Thanks for the hits/review! Final chapter :)

Spencer had been very lucky.

First bullet merely a flesh wound, second one skating by multiple organs to lodge somewhere in muscle fibers; quite possibly the only way he could've gotten shot twice, been left untreated for hours on end, and then still lived to tell the tale. The three blood transfusions were the only real treatment to speak of, aside from the digging out of the one remaining bullet, and the psychic had been downgraded from emergency to just barely critical before he'd even reached the hospital. The period without oxygen had been very brief, brief enough that brain damage wasn't even a concern, and the infection that had taken hold during the hours in the forest was wiped away after a measly one round of antibiotics. There were benefits, it turned out, to having a father that hadn't let his son anywhere near drugs unless he was dying, and one of those benefits was an immune system that didn't take prisoners.

So, all in all, Spencer had been very, very lucky.

Lucky I'm not punching him in the face, anyway.

Lassiter frowned deeply, watching the stream of visitors flow in and out of the psychic's room in distaste. He himself was only here as o'Hara's ride, hospital visits not being his thing, and he was getting more impatient by the second. What were they spending so much time doing- what was there to even say? Get well soon, next time you think about getting involved in a case like this think twice, next time you get shot because of your own recklessness prepare to have my foot in your ass-

...Well, o'Hara probably wasn't going to go that far.

Sighing, Lassiter rubbed his face again, stretching newly clean fingers. Henry had taken one look at his blood-soaked shirt, still sans jacket that was abandoned somewhere in a Hefty-size evidence bag, and sent him from the waiting room to find something else to wear. Unfortunately, hospitals were slim pickings for spare sets of clothes, and all he'd been able to track down was a set of scrubs. His hands had taken much longer; Spencer's blood had spread everywhere, digging under fingernails and up to his wrists, and every minute he'd spent scrubbing under the sink, his desire to punch the psychic had only grown.

Don't you dare make me kiss you, you son of a bitch!

Lassiter shook his head quickly, trying to abolish that entire memory. The details of that entire disaster would be recorded as his statement somewhere, stuffed into some case file, and promptly forgotten about, never to be read again. That was that. No rehashing necessary, and certainly no remembering that he'd been forced to breathe for that damnable psychic.

Groaning, he briefly checked his watch and started tapping his foot, watching his partner's blonde head bob around in the psychic's room. Hospitals made him uncomfortable in more ways than one and he was beyond ready to leave- when at last she turned towards the door, he couldn't have been happier.

Eagerness to leave turned into surprise when his partner was followed, first by Guster, and then by the elder Spencer. Lassiter blinked, confused, when all the attention turned to him, then took a step back. "What?"

O'Hara shrugged. "He wants to talk to you, Carlton." She nodded back towards the room and stepped aside; when he didn't move, stunned, she frowned at him and reached out to pull on his arm. "Go on, partner! We'll wait."

Lassiter stared at them all, shocked. Spencer wanted to talk to him? Guster looked just as confused as he did whereas Henry was just subtlety glaring at him, the impatience that had been Lassiter's best friend only thirty seconds ago now transferred to him. He looked vaguely irritated that he'd been banished from his son's room for the time being, whatever conversation Spencer wanted to have in private keeping him outside, and Lassiter decided it was probably in his best interests to simply hurry and comply. He wasn't one to be intimidated, but after the day Henry had had, Lassiter didn't want to be the one to cross him. Mind still racing, he moved forward to head into the room, trying to ignore the way everybody's confused stares tracked after him. He quickly shut the door behind him, then turned to face Spencer with nothing more than a breath for preparation.

The psychic was unconscious. A bit worrisome, considering he'd clearly been awake just a minute previously, and Lassiter frowned, looking him over. Complexion barely improved since the forest, cheeks flushed with fever, the visible bandages on his shoulder already stained red- a sight for sore eyes, and he cleared his throat, grimacing. Spencer had been the one who'd called him in here. He'd evidently had something to say, and just because he'd managed to doze off in the seconds after the others had exited the room and he'd entered it didn't mean it had to wait. Henry wouldn't have let him in if he'd thought his son wasn't up to it, and besides, the sooner they could get this conversation over, the better.

He cleared his throat again, louder than before. "Spencer."

The psychic jerked. Weary eyes flickered open and shifted around the room without pause, analyzing surroundings in the blink of an eye before he'd even looked at him. The scan took him longer than it normally did, Lassiter noted, but kept his silence. There was any number of reasons for that, and none worth giving voice to.

When Spencer's eyes finally found his, they remained bleary and just the slightest bit unfocused."Lassie!" he exclaimed, voice bright with a bit of oddly false cheer. "Well, hello, buddy!"

Lassiter scowled. Only Spencer could sound so cheerful when on the mend from not just one, but two gunshot wounds. "In case you hadn't noticed, Spencer, I'm not your buddy."

"What?" The psychic's face fell. "Come on! First you kiss me without even buying me a drink, and now you're not even my buddy? Lassie, I had no idea you were so cruel."

His stomach dropped. As if on cue, for god's sakes, the moment Spencer twisted CPR into nonsense the way only he could his gut just fell straight to his feet. "You- you remember that?!" he gasped, blanching.

Spencer kept up with the whipped puppy act for a moment longer, and god what a pathetic act it was, before his mouth slipped into a smirk. He shook his head slightly, glancing out the door. "They told me what happened, Lassie. Oh. And, by they, I mean the spirits, of course." He tried to bring his finger to his head but it wavered in midair, and then he was distracted entirely by the task, waggling his fingers and giggling the entire time.

"Okay," Lassiter groaned, resisting the urge to check his watch again, "think you've had enough painkillers."

Spencer took no notice to him, still entirely self-absorbed in the shapes he was trying to contort his hand into. Lassiter just stared at him for a moment, not even particularly surprised by the juvenile antics that amused him- simple pleasures for simple minds, as they said. Not surprised, no, but definitely at least a little irritated, and when Spencer continued the nonsense his patience snapped cleanly in two. "Spencer!"

The psychic jumped, blinking rapidly, then abruptly grinned again, falling back to earth. "Oh. Oh, yeah! Lassie! Right, Lassie. Right."

"Spencer..."

"Relax, relax," Spencer laughed, waving him off like one would a bothersome fly. "I know, I know that I called you in here, man. Jush, just, ah... can't really remember why. Give me a second."

Lassiter groaned. "Yeah, I'm out of here. We can have this little talk later, when you're sober." And by later I mean never... He turned for the door, grabbing the handle-

"Wait, Lassieface! I remember!"

"Goodbye, Spenc-"

"Thanks for the jacket."

Lassiter jerked around again.

The psychic shifted slightly, looking away abruptly after what he'd blurted out had clearly gotten his attention. His fingers tapped senselessly and rapidly; Spencer wasn't one to sit still when something was on his mind and his fingers were just about the only thing of his that he could move right now. He paused for a moment, swallowing. "Ah... the jacket, yeah. ...And what you said. You know. About me dying, and stuff."

Lassiter just stared at him, the awkward proclamation leaving him at a loss for words. The sudden transition from superbly ridiculous to terribly serious made his already overstressed and unrested brain stutter, struggling to process the callback to something he would've preferred to never think of again. Spencer dying in his arms had been entirely too melodramatic to believe and entirely too horrible to relive- and he couldn't imagine the psychic felt any different than he did.

Actually, he knew Spencer felt exactly the same way about the situation, seeing as he had been the first to say they were never going to mention it again. "I don't see how this qualifies of never speaking of it," he managed at length, voice gruff and uncaring even to his own ears, and finally chanced looking at Spencer again.

The psychic was frowning at him, head rolling a bit, clearly hunting through hazy memories. "Oh, yeah... yip yip, I said that. Well, can we suspend that for a moment? No more talking about it after this bit of talking about it?"

Lassiter glowered at him, already itching for some way to end this discussion before it got off the ground. "Spencer, you better have a point to make."

"Of course, Lassie, when do I not?"

"...With pretty much everything you say."

Groaning, the psychic rubbed his eyes with his good hand and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I just- I don't remember too much, you know, with the blood loss, and the trauma, and the kissing-"

"Spencer."

"-but, I do kinda recall you... maybe... possibly... saving my life." He looked away uncomfortably again, hands twitching in his lap. "...More than once. So, uh, yeah. In all sincerity, thank you for that. ...You know, with the jacket, and the blood everywhere, and- by the way, wasn't that your favorite jacket?"

Lassiter scowled. "Why, yes, actually," he muttered under his breath, not surprised at all, and glared at him. "Why? Does that please you?"

"Of course not, Lassie!" Spencer cried in his usual dramatics, then paused thoughtfully. "Weeeell... maybe."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, but Spencer let the moment pass quickly, seemingly too tired to draw it out with his ridiculous references.

"Look, what you said out there. Or, what I asked you to say is probably more accurate." He waved his hand in a vague approximation of a gesture. "I don't like meeting expectations, if you haven't noticed, Lassie. I know it's illogical... but, having old papa bear for a dad can do that to a guy. He wanted me to be a cop, you know- well, of course you know, everybody knows that." He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just- think I got off track here- it's just that Jules wouldn't have said it, she's not you, she wouldn't have been able to be such... such a..."

"Nasty son of a bitch?" Lassiter supplied, raising an eyebrow, and Spencer chuckled.

"Exactly. She would've gone the traditional route, you know... Shawn, no, Shawn!" His voice jumped at least two octaves, face contorting in a disturbing impersonation of his partner. "Please don't die, Shawn! Oh, I love you!"

"...Don't you have a girlfriend who isn't my partner?"

Spencer blinked, grin slipping, and he looked away for a moment, suddenly distracted. "I- Abigail's... yeah. Yeah, I guess so." He ran a hand through his hair, somehow succeeding to make it only more messy than before. "Abigail's... what were we talking about, again?"

Lassiter frowned. So, seemed there was trouble in psychic paradise. He wasn't about to ask, and Spencer definitely wasn't going to volunteer more. "About things that I distinctly remember you telling me to never breathe a word of."

The psychic snapped, or at least he tried to, clumsy and tired fingers not quite managing to pull it off. "Right. Yeah. That. Yeah." He shook his head for a moment, as if trying to clear it. "...My point was that Jules wouldn't have been able to do- what you did- Gus would've been too freaked out... I don't know why I do it anyway, Lassie. Just ever since I was a kid, failing expectations was my thing, you know. Can't even explain it... Mom wants an honor roll kid, I fail a few classes. Dad wants a little junior detective, I won't even take the entrance exam. Works the other way too; I remember, when Dad found out about this whole Psych thing, he told me I'd never make it work. Guess I set out to prove him wrong. ...If he hadn't said that, I don't know if I would've stuck it out in the beginning at all."

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "Yes, that, or the fact that you were going on thirty and still lacked a stable career."

"I prefer the terms in the prime of my life and still living the dream, Lassieface."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and didn't deign to comment on the merits of pushing thirty and still having your father file your taxes. Instead, he waved for Spencer to stop as the psychic opened his mouth to continue on in elaboration, shaking his head at him. "No, Spencer, don't- you don't have to explain. I... I actually get it."

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "You're not doing the good cop thing, are you? Where you lie your way onto my side so I start feeling comfortable enough to spill my secrets?"

"What? There's not even a bad cop here for that to work, Spencer!" He shook his head again, frustrated. "I'm only trying to say you don't have to explain anything. Knowing your dad, it wasn't that hard to figure out about you... besides, I think... I think that I'm a little like that myself." He looked away towards his fisted hands, swallowing. "I always get more motivated by being told I can't do something then by being told I can." He cleared his throat awkwardly, still struggling to look anywhere but at the psychic. "...Just relieved it worked, I guess."

There was another uncertain pause, Lassiter still looking anywhere but at the psychic and and just listening to the sounds of the hospital, uncomfortable beyond words. His face felt hot and he was already regretting even starting this conversation to begin with. He shifted again, unsure of what to say next or if he should just throw in the towel entirely and make his escape. At last he moved a step backward towards the door, searching for the quickest goodbye that he could say.

It was only then, when he started to move, did Spencer clear his throat and prod the discussion forward one more time. "Lassieface?" he asked, and when Lassiter didn't acknowledge him any further than by stopping his retreat and continuing to stare at the ground Spencer paused again, then simply forged on. "I'm glad I called you."

Lassiter just grimaced.

Spencer, grown to be as much of a constant as his gun and his badge- and suddenly he'd been faced with the possibility of him dying. Spencer, one of the most irritating people he knew, Spencer, unable to take anything seriously even if his life depended on it- now sincerely thanking him.

Any other case, any other victim, and the reply would be a succinct just doing my job, sir. And damn Spencer for making him unable to reply with just that.

At last, he managed a weak, "What, are we in a soap opera now?" still glaring at some spot above the psychic's head rather than meeting his gaze. Because he wasn't good with the emotion that reeked in the air right now, and that was just about the only thing his exhausted brain could offer up that steered the conversation back into his territory.

Spencer snorted. "More like a rom-com, Lassieface."

Scratch that, actually. Going the emotional route would've been the better choice. "...I think I just threw up a little."

The psychic rolled his eyes, thankfully letting it drop with that last horrific comment. He paused for a moment, fingers fiddling together. "Like I said, I don't remember too much. Nothing after the gunfire from the old boys in blue against... what's his face."

"Longmore," Lassiter filled in gruffly, and Spencer gave an emphatic nod, hand waving in the air again.

"Yeah, yeah, him. Well, after that, I don't really remember anything. Well, Gus told me how it ended, anyway." He shrugged awkwardly. "Just thought I should add that anything I might have said or done while under the influence of the blood loss fairies, whose effects may be similar to alcohol, but I assure you, they are slightly different-"

"Spencer, I swear to god-"

"-I am not responsible for." He trailed off into a little awkward, false confident grin. "...Out of curiosity- what did I say?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes again, wondering if the psychic could manage to be serious about absolutely anything in his life ever. "Oh, yeah, you sold your soul over to me and asked to marry Guster- what do you think? Not much way to be a Chatty Kathy when you're passing out from blood loss, Spencer, although I'm sure if there was a way, you'd find it."

The psychic laughed a little, seeming to struggle to retain his focus. "Right, right. ...Thanks, Lass."

Lassiter grunted, again sidestepping sincerity and gratitude to return the comment with all the normalcy he could muster. "Yeah, whatever- Spencer, next time you think about putting yourself directly in the line of fire, you just remember how this feels. How it feels knowing you owe me your life- and just how many times I'm going to call that favor in from now on. I have the power to make your life a living hell and trust me, the more you owe me, the worse it'll get. I'm not about to go talking you into not bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere again, Shawn, so next time you decide getting shot is a good idea, call o'Hara. Got it?!"

Spencer just stared at him at that, the immature and childish glow to his features draining away in complete surprise. The psychic didn't say anything for a moment, clearly speechless- but then, the arrogant and smug twitch to his mouth was back, and Lassiter found himself wanting to punch him again.

"...Did you just call me Shawn?" he asked- voice reeking with smug satisfaction.

Yeah. Yeah, he wanted to punch him. "...No," he grunted, and Spencer smirked again.

"Aww, Lassie, I had no idea you cared. How sweet-"

"Nonsense," he snarled. "I'm just protecting my partner. For some reason she's got a soft spot for you. If you die she'll be a bit of a mess; I'm just trying to not have that happen, Spencer."

The psychic raised an eyebrow, features practically glowing with perverse pleasure now. "Mmmhmm. Right, Lassie."

"That's right."

Spencer's smirk twitched again, and Lassiter glared at him, wondering just how much further the damnable psychic was going to push him today. He raised a hand to rub his face through habit alone, then blinked at it in surprise, letting it hang in midair. He'd almost forgotten about the bandage wrapped around his palm, but seeing it now, the memory of teeth biting against his hand came rushing back.

Spencer hesitated again, always analytical gaze bouncing down like a hyperactive child's to land on his hand, then back to look uneasily around the room again. "Yeah... uh... sorry about the hand, dude."

Lassiter clenched his bandaged palm into a fist, feeling the row of deep teeth marks begin to ache. Yes, he'd been right earlier. This entire conversation was one he didn't want to have with anyone, ever. And especially not with Spencer. "...Don't need to get a tetanus booster, do I?" he managed as a weak jab, trying to derail the conversation again.

The psychic's mouth twitched into a grin. "Well, to be safe. You don't know where these pearly whites have been after all, Lassie... rawwwwwr..." The growl trailed off into a wink, and Lassie stared at him, horrified.

"Spencer?"

"Yes, Lassie-dear?"

"That was just about the most disturbing thing I've ever heard. And I'm definitely getting the booster now."