by scifipony
2:30 A.M. — 24 December, 2005
Miami, Florida
As another spray of cold ocean water misted over him, Shawn decided that he really needed to start listening to his instincts.
Although, technically, he did usually listen to his instincts. It was more the interpretation of those gut feelings that he needed to work on. He had a tendency to listen to the voice in his head that was gleefully shouting "Hey, something bad is going down, let's check it out!" as opposed to the much more rational voice that usually advised along the lines of "Nope, something bad happening, let's get out of Dodge while we still can." That second voice always sounded a bit like Gus — which might be why Shawn tended to ignore it.
All he knew was that if he'd heeded that calmer, wiser, and utterly boring second voice tonight, he wouldn't currently be laying on the deck of a rusty fishing boat with little chance of ever stepping foot on land again.
Oddly, it wasn't the plastic zip ties biting into his wrists, and pulling his arms painfully tight behind him, that was bothering him the most right now. No, Random Goon #2 just had to toss him down right over a particularly rough deck board and Shawn had been dealing with an irritating splinter in his arm for the hour or so since. Now that was real torture.
Another salty mist drenched him and he shivered in the cool night air. He was already soaked as it was. And the fact that he had on a light t-shirt — his jacket left behind at the motel because he hadn't anticipated a late night trip on the ocean — only made it even more miserable.
Why was it so chilly anyway? December or not, this was supposed to be Florida. He'd specifically come here to get away from the cold for the holidays. Not that he minded snow on occasion, but Shawn found that he tended to gravitate towards warmer climates. This might be a byproduct of being raised in California, or it could have something to do with the fact that his motorcycle didn't provide very much protection from cold and wind.
However he'd ended up here, this was certainly not how Shawn envisioned spending his Christmas. This must be some form of karma for not visiting Gus for the holiday season again this year.
The boat finally stopped moving and Shawn maneuvered into a sitting position so he could get a better look at their surroundings.
There was a brief moment of vindication as Shawn recognized the shipping yard they were now floating only a few dozen yards out from. It was the very same place he'd pegged as the potential drop site for the thieves.
Ha! Totally called it.
The feeling of victory was short lived, though, as he remembered that he was brought here for the express purpose of killing him off.
Heavy boots thudded over the deck planking, heading directly for him. The boat's lights were out, but the moon was exceptionally bright tonight so he had no trouble seeing the three very large men as they crowded around.
The man who was undoubtedly the ring leader waved his gun in what was probably intended to be a threatening gesture. But it wasn't the gun that Shawn was worried about right now; he had a feeling these guys were planning a much more silent — and painful — method of murder. The fact they hadn't shot him already confirmed that they were trying to keep as quiet as possible. If it wasn't for the gag, he'd have been yelling frantically for assistance from any and all security workers who might be in the shipping yard.
Two massive figures who looked like they could be body doubles for Arnold Schwarzenegger approached. One of them grabbed his shoulders, pinning him down on the deck, while the other began tying a rope around one of his ankles. Shawn wasn't sure what they were doing, but it obviously wasn't going to end pleasantly for him, so there didn't seem to be a lot of motivation to cooperate with their efforts.
"Hey!" The-slightly-shorter-hulk hissed angrily as Shawn jerked his foot out of the man's grip and kicked him in the shin. "Knock it off!"
Oh, yeah, sure. Of course I'll gladly behave while you try to murder me, Shawn thought with a grimace as his ankle was grabbed again.
Even Henry would have been pleased — or at least not wholly disappointed — in how much trouble Shawn gave his kidnappers. Unfortunately it all proved pointless. He was outnumbered, and there was only so much struggling he could manage while restrained and held down by the Terminator.
When they finally finished and backed off for a moment, Shawn checked to see what they had done. A sick feeling stabbed through his stomach as he saw the large weight tied to his ankle. Even if his wrists weren't secured, there was no way he'd be able to swim with that thing dragging him down.
He couldn't believe this was how he was going out. Not that he'd given any real thought to the idea of dying, but certainly he should get something more glamorous than being dropped over the side of a rusty fishing boat in the dead of night. And at Christmastime, no less.
Another horrible thought struck him as he realized it'd probably be a few weeks before anyone even knew he was missing. He and Henry didn't exactly keep in touch. And, while he had a very solid relationship with Gus still, it wasn't uncommon for him to drop off the grid every so often. Every time that seven week itch hit, Shawn would pull up stakes and wait to inform Gus until he'd resettled someplace new. It worked better that way. Gus tended to worry whenever Shawn was temporarily between residences, so it made sense to wait until he could reassure his friend that he was safe and comfortable before calling him. It saved himself a headache and Gus an early death by aneurysm.
"Alright, better do this before we get too close to shore," the ring leader told his subordinates. "Drop him here."
Two pairs of huge hands grabbed him before he had time to react. The next moment, he was falling into the inky black void below.
The shock of the cold water almost had him gasping in a breath automatically. Thankfully, he managed to quell that reaction before inhaling a lungful of salt water. The gag was tied too tight for him to keep his mouth sealed, making it harder to hold his breath and forcing him to swallow water to avoid breathing it instead.
Okay, he fought desperately through the panic clouding his thoughts. Okay, focus! First thing… wrists. Need my arms to swim.
The one nice thing about being restrained by zip ties instead of rope was that they were generally easier to escape from. Of course, not being able to see his hands was an unfortunate challenge.
Jabbing his thumb nail into the locking mechanism, Shawn pried at it until he got the lock up off the strap. Pulling one wrist free, he let the zip ties fall off as he immediately shifted his attention to the weight tied to his ankle.
Almost-numb fingers tugged at the rope without success. Whether from adrenaline or lack of oxygen, his hands were shaking too hard to make any progress against the water-bloated knot.
There were dark spots spreading across his vision before Shawn determined that a new approach to this was necessary. He ripped his sneaker off and began desperately clawing at the ring of rope, trying to tug it downward enough to pull it off his foot. Dark red clouded the water as the skin on his ankle broke and tore, but he finally managed to remove the rope and kick free of it.
His eyes stung, throat burned, and his lungs ached deeply. He felt as if a Saint Bernard had taken up residence on his chest. The numbness was spreading from his fingers to encompass all of his limbs. Pins and needles raced through his arms and legs, making his movements slow and clumsy as he tried to paddle for the surface.
The black spots in his view were now accompanied by flashes of blue, red, and white. Muffled noises that sounded a lot like sirens and shouting filtered their way down to him. He was near the surface, he was sure of it, but apparently not quite close enough.
Shawn felt it the exact moment he hit his limit. His body's natural instincts took over and forced him to breathe. Oddly, his mind was a bit too fuzzy in that moment to even feel very afraid at the knowledge of what was about to happen to him. The first lungful of salt water burned and caused him to stop paddling as his body forcefully attempted to cough it back out.
So close, he thought distantly, as the numbness finally succeeded in encompassing his whole body.
His vision whited out before going completely dark for a length of time he couldn't even begin to guess at.
He was vaguely aware of the sensation of being pulled upward before everything went fuzzy again for a while.
The next feeling to hit him was pain. A lot of pain. His whole body ached, his esophagus was on fire, and a migraine that rivaled any hangover was pounding at the inside of his skull. The headache wasn't being helped by the very loud noises coming from every direction.
What happened to that beautifully numb feeling from before?
A few voices were very close by. It took several extra minutes of muddled thoughts before it registered that at least one of those voices was trying to speak to him.
"If you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes, okay?"
Sure. No problem.
It sounded like a simple enough request. In theory, at least.
Unfortunately, he wasn't sure he remembered how to do that. Or how to make his body respond to any commands, for that matter. Breathing seemed to be the extent of his capabilities right now — and even that was iffy, given the level of pain that accompanied each breath.
A gentle pressure wrapped around his hand and he was surprised that he could feel that through the bone-deep ache in all of his limbs.
"Okay, if you're conscious, I need you to squeeze my hand back. Got it?"
Well, that seemed slightly more doable. And apparently he succeeded without even realizing it because the grip let go of his hand a moment later, a murmured note of approval from the other person.
Everything blurred together for a while after that, but Shawn eventually came to a bit more awareness to find himself laying on a stretcher beside the open back doors of an ambulance, an oxygen mask over his face.
Emergency vehicles of various kinds were scattered around what appeared to be the shipping yard. The fishing boat was now sitting a few yards offshore, surrounded by several law enforcement boats. He could only hope that meant his kidnappers were currently enjoying the inside of a holding cell.
Being checked out by the paramedics wasn't fun, but thankfully didn't last very long. After being given a cold pack for his head and a blanket for the bone-deep chill that had set in, they left him alone to go check on one of the officers who'd taken a few punches during the arrests.
Shawn sat on the stretcher for several minutes, silently watching the coordinated chaos of the crime scene around him. Despite the blanket cocooned around him, he couldn't make himself stop shivering. He distantly wondered if the paramedics mentioned shock in the list of symptoms he hadn't been listening to.
The strobing lights from the various police and coast guard vehicles eventually became too much for his aching head and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. He really wanted to go back to his motel room and pass out for the next few days.
"Shawn Spencer?"
Lowering the cool pack from his head, Shawn found himself being stared down by a small blond woman in a police uniform. Between the flashing lights and his headache, he didn't get a very good look before needing to close his eyes again. But that voice sounded familiar.
"Mister Spencer, I'm Officer O'Hara. I understand you were the one who sent in that tip earlier tonight?"
That's when it clicked. His eyes opened again as he glanced at her in surprise. "Hey, you were the officer on the radio," he said, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. Although, after coughing up half the Atlantic Ocean, he should probably be glad there wasn't worse damage.
A wry smile crossed her lips. "Yes, and I'm sure my captain would love to have a conversation with you about unauthorized use of official police channels."
"I never said I was the one who called you," Shawn defended quickly, sizing her up to see what he was dealing with. Young, surprisingly wholesome looking for a street cop, and obviously not long on the force.
"Relax, Mister Spencer–"
"Shawn."
"Sorry?"
"Just Shawn," he clarified. Mister Spencer should be reserved for balding middle aged men with superiority complexes — something which he firmly promised himself he would never become.
"Okay, Shawn," she continued, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Anyway, I don't think you have to worry too much. I'm sure the captain will be willing to let you off with a stern warning."
Shawn eyed her suspiciously. He'd been raised by a cop and spent a good portion of his childhood years in the SBPD. There had to be a catch.
"I'm sure once you agree to testify against these guys…"
And there it was.
"…they'll be more than willing to overlook the interference in an active police investigation."
Well, that wouldn't work. As much as he'd love to help ensure these guys stayed behind bars, he wasn't planning on staying in the area much longer. He had been hoping to leave by tomorrow afternoon.
"What interference?" Shawn protested, putting on his best innocent expression. It never failed to make Gus, and every teacher he'd ever had, trust him against their better judgement and all common sense. "I was going to pick up fast food for dinner. Can I help it if I ended up kidnapped and almost drowned? I was the victim here."
One eyebrow arched skeptically. "Uh huh. And what fast food place were you hoping to find in this run down warehouse district?"
Okay, apparently this young rookie wasn't so naive after all.
His shoulders sagged a bit in defeat. Staying for the trial meant spending much longer in Miami than he'd anticipated. The original plan had been to leave right after Christmas, so he hadn't been too concerned with funds up to this point. Now he'd have to start job hunting again if he didn't want to spend the next few weeks sleeping beside his motorcycle.
On the other hand, it would be nice to see those guys locked away before he left town. And if it would get him off the hook for interference and use of a police radio… "Fine, I'll come talk to your captain."
She held up a hand to stop him from moving. "Uh-uh, not right now. You can do that after you've been cleared by these guys," she waved a hand toward the paramedics, who were currently packing up for the ride back to the hospital. "I think it's safe to say they'll want to run some tests at the hospital before releasing you."
Shawn glanced at the ambulance unhappily. And this time it had nothing to do with the lights bothering his head. He barely had enough cash left on hand to finish paying his motel bill for the week. If he was going to be sticking around Miami longer than intended, he'd need all the money he had and then some. An ambulance ride was never going to be an affordable option for him. Especially with his non-existent insurance.
"You know what, I think I'm good," he replied, waving a hand carelessly. "Thanks for the patch up job, guys. But I'm pretty sure I just need a seventy-two hour nap and some time on dry land."
Officer O'Hara eyed him for a moment, head tilted to the side in an oddly adorable way. "You almost drowned," she pointed out, as if he'd somehow forgotten that traumatizing experience. "You really should go in and let them check you out."
"Nah, I'm just a bit waterlogged. Little known fact: I was actually raised by dolphins. Definitely comes in handy in situations like this."
Her expression softened slightly. "Why don't I drive you in to get looked over by a doctor," she suggested. "And when they're done, I can take you down to the station to get your statement. Kill two birds with one stone."
Well, that was an unexpected offer. O'Hara not only recognizing the issue, but her tactful handling of it as well, was kind of touching. And it certainly made it harder to say no.
"Tell you what. I'll accept that offer on one condition. You go out for breakfast with me after the station."
He was only half-joking with the offer. She wasn't exactly his type — and he had a feeling he was far from hers, either — but he wouldn't mind having a chance to talk with her a bit more. Shawn loved meeting new people. Forming actual relationships with them, not so much. But those first meetings — getting to see if his initial reads on them were accurate or not — were the best part of his travels. He especially liked those rare occasions when people would surprise him by being completely different from their initial impression. Some instinct was telling him O'Hara might be one of those kind of people.
She laughed, a light sound that warmed some of the chill from him. "Well, as nice as that offer is, I do have my own plans for the holiday, so I'll have to pass."
"Aw, you'd rather spend Christmas Eve with a bunch of cats and older brothers than with a handsome and heroic stranger?" he teased, feeling the need to check for himself that his brain was still functioning satisfactorily. Judging by her surprised expression, it was.
"How did you know that?"
He tapped his forehead, a grin tugging at his lips. "Psychic."
"No, seriously. How did you know that?"
His grin widened. "Can't help noticing you didn't deny the handsome stranger part."
She shook her head, but the look of exasperation was ruined by the amused smile tilting up one corner of her mouth. "Handsome, maybe, but I certainly wouldn't say heroic."
"That hurts. And after I risked my life to help bring down a ring of thieves."
"Oh, really?" her sweet smile took on a suddenly mischievous quality that threw him off guard. "Because I thought you were an innocent victim going out for dinner."
Man, she was good. He wasn't used to people outmaneuvering him quite so easily. He couldn't figure out why he loved that so much.
"Okay, forget breakfast. How about a Christmas Eve morning smoothie."
"Is that some holiday tradition of yours?"
"It could be."
She sighed and turned to gesture at her patrol car. "Fine, you win. Go to the hospital and then fill out a full statement on what happened, and I'll get one quick smoothie with you. I'll even buy the smoothies."
"You drive a hard bargain," Shawn agreed with a nod, "but it's a deal."
Pushing himself to his feet, and only wobbling slightly from the residual dizziness, Shawn thanked the paramedics and followed the officer to her patrol car. He realized after a few steps that he was still missing one sneaker. With the other one completely soaked anyway, he pulled it off and set it on the car's floor. It would only make him feel colder to keep wearing it at this point.
It wasn't until they'd pulled out of the shipping yard that she asked the question he'd been waiting for.
"So, why did you decide to spend the early hours of your Christmas Eve tracking down a bunch of criminals?"
Well, that wasn't exactly the question he was expecting. Most people wanted to know how, not why. As such, he had a nicely prepared half-truth to explain how he discovered the identity and location of the criminals. A reason for doing so was not something he thought he'd have to explain.
At his hesitation, O'Hara hastily added, "It just seems odd to go tracking down some criminals in the middle of the night instead of spending your Miami holiday vacation doing, well, literally anything else. You could have called in your information to the precinct and left it there."
"Technically, I did call it in," Shawn interjected.
"You radioed a patrol officer and didn't give any kind of evidence for your claims. You're lucky I didn't assume it was a prank call."
Shawn pulled his blanket tighter and turned up the heating a bit as he snuggled further into his seat. "That's because I didn't have any solid evidence," he told her around a yawn. "And that's why I went to their boat myself. Wanted to see if I was right."
"That doesn't answer why you were investigating on your own in the first place."
That was true. But Shawn really didn't feel like explaining his whole messed up childhood to this total stranger. And how could he explain it in any way that didn't sound insane anyways?
Most people wouldn't have bumped into two guys at a blackjack table and immediately deduced they were connected to the string of warehouse robberies that hit Miami the previous week. Most people wouldn't have then followed up on that lead only to figure out where the stolen goods were being passed off to a middleman with a fishing boat to be transferred to buyers at an offshore location. Most people wouldn't have gone to that meeting to get photographic evidence instead of simply letting the cops handle it.
Sometimes he really hated his inability to leave a puzzle unsolved. He blamed his family lineage for that.
"We're almost at the hospital," O'Hara said, breaking into his thoughts. "I'll drop you at the entrance and you can text me when you get out."
Shawn glanced over at her with a grateful and exhausted smile. "Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to do this."
"Hey, anything to get on my captain's good side," she said. "He's been after these guys for weeks. And I promised myself I'd make detective in record time."
Gasping, he shot her a look of mock indignation. "Oh, I get it. You're using me as a tool in your climb to power."
Shrugging nonchalantly, she bit back a grin. "Exactly. You've figured out my secret."
"I feel so used."
"Well, you are getting a free smoothie out of the deal."
He tilted his head in consideration. "That's true. I'll count us even."
O'Hara laughed and shook her head. "Hurry up, we've gotta get this case wrapped up before my family's holiday dinner."
Pushing the door open, Shawn tossed the blanket into the back seat and stepped out. He leaned back in a moment later to ask, "Hey, I never got your first name. Feels weird, and too impersonal, calling you 'Officer' after you called in the cavalry to save my life."
A soft smile spread over her lips. "It's Juliet."
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Juliet."
"Nice to meet you, too, Shawn."
Tossing her a casual salute, he shut the car door and turned towards the hospital entrance, a smile of his own lighting up his face.
Maybe staying in Miami a few extra weeks wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. Maybe he'd even give the police a hand in tracking down the rest of that robbery ring.
He wondered if the Miami Police Department was open to hiring civilian consultants.