“Maybe you should shut your chowder hole before Rogers hears us!”

Lassie made a good point, at least on paper. But, as usual, Shawn had the sad duty of informing the detective that he was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong in his buzzed hair wrong.

“Lassie, I'm sad to have to inform you that you're wrong.”

Shawn spat raindrops from his lips, only to have more take their place. His hair was drenched – saturated to the point that not even his Axe hair gel could hold up under the deluge. It made his neck feel sticky where the reside still clung.

“What in the hell are you jawing about?”

It was close enough to a 'What you talkin' bout, Willis' to make Shawn smile, but not close enough to let him drift off topic. At least not right now. There'd be plenty of time for that on the drive back to the station. Besides, Lassie had clearly asked for information that may or may not be pertinent to the investigation.

“I'm also sad to inform you that Mr. Rogers isn't in his neighborhood.” And yes, he'd been wanting to say something like that for the better part of evening.

The burst of lightening above couldn't have been better timed as Lassiter turned his eyes from scanning the trees to glaring at the bedraggled consultant. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his voice to a pleasant pitch; though the clenched teeth sorta ruined the effect. “What do you mean, Rogers isn't here?”

Behind them, Lassiter's sedan still ticked as the engine cooled from their drive through the forest. Mud squelched under their shoes and Shawn could totally understand Gus's refusal, complete with an elbow to the left chest, about joining them on their trek. Just because he'd once lost a pair of Pumas. Wussy.

“A little spirit told me.” Shawn pushed the flattened hair from his forehead as more water drizzled down his cheeks. A stream of chilly wet waterfalled down the back of his neck and under his shirt and he shuddered and squirmed as it traveled to far more personal territory.

The Glock in the detective's hands twitched as though it wanted to rise a little up and to the right of its current position. Shawn sidestepped left just to be safe.

“We just drove two hours out of the city for you to tell me the guy isn't even here!?”

Shawn squinted in thought. “It was only two hours? Seriously?” The Glock twitched again and he pocketed 'vague' in favor of specific. “You'll notice his car isn't here.”

Attention shifted to scan the area again. Lassiter lowered the gun to his side and clenched his hands.

“Dammit...”

The Shrrruuuhhh of falling water was the only sound for the next several moments as Lassiter squinted through the gray wall in front of them and Shawn wiped at the rain cascading down his face. Sure it was a pain in the ass, but Lassie would cheer up when they got onto the road again. Shawn had spotted a little pie shop on the way through the last town. A slice of caramel apple and a cup of coffee would put the charge back in his taser.

“Stay here!”

“Wait, what?” Shawn looked back towards the detective as Lassiter bent through the open door of the car and grabbed his radio. Enough of his voice filtered through the rain to make out the he was giving an update to dispatch. A second later the radio was pushed back into its holder and Lassie was reemerging – one hand pointing to the car.

“I said, stay here. I'm going to go check out the cabin, but I'm not dragging a civilian with just because your spirits think it's safe!”

Shawn scoffed but Lassiter was already brushing past him, once more pointing at the car.

“Stay!”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them pushed through the last of the heavy, whip-like, foliage. Shawn was still rubbing his cheek where a slender welt of red had formed. “You did that on purpose.” He groused.

Lassiter held his weapon in both hands as he studied the cabin at the far end of the clearing.

“Next time, stay put when I tell you to!”

The rain had worsened during their hike and was now hammering down on them both – forcing them to yell just to be heard. Stealthy? Maybe not, but being overheard would be impossible unless the bad guy was standing right next to them.

“Okay, you stay out here! I'm going to check it out... Spencer!”

There was no way he was standing out here to reenact the Flood from the unbeliever's point of view – and without a giant boat fulled with chinchillas no less.

The drumming rain became Tool concert beneath the cabin's tin overhang, but the trade off of being dry was totally worth it. Turning back towards Lassiter to grin, Shawn had a flash thought race through his head along with a frozen spear through his gut, Oh crap, I was wrong!

“Lassie, look out!” The thick branch slammed into the back of Lassiter's head and knocked the detective to the ground. Shawn took one rapid step forward, but stopped with a skid as Rogers moved around the downed form and wrenched the gun free from his grip.

The Glock lifted to point at his chest and Rogers smiled.

“It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!”

/////////

Bad enough that Rogers had stolen Shawn's joke, but now they were forced to march through the underbrush during the height of monsoon season with a gun fixed on their backs.

Lassiter had recovered from the woody blow within a few minutes, though the thin ribbon of blood fading to pink on the back of his neck was slightly alarming. At least his vision seemed alright and he'd only stumbled once before settling his expression into a committed scowl. And, granted, he had a right to be grouchy. Rogers hadn't just lifted his gun, but also his backup weapon and his cell phone. The handcuffs he'd been nice enough to leave in Lassiter's possession. Unfortunately, he'd used them to cuff the two of them together.

“You know, I get that your neighbor was noisy and an all around pain in the ass. But to kill the guy with a corkscrew in the neck? A little too Stephen King, don't you think?”

“Spencer!”

“What was his name again? Mr. McFeely?”

Rogers jabbed the gun into Shawn's shoulder. “Abner. And you know why I killed him? He wouldn't shut up.”

Shawn cleared his throat. “Point taken.”

Their trek went on for another ten minutes – the downpour thoroughly soaking through their clothes and leaving the ground beneath their feet slippery with run off. Carlton's dress shoes and Shawn's Converse were not up to the task of navigating the mud slick surface, unlike their friend who had gone the more practical route with thick soled Corn Stalkers. Countless times their feet slipped, the motion jerking the cuffs binding them together and forcing the other to wobble as well. Shawn was just recovering from his latest close call when Rogers ordered them to stop. Before them, the ground caved down sharply into a wide circle of collapsed earth about twenty feet across.

“Well, my friends, I'm afraid this is where we part company!”

The rain was now pounding down so hard it felt like hail. Even at a shout, Rogers was difficult to hear. But the gun lifting to point spoke clearly enough.

Shawn was all prepared for talking their way out of this. He'd even had time to prepare a fabulous argument as to why they should be allowed to continue living. He'd gone so far as to open his mouth when the words he'd been about to say were left hovering behind him as Lassiter barreled forward.

The gun went off as their three bodies collided, the heat of it smacking a trail close enough that Shawn felt the wind of the bullet streak by his right ear. His instinct to dash for the foliage and hunker down out of sight was nixed by the handcuffs strapping him to Lassiter – who was all fight to his flight. So, calling on a reaction he'd only begun to employ in the last few months, Shawn swung the flat of his hand towards Rogers' face.

Of course, in that moment, Rogers ducked to the side. Instead of flesh, Shawn's fingers scooted through empty air until they struck the hard and bruising barrel of Lassiter's Glock. Another shot lit the rain pellets around them and Rogers screamed as the bullet found a home in his foot.

Now everything was off balance. Shawn was still wobbling for having to compensate for the awkward slap, Lassiter was yanking the other way in response to the gunfire, and Rogers was pinwheeling his arms to try to keep from stumbling over completely.

It all happened in a moment.

The Glock flew from Rogers' hand and vanished into the brush. One of his waving hands smacked across Shawn's jaw – his own forward momentum adding strength to the blow. Lassiter, the only one with stable footing, took a single step back. And that's when the ground beneath them crumbled.