a relieved laugh, more tears falling down his cheeks as well.
Relief washed lines of stress from Lassiter's face, that Juliet was sure he'd never admit were there in the first place.
"How is he?" asked Juliet when she could find her voice again.
"Shawn was very lucky," said the man. "The bullet struck him in his right shoulder, rupturing his subclavian artery," he said, then seemed to realize none of them would know his doctor-talk and he amended, "an artery below his collarbone. It's not incredibly common for a gunshot wound to hit that specific artery, but it resulted in dramatic blood loss. He received medical assistance rather fast," said the doctor quickly, watching worry creep back into three sets of eyes at the heavy words, "and was given a blood transfusion to successfully restore the loss."
Juliet shivered, thinking back to the clothes she'd thrown out, having balked at just how much blood had been on them.
And how much blood had been left behind in the parking lot.
The four were quiet, the words settling heavily, as the doctor shifted his eyes back down to the clipboard. "I was told that prior to the gunshot," he said, lifting an incredulous look to the group, "he was also involved in a car accident?" He shook his head to himself, as if both stunned and sympathetic, as the group's silence confirmed that detail. "And then abducted and held hostage?" he added, even more bewildered. "I can't even imagine," the man said absently, shaking his head to himself.
And, once again, they each realized just how much Shawn had gone through in the span of a day.
That even after all of that, he'd jumped in front of a bullet.
To save her.
The young doctor adjusted his glasses as he flipped a page on the clipboard, continuing, "He has a severe concussion and skull fracture—"
Juliet felt her chest seize.
"Something hit the windshield."
"Or someone."
"M'head's... killing me."
Somewhere over the memories, Juliet heard the doctor go on, "—but it was a fairly minor fracture, and he suffered no brain damage. He'll probably struggle with headaches for a few months while it heals." Flipping another page: "Four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in his shoulder, and a twisted knee." He shook his head to himself, as if the list of injuries should have belonged to multiple patients rather than only one.
"Sweet justice," muttered Lassiter under his breath.
Another tear fell down Gus' cheek as he'd listened, looking nothing more like a lost kid.
Henry blinked a few times, as if fighting emotion.
Juliet felt hollow.
"Can we see him?" asked Gus, eagerly standing.
"They're just finishing up his surgery," said Bauer. "He'll be taken to a room within the next half an hour. You can see him then." Bauer gave the four a kind smile. "I'll send a nurse out when Shawn's been moved."
It was palpable, the relief spreading through them, and Juliet sank back to the chair behind her, feeling exhausted and hollow.
But Juliet felt the vice-grip loosen in her chest and she heaved another sigh of relief.
Shawn was fine.
He was going to be okay.