One for Fright

Carlton Lassiter stood in hospital waiting room, trying his hardest to actually stay and not leave. He barely noticed the other concerned occupants, wanting to get away. Feeling guilty about Spencer was not on his agenda for the day. The man had a lot of nerve breaking into his sting operation and then getting injured.

Okay, so Spencer had been the one having a psychic vision that led them to the location where the sting operation was at. Granted, Lassiter had been about to head to the wrong place, bringing about the need for Spencer to have another vision to lead Lassiter to the correct place. There was definitely some problems on his end, however had Spencer told them like he normally does instead of trying the whole hoopla of psychic visions, Lassiter wouldn't have had to try and figure it out as he had.

The man was a menace; one that should be locked up.

Maybe not locked up, but certainly removed from Lassiter's hair. What his partner saw in the man, Lassiter was not sure. Spencer was a liar. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that he wasn't having psychic visions. He was just having a lot of lucky guesses.

A LOT of lucky guesses.

It wasn't fair that Lassiter had to be the one working with Spencer. Absolutely unfair. His partner was at a conference with the Chief, who had left very explicit instructions saying that Lassiter had to work with Spencer. Otherwise, Lassiter would have done everything in his power to have one week completely free of Spencer as he did his job. It could have been heaven. He supposed he didn't blame the Chief for issuing the order. She clearly knew what Lassiter had intended to do.

“Do I make myself clear, Carlton?” Chief Vick spoke in her normal clear cut, no nonsense tone. She wanted to impress upon her Head Detective that she meant business. She did not want to return to her station and have people complaining. She was not going to leave a power vacuum that Lassiter would try to fill. This was her station and it would continue to be run as if she were here while she was gone.

“Perfectly clear, Chief. Do I have to take him with me though?” Lassiter looked like he had swallowed something sour. The thought of having Spencer in his squad car where Detective O'Hara usually sat was enough to make him want to cry. The man was barely tolerable in very, very small doses. Spending a day with him, taking him from crime scene to crime scene would be unbearable.

“Yes. I want him included in every aspect of this investigation. Maybe you can find out how he does it and convince him to join the squad. Though, it is rather fun to watch his antics. They bring a relaxing air to this station,” The Chief said, as she closed her brief case and started to leave. All Lassiter could do was stare after her.

Relaxing air? Spencer? How could the Chief utter those words in the same sentence. It was like an oxymoron. And Spencer was most assuredly the moron part of it.

If only he had dared to defy his superior, then they wouldn't be in this jam. The higher ups were most definitely going to have issues with a civilian being injured in a police sting. Sure, Spencer was considered a consultant of the police, so he wasn't fully considered a civilian, but that was all technicalities. With Henry Spencer fully prepared to raise up a storm, the fact that Shawn Spencer was a consultant would be quickly forgotten in the events soon to take place.

Damn Spencer and his annoying habit of screwing up. Why couldn't he do something right for once? Why couldn't he stay out of trouble? Did Spencer do this just to mess with his head? If he did, he was doing a damn fine job of it. Curse the man for daring to get hurt at Lassiter's sting.

“Spencer, I want you to stay in the car. Do you understand me?” Lassiter glared at the bouncing man in his squad car. He had finally managed to shut up as Lassiter had pulled into what, he assumed, was the location that the drug sale was going down.

Shawn grinned at Lassiter, “Sure thing Lassie-face. Go to the right spot and I'll stay in the squad car. Especially since you bought me this pineapple smoothie!” Lassiter believed Spencer and walked carefully towards the house. He heard a car door shut as another squad car joined them. He looked back and saw Spencer out of the car. Lassiter stopped, staring at Spencer. He was stumbling.

“No! I need it! Give it to me! I'll bring the money next time!” Shawn screamed, stumbling towards the house next to the one Lassiter was approaching. Shawn was holding his head in his 'having a psychic vision' manner. Lassiter growled. Clearly Spencer thought he was approaching the wrong house. Lassiter had followed Spencer's instructions to the letter. He was approaching the correct house. Or was he?

Trying not to scream in frustration, Lassiter followed Spencer to the house. Spencer had enough sense to be silent as he crept into the house. By the time Lassiter was inside, Spencer was in another room. Lassiter decided that when he found the psychic, after saving his hide and busting the drug deal, he was going to strangle the man. There was no questions about it. He was going to kill Shawn Spencer for ever entering his life.

Lassiter was almost finished with planning all the details behind his strangling Spencer when he heard the man let out a gut-wrenching scream.

Lassiter cursed himself as he stood just outside the waiting room for his reaction. He had left the room, unable to take the glares from Henry Spencer and the ever increasing worried expressions on Burton Guster. It was bad enough that he had a small guilty conscience. He didn't need the others feelings compounding the bloody guilt.

Lassiter raked a hand through his hair. He was sure that it looked like hell by now. In fact, he was sure that he looked like hell all over. He hadn't gone home to change clothes, so his normal white pressed shirt was stained with Spencer's blood. His sleeves were rolled up. He had washed his arms and hands, otherwise they would have been stained with blood. His coat was gone, never to be used again. It had been stained beyond use.

What did it matter if his hair was knocked out of its normal, perfectly combed style?

Damn, if only he had realized which house was the correct house the first time, none of them would be in this situation. Wondering if Spencer was going to live through the night or if they would be burying their comrade in the morning?

That damned scream! Lassiter wished he could forget it. He chose to ignore it at the time, figuring Spencer was having another damned psychic vision. Well, it had given away their cover and he wasn't going to lose the lawbreakers just because Spencer was trying to drive him mad.

He turned the corner into another adjacent to the one Spencer was in, seeing three criminals. “Hands were I can see them!” He shouted at all three of them. Two of them complied immediately, dropping their weapons. From their relaxed expressions, they were clearly the drug drealers. The third person seemed to be a teenager and he wasn't complying. He wasn't moving either, just staring into the next room. Lassiter wondered if he was staring at the insane Psychic.

Lassiter's back up came in, cuffing the two with their hands in the air as Lassiter approached the third one, “Put your weapon down.” He barked in their ears.

“I didn't mean to.” The man, no this was clearly a fifteen year old kid that was addicted to hard core drugs, whispered. “I just turned and saw him, reacted. I didn't think. I didn't know.” Lassiter turned to see what the boy was talking about. His blood froze as he saw Spencer in a pool of blood, futilely trying to remain conscious.

Lassiter wasn't even aware of his movements as he cuffed the boy. He was vaguely aware that he had shouted at the other officers to radio for paramedics. There was an officer down. His movements were mechanical as he dropped by Spencer, taking his jacket off. It wasn't until he was rolling up his sleeves that he was fully thinking again. Granted, that was because Spencer said,

“Hey, you made it, Lassie. . . “ Spencer tried to weakly grin, but Lassiter was not surprised when it turned into a grimace. Lassiter had removed Spencer's shirt. He knew that it was a sign of how bad Spencer was that he didn't even make a joke about Lassiter removing his shirt.

“Spencer, how could you be so stupid? You could die because you didn't listen. You could have told the backup. Or something. You aren't trained for this. You weren't wearing a vest. Damnit, I should have had you wearing a vest,” Lassiter was aware that he was rambling, but he could tell that Spencer was focusing on his words. As long as Spencer was conscious, he was alive.

As long as Spencer was alive, he wouldn't have the whole department wanting to murder him.

“Lassie, didn't,” Spencer's voice hitched as though he was trying to stop a wave of pain, “know you cared.” Lassiter was glad that Spencer was trying to keep his normal joking facade up. It made the fact that he was holding his really good suit jacket against the gunshot wound in Spencer's belly a little more bearable.

“Where are those paramedics!?” Lassiter shouted out back. He may not be trained as a doctor, but he knew that the amount of blood Spencer was losing was not good.

Lassiter walked back into the waiting room, noticing that Spencer's doctor was on his way there. He found it ironic that he was the one that made it to the Doctor first. He didn't say anything, letting Gus take care of that.

“What's the news on Shawn?” Gus asked, barely keeping his voice steady. Lassiter could tell that Gus was not handling his best friend in the hospital well at all. Lassiter wasn't sure that he blamed him.

“Good news. It was a clean shot. Missed anything major. It just bled a lot. We stitched him up and removed the bullet. He should be fine.” The Doctor smiled, happy as the looks of relief crossed all the faces. “He's being transferred to room 202. We'll allow one to two visitors at a time.” Lassiter didn't wait for the doctor to finish talking, leaving the room immediately. He wanted to see Spencer himself. He wasn't sure he believed the Doctor was telling the truth.

Lassiter ducked into the room, looking at Spencer. He was glad to see that the doctor was not lying. He moved to leave, stopping at a small sound.

“Owe me. . . “ Shawn whispered from the bed, “Lassie-face.” Lassiter went back over,

“What do you mean, Spencer?” Lassiter asked in clipped tones. He blinked down at Shawn's wide eyes. It was obvious that he was on pain medication. However, the smile on Shawn's lips spoke volumes as to his awareness.

“A new pineapple smoothie.”