Shawn, You're No George Clooney: Part VII

[musicalluna]

Title: Shawn, You're No George Clooney: Part VII
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Shawn, Gus
Genre: Humor/Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Shawn and Gus steal--pardon--borrow Henry's boat and soon discover the meager amount of boating experience between them just might land them at the bottom of the sea, sleeping with the fishes
A/N: OMGOMGOMGOMG GUYS I WROTE A NEW CHAPTER. OMGGGGGG. *spaz*

Finally that spoiler warning comes to mean something. I felt like there was a situation in HTFO that didn't really get totally resolved based on what happened in HTFO and since everything seemed to be good again in the following episode, I wanted to sort of explain why that might be.

 Anyway.

Many eons ago, when you were last reading about our heroes, they had found a piddling amount of gas and used it to radio for help. And help can't get there fast enough.
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody.

 

The headquarters of the Santa Barbara Coast Guard had been filled to capacity since early that morning, as a result of the enormous tropical storm front moving in toward the coast. The Santa Barbara Coast Guard itself was a fairly small enterprise and most of the time a skeleton crew manned the building on the harbor and took care of the waters in the immediate vicinity because the Los Angeles and San Francisco Coast Guards were far better staffed and equipped for anything more than minor boat-troubles.

This tropical storm, however, was headed straight into Santa Barbara bay, and as a result both the Los Angeles and San Francisco Coast Guards had been called in to help with what was sure to be a crazy day or two. And crazy it had been, so far; it was only just going on four o'clock and the storm hadn't even reached the harbor yet.

Several boats had issued calls of distress, mostly minor problems, though there had been one ship with a man overboard.

Fortunately, nothing too serious had happened yet. Lieutenant Drew Randall was hoping it would stay that way, but they still had a long night ahead of them before the storm had completely dissipated.

"Santa Barbara, Aspen, we've got another fish in distress. Over."

Drew leaned in toward the mic, pressing two fingers down on the call button of the radio. Drew recognized one of his buddies, Zack. "Aspen, Santa Barbara, we have another fish in distress, copy. Any injuries, Zack? Over."

"Hey, Randall," the voice on the other end said, professional demeanor dropping slightly. He continued straight into business though, "Got two passengers, both injured. Shawn has bruised ribs and a cut on his jaw and is pretty badly seasick. Gus bruised a couple of fingers, but says he's otherwise all right. They're DITW and floating blind. It's gotten pretty nasty out here, so I doubt a tow will be possible. Most likely, we're going to have to try to get a better idea of their location and then we'll scoop up their asses and ferry them back to solid ground. Over."

 

Grinning, Drew replied, “Catch the fish and haul their asses back to land, copy. Over.”

 

Zack was chuckling when he copied. “Also told them we'd raise them again on the radio when we knew more. Brian says he estimated about a half hour. Over.”

 

"Copy that. Update in half an hour. Station out."

Drew double-checked the information he'd been entering one-handed into the report. When he was satisfied that he'd gotten all of it entered correctly, he swiveled around in his chair and called, "Commander, the Aspen received a mayday call from a fishing boat with two passengers, DITW. Both passengers have sustained minor injuries. Cutter Aspen is maintaining contact and would like to update them in approximately half an hour."

Commander Barbara Dunlap looked up from the map of the coast spread out in front of her. "What do you estimate their priority level to be?"

"Medium, ma'am. Their lack of engines makes the danger of capsizing greater." Drew admired the Commander, despite her reputation (entirely deserved) for being a hard-ass with a nasty temper. She was good at her job and her ire was (usually) directed at those who deserved it. When her people did good work she repaid them with respect and when they blew it, she made sure they knew it. Coasties couldn't afford mistakes, she said. It gave the other branches too much fodder.

Dunlap gave a sharp nod, her eyes already focused on the map again. "What's the status on the swamped jet skiers?"

"Yakima is in mid-assist. They lost the motor boat, but the people and the jet skis are being recovered."

"Good," Commander Dunlap said, shaking her bangs out of her face. "Maybe next time they won't be stupid enough to ignore the storm warning."

A lot of people wondered why Commander Dunlap was in the Coast Guard at all. They listened to what she said and ignored what she did. She put on a hard front, but Drew saw the way her shoulders relaxed when they succeeded, and he had seen her break a window when they lost someone. She cared about the people. He admired her determination, even in the face of sometimes mind-boggling stupidity.

"All right, Randall. Tell Yakima to get those morons aboard and get out of there."

"Yes, ma'am."

Through the window overlooking the harbor, Drew saw Bremerton gliding in and a second later the radio crackled and then: "Bremerton to Santa Barbara. We're entering the harbor."

The crew of Bremerton had been out rescuing the sailors on a fishing trawler that had begin to take on water due to a leak in the in the seals around the propeller shafts and they were just coming back in with their newly rescued passengers.

"Santa Barbara to Bremerton. Copy that. Get in and out quick as you can."

"Copy that.”

 

Time to get the rescue list re-prioritized.

 

~ * ~

 

“So...have you talked to Jules lately?” Shawn croaked. He was wedged between the captain's chair and the console, tipped a little to the right so his shoulder dug into Gus' ribs. His body was warmer than anything else though, so Gus didn't mind that much. He shivered as a fork of lightning blinded them, whiting out their whole patch of ocean for a moment. He needed this distraction, so he latched onto the conversation.

 

“What makes you think—”

 

“Please, Gus. I know you two have regular lunch dates.”

Gus sighed. “Of course you do.” He leaned back. “Not that it's any of your business, but Juliet and I haven't gotten together since...” He trailed off, suddenly realizing that that hadn't been one of Shawn's I'm-in-pain-and-in-need-of-a-distraction conversation starters. It was too deliberate. He was probing for information. His eyes narrowed. “Why, Shawn?”

 

Shawn shifted, his gaze drifting aimlessly. “Just...you know, wondering.”

 

“Shawn.”

 

His nose wrinkled and he shifted again, a wince flashing across his features in response. “I was just wondering if she talked to you. I think I maybe, might have...made her a little angry.”

 

Gus frowned. He doubted this was going anywhere good. “In what way, Shawn?”

 

A noisy exhalation told Gus that Shawn was regretting mentioning anything. But he had made the bed...

 

Shawn grimaced. “I...might have accused her of...” Shawn's brow furrowed, his head dropping back against the console of the boat. His voice grew lower. “...I might have accused her of keeping us out of the loop because she was jealous.”

 

Oh, hell no. “Shawn! You didn't!” He sat forward, the better to glower at his friend. Of all the stupid things—

 

Shawn tensed. “I know it was stupid!”

 

“You're damn right it was!” Colossally stupid. No wonder she'd been so short with them during Diddle's case. If that had been his crash and burn— “You idiot!” he exclaimed and twisted his arm around awkwardly to punch Shawn in the shoulder.

 

Instead of whining, Shawn just sank down further against the console. “I know, Gus, I know.”

 

Gus shook his head. “Ever since you started dating Abby, you've been a real jerk to Juliet.”

 

“I can't help it!” Shawn said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. “It's hard with, you know, both of them. After Jules—”

 

“You have to apologize,” Gus told him matter-of-factly. “You know how seriously Juliet takes her job. You basically just told her you have no respect for her. I can't believe you—that is such a cheap shot, Shawn. No wonder she hasn't been throwing us any bones the last few weeks.” Juliet was a great detective and part of what made her so great was her willingness to bend the rules. She had gone out on so many limbs for Shawn, both professionally and personally, having him accuse her of something as petty as withholding information out of jealousy must have been like being stabbed in the back. And after she'd obviously started to think there was more to him than that. “Wow, Shawn. You are an ass.”

 

“I don't think it's quite sunk in, Gus. Think you can say it again?” Shawn muttered.

 

Happily. “You're an ass,” he said.

 

“Awesome.” Shawn started to lay his head down on his knees only to have his skin go that funny grayish color. He groaned and grabbed hold of the captain's chair, dragging himself up. Instead of squeezing past the chair as he intended though, Shawn was flung against the console as the boat dipped toward the front, in a motion that made even Gus' gut clench.

 

He was trying to avoid being stepped on when the hair on the backs of his arms and on his scalp began prickling and Gus recognized the charge in the air for what it was.

 

A warning.

 

“Shawn!” he yelled, grabbing at his pant leg. “Get down!”

 

A boom like a cannon thundered around them and everything went supernova bright. Another sound, like a firecracker going off followed along with an ominous crackle and popping sound from the console. Shawn let out a strangled yelp. Sparks nipped at Gus' exposed skin, stinging him.

 

Then it grew dark again and Shawn moaned. He went boneless, his weight pressing down on Gus realized that something had gone wrong, something had happened to the lightning rod. To the console. Panic scrabbled up Gus' throat, choking him. “Shawn? Shawn!”

 

He twisted around and managed to push Shawn's body away; he still wasn't moving. Thunder crashed and another bolt of lightning crackled and Gus saw Shawn's chest, his red sweatshirt marred by black scorch marks.

 

“Shawn!”

 

~ * ~

 

“This can't be right,” Commander Dunlap muttered and Drew glanced back to see her squinting at the glass board he had written their priority list on, a report in her left hand. She read the board again and then looked back down at the report.

 

“Is there a problem, Commander?” he asked. The storm was causing a lot of rapid changes in circumstances, so it was possible he'd gotten some of the information switched around or even all together wrong. He had changed the priority list at least four times in the last fifteen minutes as bad situations spiraled into even worse ones.

 

She turned and waved the report at him. “These names,” she said. “Shawn and Gus. Are these correct?”

 

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, nodding. “Those are the names the Aspen reported.”

 

Instead of smoothing out her features, his response only deepened her frown. “Has the Aspen contacted them again?”

 

Drew glanced at the nearest clock and shook his head. “No, ma'am. The Aspen has five minutes before their scheduled check-in.”

 

“I want to talk to them myself. Hail them on the radio now.”

 

Drew's eyebrows inched up his forehead, but he nodded. “Right away, ma'am.” He tried, unsuccessfully, to hail the fishing vessel. Commander Dunlap's tension grew more palpable with every unanswered call.

 

Finally, she snapped, “Hail the Aspen.”

 

Without bothering to acknowledge her order, Drew said, “Aspen, Santa Barbara. Come in, Aspen.”

 

“Santa Barbara, Aspen. We copy.”

 

Drew jumped in surprise when the commander snatched the radio up, barking tersely, “Aspen, I need the full names of the passengers on the vessel you reported DITW half an hour ago.”

 

“ Burton Guster and Shawn Spencer, ma'am,” Zack reported without hesitation.

 

Dunlap's lips pressed together into a thin line, her knuckles going white around the radio. “Raise them on the radio.”

 

The radio was quiet for almost a full minute and then: “The vessel is no longer responding, Santa Barbara.”

 

“Shit!” Commander Dunlap slammed the radio back down and Drew stared, wide-eyed, as she stormed toward the phone at the back of the command center. Something had clearly gone wrong. Did she know the passengers on that boat? As the phone rang, Dunlap paced, swearing again. She stopped abruptly, her head coming up, her features hard.

 

“Karen, it's Barb,” she said. “I've got bad news.”