by pebble/scifipony
Fandom: Psych
Verse/AU: In Too Deep
Characters: Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter
Words: 2,773
Tags: Action, Angst, Broken Friendships, Suspense, Mild Whump
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Written as part of my old Psych spy AU "In Too Deep" which is now mostly taken off the internet. This one has to stay public to fill a space on one of my bingo cards. Maybe someday I'll have the courage to repost the whole series again. (If you'd like a different Psych spy AU to explore in the meantime, I'm currently in the process of uploading my "Chess Master" trilogy on here.)
Four minutes left. Ten feet to the room door. Forty more feet down the hall to the elevators.
The calculations ran through his head in an endless loop, constantly updating with every change to the situation. Everything needed to be timed perfectly. Everything needed to go according plan.
“You’re crazy,” Lassiter’s voice grumbled through the receiver in his ear.
Shawn smirked as he continued to scramble around the room, throwing items into his backpack as he moved. “You’ve only said that fifty times in the past hour. Must mean you don’t completely hate the plan.”
“It’s not a plan. It’s suicide. The SBPD is going to have an entire strike team on your doorstep if you don’t get out of there.”
Zipping up his pack and slinging it onto his back, Shawn glanced at the analog clock on the wall. “I’ve got three minutes and twenty seconds left, if they take the route here that I’m expecting them to.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I move to Plan B.”
A scoff carried distinctly over the radio. “You don’t have a Plan B, Spencer. You barely ever have a Plan A.”
“Just because you can’t appreciate the genius of my mind in action, Lassie, doesn’t mean there isn’t a plan in place,” Shawn said, setting his pistol and medication on the nightstand. He shot a quick glance around the room to see if he forgot anything. It was all wiped clean, except the camera on the desk.
Three minutes and counting. Ten feet to cross the room, forty feet to the elevator, and roughly forty seconds to reach the lobby.
It would be cutting it close, definitely. But it was a necessary risk. He couldn’t go through with what he needed to do without first making some amends. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough, but he needed to know he’d tried.
With less than three minutes to go, Shawn ran to the desk and snatched up the camera. He ejected the memory card and shoved it into his pocket, tossing the camera out the open window. Now all he needed to do was grab his gun and medicine from the nightstand and get out of here before—
The hotel room door burst inward, crashing against the wall with a bang that made Shawn’s heart jump into his throat.
They must have taken the other route to get here. He was caught.
Plan B: Two floors up the fire escape, fifty paces to cross the roof. Reset the clock.
Without a glance toward the intruders — it was easy enough to guess who was there — he dove through the open window. A gun shot rang out a second later, smacking into the wall where he’d been standing. The metal of the fire escape creaked dangerously as Shawn tore his way up the steps.
He was one flight up with another to go when he reached the weak spot he’d seen on his way in. Grabbing the metal support beam, Shawn threw all of his weight down onto the weakened part of the stairs and launched himself clear as the structure broke free from the side of the building. He used the metal beam and the momentum from his jump to push his way up onto the roof.
He rolled as he hit the roof, letting the motion absorb the impact before springing to his feet again. With luck, the agents would opt to use the interior stairs rather than risk their necks on the half collapsed fire escape. That could buy him the few extra seconds he needed.
Sixty seconds before they catch up. Thirty more paces to the edge of the roof.
With time — and the force of an SBPD strike team — against him, Shawn sprinted across the gravel surface of the roof. His limbs were burning, but he ignored the pain and kept going. He also stubbornly ignored the sudden realization that he’d left his medication and his weapon in the hotel room.
Footsteps suddenly began pounded across the roof behind him. They were too light to belong to the usual field grunts. Shawn took a deep breath and kept running. There was no doubt in his mind who was behind him. Of course she would have been the one member of the strike team daring enough to take her chance against the fire escape.
Fifty seconds left on the clock. Twenty more paces to go.
She was gaining on him fast, he could hear her closing the space between them.
Forty more seconds. Ten more paces.
Sneakers crunching over the gravel of the rooftop, Shawn continued the count in his head.
Thirty-five seconds. Two paces.
He was almost to the edge of the roof when she caught him. A small weight slammed into his back, smacking them both onto the roof’s surface. Pain spiked down his spine. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to worry about further aggravating his injuries.
Shawn immediately rolled onto his back. His knee jammed up into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and giving him a chance to roll free.
He dragged himself to his feet. She sprang up half a moment later. A gun raised between them, separating them by only five feet and one impending bullet.
“Juliet, wait,” Shawn said, desperately dragging air back into his lungs.
“Give me one good reason.”
The voice was completely devoid of any of its usual warmth. The gun didn’t waver as its barrel remained laser-focused on his chest. One squeeze of her finger, and it would all be over. Shawn remembered Lassiter making fun of his calculations for this plan. Boy, did he hope his math was good this time.
“Look, I know what you’re probably thinking—”
“We trusted you,” she cut him off, tone somewhere between accusation and plea. “Lassiter trusted you enough to risk his job for you. This is how you repay that?”
Shawn felt another pain as he realized how much about the situation she still had left to figure out. If this was how she was taking his betrayal, he wondered how much more devastated she’d be when she realized her trusted partner was in on the whole thing.
Collateral damage was a given in their line of work. That was why it was so important not to get emotionally invested in a cover story. Get in, get what you need, and get back out. If only Shawn had managed to stick to that rule. It would certainly make all of this hurt a lot less.
He didn’t want to think of Juliet as collateral damage. He didn’t want to write off her misplaced trust in them as naivety. For the first time in a long time, he wished they were normal people with a chance to meet under totally uncomplicated circumstances. Maybe having breakfast in a little diner, talking about totally inane things.
“You have to listen to me, Jules.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You have to listen,” he repeated, tone hardening. He knew there was no chance she’d actually believe him at this point, but he needed to try. “Things aren’t what you think they are. Everything you think you figured out about this, it’s barely scratching the surface.”
Juliet shook her head, hands tightening on the gun. “What are you talking about?”
The countdown in his head was fast approaching zero. Two paces behind him, fifty feet down, ten seconds left on the clock…
“I just need you to trust me one more time. One more time, Juliet. That’s all I’m asking.”
She laughed — and there was something about hearing her laugh without any of the usual sparkle or humor that cut deep into Shawn’s heart. Her laugh should never sound hollow.
“You’re really asking that of me now? Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”
Shawn shook his head, shoulders slumping tiredly. “I honestly can’t think of even one good reason. But I’m asking anyway.”
The door to the stairwell banged open, the heavy thunk of boots pounded across the rooftop as the strike team arrived on the scene.
Shawn grimaced. Timing was everything in this game, and he’d run out.
“I’m sorry, Jules.”
The agents appeared around the side of the air conditioning units, guns drawn and ready. Shawn turned and sprinted the last two paces to the edge of the building. He launched himself forward, shoving hard enough to hopefully fall clear of the building. Gunshots rang out overhead as he disappeared over the side.
Two paces back, fifty feet down. Reset the clock for phase three.
The water was ice cold as he hit feet first. He let his momentum take him deep into the river before spreading his arms and paddling back towards shore. He needed to be sure he was far enough down to not disturb the surface too much. Even in the dark, someone was bound to see if there was any sign of his movements.
Twenty yards to the north. Ninety seconds on the clock.
He swam until his lungs were burning from lack of oxygen before he dared resurface. It took a moment for the dark spots to clear his vision before he could take in his surroundings.
Not bad. He’d come up very close to the intended spot. And exactly on time.
Another few exhausted strokes brought him to shore and he dragged himself up onto the bank. Collapsing onto the gravelly shoreline, he coughed up a mouthful of water and closed his eyes against the pain radiating up his back and arms. In hindsight, that had been such a terrible idea.
Footsteps crunched over the gravel, swiftly approaching his position. Shawn didn’t bother stirring from his spot. He recognized that gait easily.
The steps came to a halt beside him and silence stretched for a moment before a familiar voice snapped at him.
“You planning to lay there all night, Spencer? O’Hara’s team won’t take long to figure out which direction you went.”
Shawn pried one eye open, squinting up at the senior agent. “No, no need to help me up. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
Lassiter rolled his eyes and stalked back to where his beloved Crown Vic was parked a few yards away. With a tired groan, Shawn dragged himself to his feet and staggered after him. Yep, he decided, this was such a terrible idea.
Lassiter spread a few towels on the passenger seat before letting Shawn collapse in a heap. He was half tempted to drop a wet shoe on the dashboard just to annoy the man, but chose not to press his luck. He’d already come close to being shot enough times for one night.
“Wasn’t sure you were going to make it on time,” Lassiter commented as he put the car into gear. “When the hotel location was compromised, I figured you’d have to find an alternate route here.”
“Yeah, well, I did end up finding a slight detour,” Shawn said dismissively.
“Slight detour?”
“By way of the roof.”
Lassiter’s foot came off the gas for a split second before he recovered his control. His voice, however, showed none of that same restraint when he snapped out, “You jumped off the roof?!”
“Relax, Lassie.”
“You jumped off the roof,” he repeated, hands tightening around the wheel. Shawn had a mental image of them around his neck instead and felt very grateful for the fact that Lassiter was a careful driver. “You’re insane, Spencer.”
“I prefer to think of myself as eccentric.”
“Eccentric is buying a houseboat for your pet cat. Insane is jumping off a roof into a river at night when you already have nerve damage. You do something that stupid again, I’ll throw you into the river myself.”
“See, this is why I keep getting mixed signals from you, Lassie. One moment you’re all concerned about me getting hurt, and the next moment you’re threatening to hurt me even more.”
“Shut up and take one of your pills before I throw you out of the car.”
Shawn rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he didn’t have to admit this next part. “Yeah, about that. I may have… kinda… possibly… sort of left my medication at the hotel.”
Lassiter let out a tired sigh. “Of course you did. I’ll have to talk to Woody, see if there’s something—”
“No way,” Shawn cut in. “We’re lucky they didn’t make any connection between us already. We can’t risk you getting caught sneaking medical supplies to me.”
“Spencer.”
“You know I’m right about this.” There was no flippancy in his tone now. After everything they’d gone through, he wasn’t letting this one mistake destroy all their careful plans. “We can’t risk it.”
Lassiter didn’t respond for a full minute, eyes locked on the road ahead. As much as he must have wanted to debate the point, he obviously knew that Shawn was right.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll drop you off at the meeting place and head back to HQ.” Another short silence filled the car before Lassiter broke it again, “I really hope that whatever you needed to tell O’Hara was worth it.”
Shawn looked out the window, feeling every ounce of the pain and tiredness shrouding his body. “Yeah,” he murmured in response. “I hope so, too.”
~~~
Juliet dropped her cell phone and gun in her special lock box, checking the apartment for any potential bugs before venturing into the bedroom. Powering up her laptop, she pulled the memory card from her jacket pocket and inserted it into the computer.
She’d found the tiny device in her pocket after getting back to HQ. The question of who had put it there had been answered as soon as she saw the crudely drawn pineapple on the back of it. Shawn must have slipped it into her pocket while they were fighting on the rooftop.
Part of her — a large part of her — had wanted to turn it over to Chief Vick and be done with the whole thing. That was what she probably should have done, given the manhunt currently being launched to hunt down Shawn Spencer. Holding back what could be vital evidence was a serious breach of protocol.
And yet she hadn’t turned it over. Shawn had obviously put it in her jacket secretly because he didn’t want the rest of the agency seeing whatever it was.
“Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”
“I honestly can’t think of even one good reason. But I’m asking you anyway.”
It only took a minute to get the computer started up and make sure it wasn’t connected to any networks. Inserting the flash drive, Juliet only had to think about the password for a brief moment before typing in ‘Starfish’ and gaining access to the video file contained on the device.
The video opened to show Shawn, seated at the desk in that hotel room. He looked exhausted and ill, two things she probably would have noticed when they confronted each other if she hadn’t still been so angry at him.
“Hey, Jules,” he said into the camera, that familiar smile appearing for a brief moment before fading into a more somber expression. “Look, everything’s gotten really complicated. I wanted a chance to explain things to you before… well, before whatever happens next, I guess. I don’t know if we’re going to see each other again, and I didn’t want to leave things the way they are.
“I promise, hurting you was never part of the plan. It was supposed to be a quick mission. Infiltrate the agency and get out before things could get complicated. But then I met you and Gus and Woody, and everyone else at the SBPD. And I need you to know that all of that was at least real. You guys are the best and I’ll miss you all so much.”
He leaned back in his chair, sighing tiredly. “Okay, you and your team are probably going to be here any minute, so I have to make this quick. But I figured, after everything, you at least deserve to know the truth about what’s going on.”
Juliet’s hand twitched toward the flash drive, half-tempted to pull it out before the rest could play out. She didn’t want an explanation. She wanted everything to go back to the way it had been, before her whole world had fallen around her. She wanted things to be simple again.
But she didn’t stop the video. Whatever else she may be feeling right now, she did deserve to know the truth.
“It all started five years ago, Jules. It all started with a man named Yin…”