by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn Spencer, Burton Guster, Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter, Buzz McNabb
Tags: AU, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Team As Family, Fluff
Story Warnings: Contains a character with a recent disability, and several discussions around that. Also contains many discussions and explorations into the topic of mental health and trauma.
Chapter Warnings: Warning for vague descriptions of injuries in the first scene. It isn't graphic, but I thought I should post a warning just in case.
Words: 2,465
Author's Notes: n/a
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Sixteen months ago...
Despite the unreasonably late hour, the emergency wing of the hospital was swarming with activity. Dr. Ian Gaughan walked hurriedly toward the entrance, expecting his next patient's arrival any moment.
He was joined in the last hallway by Nikki, one of the ER's best nurses, and the person who kept them all organized and running as smoothly as possible. He nodded a quick greeting to her as she fell into step beside him.
"What's the latest update?"
Nikki consulted her clipboard as they walked. "Patient hasn't regained consciousness since being found. Stopped breathing once at the scene and a second time on the way over here."
He nodded his acknowledgment of that information as they stepped through to the ambulance entrance. "What about the others?"
"Second patient died en route. The others never even made it out of the building."
Ian frowned slightly, the loss of life never sitting well with him. This incident already had a high enough body count. Hopefully they could at least save this last survivor.
The doors swung open and a team of paramedics rushed in, pushing a gurney between them.
Despite his years in the emergency wing, Ian felt his stomach roll at the sight of the victim. He barely resisted the urge to check for a pulse — certain the on-site medics must have made a mistake. At least the poor man was out cold. One small mercy.
"Alright people, let's move it," he ordered, starting a cursory exam as they rushed towards the nearest trauma room. He frowned at the shallow wheezing coming from the man. "Call for some more bags of blood. And get a ventilator in here."
The patient was transferred from the stretcher to the bed while various nurses and doctors set to work hooking up leads, prepping medical equipment, and dealing with any immediately life-threatening injuries.
Clicking on his penlight, Ian ignored the smell of blood and burnt flesh as he leaned over the man. He peeled back one of the eyelids and shone the light into it. It wasn't a surprise to him when there was no pupil response.
"Have them prep a surgery room. We'll have to take him in as soon as he's even remotely stable."
Nikki nodded and relayed the order to one of the nurses as she began readying several bags for the IV.
A groan escaped the prone figure, surprising the medical team. Ian frowned as he watched the young man's weak attempts at movement. How was he anywhere close to conscious right now?
The groans turned to panicked gasps for breath, and Ian quickly moved closer to his patient's head. "What's his name?"
Nikki passed an IV line to one of the other doctors as she responded, "Shawn Spencer."
Nodding his thanks, Ian leaned over and called out calmly but firmly. "Shawn, can you hear me?"
His mouth opened as if to answer, but his breathless words couldn't seem to make it out of his throat. Another groan and whimper of pain were the only sounds he seemed capable of.
"Shawn, I need you to listen to me. Okay?" Ian continued speaking in a steady tone, accepting a pre-filled syringe from a nurse. "You're safe. You're in a hospital. I'm going to put you under now, and I need you to just relax and let the drug work. We're doing everything we can; you're in good hands."
There was no indication of having been heard, but Ian wasn't expecting there to be. He injected the drug into the IV line, watching as it did its job. A few more seconds of frantic movements passed before Shawn mercifully went under.
"They're prepping an x-ray room for when he's ready to be moved," Nikki informed him.
Ian nodded his acknowledgment of that info, but kept working. A grim silence settled over the team of medical workers, broken only by the necessary relaying of orders or updates on the patient's condition.
It wasn't callousness, but rather experience, that made Ian sigh in resignation as he worked at treating his patient. He'd practiced emergency medicine for enough years to have a pretty good idea what the chances were right now. And he would be very much surprised if Shawn Spencer even managed to survive the night, let alone ever being able to walk again.
~~~
Present Day…
The central air system humming away in the background provided a soothing distraction from the noises filtering through the closed door.
Shawn had never noticed how busy and loud the police station was until he found himself relying on those sounds to navigate safely through its halls. Having spent a good portion of his childhood here, he was more than familiar with the building's layout. But dodging around the various officers, detectives, and other assorted personnel proved quite a challenge at times.
Settling back into his chair, Shawn patted Remington on the head and tried not to be too impatient while waiting for the new police chief to arrive.
He'd only been in this office a few times since that last investigation. It never felt right, being in here with someone other than Karen Vick behind that desk. Especially when it served as a reminder of yet another way in which Shawn had failed his friends that day.
At least having Lassiter occupy the room made the wound sting a tiny bit less. If anyone deserved to sit in that chair, it was the man who worked so hard to hold the department together in the wake of that disaster.
Curiosity prompted Shawn to examine the subtle changes in the office since its new occupant took over. The furniture angled slightly different, the soft thump of a rug under his feet, the crisp scent of old books from the bookshelf contrasting with the gun oil smell from the vicinity of the desk. It felt like Lassiter's office. He'd put the unmistakable stamp of his presence in the room, whether consciously or not. Shawn found it oddly comforting.
Remington's head swiveled toward the door a moment before it swung open.
"Alright, Spencer, we got the preliminary results back from the forensic team," Lassiter began without preamble, footsteps striding across to the desk. He settled himself into his chair, and the irritated shuffling of papers indicated his mood as he flipped noisily through a file. "There were no fingerprints on either the card or anything else in the house. No sign of forced entry. No footprints in the yard. The message was hand-stamped onto cheap cardstock which could have come from anywhere." He snapped the file shut with an irritated sigh. "In other words, we got absolutely nothing of any use."
"So, what's the next step?" Shawn asked, fingers tapping against his knee.
"I'm going to have a patrol officer keep an eye on your house while we determine what the threat level is here. In the meantime, I asked Detective Warren to meet us here in a minute. He'll be the detective assigned to this investigation."
"What about Juliet?"
"You can't really expect me to allow her access to this case. Even forgetting about the caseload she's already dealing with, that would be an unacceptable conflict of interests. You're her husband."
Shawn gave an over dramatic gasp. "What, really? Since when? Ah, so that's who's been stealing my lucky charms every morning. I've been wondering about that."
"Spencer, that better not be a euphemism of any kind."
"It's cereal, Lassie. How would that even– Actually, nevermind. What you and Marlowe do in your own home is your business."
"Spencer." The growled threat hadn't lost any of its intimidation factor from lack of practice. "I'm warning you once: I have a gun right here—"
"About a foot away from your left elbow, next to the desk calendar," the ex-psychic finished with a grin.
Even if he hadn't heard the soft thud of metal on oak when Lassiter set the gun down earlier, it would have still been a safe guess to make. The man always had at least one weapon within reach at all times. If he'd been paranoid about security before 'The Incident' he was downright obsessed now. Shawn knew for a fact that Lassiter even used a contact at the LAPD to keep tabs on Gus — a fact he'd silently appreciated.
"How did—" Lassiter started to ask, before cutting himself off. Even without their professional rivalry, the man was loath to admit when Shawn could catch him off guard. Clearing his throat, he switched back to the matter at hand. "Detective Warren is a good man. I'm sure his work on the case will be more than satisfactory."
"I've never even heard of him before," Shawn complained, not quite successful at keeping the whine out of his voice. "How much does this guy know about the Trevor case, anyway? About that night at the warehouse?"
There was a short pause. When Lassiter continued, his tone was more cautious. "I would assume not much. He's a recent transfer from Denver. Why does that have any bearing on this?"
"C'mon, Lassie, we don't need fingerprints to know who did this."
"Spencer..."
Shawn felt his temper start to rise, and fought it back down. He hated that placating tone. People only started talking to him that way after...
"I'm not being paranoid, okay? This has his signature all over it. You can't tell me you didn't notice the similarities."
"Spencer, he's dead. Stephen Trevor died over a year ago. We have forensic reports, the coroner's report, even your own eyewitness testimony."
"So he survived somehow," Shawn argued back. "There wasn't much left of the bodies. The DNA evidence could have been faked. If I lived through it, so could he."
"And what are you basing this off of? A hunch? We need solid evidence to reopen a closed investigation. And this one was beyond cut and dry. There's no way Trevor made it out of that warehouse alive."
"So, what? You won't even consider the possibility that we were wrong?"
"Spencer. Shawn. He's dead. Gone. I get it — I wanted that bastard to pay for his crimes, too. But he isn't coming back. And, whoever did break into your house yesterday, we'll figure it out and catch them."
It took a lot of effort, but Shawn managed to bite back any further argument. Lassiter was right, at least to an extent. They didn't have any evidence to suggest Trevor was still alive. He would have to concede this debate for now, but this was far from being a closed issue.
Mostly, he didn't want to cause more problems for Lassiter. The poor guy had only recently gotten this promotion, and the job wasn't exactly secure yet. Reopening the case that threw the whole department into chaos in the first place would be a very bad move while he was still trying to get into the commissioner's good graces.
"So what's the 'official' theory on this one?" He couldn't quite keep the bitter tone out of his voice. Lassiter apparently chose to ignore it.
"Well, it's not as if you have any shortage of enemies. This city's entire police force weren't the only people you pissed off with your psychic nonsense."
Shawn felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, and he felt grateful — for probably the thousandth time that year — to the detective for being the only person who continued to treat him as if nothing had changed between them.
"Gee, thanks, Lassie. It's good to know my hard work was appreciated."
The chair squeaked almost imperceptibly as Lassiter leaned back from the desk, obviously finished with his file. He must keep the springs oiled better than ex-Chief Keller did. It wasn't the only thing he was doing better.
"You could actually contribute to this effort, you know. Think about the different cases you worked since opening that scam 'business' of yours. Anyone come to mind who would be looking for revenge?"
"More than a few," Shawn admitted. "As you should know, my unique talents weren't always fully appreciated."
He cocked his head slightly, listening as a set of footsteps approached from the bullpen. There'd been a decent amount of people passing the office while they talked, but there was something different about this one. Something more purposeful in the long, heavy stride. He was coming specifically to this office.
"I'm guessing that's Warren?" Shawn asked, nodding his head in the general direction of the door. It opened a moment later, Remington giving a warning bark as the man entered the room. "Easy, boy," Shawn murmured to the dog. He'd been on edge since yesterday, and Shawn wondered if his own uneasiness was rubbing off on his companion.
"Chief Lassiter, you asked to see me?" The voice was pleasant and light, despite the obviously bulky figure it accompanied. A football player with the voice of a substitute teacher.
"Detective Thomas Warren, this is Shawn Spencer," Lassiter introduced them. "You've caught up on the case file sent to your desk?"
"Yes, sir," the young man hastily responded.
He shifted positions a moment later, polished shoes scuffing against the floor slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr Spencer." There was a beat, and then Warren cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly.
Shawn struggled against a grin as he pictured the poor man's embarrassment over having just offered a handshake to a blind person. As much as he wanted to prolong the awkwardness — because he was certainly not above using his condition to mess with people — he decided to spare the detective instead. He reached out and clasped the larger calloused hand in his own.
Warren retreated into the other chair as soon as they broke apart. "Out of curiosity, are you any relation to Head Detective Spencer?"
"You could say that," Shawn responded, a smile touching his lips. "She's my wife."
"Well, it's been a definite pleasure working for her. A very capable officer and a talented detective. A real inspiring leader."
"And, more importantly, can quote any John Hughes movie from memory," Shawn remarked.
Warren shifted in his chair, obviously at a loss as to what to do with that statement. "Well, anyway, I checked over the forensic reports and we have some definite leads to check out. And, of course, you'll have police protection until we get to the bottom of this. I can assure you, Mr Spencer, we'll do everything we can to—"
"Yeah, sounds great," Shawn cut him off, casting a helpless glance toward the desk. Seriously, Lassie?
"You can skip the meaningless platitudes," Lassiter grunted at Warren. "Spencer used to work for the department, so he's more than familiar with how an investigation runs."
"Oh?" Warren said, sounding intrigued. "You used to be an officer?"
Shawn didn't fully manage to stifle a laugh at that. Lassiter beat him to a verbal response, though.
"Not hardly. Spencer was a consultant. In fact, I'd suggest starting your investigation by looking into some of his previous cases. See if any of the perps have been paroled recently." There was another shuffling of papers as the chief obviously lost patience for the conversation. "Now, if you two are done with your little meet-and-greet, I'd suggest you get back to actually earning your paycheck."
Warren hopped to his feet, muttering a hasty apology as he headed for the door. "I'll keep you in the loop as much as protocol allows," he promised Shawn on his way out.
After the door clicked shut in his wake, Shawn grinned. "I think you intimidate him, Lassie."
"He's a complete suck up." The note of disapproval in his voice was unmistakable. "But he is a good detective and I'm sure he'll do his best to catch your intruder." After a brief hesitation, he added, "And I'll be keeping tabs on the investigation as well."
An uncomfortable warmth spread through Shawn, and he quickly shoved it back down. "Thanks, Chief," he said sincerely. "I do appreciate it."
He grabbed his cane and pushed to his feet, hiding a grimace as his leg twinged against the sudden weight. "Time to go, Remy. See you around, Lassie."
In the corridor outside, it took him a moment to reorient to the much louder environment. Footsteps clicked over the polished floors in every direction, echoing off the walls and support columns. The aroma of stale coffee drifted over from the snack table. And somewhere a phone was ringing endlessly.
It was a particular presence he was trying to detect, though, and he finally caught it after a moment. He latched onto it — that familiar scent and the delicate tapping of high heels — sorting it out of the mess of other sensory details.
He was tempted to stop by her desk. Maybe say hello, maybe offer to take her to lunch. Maybe, somewhere in there, offer an apology for the way he'd been avoiding talking to her last night.
But that would inevitably lead to her wanting to actually talk about it, and he knew he wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Maybe never.
There was also the issue of having to traverse the bullpen to reach her desk. Which normally wasn't a huge problem. He stopped by at least semi-regularly to surprise her with lunch or to offer moral support during a tough case. But today, he really wasn't feeling up to ignoring the stares and whispers. Or ignoring that one particular desk in the corner.
Turning away from the crowded station, he made a hasty retreat toward the exit. He and Juliet could sort out their problems tonight, away from the prying eyes of her coworkers.
He'd almost made it outside when something caught his attention. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something was wrong. It set his nerves on edge as he stopped walking to try to determine its source. He could only hear the usual sounds of the station. Nothing that should have stuck out as unusual.
Focusing on whatever that odd sensation was, Shawn didn't even hear the person approaching him until their shoulder slammed into his, knocking him temporarily off balance.
Putting his foot out, Shawn barely managed to catch himself before he could faceplant. Whatever stack of papers the other person had been carrying ended up clattering to the floor, fluttering every direction.
A flurry of other footsteps gathered quickly, coming to see what the commotion was. Both the hard clatter of uniform shoes, and the gentler scuffing of sneakers from whatever civilians were present in the entry area. But he couldn't even begin to guess how many. He should know, but they were moving too fast and coming from too many directions.
And whatever had caught his attention a moment earlier was now lost in the shuffle.
"Hey, watch where you're going," an irritated voice huffed loudly. Was it directed at him or someone else?
"Need help with that?" another voice chimed in, probably not directed at him.
Then a hand was latching onto his arm. "Sir, do you need help getting outside?"
And, yeah, they were probably well meaning, but that didn't make it easier to be polite about that offer. Or to refrain from jerking his arm out of their grip. He was doing just fine before that person plowed into him. And why not warn a guy before randomly grabbing his arm like that?
The anger and frustration mixed with the confusion of noises around him, leaving him nauseated. He couldn't tell right from left with all these people swarming. He needed space. He needed room to breathe. Where did that door go anyway?
Another hand landed on his shoulder and Shawn felt about ready to kick someone in the knee. Seriously, people, have you never heard of personal space?!
Before he could shake off the hand, though, there was a familiar voice accompanying it. "Hey, Shawn! It's good to see you again."
"Buzz," he breathed out, relief flooding his system.
"Were you on your way out? I was just coming back from lunch. Mind if I walk with you?"
Some of the tension left him as he gladly let the detective herd them out of the way of traffic. Once outside, he took a deep breath of the familiar Santa Barbara air. Much better.
He felt embarrassed now, realizing how easily he'd let himself freak out. It had been a simple accident, and he should have handled it better. Actually, he really didn't understand why he'd been on edge in the first place. If he'd been in any real danger, Remington would have warned him.
And since when did he worry about danger at the SBPD?
He shouldn't have gotten so disoriented. Chaotic environment or not, he was better than that. He should have been able to find his own way out of that mess.
"I heard about the break-in yesterday," Buzz commented as they reached a quieter spot away from the stairs. "Sorry that happened. I'm glad you were okay."
Shawn smiled, trying to shake off the last remnants of his earlier panic. Whatever had caused it, he wasn't going to keep worrying about it. "Thanks, Buzz."
"It's good to see you again, though. It's been a while."
From anyone else, Shawn might suspect the comment was a dig at the fact that he tended to avoid the station these days, but he knew Buzz well enough to trust it was an innocent remark.
Buzz was one of the few officers he still counted as a friend. Before he started teaching, he'd had enough time on his hands — and utter boredom — that he'd jumped at the chance to help coach Buzz in prepping for his DET. He only wished he could have seen the look on the guy's face when he passed.
"Hey, I heard about that shark attack case you and Dobson were assigned. They were talking about it on the local news last week. Sounds fun."
"Oh, yeah, definitely not the typical thing we get called out on," Buzz agreed. "But it didn't last long. Dobson took the lead on that and closed it yesterday. Simple animal attack."
Shawn caught something in his tone that had him instantly intrigued. "You're not so sure?"
"Yeah." Buzz sounded surprised by his picking up on that. Which made sense, but still stung a little. "This is gonna sound crazy, but there was this one wound on the body that even the coroner thought was suspicious. I just can't get it out of my mind."
Shawn slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Buzz, buddy, there's nothing crazy about going with your hunches — your gut feelings. Well, that's not true; it can be totally crazy. But you'll never know what color the yolk is if you don't crack a few shells first."
"Uh..."
"The point is, if you think something's off with this case, maybe you should take a closer look. You have good instincts, you should learn to trust them. Become the awesome detective you were destined to be."
"Thanks, Shawn."
Hearing the smile in the detective's voice was enough to cheer Shawn up considerably. Even if he was a tiny bit jealous that the shark attack hadn't happened when he was still working for the department. It sounded like exactly the sort of case he would have had fun annoying Lassie with.
"Well, I should probably get back to work," Buzz continued. "I've got a ton of paperwork to finish."
"Yeah, I'll let you get back to that," he said, hoping his reluctance didn't show on his face.
An uneasiness squirmed up his spine at the too-recent memory of his freak out. What was wrong with him, anyway? This was the police department; it was the one place he should have no trouble feeling safe.
"It was good talking to you again, Buzz. Say hi to Francine for me."
It wasn't a long walk home, but it was far enough that he should really get started now. If only his feet would cooperate with that idea. They seemed more than content to stay rooted to the concrete.
Buzz's own feet shuffled uncomfortably against the ground in front of him. "Is everything okay?"
Shawn shook his head, forcing a smile. "Yep. All fine."
All perfectly fine... except for that nagging feeling that wouldn't go away. A feeling which made him want to crawl under a desk and hide for the rest of the day.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" It was obvious from his tone that Buzz was expecting the offer to be turned down.
And why wouldn't he be? For well over a year now, all attempts at assistance had been stubbornly refused. Accepting help meant accepting that he was somehow less than he used to be. That he wasn't whole on his own anymore. It was one thing to be vulnerable around Juliet, but he couldn't do that in front of others. Not when he still hadn't confronted it himself yet.
But, on the other hand, he was quite a walking distance from the house.
His head cocked to the side slightly, sounds filtering in from the busy city streets. People, cars, air conditioners, dogs, seagulls, children screaming. There was too much of it. Too many distractions. Too many chances of getting focused on the wrong sound while anyone could creep up behind him.
Home had never felt so far away.
His hand tightened around the handle of his cane.
This was so stupid.
He'd been walking all over Santa Barbara without issue for months. He should be able to walk home now without getting so worked up about it. And yet, here he was, completely on edge over something that he shouldn't still be this nervous about.
Trevor had already robbed him of his independence and any chance at a normal life, and now he was making it so Shawn couldn't even walk home in peace.
His posture deflated as the fear won over stubborn pride. Shoulders hunched, he gave a brief nod, shuffling his sneakered feet on the concrete.
"Yeah, Buzz," he responded, voice small. "Could you call a taxi for me?"
~~~
Juliet was walking back to her desk when the door to the chief's office swung open. Her footsteps faltered as Shawn walked out, Remington walking beside him.
His head tilted a bit, the way it always did when he was trying to reorient himself in an unfamiliar environment.
After a moment, he turned to look directly at her. She would never understand how he did that — being able to pick her out of a crowded room with such ease. It made her heart warm and always brought a smile to her face. No matter what, he always found her.
She debated with herself whether or not to go talk to him. Between their home being turned into a crime scene and her being called in early today, they hadn't had a chance to actually discuss the whole situation. Well, she knew that wasn't completely true. They probably could have found time last night — if Shawn hadn't spent the evening actively avoiding the topic.
She didn't want to push him, but she was concerned. It was understandable to be upset after what happened. As long as that was all that was upsetting him, she was perfectly willing to give him some space. But there was something painfully familiar in his behavior last night. Something she hadn't seen in him for quite a few months; something she hated to see again now.
After everything they'd struggled through to reach this place in their relationship, she couldn't accept the idea of backsliding now. They were finally happy. And she wasn't going to let anyone take that away from them.
That was why she couldn't let this resolve itself. After all the heartache, the bitter arguments and hurt feelings, they deserved to finally have some peace.
She wasn't going to let Shawn close himself off again, the way he had after the accident. Back then, he'd been so angry and hurting — and she'd been dealing with much of the same from her own emotions. But this time they had each other to lean on. She wasn't going to let him shut her out this time.
Before she could steel her resolve, Shawn turned and began heading away from the bullpen. He quickly vanished around the bend toward the front entrance.
A sigh puffed out from between her lips as Juliet eased herself into her desk chair.
Maybe it was for the best. A crowded police station wasn't the best place to start that particular conversation. The last thing she needed was for half the force to be whispering about her marital problems behind her back.
Not being able to talk to Shawn until tonight didn't mean she couldn't still do something to help the situation. He seemed so sure this was connected to his last case for the department; maybe she could figure out why.
Discreetly checking that there was no one in her immediate vicinity, Juliet pulled up the minimized window on her computer.
She quickly sifted through the case file, being more than familiar with it by now. Most of the incident reports, medical files, and officer testimonies could be set aside; there was nothing helpful in any of those documents. Instead, she focused her attention on the eyewitness reports from outside the warehouse. They weren't as thoroughly scrutinized at the time because all the civilians had been kept away from the site by the police barricade. The reports were all short and mostly consisted of the same details. All they could see were the police cars blocking the warehouse, and then the sound of the explosion.
She flagged one testimony as interesting and settled in to read it again. The man stated that he, like everyone else, had been ushered behind the barricade and stuck around out of curiosity to see what was happening. He mentioned seeing the backup vehicles arrive and secure the area. He described a tall angry man shouting at everyone, which she assumed was Lassiter. Given the fact that he was near Lassiter's end of the blockade, the witness in question must have been much closer to the warehouse than any of the others.
"After that, there was an argument between the tall guy and another man. I didn't hear what they said, but it seemed heated. They broke up a minute later and the younger man went to talk to a blond woman. She looked like she was probably one of the police detectives. I lost track of them then, because I was watching the warehouse. I did see the tall guy and the woman several times after that, but that was the last time I saw the younger man.
"The police chief got on the bullhorn about ten minutes later to order all of us away from the barricade. I was still pretty close when the explosion hit. It knocked me off my feet and made my ears bleed. I don't remember much after that except the paramedics showing up at one point to check me out."
So far nothing new. But there was something about the sequence of events that wasn't sitting right with her. She read through it again, this time mentally checking off the order of events from her own memory as she went through it. It all checked out as far as she could tell.
Frowning at the report, Juliet closed that tab to pull up the accompanying photos. The man had taken the time to snap quite a few pictures with his phone's camera before everything devolved into chaos. Thankfully, he'd volunteered all of them to the police officer who took his statement. If only most citizens could be that cooperative.
The photos were unsettling to look at. Seeing the whole disaster unfold from that outside perspective — from behind the safety of the barricade — made it all seem a bit surreal.
Most of the shots were of the police cars and officers. She understood why photos of a dark warehouse would seem boring in comparison, but Juliet wished he would have taken at least a couple pictures of the building itself.
She abruptly stopped clicking when she reached one particular photo. Finger poised above the mouse button, she took a deep breath and forced herself to truly analyze the image in front of her.
The scene was one that would be forever burned in her own memory, but this allowed her the chance to see it from the unbiased lense of the camera.
Despite being the middle of the night, the lights from the many emergency vehicles allowed her to make out the images pretty well. It helped that she already knew where everyone was at that point of the incident. She knew the taller figure by the one patrol car was Lassiter, and the smaller figure in front of him was Shawn. Judging by their postures and the sweeping hand gestures, this picture was taken during the height of their argument.
Juliet ignored the main focus of the photo and began searching the outskirts instead. But, away from the lights of the police car, it was hard to make anything out of the dark blurry image.
Frustrated, she clicked to the next photo. This one jumped ahead several minutes, Lassiter's lanky frame now replaced with her own. She and Shawn were talking off to the side.
The last photo was from only minutes later. She knew that because it showed her standing in the same place, Shawn no longer anywhere in sight. To the side, Lassiter was just walking back into frame.
Juliet closed her eyes, struggling to force down the guilt swelling inside. She knew why there were no more photos after this one. Within minutes, the warehouse would be engulfed in flames, and all their lives would change irreversibly.
"O'Hara."
The voice startled her out of her thoughts, making Juliet jump in her chair. Recovering quickly, she turned to look at her superior, as innocent an expression on her face as she could manage.
"Morning, Chief," she greeted her old partner, a proud smile at being able to use that title for him. "And, for the hundredth time, it's Spencer now."
"Yeah, still not calling you that." He crossed his arms, leaning against the support pillar.
His gaze turned to the computer screen and Juliet's face reddened as she realized the Trevor case was still open on it. She hurriedly tried to close the screen before he could say anything. He'd already seen it, but as the chief he couldn't afford to be an accomplice in this.
"Don't bother," he said, halting her movements. "You really thought I wouldn't guess what you were doing in the records room this morning?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said. "I've been working on the final reports for that homicide case you assigned me last week."
"Please," he scoffed. "We both know you aren't going to sit back and let someone else handle this one."
Giving up the charade, Juliet shrugged. "You know me too well, partner."
"I taught you too well." He leaned closer, voice lowering. "Just promise me one thing, O'Hara. Catch this guy."
Juliet smiled warmly. So much for plausible deniability. Lassiter was a good man, and a good friend. She only hoped it wouldn't cost him his job.
She nodded once, a silent promise that satisfied him. He trusted her to follow through on it.
As he walked away from her desk, Juliet's eyes landed on the photo again. It was the one from right after Shawn left the scene. A frown wrinkled her forehead as she glared at it, willing it to reveal whatever secrets it was holding. There was something about the photo that was wrong. If only she could figure out what it was.
The irony here was that Shawn could probably pick out the hidden clue in seconds. He'd be able to tell at a glance what was wrong with it, and probably also use it to solve the case. Once upon a time.
Refusing to feel sad again, Juliet sent the last three photos to the office printer. She wasn't going to mope about what they'd lost. Not when there was some maniac out there who wanted to hurt Shawn. She was going to find this person and show them exactly why it was a mistake to come after Juliet's family.
Grabbing the photos from the printer tray, Juliet walked toward the station entrance. It was lunchtime anyway, and she had work to do.
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