Because Seven Eight Nine [5/7]
Title: Because Seven Eight Nine
Rating: T
Characters: Shawn, Lassiter, Buzz, Team Psych, OFC
Warnings: mention of abuse of a minor, violence, gore, Shawn has a moment of stupidity . . . or lots of them.
Genres: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Chapters: 7
Completed: Yes
Word count: 10,267
Disclaimer: See Prologue.
Notes: See Prologue.
Summary: The entire list of things that Carlton Lassiter liked about Shawn Spencer came into play on that otherwise innocuous Tuesday.
(Because of that fateful Tuesday, he has discovered he is willing to break the rules sometimes, and while the thought alarms him, he doesn't think there's anything he can do about it now that he knows.)
P 1 2 3 4 5 E
“Why was six afraid of seven?”
Silence prevailed for a few moments.
“Because seven eight nine!”
Carlton groaned, both because his head was pounding and because that was one of the worst jokes in the history of bad humor. “Do you really think that's an appropriate joke to be telling her?”
“Lassie! Go see how he is for me.”
The soft sounds of movement over dirt drew closer and then stopped just inches away. Carlton figured he should make an effort and opened his eyes, relieved to see that there was a way to do so.
Bree's face hovered over his as she tried to assess his condition.
“I'm alive,” he said and brought his hands up from where the rested on his stomach in preparation to roll over. Until he realized they were handcuffed together.
With another groan he dropped them back to his chest.
Perfect. Locked up with his own cuffs. And his gun was certainly gone too. And Spencer had been witness to it all.
He was never going to live this down, he knew. If he survived this he should probably move. To Maine.
Maybe Australia.
Until then, however, he needed to take stock of the situation-in the vain hope it wasn't as bad as it seemed.
“Any idea how long we were out?” he asked as he resumed his efforts to roll over and make it up onto his knees at least.
“Not sure. Probably long enough for Buzz to get worried. You did tell him to call for backup if we didn't return, right?”
“Of course,” Carlton said with a glare.
“That's good.”
The door opened above them and all three sets of eyes went to the greater source of light.
Someone was coming down . . .
It took approximately half a second for Carlton to realize he recognized those mud-caked size fifteen sneakers and that dark blue windbreaker. The cavalry was already here?
But when McNabb reached the bottom and turned, looking first surprised then sheepish he began to suspect something was not quite right.
“Move over to the far wall,” a voice from above ordered.
McNabb went to stand by Shawn's side.
“Try anything and Detective Lassiter there will have a third eye just like the psychic. Only his will be a lot more bloody.”
Oh for the love of-
Sure enough seconds later the hole was filled with another man, this one dressed in biker boots, jeans, and a well worn t-shirt. He climbed down three rungs and then dropped to allow his friend still up there a clear shot once more with the rifle muzzle that had appeared and centered on Carlton's forehead.
He turned around and it was glaringly obvious that he had never worked on the right side of the law, though he was still probably well versed in the judicial system's ways.
A soft whimper drew Carlton's attention away from the newcomer and he turned to see that Bree had buried herself into Spencer's side under his good arm. From the wince on Spencer's face that was not appreciated, but he just wrapped his arm around her and murmured softly to her, ignoring the new man completely.
“You aren't supposed to be here. This is private property and you can't just barge in here and snoop around. You need a warrant.”
Carlton opened his mouth but it was McNabb that spoke up.
“Actually, with reasonable expectation of exigency and possible danger to life, a temporary warrant is granted by circumstance. We had reason to believe that Shawn Spencer's life was in danger and therefore could enter without needing a paper warrant.”
Silence reigned as more than one person looked at him in shock, their captor apparently unable to process the mouthiness of the statement and Carlton surprised at the sheer chutzpah it required-something he hadn't expected McNabb to possess.
Especially since it was only vaguely accurate. Really it would depend on the judge ruling on the case as to whether the agreement would be with McNabb or not.
Spencer was faintly smiling and looking vaguely proud.
Yeah, encouraging behavior that Shawn Spencer believed was appropriate in a hostage situation was not something Carlton could get in on.
McNabb swallowed under the twin glares being leveled his way, but kept his eyes on the perpetrator.
“Also, you weren't home, so we couldn't exactly ask permission.”
Carlton rolled his eyes. He would have banged his head against a wall if there had been one handy. And if he wasn't already getting that from the inside.
He should have come alone. He definitely should have come alone.
“You, over here now.”
McNabb appeared to give the order some consideration, his gaze shifting to Carlton.
Oh sure. Now he wanted direction.
“I said, move. Or do we need to start shooting?”
Carlton smothered a sigh and nodded.
McNabb returned to stand in front of the man, blocking him from view of the rest of them.
“On your knees.”
Well now he was half visible. And fully pissed off.
A staring contest ensued for so long that it became slightly hypnotizing, waiting to see what would happen.
And then suddenly a hand lashed out and took McNabb across the face, sending him listing to the side until he could catch himself. A vicious kick to his side followed that took him down completely, a second following in quick succession to send him onto his back. Curled up and coughing he finally appeared to be little enough threat to the other man so the beating ceased there, for now.
Spencer hissed in sympathy but Carlton remained silent, glaring at the man who'd assaulted a fellow officer.
“Brady, get me those handcuffs.”
The sniper took one hand off the gun-though it didn't waver-and reached over, before dropping McNabb's handcuffs down to his partner.
“Hands.”
McNabb obediently lifted them up and held still while he was cuffed, though that probably had as much to do with the pain he was in as it did him 'learning his lesson'.
“Now back up to the wall with your psychic friend there. And take the other one with you.”
McNabb carefully regained his feet and crossed the few feet to where Carlton sat. Between the two of them they got him to his feet as well and staggered back to the wall.
“Have a seat,” the man said, smiling deceptively. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he added with a chuckle.
McNabb slid down the wall on Spencer's right, an arm guarding his ribs, though Carlton remained standing next to him.
“Now what?” Spencer asked. “Going to find a kitten to drown?”
He was ignored. “Bree. Get over here.”
Bree started, but just burrowed in deeper to Spencer's side.
“Bree! Now!”
She was shaking so hard that Carlton was concerned about brain damage.
“Just leave her alone,” he snapped.
His daughter's disobedience combined with Carlton's mouth sent the blood rushing to the man's face. “Listen here you little-” he started and crossed the floor towards them, having to stop when Carlton blocked his way.
Spencer had done what he could and curled over top of the little girl, while McNabb put a hand on the wall and rallied himself to stand up again and assist if need be.
“Get out of my way.”
“No.”
The two men faced off and the whole room seemed to still, waiting to see what would happen.
No one expected a knock at the front door of the cabin.
Carlton blinked, then found himself staring at the back of the man who he'd been anticipating having to fight.
“Brady, see who that is and tell them to go away.”
Before Brady vanished his partner pulled out Carlton's gun and backed up, aiming it at the owner.
His other hand came up to press a single finger to his lips in the universal gesture to keep quiet.
“What?” Brady growled above their heads.
“Hi, sorry about this, I know it's late, but our car broke down and my-”
“Brother-”
“-And I were wondering if you had a phone we could use to call a tow truck.”
Shawn glared at Carlton and kicked him lightly in the shin.
“I thought you said you didn't call them!” he hissed.
“I didn't!” Carlton shot back over his shoulder.
The they both looked at McNabb and he shook his head. “I was just about to call for backup when they found me.”
A jerk of his hand across their captor's neck got the message through that they were supposed to shut. UP.
Carlton didn't speak but he did roll his eyes. He was so coming alone next time.
“You're brother and sister?” was the dubious question.
“Adopted,” the said in unison.
There was a grunt that didn't quite convey acceptance of that.
“Use your cell phone,” Brady said.
There was a thump that could quite easily have been a boot being crunched between a door and a jamb, then O'Hara's voice came again, still sweet but insistent.
“We would, but you see neither of us get service up here. So if we could just come in and use the phone-”
Some quick but unidentifiable sounds followed, before O'Hara's voice returned, now her uncompromising cop's tone.
“Set it down slowly and keep your hands where I can see them. Now.”
A moment of hesitation, then something, presumably the rifle, was set on the floor.
“Back up slowly.”
They tracked his footsteps above them until they were beyond the trapdoor, more footsteps coming through the door.
“Carlton?” she called. “Buzz? Shawn?”
None of the men dared to respond however since they were still facing down a weapon. And then McNabb's was produced from the back of his waistband and aimed upwards.
“Henry,” O'Hara said.
“Got it,” he said, his shadow falling over the trapdoor moments later.
“Dad, no!” Spencer yelled.
Carlton dodged to the side reflexively and then the world exploded in sound.
Laying on the floor he wondered just how many guns had gone off at the same time just now.
Enough to remind him of the last reenactment they'd done. The one that Spencer messed up by butting into uninvited.
Even if he did solve the murder and the robbery/fraud.
Why did he have to poke his nose into everything? Why couldn't he leave some things alone? Was that too much to ask? Bad enough he had to deal with Spencer at work, but the regiment . . . it was off duty time. His hobby.
It was supposed to be Spencer-free time.
It occurred to him that his thoughts were wandering just a little and he couldn't immediately tell why.
Until his hearing returned and Spencer yelled in his ear, “HE'S BEEN SHOT.”
“Gah!” he protested and tried to roll away.
Both Spencer's hand and the agonizing fire that burst into life in his shoulder stopped him. How had he missed that before?
And how had he gotten shot? He'd dodged. He knew he'd dodged.
He blinked open his eyes-vaguely concerned that he didn't recall closing them-and found himself staring at the open, blank eyes of the man who'd stolen his gun. Henry Spencer was crouched next to him, verifying he was actually dead.
Okay. He might have missed something.
Or a lot of somethings.
O'Hara was coming down the ladder and Guster was at the edge of the trapdoor looking down.
Carlton frowned. How many people had they brought with them? What kind of a rescue was this?
“Carlton?” O'Hara said as she made her way over. She looked at someone behind him and Spencer spoke up.
“He lost consciousness for a few minutes, though I think that might have been from hitting his head when he went down.”
“Buzz, help me put pressure on this,” O'Hara ordered. McNabb complied and she looked at Shawn again. “How are you doing?”
“I'll survive, though I'd sell state secrets on e-bay to the Commies for some painkillers right now.”
O'Hara winced. “Sorry. But an ambulance is on the way.” She looked around. “Or a couple of them hopefully.”
“I'll be fine,” Carlton ground out. “I can take a car back to the hospital.”
“You will not,” O'Hara said, shooting him a quelling glare. “You of all people are getting an ambulance. You're bleeding Carlton. Profusely.”
“Spencer-”
“Is also getting an ambulance ride. Along with Bree. The other two . . . well an ambulance won't help them now anyway.”
He hissed as McNabb put more pressure on the wound at O'Hara's direction.
“Now just shush Carlton. I have to call Chief Vick so she doesn't get blindsided by this too badly.”
“How did you find us?” Carlton asked.
O'Hara gave him an odd look. “Francie called me and asked if I knew how late we were going to keep Buzz out.”
“Francie?” McNabb asked, a look of worry suddenly infusing his features.
O'Hara nodded, and continued her story. “She assumed I was in on it because I'm your partner. Imagine my surprise when I found out that you and Buzz were investigating a case without me,” she said in a slightly brittle tone, her smile not so much happy as accusatory.
“That was my fault,” Spencer confessed. “I asked him not to tell you.”
“Yeah, and what are all of you doing up here unofficially?”
“Long story,” Carlton said, hoping to head off the explanation until after he had some painkillers of his own. Spencer had made an excellent point. Not about the selling state secrets, but the drugs.
“We've got time,” O'Hara countered, arching an eyebrow.
Carlton sighed and closed his eyes. He missed the meek little junior detective that had held her gun in shaking hands on that first bust.
“Carlton?”
“Gimme second,” he mumbled. It was getting harder to think. If he couldn't have drugs passing out would be nice.
“Carlton!”
He frowned. Couldn't she shut up for two seconds? Geeze. What had he ever done to deserve such a chatty partner? She never shut up.
“Carlton,” she whispered.
Had he said something about the volume?
Oh no, wait. It was his hearing that was fading, not her voice.
“Bree, honey,” Spencer said. “He's okay. He's just tired. He'll be fine, I promise.”
Uh oh. That was bad wasn't it?
Before he decided the darkness was complete and he knew no more.
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