Psych: Cause and Effect, (Part 1)
Jun. 26th, 2009 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rockinhamburgerTitle: Cause and Effect (Part 1/4)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rockinhamburger aka Nikki
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detective Carlton Lassiter is named primary investigator on a particularly close-to-home case in which Shawn's not available for a consult -- because he's the victim. As Lassiter searches for Shawn's attacker, and Shawn lies in a comatose state, he begins to do some inner soul-searching. Struggling to remain objective in light of his new, alarming feelings for Shawn Spencer, can he overcome his insecurities and prove exactly why he's the youngest Head Detective to ever be named to the force?
Word Count: 18,850!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Psych, as it belongs to the wonderful Steve Franks, and the lovely USA Network. I just like spending stupid amounts of time on these characters!
Notes: Firstly, I need to give my eternal love and thanks tobrevityis, my beta-reader, who (perhaps unwisely) offered her brilliant editing services to me shortly after I started writing this monster. She is entirely responsible for its coherency, and she deserves much more than this measly shout-out. Thank you so much, hon! Additional thanks to deadlybride and luna_moonsilver for the extra encouragement.
There are a few legal details later in this story that I needed to go off-book with. If you are familiar with criminal law, you may find this aspect somewhat grating, and I apologize ahead of time for it. I assure you it is for the good of the story, and that it isn't anything too serious!
"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of."
-Thomas Fuller
--
“Detective Lassiter?”
He looked up from his paperwork at the sound of his name to find Officer McNabb standing in front of him with an unidentifiable expression on his face. It was so unlike his usual open confusion or cheery disposition that Lassiter did not snap, “Not until I’ve finished my coffee, McNabb,” but rather, with a touch of irritation, demanded, “What is it, McNabb?”
McNabb glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping and said, softly, “Well, it’s about Shawn… Shawn Spencer?”
Lassiter felt his usual annoyance at the fake Psychic’s name, and gave his colleague a look of irritation.
“Why are you talking to me about this, McNabb? I haven’t finished my damn coffee, I have a stack of paperwork to finish; do you really think I care what shenanigans Spencer’s got himself into this time?”
McNabb flinched, and the expression on his face (the one Lassiter couldn’t quite label) deepened. He stepped forward, glancing around again. “I’m sorry, Detective. It's just that... it appears Shawn was found in the early hours of the morning… at the scene of a… he’s in the ICU at Emcare.”
Upset. That was McNabb’s expression. And now Lassiter knew why. He also knew the reason for the Officer’s quiet tones. Spencer was certainly regarded highly around the precinct.
Without another thought, Lassiter stood and pulled on his suit jacket. He fixed his gaze on O’Hara, whose head was bent over her own paperwork.
“O’Hara, come on… We have a case.”
O’Hara’s head snapped up and she looked over at Lassiter and McNabb. She must have decided it was important because she stood up immediately, grabbed her purse off her desk, and walked directly over to them. Lassiter beckoned for McNabb to follow. “Talk to me,” he said.
McNabb nodded. He fell into step beside Lassiter once O’Hara had joined them, and as they made their way toward the entrance of the precinct, McNabb began to speak. “Shawn was found in a parking lot behind a club called SOHO Restaurant and Music, at roughly 2:30 -”
“Shawn!?” O’Hara gasped, pausing mid-step.
Lassiter stopped walking, looked over at her, and nodded. “Spencer was found this morning.”
O’Hara clapped a hand over her mouth, looking stricken. “Oh God! Is he -”
“He’s alive,” McNabb rushed to assure her. O’Hara let out a long breath and nodded, her hands shaking.
When she’d collected herself, they began walking again and she managed to ask, “Which hospital is he at?”
“Emcare,” McNabb responded. He walked around someone coming through the doors of the building, and the three of them made their way through them and toward Lassiter’s car.
“And the address of the club?” Lassiter asked.
“1221 State Street.”
“Good, we’re on it,” Lassiter said, climbing into the front seat. O’Hara hurried to the passenger side, opened the door and got in.
“Good luck!” McNabb called from the bottom of the front steps. Lassiter started the car as O’Hara waved at McNabb.
“Carlton, where’re we going first?” O’Hara asked.
Lassiter glanced briefly at O’Hara. “The hospital.”
“Good,” O’Hara said, looking relieved.
A silence descended upon them, but neither felt the need to fill it with speech.
Lassiter idly wondered when his heart was going to return to its normal rate.
***
The detectives walked through the doors of Emcare Hospital. Lassiter couldn’t fight the usual discomfort he felt whenever he found himself inside of a hospital. There was just something disconcerting about everyone waiting.
Lassiter didn’t like waiting. He marched up to the front desk, flashed his badge, and gave his name and title before stating, “We need to locate Shawn Spencer’s room.”
The woman at the desk blinked in surprise, stared up at Lassiter for a few moments, and then got to work on locating Spencer’s room on her computer. “Okay, says here he’s in Room 301.”
“Thank you,” O’Hara said as Lassiter turned away wordlessly and walked toward the elevator. He pressed the button and several moments later, a bright pinging noise indicated the elevator’s arrival. The doors opened and they entered, Lassiter quickly pressing the button with the 3 on it.
The wait in the elevator was short, thankfully, and when the doors opened, Lassiter walked out, his stride so long that O’Hara had to take two steps to match one of his.
When they reached Spencer’s room, they paused momentarily outside the door, both afraid of what would be waiting for them inside. Lassiter took a deep breath and walked briskly into the room.
Shawn Spencer was lying motionless and silent in the bed, hooked up to various machines that beeped ominously. Lassiter let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
O’Hara turned shiny eyes to Lassiter, who glanced over and immediately looked away. Unfortunately, this again brought his attention to Spencer, whose face was covered in bruises. There was a worrisome cut that started from Spencer’s cheekbone and ended at the corner of his mouth. One of Spencer’s eyes was completely swollen.
“Detectives.” They looked up as Henry Spencer entered the room. He regarded them with looks of approval. “Already working on the case?”
O’Hara moved forward and shook his hand, “Yes. We were just hoping Shawn would be awake to answer some of our questions.”
All three of them looked down at Spencer at the same time. Of course, there was no difference in his condition, and they remained silent for several moments, each deep in his or her own thoughts.
Henry began to speak, voice grave. “They brought him out of the ICU earlier this morning. He’s still in serious condition, but they’re monitoring him carefully until he’s stable. They have high hopes that he’ll make a quick and full recovery. He’s got a serious concussion, several broken ribs, a broken wrist, and some internal bleeding. All signs point to his comatose state being temporary.” The eldest Spencer listed these injuries off as if he were reading a stranger’s vitals and not his son’s.
“Find the guys who did this, Detectives. I’m counting on you,” he added after a short pause. His expression was grim.
“We will, Mr Spencer,” O’Hara said. “We’re going to the club Shawn was at last night to see if the owner spoke to him. See if he can tell us anything.”
Henry nodded. “Good. Call me if you need anything.”
“Of course,” O’Hara said. “And please… call if there’s any change in his condition.”
“No,” Lassiter said. They both turned their gazes upon him, one curious, the other furious. “Only call if he wakes up.”
O’Hara fixed Lassiter with a glare that he ignored completely. “Carlton…” she began, her voice filled with irritated warning.
“O’Hara, we’re working on a case, and we don’t need to be interrupted unless it’s going to help the case. Mr Spencer,” he said, turning his attention to him. “Call us if he comes out of his coma, and we’ll come over to take his statement.” He grimaced imperceptibly. Why had he said “if”?
Henry nodded. If he felt Lassiter was being harsh or rude, he certainly didn’t show it. “Thank you,” Lassiter said. He turned and left, O’Hara several steps behind.
In the car, O’Hara let out her frustration. “Carlton, how can you be so insensitive? That was Shawn back there and you don’t want to know how he’s coming along?”
“Did I say that, O’Hara? I only said I don’t want to be bothered with updates of his condition. They’ll only serve as a distraction.”
In his peripherals he could see O’Hara staring at him, so he saw the moment she realized he was right. She turned her gaze to her window, and said nothing else as they drove to their next destination.
***
After a short time, Lassiter pulled up in front of SOHO Restaurant and Music. He parked the car and climbed out as O’Hara joined him on the sidewalk, and they walked together to the door.
Lassiter led the way as they walked inside. It was nearly lunchtime, and so a number of the tables were taken up. They walked up to the bar where a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties was standing. He was fiddling with something at the cash register when Lassiter stepped up and said, “Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department,” and flashed his badge. “This is my partner, Detective O’Hara.”
“Oh!” The man immediately stopped what he was doing and came out from behind the bar. He held out a hand to shake Lassiter’s. “Nice to meet you; I’m Jeff Connor, I own this place. How can I help you?”
Lassiter glanced at O’Hara, decided he’d take the lead, and cleared his throat. “We’re actually investigating a violent crime that occurred in the early hours of this morning. A man was attacked in the parking lot behind your building. He’s in serious condition, and we’re trying to find out any information we can.”
“Oh!” His tone and expression changed to one of shock and sympathy.
“The man’s name is Shawn Spencer,” O’Hara stated. “Did you happen to speak with him at all?”
Connor nodded, smiling. “Oh yes. He was sitting here at the bar for most of the night. He and I talked for a while, actually. Real nice fella. Seemed to hit it off with just about everyone who sat down. He was the most incredible… He was some kind of… psychic or something. I mean, he knew my age, where I was born. He even knew about my divorce.”
O’Hara and Lassiter exchanged a glance. Lassiter’s held his usual annoyance at hearing anything about Spencer’s “abilities”, and O’Hara’s held an unmistakable pride.
“… He entertained some of the customers with that for quite a while, he was just amazing. Anyway, he left around 2 am...”
“Mr Connor, was there anyone here last night who seemed… at all violent?” O’Hara asked.
“Not that I saw.”
“Thank you,” Lassiter said.
“We’ll call if we have any more questions,” O’Hara ventured, smiling at him.
“Good luck,” Connor said. “Would you call and let me know that he’s all right?”
Once O’Hara had assured Connor that she would call and taken down his phone number, they left the club and made their way to the crime scene.
The area was already was taped off, and there were several police officers guarding the space. They approached the tape, and the officers held it up for them to go under.
The parking lot was fairly small. There was a section which was surrounded by the back of SOHO and its neighbouring buildings, and a section which tapered off into a slightly wooded area. Lassiter took all this in, and wished for a moment that he could see whatever it was that Spencer saw when he worked a case.
It was not an easy admission for him to make, even to himself.
The CSI took photos of the crime scene. “I want everything in this parking lot combed through,” Lassiter said.
Everyone worked diligently. They all wanted Spencer’s attacker brought in as soon as possible.
***
When they returned to the station an hour later, it was clear word had got out about Spencer’s situation as the two of them were bombarded with questions about Spencer’s condition. O’Hara answered those questions as Lassiter made his way to his desk.
He groaned when he saw another stack of paperwork ready for him to tackle.
“Detective Lassiter!” Chief Vick called from the door of her office. Lassiter turned to face her. “I want you and Detective O’Hara in here right away.”
“Of course, Chief,” Lassiter said. “O’Hara!”
Thirty seconds later, O’Hara was at his side and they entered Vick’s office together.
As soon as they were seated, the blinds pulled and the door closed, Vick looked at them, her expression serious. “All right, what do you have?”
She didn’t have to say what she was referring to. It was quite clear from her tone.
O’Hara spoke first. “We have no witnesses to the actual incident. A man by the name of James Meyer found Shawn sometime after the attack. We can’t be certain how much time lapsed between when Shawn was attacked and when Meyer found him, but the call was put through about half an hour after Shawn reportedly left SOHO Restaurant.”
Lassiter didn’t miss the way Vick’s hands clenched into fists on the desk between them. Lassiter understood. The thought of Spencer lying unconscious, bloodied and beaten, was not a comforting one. Nonetheless, he took over for O’Hara, speaking softly and clearly.
“Meyer reported nothing unusual about the surrounding area of the attack. He spotted Spencer’s body from the sidewalk and apparently decided to check it out.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw O’Hara flinch, and Lassiter realized the word ‘body’ made it sound like Spencer was dead.
“What did you find at the scene?” Vick asked.
O’Hara seemed upset. She looked away, forcing Lassiter to explain.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t find any leads at the crime scene. We’re working on it, but…” He trailed off.
Vick looked at Lassiter, and then at O’Hara, who was still turned away. She leaned forward.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that we’re treating this investigation as if Mr Spencer were an officer of the law. I want Mr Spencer’s attacker brought in, Detectives, and soon. Understood?”
“Yes, Chief,” they said in unison.
She nodded, and they took that as a sign that they were free to go.
***
By 5 o’clock that afternoon, Lassiter had hung up on two reporters and shouted at a few colleagues for asking too many questions (i.e. any at all), was nursing one hell of a migraine, and all he wanted was to go home and curl up in front of his television with a scotch.
The memory of a motionless, quiet Spencer was what made him continue perusing the details of their case.
Most of the day-workers were filing out, leaving behind those on night duty. O’Hara and Lassiter remained, bent over their work, the former going over the report filed by Meyer and the latter poring over the crime scene photos. Their diligent work was interrupted by O’Hara’s cell phone. It rang sharply in the quiet precinct, cutting through the relative peace, and O’Hara scrambled for it. She snapped it open with a breathless, “O’Hara.”
Lassiter froze, listening intently. It might be…
No, he wasn’t going to do this. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. He tried to focus on the photos again, but O’Hara’s next words made him look up in surprise.
“No, I don’t have any information on that. Please don't call here again.” Her tone was a blend of disappointment and anger, and she snapped her phone shut with a roll of her eyes and a muttered, “damn media.”
Once again, Lassiter went back to his work. For all his insistence that he didn’t want to be distracted by updates of Spencer’s condition, there really wasn’t much to distract from. They were stuck, and until they found a lead, it was going to be difficult to move forward.
What they needed (and it was a wonder that Lassiter was even thinking it) was Spencer. They needed his abilities, whatever they were. Lassiter was uncomfortably aware of what that meant for his trust in Spencer’s capabilities, but he chose to ignore the meaning. It wouldn’t do to dwell on these things with Spencer in a comatose state, very much incapable of doing his thing anyways, whatever it was.
He sighed and went to pour himself another coffee. It was going to be a long night.
*** ***
He arrived home just after midnight and immediately fixed himself a sandwich, which was his first bit of food in too many hours.
When he finally collapsed into bed, it was no wonder he couldn’t actually fall asleep. His brain kept going over the information they had on Spencer’s case, trying to make connections or find some as yet nonexistent lead they could go on.
After an hour of lying awake, Lassiter decided he would have to release some of the tension in his body in a different way. He rolled on to his back and reached into his boxers, jerking himself off slowly.
As he stroked himself, he conjured up images in his mind, trying to block out all other thought. He steered clear of thoughts of his ex-wife, thinking instead of images and memories at random.
He was starting to work up a decent rhythm when an image flashed unbidden before his closed eyes. Without thinking, he pulled it forward and realized with a jolt that he was thinking of Spencer. Before he knew it, he was thinking of Spencer’s warm weight on his lap and the other times they’d been in close physical proximity. He remembered, without meaning to, their wrestling match of sorts during the missing ring case. The images increased Lassiter’s arousal, and despite his shock at the person starring in them, he could not deny their appeal.
After a few short minutes, Lassiter came, hot and hard over his hands. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, leaving his mind blissfully blank for several long moments.
Of course, as soon as he’d come down from his orgasm, reality hit. Clearly, Lassiter found Spencer attractive. What was more, he found Spencer attractive enough to jerk off to thoughts of him.
Needless to say, Lassiter did not sleep one wink all night.
***
He got out of bed just before 6 am when he’d ruled out the possibility of getting any sleep at all. After showering and shaving, he dressed himself in his usual. As it was Saturday, he did not technically have to go into work. However, he could not face sitting at home all day, not making any progress on the case. He decided he would go into work for at least a few hours.
It was quiet at the Department. O’Hara, McNabb, and Vick all had the day off, so the crowd was mostly the weekend crew or a few stragglers, who, like Lassiter, didn’t have a life outside of work, or who, also like Lassiter, were working on a particularly difficult case that needed extra devotion.
Lassiter sat at his desk and pored over the crime scene photos and the various testimonies they had. He tried hard to ignore how useless he felt.
Several hours later, he gathered his things together and left. He would work on the case at home with the benefit of alcohol and pizza.
However, on his way home, something caused him to make a detour that eventually led him to the visitors’ parking lot of Emcare. It was like some sort of inexplicable compulsion that Lassiter could not control.
When he reached Spencer’s room, he paused momentarily outside. He almost turned around, but decided that he hadn’t come all this way for nothing. He went in, and wasn’t surprised to find Guster sitting in the chair directly beside Spencer’s bed. He looked up when Lassiter entered and stood up.
“Hi,” he said, nodding politely.
“Hello,” Lassiter greeted.
Guster looked down at Spencer for a moment, which made Lassiter shift his attention to Spencer as well. There was no change in his condition from his and O’Hara’s visit the morning before. It was jarring how identical the two separate moments felt.
Guster interrupted Lassiter’s errant thoughts. “I need some coffee. D’you mind staying with Shawn until I get back? Mr Spencer’s gone home to sleep for a few hours.”
Lassiter regarded Guster for a brief moment, and then nodded slowly. “All right.”
Guster smiled warmly. “Thank you.” Then he walked past Lassiter and out into the hallway.
Lassiter was alone with Spencer. Although, not entirely with Spencer, since the quiet, still man in the bed before Lassiter bore no resemblance to the Spencer he was so familiar with. In fact, this was really just the shell of the man Lassiter and his colleagues knew. It was incredibly unnerving.
An involuntary shudder rippled through him and he moved forward hesitantly. Staring down at the passive, expressionless face, Lassiter grimaced and before he knew it, he was speaking, filling the upsetting silence.
“Look, Spencer. We…” he paused. “We could really use you on this case.” Another full minute passed before Lassiter began speaking again. “I don’t… I don’t know how you figure these things out, but we need you. We need your… Eyes and ears, and…” He trailed off.
His heart felt like there was a fist clenched around it. He couldn’t believe he was so concerned about this case, about Spencer. He tried to stop himself, but it was as if his hand was a separate entity as it moved to rest softly on Spencer’s shoulder. And just like that, the simple contact filled Lassiter with a weird sense of peace, and suddenly he knew that Spencer was still in there somewhere. He was just… asleep.
“We need - I need you to wake up.”
He stood there like that for a few minutes, then took a step back and sat down in the chair next to Shawn’s bed, watching the younger man’s chest rise and fall with each breath he took in and let out.
When Guster returned some time later with a coffee and a deli sandwich, Lassiter was almost reluctant to leave. For the first time since this whole mess had started, Lassiter felt calm and almost at ease.
Truth be told, he didn’t want to give that up.
***
Lassiter spent the evening continuously examining the evidence they had. After several hours, everything started to blend together until he couldn’t look at anything. He needed to sleep. And yet he couldn’t.
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he applied pressure for several long moments before sliding his hands through his hair. When he opened his eyes again, he could see a little clearer. Thoughts of Shawn suddenly filled him with a determination he hadn’t yet felt on this case: of Shawn in the hospital, of Shawn approaching him in the precinct, of Shawn thrashing about during a “vision”, of Shawn grinning and laughing like the charming idiot that he was. All of it gave him a sense of clarity that was so strong he actually felt a jolt rip through his body until he was sitting ramrod straight in his chair.
There was a simple explanation, and Lassiter was pretty sure he’d just figured it out. Looking up at the clock, he saw that it was well past midnight, and therefore far too late to make any calls. But he knew, the same way he knew that he was meant to be Head Detective (and Chief someday), and that Shawn wasn’t psychic, knew that he had just solved the case. He just needed the evidence to prove it.
***
Next
Author:
rockinhamburger aka NikkiRating: PG-13
Summary: Detective Carlton Lassiter is named primary investigator on a particularly close-to-home case in which Shawn's not available for a consult -- because he's the victim. As Lassiter searches for Shawn's attacker, and Shawn lies in a comatose state, he begins to do some inner soul-searching. Struggling to remain objective in light of his new, alarming feelings for Shawn Spencer, can he overcome his insecurities and prove exactly why he's the youngest Head Detective to ever be named to the force?
Word Count: 18,850!
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Psych, as it belongs to the wonderful Steve Franks, and the lovely USA Network. I just like spending stupid amounts of time on these characters!
Notes: Firstly, I need to give my eternal love and thanks to
brevityis, my beta-reader, who (perhaps unwisely) offered her brilliant editing services to me shortly after I started writing this monster. She is entirely responsible for its coherency, and she deserves much more than this measly shout-out. Thank you so much, hon! Additional thanks to deadlybride and luna_moonsilver for the extra encouragement.There are a few legal details later in this story that I needed to go off-book with. If you are familiar with criminal law, you may find this aspect somewhat grating, and I apologize ahead of time for it. I assure you it is for the good of the story, and that it isn't anything too serious!
"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of."
-Thomas Fuller
--
“Detective Lassiter?”
He looked up from his paperwork at the sound of his name to find Officer McNabb standing in front of him with an unidentifiable expression on his face. It was so unlike his usual open confusion or cheery disposition that Lassiter did not snap, “Not until I’ve finished my coffee, McNabb,” but rather, with a touch of irritation, demanded, “What is it, McNabb?”
McNabb glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping and said, softly, “Well, it’s about Shawn… Shawn Spencer?”
Lassiter felt his usual annoyance at the fake Psychic’s name, and gave his colleague a look of irritation.
“Why are you talking to me about this, McNabb? I haven’t finished my damn coffee, I have a stack of paperwork to finish; do you really think I care what shenanigans Spencer’s got himself into this time?”
McNabb flinched, and the expression on his face (the one Lassiter couldn’t quite label) deepened. He stepped forward, glancing around again. “I’m sorry, Detective. It's just that... it appears Shawn was found in the early hours of the morning… at the scene of a… he’s in the ICU at Emcare.”
Upset. That was McNabb’s expression. And now Lassiter knew why. He also knew the reason for the Officer’s quiet tones. Spencer was certainly regarded highly around the precinct.
Without another thought, Lassiter stood and pulled on his suit jacket. He fixed his gaze on O’Hara, whose head was bent over her own paperwork.
“O’Hara, come on… We have a case.”
O’Hara’s head snapped up and she looked over at Lassiter and McNabb. She must have decided it was important because she stood up immediately, grabbed her purse off her desk, and walked directly over to them. Lassiter beckoned for McNabb to follow. “Talk to me,” he said.
McNabb nodded. He fell into step beside Lassiter once O’Hara had joined them, and as they made their way toward the entrance of the precinct, McNabb began to speak. “Shawn was found in a parking lot behind a club called SOHO Restaurant and Music, at roughly 2:30 -”
“Shawn!?” O’Hara gasped, pausing mid-step.
Lassiter stopped walking, looked over at her, and nodded. “Spencer was found this morning.”
O’Hara clapped a hand over her mouth, looking stricken. “Oh God! Is he -”
“He’s alive,” McNabb rushed to assure her. O’Hara let out a long breath and nodded, her hands shaking.
When she’d collected herself, they began walking again and she managed to ask, “Which hospital is he at?”
“Emcare,” McNabb responded. He walked around someone coming through the doors of the building, and the three of them made their way through them and toward Lassiter’s car.
“And the address of the club?” Lassiter asked.
“1221 State Street.”
“Good, we’re on it,” Lassiter said, climbing into the front seat. O’Hara hurried to the passenger side, opened the door and got in.
“Good luck!” McNabb called from the bottom of the front steps. Lassiter started the car as O’Hara waved at McNabb.
“Carlton, where’re we going first?” O’Hara asked.
Lassiter glanced briefly at O’Hara. “The hospital.”
“Good,” O’Hara said, looking relieved.
A silence descended upon them, but neither felt the need to fill it with speech.
Lassiter idly wondered when his heart was going to return to its normal rate.
The detectives walked through the doors of Emcare Hospital. Lassiter couldn’t fight the usual discomfort he felt whenever he found himself inside of a hospital. There was just something disconcerting about everyone waiting.
Lassiter didn’t like waiting. He marched up to the front desk, flashed his badge, and gave his name and title before stating, “We need to locate Shawn Spencer’s room.”
The woman at the desk blinked in surprise, stared up at Lassiter for a few moments, and then got to work on locating Spencer’s room on her computer. “Okay, says here he’s in Room 301.”
“Thank you,” O’Hara said as Lassiter turned away wordlessly and walked toward the elevator. He pressed the button and several moments later, a bright pinging noise indicated the elevator’s arrival. The doors opened and they entered, Lassiter quickly pressing the button with the 3 on it.
The wait in the elevator was short, thankfully, and when the doors opened, Lassiter walked out, his stride so long that O’Hara had to take two steps to match one of his.
When they reached Spencer’s room, they paused momentarily outside the door, both afraid of what would be waiting for them inside. Lassiter took a deep breath and walked briskly into the room.
Shawn Spencer was lying motionless and silent in the bed, hooked up to various machines that beeped ominously. Lassiter let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
O’Hara turned shiny eyes to Lassiter, who glanced over and immediately looked away. Unfortunately, this again brought his attention to Spencer, whose face was covered in bruises. There was a worrisome cut that started from Spencer’s cheekbone and ended at the corner of his mouth. One of Spencer’s eyes was completely swollen.
“Detectives.” They looked up as Henry Spencer entered the room. He regarded them with looks of approval. “Already working on the case?”
O’Hara moved forward and shook his hand, “Yes. We were just hoping Shawn would be awake to answer some of our questions.”
All three of them looked down at Spencer at the same time. Of course, there was no difference in his condition, and they remained silent for several moments, each deep in his or her own thoughts.
Henry began to speak, voice grave. “They brought him out of the ICU earlier this morning. He’s still in serious condition, but they’re monitoring him carefully until he’s stable. They have high hopes that he’ll make a quick and full recovery. He’s got a serious concussion, several broken ribs, a broken wrist, and some internal bleeding. All signs point to his comatose state being temporary.” The eldest Spencer listed these injuries off as if he were reading a stranger’s vitals and not his son’s.
“Find the guys who did this, Detectives. I’m counting on you,” he added after a short pause. His expression was grim.
“We will, Mr Spencer,” O’Hara said. “We’re going to the club Shawn was at last night to see if the owner spoke to him. See if he can tell us anything.”
Henry nodded. “Good. Call me if you need anything.”
“Of course,” O’Hara said. “And please… call if there’s any change in his condition.”
“No,” Lassiter said. They both turned their gazes upon him, one curious, the other furious. “Only call if he wakes up.”
O’Hara fixed Lassiter with a glare that he ignored completely. “Carlton…” she began, her voice filled with irritated warning.
“O’Hara, we’re working on a case, and we don’t need to be interrupted unless it’s going to help the case. Mr Spencer,” he said, turning his attention to him. “Call us if he comes out of his coma, and we’ll come over to take his statement.” He grimaced imperceptibly. Why had he said “if”?
Henry nodded. If he felt Lassiter was being harsh or rude, he certainly didn’t show it. “Thank you,” Lassiter said. He turned and left, O’Hara several steps behind.
In the car, O’Hara let out her frustration. “Carlton, how can you be so insensitive? That was Shawn back there and you don’t want to know how he’s coming along?”
“Did I say that, O’Hara? I only said I don’t want to be bothered with updates of his condition. They’ll only serve as a distraction.”
In his peripherals he could see O’Hara staring at him, so he saw the moment she realized he was right. She turned her gaze to her window, and said nothing else as they drove to their next destination.
After a short time, Lassiter pulled up in front of SOHO Restaurant and Music. He parked the car and climbed out as O’Hara joined him on the sidewalk, and they walked together to the door.
Lassiter led the way as they walked inside. It was nearly lunchtime, and so a number of the tables were taken up. They walked up to the bar where a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties was standing. He was fiddling with something at the cash register when Lassiter stepped up and said, “Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department,” and flashed his badge. “This is my partner, Detective O’Hara.”
“Oh!” The man immediately stopped what he was doing and came out from behind the bar. He held out a hand to shake Lassiter’s. “Nice to meet you; I’m Jeff Connor, I own this place. How can I help you?”
Lassiter glanced at O’Hara, decided he’d take the lead, and cleared his throat. “We’re actually investigating a violent crime that occurred in the early hours of this morning. A man was attacked in the parking lot behind your building. He’s in serious condition, and we’re trying to find out any information we can.”
“Oh!” His tone and expression changed to one of shock and sympathy.
“The man’s name is Shawn Spencer,” O’Hara stated. “Did you happen to speak with him at all?”
Connor nodded, smiling. “Oh yes. He was sitting here at the bar for most of the night. He and I talked for a while, actually. Real nice fella. Seemed to hit it off with just about everyone who sat down. He was the most incredible… He was some kind of… psychic or something. I mean, he knew my age, where I was born. He even knew about my divorce.”
O’Hara and Lassiter exchanged a glance. Lassiter’s held his usual annoyance at hearing anything about Spencer’s “abilities”, and O’Hara’s held an unmistakable pride.
“… He entertained some of the customers with that for quite a while, he was just amazing. Anyway, he left around 2 am...”
“Mr Connor, was there anyone here last night who seemed… at all violent?” O’Hara asked.
“Not that I saw.”
“Thank you,” Lassiter said.
“We’ll call if we have any more questions,” O’Hara ventured, smiling at him.
“Good luck,” Connor said. “Would you call and let me know that he’s all right?”
Once O’Hara had assured Connor that she would call and taken down his phone number, they left the club and made their way to the crime scene.
The area was already was taped off, and there were several police officers guarding the space. They approached the tape, and the officers held it up for them to go under.
The parking lot was fairly small. There was a section which was surrounded by the back of SOHO and its neighbouring buildings, and a section which tapered off into a slightly wooded area. Lassiter took all this in, and wished for a moment that he could see whatever it was that Spencer saw when he worked a case.
It was not an easy admission for him to make, even to himself.
The CSI took photos of the crime scene. “I want everything in this parking lot combed through,” Lassiter said.
Everyone worked diligently. They all wanted Spencer’s attacker brought in as soon as possible.
When they returned to the station an hour later, it was clear word had got out about Spencer’s situation as the two of them were bombarded with questions about Spencer’s condition. O’Hara answered those questions as Lassiter made his way to his desk.
He groaned when he saw another stack of paperwork ready for him to tackle.
“Detective Lassiter!” Chief Vick called from the door of her office. Lassiter turned to face her. “I want you and Detective O’Hara in here right away.”
“Of course, Chief,” Lassiter said. “O’Hara!”
Thirty seconds later, O’Hara was at his side and they entered Vick’s office together.
As soon as they were seated, the blinds pulled and the door closed, Vick looked at them, her expression serious. “All right, what do you have?”
She didn’t have to say what she was referring to. It was quite clear from her tone.
O’Hara spoke first. “We have no witnesses to the actual incident. A man by the name of James Meyer found Shawn sometime after the attack. We can’t be certain how much time lapsed between when Shawn was attacked and when Meyer found him, but the call was put through about half an hour after Shawn reportedly left SOHO Restaurant.”
Lassiter didn’t miss the way Vick’s hands clenched into fists on the desk between them. Lassiter understood. The thought of Spencer lying unconscious, bloodied and beaten, was not a comforting one. Nonetheless, he took over for O’Hara, speaking softly and clearly.
“Meyer reported nothing unusual about the surrounding area of the attack. He spotted Spencer’s body from the sidewalk and apparently decided to check it out.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw O’Hara flinch, and Lassiter realized the word ‘body’ made it sound like Spencer was dead.
“What did you find at the scene?” Vick asked.
O’Hara seemed upset. She looked away, forcing Lassiter to explain.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t find any leads at the crime scene. We’re working on it, but…” He trailed off.
Vick looked at Lassiter, and then at O’Hara, who was still turned away. She leaned forward.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that we’re treating this investigation as if Mr Spencer were an officer of the law. I want Mr Spencer’s attacker brought in, Detectives, and soon. Understood?”
“Yes, Chief,” they said in unison.
She nodded, and they took that as a sign that they were free to go.
By 5 o’clock that afternoon, Lassiter had hung up on two reporters and shouted at a few colleagues for asking too many questions (i.e. any at all), was nursing one hell of a migraine, and all he wanted was to go home and curl up in front of his television with a scotch.
The memory of a motionless, quiet Spencer was what made him continue perusing the details of their case.
Most of the day-workers were filing out, leaving behind those on night duty. O’Hara and Lassiter remained, bent over their work, the former going over the report filed by Meyer and the latter poring over the crime scene photos. Their diligent work was interrupted by O’Hara’s cell phone. It rang sharply in the quiet precinct, cutting through the relative peace, and O’Hara scrambled for it. She snapped it open with a breathless, “O’Hara.”
Lassiter froze, listening intently. It might be…
No, he wasn’t going to do this. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. He tried to focus on the photos again, but O’Hara’s next words made him look up in surprise.
“No, I don’t have any information on that. Please don't call here again.” Her tone was a blend of disappointment and anger, and she snapped her phone shut with a roll of her eyes and a muttered, “damn media.”
Once again, Lassiter went back to his work. For all his insistence that he didn’t want to be distracted by updates of Spencer’s condition, there really wasn’t much to distract from. They were stuck, and until they found a lead, it was going to be difficult to move forward.
What they needed (and it was a wonder that Lassiter was even thinking it) was Spencer. They needed his abilities, whatever they were. Lassiter was uncomfortably aware of what that meant for his trust in Spencer’s capabilities, but he chose to ignore the meaning. It wouldn’t do to dwell on these things with Spencer in a comatose state, very much incapable of doing his thing anyways, whatever it was.
He sighed and went to pour himself another coffee. It was going to be a long night.
He arrived home just after midnight and immediately fixed himself a sandwich, which was his first bit of food in too many hours.
When he finally collapsed into bed, it was no wonder he couldn’t actually fall asleep. His brain kept going over the information they had on Spencer’s case, trying to make connections or find some as yet nonexistent lead they could go on.
After an hour of lying awake, Lassiter decided he would have to release some of the tension in his body in a different way. He rolled on to his back and reached into his boxers, jerking himself off slowly.
As he stroked himself, he conjured up images in his mind, trying to block out all other thought. He steered clear of thoughts of his ex-wife, thinking instead of images and memories at random.
He was starting to work up a decent rhythm when an image flashed unbidden before his closed eyes. Without thinking, he pulled it forward and realized with a jolt that he was thinking of Spencer. Before he knew it, he was thinking of Spencer’s warm weight on his lap and the other times they’d been in close physical proximity. He remembered, without meaning to, their wrestling match of sorts during the missing ring case. The images increased Lassiter’s arousal, and despite his shock at the person starring in them, he could not deny their appeal.
After a few short minutes, Lassiter came, hot and hard over his hands. Waves of pleasure crashed over him, leaving his mind blissfully blank for several long moments.
Of course, as soon as he’d come down from his orgasm, reality hit. Clearly, Lassiter found Spencer attractive. What was more, he found Spencer attractive enough to jerk off to thoughts of him.
Needless to say, Lassiter did not sleep one wink all night.
He got out of bed just before 6 am when he’d ruled out the possibility of getting any sleep at all. After showering and shaving, he dressed himself in his usual. As it was Saturday, he did not technically have to go into work. However, he could not face sitting at home all day, not making any progress on the case. He decided he would go into work for at least a few hours.
It was quiet at the Department. O’Hara, McNabb, and Vick all had the day off, so the crowd was mostly the weekend crew or a few stragglers, who, like Lassiter, didn’t have a life outside of work, or who, also like Lassiter, were working on a particularly difficult case that needed extra devotion.
Lassiter sat at his desk and pored over the crime scene photos and the various testimonies they had. He tried hard to ignore how useless he felt.
Several hours later, he gathered his things together and left. He would work on the case at home with the benefit of alcohol and pizza.
However, on his way home, something caused him to make a detour that eventually led him to the visitors’ parking lot of Emcare. It was like some sort of inexplicable compulsion that Lassiter could not control.
When he reached Spencer’s room, he paused momentarily outside. He almost turned around, but decided that he hadn’t come all this way for nothing. He went in, and wasn’t surprised to find Guster sitting in the chair directly beside Spencer’s bed. He looked up when Lassiter entered and stood up.
“Hi,” he said, nodding politely.
“Hello,” Lassiter greeted.
Guster looked down at Spencer for a moment, which made Lassiter shift his attention to Spencer as well. There was no change in his condition from his and O’Hara’s visit the morning before. It was jarring how identical the two separate moments felt.
Guster interrupted Lassiter’s errant thoughts. “I need some coffee. D’you mind staying with Shawn until I get back? Mr Spencer’s gone home to sleep for a few hours.”
Lassiter regarded Guster for a brief moment, and then nodded slowly. “All right.”
Guster smiled warmly. “Thank you.” Then he walked past Lassiter and out into the hallway.
Lassiter was alone with Spencer. Although, not entirely with Spencer, since the quiet, still man in the bed before Lassiter bore no resemblance to the Spencer he was so familiar with. In fact, this was really just the shell of the man Lassiter and his colleagues knew. It was incredibly unnerving.
An involuntary shudder rippled through him and he moved forward hesitantly. Staring down at the passive, expressionless face, Lassiter grimaced and before he knew it, he was speaking, filling the upsetting silence.
“Look, Spencer. We…” he paused. “We could really use you on this case.” Another full minute passed before Lassiter began speaking again. “I don’t… I don’t know how you figure these things out, but we need you. We need your… Eyes and ears, and…” He trailed off.
His heart felt like there was a fist clenched around it. He couldn’t believe he was so concerned about this case, about Spencer. He tried to stop himself, but it was as if his hand was a separate entity as it moved to rest softly on Spencer’s shoulder. And just like that, the simple contact filled Lassiter with a weird sense of peace, and suddenly he knew that Spencer was still in there somewhere. He was just… asleep.
“We need - I need you to wake up.”
He stood there like that for a few minutes, then took a step back and sat down in the chair next to Shawn’s bed, watching the younger man’s chest rise and fall with each breath he took in and let out.
When Guster returned some time later with a coffee and a deli sandwich, Lassiter was almost reluctant to leave. For the first time since this whole mess had started, Lassiter felt calm and almost at ease.
Truth be told, he didn’t want to give that up.
Lassiter spent the evening continuously examining the evidence they had. After several hours, everything started to blend together until he couldn’t look at anything. He needed to sleep. And yet he couldn’t.
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he applied pressure for several long moments before sliding his hands through his hair. When he opened his eyes again, he could see a little clearer. Thoughts of Shawn suddenly filled him with a determination he hadn’t yet felt on this case: of Shawn in the hospital, of Shawn approaching him in the precinct, of Shawn thrashing about during a “vision”, of Shawn grinning and laughing like the charming idiot that he was. All of it gave him a sense of clarity that was so strong he actually felt a jolt rip through his body until he was sitting ramrod straight in his chair.
There was a simple explanation, and Lassiter was pretty sure he’d just figured it out. Looking up at the clock, he saw that it was well past midnight, and therefore far too late to make any calls. But he knew, the same way he knew that he was meant to be Head Detective (and Chief someday), and that Shawn wasn’t psychic, knew that he had just solved the case. He just needed the evidence to prove it.
Next
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 11:35 am (UTC)Glad you're liking it!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 01:25 pm (UTC)YAAAY you've got it up!
Posted in.....reverse order? You did that so it'd be right-side up on the flists, didn't you?
And it wasn't unwisely. -huggles-
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 04:37 pm (UTC)YAY! Finally!
Well it was partly that, and also so that I could make links to each part! I'm glad it all worked out! :D
*basks in hug, returns it with fervour*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 07:42 pm (UTC)BUT MAN I AM SO EXCITED AND AM GOING TO READ IT RIGHT NOW :D:D:D:D:D:D
(I actually just flailed a little) :D
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 12:39 am (UTC)The case side of things is very intriguing. What happened to Shawn and why? Has Lassie solved it like he thinks?
And then there's the personal side. What a time for Carlton to realise he has feelings for Shawn. Did Shawn hear him? They say people in comas hear when people talk to them. Will he return Lassie's feelings?
Laura.