Archive of Our Own

 

Shawn's heels clunked and thudded as they bounced off the polished wood panel. He wiggled, feeling the instability of his perch as he started to slide again. An inch to the left was a white ceramic mug housing an assortment of sharpened objects. On his right was a wire rack filled to capacity with files and loose memos. Hunt and peck tapping stood in as counterpoint to his irregular heel beat drumming on the side of the desk.

“How about tacos? I bet Buzz would go pick some up. Unless he's out too. Is he out? I haven't seen him all day either.”

Henry scrolled a little further down the page. Two fingers pushed his glasses a little higher, then removed them completely so he could rub his eyes.

“Whatever, Shawn. I'm not really hungry...”

“I'm starved.” His son interjected, scratching his knee. “I could probably eat, like, six tacos. And nachos. Not cheapy ones either but the everything on em' kind. And we could get some horchata too.”

“Uh huh.” The report complete, he added his name at the bottom and sent it to the printer. A moment later it started to print out. Sitting back with his coffee, Henry took a sip and rubbed his eyes again – this time not bothering to remove his eyewear but instead, simply pushing his fingers up from beneath the lenses.

“Maybe we should get Quiznos instead. If Buzz gets a call on the way back the tacos will get all soggy.”

Henry stood to collect his report from the printer. “Not if you order soft shell.”

The thudding continued behind him as he walked across the bullpen. It was a quiet night, something he appreciated even though it was contributing to his son's distracted mood. Grabbing his report, Henry also found a second page beneath his own. He lifted it, face taking on the same expression as the frowny faced stick figure with the blocky text written above it declaring “I'M BORED!!!”

Chucking the drawing into the wastebasket, he headed back to his desk. Shawn turned, wincing as his body twisted. “Did you just throw away my drawing?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Not exactly the Sistine Chapel, kid.”

Of course Shawn would disagree. “That took me like, twenty minutes! I was thinking of expanding into psychic sketch artist.” Still aggrieved, he braced his hands to hop off the desk.

Henry took a step forward. “Woah, wait...”

“Ahh, God!” Stumbling backward a second after touchdown, Shawn wrapped his arms around his middle and held his breath. Continuing on towards his son, Henry placed his hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe.”

Shawn shook his head, though he still sucked in a breath. “It hurts.” He strained out, wincing again.

Henry smiled. “You've got two cracked ribs, champ. Part of the package.”

Shawn groaned again before shrugging out from under his father's hold. Henry let him go, watching as he continued on to the waste basket to rescue his drawing. Even that simple act became a whole event as Shawn held on to the wall while bending his knees and inching his way down to the trashcan. Keeping his back stiff, Shawn stretched his fingers as far as he could and was just able to catch the extreme edge of his masterpiece. And then it was another long trip back to standing, one hand holding the wall the entire time.

Henry grunted as Shawn passing him on the way back to the desk.

“Happy?”

Scowling, Shawn brushed at the paper. “I'd be happier if it wasn't coated in old coffee grounds.” Rather than struggle back onto the desk again, he swiped his father's chair instead.

Letting him have it, Henry went to refill his coffee cup. He looked back at his desk as he walked, noting the officer standing casually nearby. The man hadn't moved position for the last four hours. Shawn, as he'd been doing for the past two hours, was ignoring him.

At the coffee counter, Henry picked through the day old offerings of powdered donuts and half a tin of fudge one of the officer's wives had brought in. The coffee itself was about an inch of lukewarm pond water clinging to the bottom of the pot. Giving up on the sweets, he really wasn't hungry anymore than Shawn claimed to be, he rinsed out the coffee pot instead and started a fresh one.

He turned his back on the pot once it started to fill. From where he stood he could see Shawn sitting at the desk, spine military straight as he sketched busily on what was probably the cover of one of Henry's incomplete files. But, like every other tactic he'd tried since being brought to the station going on twelve hours ago, this move wasn't going to set off any rants or lectures either. Not this time.

The smell of a fresh pot started to trickle through the bullpen, bringing bleary eyed late shifters like hyenas to a fresh kill. Filling his mug before the horde overtook him, Henry snagged a couple of donuts and returned to his desk. Shawn was still hard at work and didn't even look up when his father stopped beside him. Using a finger to slide a clean looking file near Shawn's elbow, Henry dropped the pastries on the surface.

Shawn kept sketching.

“Eat a donut. I'll ask Karen if there's someone available who can make a dinner run.”

“I'm not hungry.”

No, really? Kid had been bouncing back and forth from peeling his own skin with anxiety to shell shocked staring. He hadn't eaten since the picked over breakfast sandwich that morning and, in spite of his loud declarations just minutes ago, it was obvious his state of mind had shut down his appetite.

Henry didn't blame him. The last forty-three hours had been a series of escalating disasters, each one seemingly worse in severity until...

Wiping his hand over his head, Henry continued on to Karen's office. Through the glass he could see that she was talking on the phone. However, when she saw him approach she waved him inside.

She turned away from the door as Henry stepped inside the office, her voice soft. “I know. I'll check in with you in the morning. Okay. Kiss daddy for me. I love you too, sweetheart. Night-night.”

Henry wasn't one to bask in the sentimental but the bit of private conversation tugged at him.

Karen turned her chair back to face him and folded her hands over her desk.

“How is he doing?”

Stepping further into the room, not yet ready to return to his job – one that had become so very literal in the past day, Henry took one of the chairs opposite the chief.

“About the same.” He didn't have anything to add to that, simply shrugging before allowing himself to slump down a bit in his seat. He was just so damn tired. Karen looked exhausted as well. She'd been at the station even longer than Henry – away from home and family. At least he had his son with him. His beliefs didn't often encompass the spiritual but after yesterday he was thanking God for that.

“Have you heard anything about...?”

Henry looked up again, then shook his head. “I called a few hours ago but he was still in surgery.”

His eyes tracked back to the floor. He licked his lips, the flat of his hands tapping against the arms of his chair. When he looked up again, he saw that Karen was staring down at her desk. A file was open in front of her. He knew he didn't have to ask what case she was studying. Nor was it even a guess to say she'd already read it cover to cover more than once.

“Any word from Lassiter?”

A sigh as her eyes pulled from the folder. “They haven't found anything yet. At their last check in they were still staking out the marina, but...”

Henry didn't need more than that. “But it's unlikely he'll be going back to the yacht. He could afford several yachts on just his cut alone. And if he really did kill Bellamy than odds are he has his take as well.”

“Or split it with his other partners. I know, Henry, but you know we can't just walk away from our only lead.”

“That man...” Henry huffed through his nose, his voice shaking, and staring at Vick as he forced some control. “That man... nearly murdered my son and his best friend. He may still succeed with one of them. You don't need to tell me about doing the job, Karen, but don't try to tell me you're doing everything you can.”

He stood, but so did Karen, walking around her desk to cut him off.

“Henry, you know damn well we're doing everything we can!”

Staring back at her, Henry pointed out the door towards the figure still seated at his desk.

“No, you aren't. Not as long as he's stuck here.”

He knew it was an unfair accusation even as he stalked back out of the room. Damn it, he'd been a part of the decision making process, in the first place, that had ended with Shawn trapped with him at the station.

Even so, it hadn't been an easy choice. Yes, he wanted to keep Shawn safe. But he also knew, as did all of them, that Shawn was the only one who'd actually seen their perp's face.

Which was exactly why he was stuck with twenty-four seven armed escort in the most fortified building in Santa Barbara outside of the National Savings bank vault.

Shawn had finished doodling, by this point, and seemed to have moved on to construction. A starburst of coffee straws impaled one of the donuts which, in turn, held it suspended over what remained of Henry's coffee – missing at least half of its contents. On top of the donut, Shawn had begun to stack every desk accessory within reach. He was in the process of lifting a stapler remover to the top of the structure when Henry approached him.

“I don't think that will...”

Shawn's arm jerked at the sound of his voice and the entire contraption seemed to explode around him. Paperclips, coffee and mug, pens, pencils, donut, all cascaded across the desk. He yelped as hot coffee gushed over his hands and knees, then whimpered as his reaction jarred his injury. Stiffening, he held his arms away from his body and froze in pain.

Henry didn't dare touch him, instead yanking about a dozen tissues from his Kleenex box to mop at the dark liquid threatening his keyboard. Useless effort as the tissue became instantly saturated before disintegrating. At least the tiny tsunami had been slowed, buying him enough time to move delicate electronics, including his cell phone. The officer assigned to his son was kind enough to grab a roll of paper towels before returning to his post, a smile quirking one side of his mouth.

For his part, Henry wasn't feeling the humor. Not when he could actually see how much Shawn was hurting. Before he'd abruptly attempted speech at twenty-four months, something Maddie claimed he'd withheld simply to aggravate his father, he'd already mastered the art of exaggerating injury. Six months old, he'd had a full blown shrieking attack when Maddie had clipped one of his fingernails too close. For weeks afterward, he exploited those few seconds of discomfort. Whenever he wanted attention, his little face would screw up, he'd stick the wounded paw in his mouth, and bawl like the world was over.

It was a deception that had only grown in complexity with age. It had been especially exploited when he'd been shot the previous year. That first week of recovery, he'd driven his kid to the station to give his statement. Within twenty minutes he'd had Buzz fetching him snacks and the chief offering a pillow from her couch. The clincher, though, had been when they were preparing to leave the office. Shawn had fumbled at the door for about twenty seconds, fiddling with his phone in one hand while using the hand supported in the sling to wrestle with the handle. Finally, he'd turned back to the group behind him, pouting. It was Lassiter, of all people, who'd rolled his eyes before giving in and opening the door.

But no matter how good his acting may be, even Shawn couldn't generate a sheen of sweat across his forehead by will alone. And if he were faking the tremor in his hands, he'd have been more obvious about it, going for full body spasm instead of trying to hide it with clenched fists.

The desk was still tacky with spilled coffee but Henry didn't really care about that. By this point, Shawn's body was starting to unclench bit by bit. His spine remained stiff but after a few more moments, he let the held breath start to seep from between his teeth. Relief replaced some of the anxiety. Henry breathed out then as well before passing Shawn some of the paper towels he'd torn from the roll.

Unspeaking, Shawn wadded up the paper and started dabbing at the cooled liquid spattered on his hands and legs.

Henry was trying to get around the awkwardness of apologizing – he hadn't meant to startle Shawn but it was embarrassing for both of them that he had. But before he could fumble his way though his remorse, Shawn brushed past the incident with an inquiry he'd been repeating all day.

“You heard anything new?”

Henry sighed and dropped soggy paper towels into the wastebasket.

“No. Nothing yet.”

Shawn's lips were tight across his teeth. He nodded while reaching across the blotter to fiddle with a string of paperclips he'd assembled earlier.

“He, uh... he... he's going to be okay though. Right?” He wouldn't look up though, choosing instead to begin adding to his paperclip chain. He hadn't insisted on going to the hospital for at least two hours. If his own injuries hadn't slowed him up so much, Henry was sure he'd be ping ponging off the ceiling trying to escape the station.

And Henry couldn't blame him.

Finding him... finding the both of them like that had been...

“They're doing everything they can.”

How badly he wanted to say more. To give absolute assurance that everything would be fine. Winnie had tried to do just that when he'd last called, before Bill had been forced to take over the call. She'd started crying and hadn't been able to go on.

“He's a fighter.” Pithy sounding even in his own ears, but Shawn actually managed to smile. To nod as he continued to play with the little bits of metal.

“Yeah, he is.”

It was barely a second after Shawn spoke that the Chief's door opened and she walked quickly from her office. At some point between the time Henry had spoken to her and now, she'd run a comb through her hair and fixed her smudged eyeliner.

“Henry, Shawn, I just got word back from Detective Lassiter. They caught them.”

Shawn stood, slowly, before snatching his father's arm to support a sudden wobble. “You...” He tilted his head, a smile bursting across his face. “Way to go LASSIE!” He shouted, pumping one arm.

The mood shift, from desolation to exuberance spread like a gasoline fire. In seconds, officers who'd been standing at watch, feet heavy against the floor, were grinning at one another. Though not a frenzy of celebration, the emotion of triumph had filled every face in the bullpen.

Henry looked at his son, not surprised to see the happiness already beginning to fade. Shawn looked back, the hand that rose to scrape through his hair making a subtle detour to brush beneath his eye.

“I'm... I'm, um, just going to his the restroom real quick. But after...”

“I'll drive you to the hospital.”

Shawn nodded. Though Henry was a little surprised Shawn hadn't insisted on leaving right then and there, he also understand why his son would need a few minutes alone. Patting Shawn on the arm as he limped past, Henry watched as he listed toward the wall, holding on as he navigated his way towards the bathrooms down the hall.

There was a twist of fear at having Shawn out of sight for the first time in nearly two days. It would probably take a little time, though, for that to fade. It had been the same way after the incidents with Yin and Yang.

Karen was addressing her officers on how to proceed now that the threat had ended. Back to business as usual for most of them, while others were allowed to head home for the night. Henry wanted nothing more than to cart Shawn home and drop a blanket on him. Useless, though, to even attempt it. Shawn hadn't been sleeping well even before – and he wouldn't be sleeping at all, now, until he saw for himself how his friend was doing.

With one eye still focused on the hall where Shawn had vanished, Henry settled back to hear what Karen had to say.