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“You were a dirty little gopher, weren't you? A filthy, creepy rodent clawing out your filthy little hole with your filthy claws...”
“Shawn.”
A quick correction by Gus, an irritated glare by Lassy, and Shawn conceded that wrapping this up was the better part of valor. Not to mention it was cold and drizzly and there wasn't a Jamba Juice within thirty five miles. Hunched between the two detectives, Ike Lazardo (whom Shawn had been referring to as Eddie Izzard for the duration of the investigation) glanced towards the 'hole' in question. Actually it wasn't a question so much as an accusation...
“Are we done here, Spencer?”
Shawn was affronted. “What, suddenly we're calling the wrap up on account of rain? Seriously?”
An eye roll but at least the detective held out his hand in a clearly “carry on” gesture – though the hurry your ass up before I bury you element wasn't remotely hidden either.
“SO!” His hands slapped together, drawing all attention back to himself, though Ike was still allowing himself to be distracted by everything sparkly in sight. Shawn could relate to a degree, but now was not the time or place. “Yo, Eddie, eyes to the front of the class dude!”
Gaze tracked back, but only held for as long as Shawn took to inhale for the finale – slipping away again before the the last nail in the coffin could be hammered home. Well this just wasn't satisfying at all...
“Shawn?”
Now Jules was showing her agitation. And she really did look wet kitty irritated – thickening rain clumping her hair and testing the durability of her waterproof mascara. Not that he was staring.
“He killed his wife and buried her behind the house. Shovels are quite the multi-use tool aren't they Eddie? Great for both digging as well as murder. Too bad your neighbor had to go and borrow it before you could clean up. Like I always say man – never loan your tools to a thief.”
“You never say that, Shawn, I do! And what I said was, never let Shawn borrow anything you want to see again in one piece!” Gus scowled – wiping uselessly at the wet streaks finding no impediment in trickling across his scalp.
“Oh please, Gus, if you didn't want me borrowing your calculator you wouldn't put it in a drawer where anyone could find it.”
“A drawer I locked!”
“That you know I have a key to.”
“You don't have a key, Shawn, you picked it open with a paperclip and the spring from a Pez dispenser!”
“HEY!” Both men turned towards the soaked Irish detective and his partner. Lassiter's cheeks had reddened with a combination of chill and anger – Shawn's favorite color as it went so well with the man's blue eyes. “If you're finished, let's go! I'd rather not waste sick leave on pneumonia.”
Lazardo had been cuffed for quite some time, feet shifting in the dirt – now mud wetting through his sneakers. Dragging between Juliet and Lassiter on the way to the cluster of cars and cops, the group of three was trailed by the two friends, still bickering semantics in rapid hisses that was closer to twin speak than actual words.
Shawn suddenly broke off in a hard gasp mid defense.
“What!” Gus swept the area wildly. Meanwhile, Shawn's lips twisted downward.
“Oh my God... dude, I can see your man teats!”
Gaze dropping to his shirtfront, Gus nearly struck the idiot beside him for inducing a panic attack. He did manage a fairly damaging glare however. “It's periwinkle blue! What did you think would happen when it got wet?”
“Well it's not like I spend a lot of time thinking about the transparency factor in your clothes!” Shawn fired back in a whisper.
“Are you two coming?” Lassiter's yell was coupled by a glance back from Juliet, her eyes undeniably tracking from Shawn's drowned rat coif to the ebony Adonis at his side. Her jagging swallow wasn't missed – her eyes wrenching forward again when Shawn's brows shot to his hairline. The two friends exchanged a glance. Then, shaking his head in disgust, Shawn strode ahead.
He didn't really need to look back to see Gus swipe his nose with his thumb. He did look back though and Gus smiled as his hand fell back to his side. “I'm sorry, which one of us has the sweetness?”
“Yeah well, too much sweetness makes you fat!”
Gus snorted. “Well that explains a lot.” A small jog caught him up, and his hand slapped lightly at Shawn's belly.
“Hey!” Tugging his shirt protectively around his form, he hid what plastering rain accentuated. “I'll have you know a lot of women find my man pillow sexy!”
“I'm sorry, did you just call that a man pillow?”
Commotion cut off retort and both turned towards the detectives just as Lassiter's feet skidded on the muddy ground – grip loosening enough for Lazardo to rip free. Shoulder knocking Juliet off her feet, the previously meek criminal suddenly spun away and bolted back they way he'd come – straight towards the two friends.
“Woah!” No time to move, Shawn just had time to flinch when the larger man smashed into him, knocking them both to the ground. Lungs vacated explosively – freezing immediately afterward as his chest was used as a platform for Gorilla Boy's knee – sharp joint burying deep as Lazardo launched himself clear of the carnage and scrambled for freedom.
“STOP!” Order punctuated by a double dose of gunfire was oddly muted as Shawn struggled to work a single thread of damp oxygen past his teeth.
“Shawn? Shawn??” Gus hit the mud beside him as about eight officers darted past to tackle the escapee. On the tail end of Gus's second address, Shawn's throat rattled in a sob of air – not caring about the agony in his chest at the motion, just grateful his lungs had remembered they had a full time job.
“Just stay there – keep breathing...”
Great advice Gus – just great. Was thinking of holding my breath again cause it was so fun the first time. Verbal snark was beyond him though as sucking at the air was about all he was capable of currently.
Jangling, stomping, and swearing announced the returning cops and their grouchy catch, a set of steps slowing up as they neared the two men playing in the mud.
“He okay?” Lassiter had all the concern of a guy ordering a caramel mocha latte and chocolate moose bar with walnuts.
“...I'm o- I'm o- huh-huh-huh...”
“He got the wind knocked out of him.” Supplied Gus when Shawn's efforts only devolved into rapid pants. Shawn's head rolled back and forth as Lassiter moved further into view.
“He looks pale...” His eyes had been casually glancing down but the moment he actually looked at Shawn he cut off his speech. And then he too was kneeling – coating his neatly pressed pants in a layer of mud brown mud.
Fingertips trailed ticklishly down Shawn's throat to press against his pulse. He could feel it pounding hard – and clearly Lassy could as well. Then he got a hand to operate long enough to swat the fingers away again. Even the light touch felt like strangulation.
“O'Hara!” Lassiter stood again and stepped away, heading off to parts unknown. Well at least he wasn't hogging the oxygen anymore.
“Shawn, where does it hurt? Your chest?”
A nod as he continued to struggle – head tipping back, not even caring as the thick gunk below seeped down to his scalp. Rain now elevated to downpour and Gus opened his jacket like wings to protect Shawn's face from drops that pelted like stones.
“Shawn?” Footsteps splooshed and skidded as Juliet now joined the forms gradually gathering as the news spread that a teammate was down from a bad tackle and had yet to return to the field. “Hey, can you stand?”
Stand? As in rise from this ridiculously comfortable bed and rest his weight on his feet? Did he have to breathe to do that?
“I – d-don't – huh mmph – know...” getting worse – God it felt like he was trying to balance a compact car on his chest! One filled with a crowd of overweight clowns. His gasps built until hyperventilating was on the table – the inability to manage more than half a breath taking away the energy for communication.
“Carlton, we need to get him to the hospital.” Juliet's hand was resting on his shoulder – though he wanted to shake off even that bare pressure. Unfortunately instead of letting go, her hand tightened, and was joined by several more as both Carlton and Gus grabbed wherever it was handy and hoisted him to his feet.
“Mmmmm-guh-huh-huh-gu-gu-mm...” His legs had only slightly more stability than Play-Doh, and wold have dropped him if the three sets of grips hadn't been supporting him. More distressing, though, was that his breathing instantly worsened. His back arched as he tipped back his head – instinctively trying to keep his airway wide. However, the motion only tightened his chest – forcing his chin down again. He rasped – spitting waterdrops – and stumbled between his keepers towards the car at the top of the driveway.
Everything turned gray for about five seconds... maybe thirty seconds... however long it took to shuffle him into the dark blue sedan. He felt a bit like a piece of furnature as they struggled to work him into the back seat – Gus finally sliding in first, followed by Shawn. Juliet made certain he was propped up against his friend, and then darted around to the front seat. Lassy was already behind the wheel and gunning the engine – wrenching around to look behind himself as he guided carefully back out of the narrow driveway.
“Come on, come on, MOVE IT PEOPLE!” Shawn couldn't, nor did he need, to look behind himself to see that progress was slowed further by other patrol cars bottling the area. Not to mention speed would have been hampered anyhow by the pitted and mud slick road leading back to the highway.
Every slam of wheels into pot holes was like an added punch in his chest – the fight to breathe equally as urgent as the fight to escape the hands holding him in place. Gus had one palm flattened against his forehead while the other arm wrapped around his chest. Though the grip wasn't tight, it only increased the sensation of steel rapidly constricting his lungs. He gulped, bucking through a spasm, and wheezed.
“Carlton, we need to go faster!”
“I go any faster and I'm going to bust an axle – God, what idiot doesn't pave his driveway?”
Time sense evaporated as the graying effect returned – bumps and jolts all bleeding together in the agony of choking rasps, sobs, and panic.
Throughout, the one thing that remained constant was the voice nearby that repeated over and over, “It's okay, you're gonna be okay...”
~^~^~
“About time...” One last jarring slam and the car hit the tar – mud encrusted wheels spinning for purchase on the smooth road. Lassiter's mutter was coupled with a rearview mirror check on the backseat occupants. Guster was keeping it together for now, though the washed out color of his skin gave away his anxiety. Spencer, though... Save for the flush across the top of his cheeks his skin had drastically lost pigment – the flesh around his eyes almost looking bruised. Carlton had seen corpses with better color.
Returning his eyes to the road, he fishtailed moments after shifting into second. Torrential the best description for the monsoon level precipitation, his sedan was in no mood to accommodate the mini rapids pouring across the highway.
“Idiot!” His hand slammed the steering wheel as his foot drove down the gas, vehicle straightening out and roaring back towards the city. “Should have used leg irons on the son-of-a-bitch...” His hand slapped down again in spite of his need to retain control of the car – temperamental conditions all around not helping any part of the situation. “And why the hell didn't he just get out of the way?”
“Carlton, it's not his fault.” O'Hara's chastisement reminded him he was speaking aloud – though apparently she was the only one to hear him – another mirror check confirming no change with the two in back. Well, a small change. Spencer's lips were beginning to turn blue.
The rattle wheeze of his gasps was hard to hear whether watching or not, but attention to the road was first priority. There were two other people in the car to offer hand-holding, which was about the extant of aid that any of them could provide given it was at least another twenty minutes before they'd be within city limits. And with each second, Carlton was growing more and more concerned about one thing. Spencer wasn't going to make it.
This thought, thank God, he was able to stifle. For one, he didn't need Guster puking in his car. For another, O'Hara would never forgive him for voicing his cynicism. She never did like it when he was realistic about a situation. And for a small woman she could punch really, really hard.
The rain was coming down so hard now that the road was seen only intermittently – the flashing lights of the surrounding patrol cars the only true guide keeping him on the tar. Humidity had jumped inside the vehicle as well, and even with the air going full blast on the windows he still had to wipe at the blooming condensation.
Hitching struggles suddenly increased behind him, and without warning a foot crashed into the back of his seat.
“Shawn, Shawn! Help me!”
Carlton looked back again as O'Hara shoved her upper body over her seat – hands reaching for the arms flailing wildly. Spencer's eyes were wide, mouth gaping as he fought desperately. O'Hara had just managed to enclose one wrist when his other hand lashed out, a wild punch impacting her cheek - hard.
“Shawn stop! Shawn stop it!”
The car swerved when Spencer somehow hooked his leg over the headrest and kicked Carlton in the back of the skull.
“Dammit!” Avoiding the ditch just barely he was about to suggest tasing when whatever the two partners were doing seemed to have some effect. Though the wet rasps hadn't improved, at least he young man wasn't trying to murder his keepers any longer.
“You okay?” Focused on his driving, Carlton still managed a glance towards the woman beside him.
Blood was smeared beneath O'Hara's nose, but she was ignoring it for now. “I'm fine.”
Edging the vehicle up to eighty, Carlton almost gasped out with a thank you God when the sheets of water pouring across his windshield began to thin. Slowly, slowly they were edging out of the main body of the bad weather.
Ahead, he could see clear sky breaking through the clouds. He upped acceleration even more until the needle flirted with triple digits.
“HNUUH-MMPH-HUH-UH...”
“You're okay, Shawn, you're okay, just keep breathing...”
“...HU-GU...GU-S...”
Carlton hadn't expected words by this point – his evaluation of Spencer's condition shifting as the other man continued to battle speech with every gasp – Guster and O'Hara both trying to keep him silent and focused on breathing.
“GU-CAN...CAN'-T...GMPP...HUH...”
“Shawn, just breathe – we're almost there...”
“HUHM...CAN'-T...HUH...TIR-TIRED...”
Almost as he said it, Spencer's chest began to move in longer – labored breaths. He was beginning to lose the energy to physically move his chest.
The panic had a smell, a taste, and it was filling the vehicle – rising from the pores of the three individuals surrounding him. No good sharing his feelings on the matter, Carlton wiped the wet trickles from his forehead and aimed for the mirage of lights in the distance.
The next fifteen minutes passed without much change other than Spencer no longer spoke. His breathing had continued to worsen to the point of shallow jerks – his eyes unfocused. O'Hara was rubbing her hand up and down his arm, but the sight of tears dripping from Guster's jaw was enough to wrench his eyes back to the road for the rest of the drive.
Paramedics were on standby outside the ER by the time the car skidded in front of the hospital. A good thing as Spencer had stopped breathing completely moments before – Guster in complete melt-down as he was pulled free and placed on a gurney. Oxygen was already flowing through a mask as the consultant was raced inside, Guster trailing and looking none too healthy himself.
“O'Hara, you'd better go with him.” His partner was already exiting the car – likely planning to do just that whether he'd suggested it or not.
Meanwhile Carlton dug out his phone to report in to the Chief, knowing she'd deal with the unpleasantries of contacting Spencer's father – possibly even his mother depending on how this played out.
Only a few minutes to relay information and he hung up – clipping the cell to his belt below his secondary weapon. And then he too headed inside.
~^~^~
Getting the call that his kid was in the ER wasn't uncommon. Even before he could walk, Shawn had managed to inflict self injury on an alarming scale – starting with the time he'd pulled a lamp over onto himself when he'd grabbed the cord. Granted, it wasn't always his fault – the more terrifying event having to due with a birth defect requiring what the doctor labeled a “minor” heart surgery. How the hell anything involving cracking open his child's chest and slicing into his heart could be called minor he'd never know.
Karen had called him at home. The moment she'd said “took a hard blow to the chest” Henry had been out the door, keys in hand. He'd demanded more, but the most she'd tell him was that Shawn was being treated. There had to be more though – something she didn't know or wouldn't say. A dad knew.
She'd offered to call Maddie as well, but Henry had belayed the suggestion. Maddie was currently out of state – a call without more information would only worry her needlessly. She might give him hell about it later, but there was no point in panicking her with only partial details.
His next call was with Gus – the kid had never kept a single secret from him his whole life. For the first time, though, he wished that he had. He didn't drop back to the speed limit until he entered the hospital parking lot.
He could have found his way to the nursing station blindfolded – though not without casualties. Even with all senses fully operational he'd still managed to knock shoulders with several people that had had the nerve and poor luck to be in his path.
Five feet from his destination the sound of his name being spoken had detoured him to the left, his eyes picking out Detective Lassiter's tall form amongst the candy stripers and milling/worried family crowding the waiting room.
Before Lassiter could speak further, though, his partner stepped forward. “He's stable, they got him breathing again a few minutes after he arrived.”
Henry stared at the young woman. “Shawn stopped breathing?”
Clearly they'd thought that information had already been shared with him given the way their eyes looked anywhere but at him. Aggravated, worried, Henry pushed past them towards the one member of the group that hadn't acknowledged him upon his arrival.
“Gus.”
Hunkered down in a chair, curled into himself, Gus flinched at the sound of his name – looking up at Henry as though he'd just been caught stealing from his mother's purse.
“Mr. Spencer...”
Henry kept Gus from rising with a hand on his shoulder, choosing to sink down beside him instead. Still anxious, Gus rubbed his hands on his slacks.
“It happened so fast – there wasn't time to move – it wasn't his fault... I should have...”
Henry cut off the guilt-laden rambling. If he wanted to hear remorse he'd get it from the two detectives. “Gus, you're the reason Shawn still has all of his limbs. Karen told me what happened.” He looked towards Lassiter and O'Hara, narrowing his eyes. “Most of it.”
Shrinking back down, Gus clasped his hands – unable to keep his fingers still – flexing them restlessly.
Patting the muscle bunched leg beside him, Henry leaned back in his seat, looked up at the two detectives, and crossed his arms.
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
~^~^~
Shawn was awake.
Granted, it had taken about three hours. Finally winning the fight against the sticky glaze holding his lids together, he'd been severely distressed to find an oxygen mask strapped over his nose. Even worse, his room had been invaded by people who didn't have the excuse of near death and sedation to explain their sleeping on the job. Tolerating the agony of movement, Shawn had gasped and whined and wiggled until he'd managed to slide his bare foot over the end of his bed and hook his chart with one toe. The sad thing was he'd thought that would be the easy part. Sad, or pathetic? No – he'd go with sad. Pathetic didn't get as much sympathy.
Getting it from his foot to his hands was a work of contortion that could easily have made him a shoe-in at a Circ De solie audition. After that, he'd napped a little longer.
Waking up a second time, he'd been both irritated, yet pleased to see his visitors were still unconscious. After all, though it was their duty to be aware of the classic hand twitching that had likely announced his return to life, he'd have hated to have wasted all his earlier exercise.
After a semi-interested scan of the paperwork – enough to ask Gus what “traumatic pneumothorax” meant, he'd opened the clasps at the top and proceeded to apply skills he'd carefully honed during an afternoon art class in sixth grade.
Precision was key – this he'd learned through many tragic failures. Though not a fan of math ever since a multiple choice test had led to bruised ribs and a black eye, this was one area where he hadn't been able to avoid it's application.
Exact measurements, lines following a memorized grid, and within five minutes the first of his finely crafted arsenal was finished. He couldn't help but admire it for some time. Of course, the drugs may have had some influence there too – but damn, he was a fricking master craftsman if he didn't think so himself!
Finally, forcing himself to tear his eyes from the delicate sculpture, he'd gone to work on the second.
Another nap cropped up somewhere during his creating, but he sensed it didn't last long. And then eventually, he was finished – clipboard stripped clean.
This was where it all came together – where novices and masters parted ways. A licked finger to test the currents, arm angled just so – and with gentle guidance, he threw.
And missed his target by five feet.
“DAMMIT!”
Gus jerked and nearly fell from... oop – nope, he did fall from his chair.
“Shawn!” His yell awakened target number two (Shawn appreciated the multiple levels of irony to that name) and Henry stretched before opening his eyes.
Both immediately looked his way, their relief at seeing him awake and breathing clearly showing in their eyes.
“Did you just try to hit me with a paper airplane?”
“Shawn, what the hell did you do to your chart!?”
Shawn coughed into his fist – somewhat less effective given the mask still secured over his mouth. Gross – spatter. “Dad, Gus. You're really here! I'm touched!”
Surefire way to ensure the emotions would stay at an even keel... wait a minute... Gus was standing. No – not just Gus, but dad too. Oh crap and they were walking towards his bed...
“Dude, please tell me you have allergies...”
Arms wrapped around his neck before he could leap from his bed and run down the hall. Cause yeah, he was so capable of that right now.
“You can throw as many airplanes as you want – I'm just glad you're alive.” And, honest to God, there was something wet and suspiciously tear-like collecting on his neck from Gus's cheek. Well he supposed he had stressed his buddy out a little.
Wrapping his own arms as best as he could, he patted Gus on the back. “I'm fine man. I'm okay.”
While Gus clung to him like a barnacle, Shawn looked up towards his father – seeking a smirk that he could return in kind. Instead, causing the sarcastic reaction to dry up before it could fully form, Henry studied him with eyes suspiciously red and moist.
“Good to see you awake, kid.” Then, reaching down, his dad rested one hand on the top of Shawn's head.
He was just on the verge of feeling completely smothered when Gus finally straightened – making no effort to hide his eye wiping. His dad was more subtle, but Shawn still caught the shine on the back of his hand when he rubbed it beneath his lid on the way to scratching his nose.
“They're going to want to keep you here a few days; make sure you don't develop any additional problems.”
Shawn nodded, his quickly returning drug exhaustion morphing his dad's voice into an adult Peanut's character - “Wah wah, wah wah waaah...” Nothing all that new to be honest. It was soothing. He closed his eyes.
If Gus said good night, he didn't have the energy to say it back.
He might have given the thumbs up though.
He wasn't totally sure.
Either way, it didn't really matter.
What did, what he knew mattered most to all three of them, was that he was breathing.
He felt a hand touch his head one more time.
He heard a voice say something he understood without interpretation.
And with a deep, painless inhale, he sank into the darkness.
And if he muttered something about never trusting sneaky gophers as he went under, it was never mentioned.