musicalluna

Shawn grimaced as he bent over to twist the knob in the bathtub to the off position. He may not believe in manly bubble baths, but he did believe in baths, especially when he felt like he did right now. Every inch of him ached.

Gus had gotten on a health kick after a recent case had turned out to be not murder, but a run of the mill heart attack. He’d been denied fried foods for almost a week now and Gus had them on a morning running regimen that would have whipped Lance Armstrong into shape. That, followed by an every-other-day afternoon weightlifting routine, was kicking his ass.

He winced as his arms protested the unwinding of his towel from around his waist. Seriously, this was ridiculous. His arms shouldn’t start quivering from supporting the weight of a towel. He dropped it to the floor beside the toilet and then, with a lot of hissing and wincing and whimpering, lifted one foot into the tub. Trying to ease himself down into the water while bringing the other foot into the tub turned out to be a really bad idea.

Halfway into a seated position he completely lost traction under the foot already in the tub and it shot out from under him. Water exploded around him, forcing its way into his eyes and nose and he erupted into coughs. He landed hard against the sloped back of the basin, his head cracking on the tile wall. Between coughs he managed to squeeze out a soundless, "Ow."

So much for a bath making him feel better.

The back of his skull throbbed, all of his already abused muscles screaming at him in protest.

Ow. Ow. He coughed some more, feeling droplets of water rattle in his lungs. That was just awesome.

He was still sprawled in the tub, grimacing at the painful rawness in his chest and trying to decide if it was worth it to move when he heard a faint knocking at his front door. He sulked.

"Shawn?" a quavery little voice called, muffled by the doors and walls between them, "Are you all right?"

Shawn sighed. Mrs. Marsden. Lived right beneath him and was practically deaf at eighty-years-old. Definitely needed a hearing aid. She refused to admit to needing one though. It said something about the fall that she’d heard it.

"Yeah, I’m fine, Mrs. Marsden," he called back.

"Shawn?"

"I’m fine, Mrs. Marsden!"

She didn’t reply.

Shawn decided that was his cue to get out of the tub.

And what a lovely soak it had been.

He sat up, reaching back to brace his hands on the tub and pushed—right hand directly on top of the bar of soap.

He crashed down in the tub for the second time, smacking his head on the back rim again. This time he saw stars, color leeching out of the entire bathroom like a movie special effect.

When he could finally think clearly again, he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he’d actually blacked out or not. He remembered the colors fading out of everything the way they usually did when he got close to losing consciousness, but he couldn’t remember whether or not the blackness had ever come for him. The water was still warm, so he couldn’t have been out too long if he had, in fact, slipped into unconsciousness.

He was contemplating trying to get out of the tub again (despite how poorly it had worked out the last time) when suddenly a hand wrapped around his arm, yanking him up out of the water. As it ran out of his ears, he registered that the muffled sounds he was hearing were voices. And familiar ones at that.

"Spencer? Spencer, goddammit, you idiot."

"Shawn? Are you okay? Can you answer me, Shawn?"

A suit-jacketed arm was wrapped around his back, Lassiter grunting as he tried to haul him out of the death-trap he’d apparently created and Juliet bent over in front of him, her worried face peering down at him.

A hot flush rapidly overtook his cheeks and spread, setting his ears on fire.

He and Lassiter dropped in a tangle of limbs on the soaked and somewhat squishy rug in front of the tub and he slumped back against the wall, hissing as the (now twice) offended area on the back of his head bumped it.

"What the hell, Spencer?" Lassiter snarled breathlessly as Juliet spread out a towel over his lap, both of their gazes carefully focused on his face.

He groaned and then continued coughing. That just figured. He decided to take a bath and managed to make a mess out of it for the first time since he was eight-years-old and who should come to the rescue? His co-workers. Of course. Who else would it be.

"Oh my," a little voice said and he cracked open his eyes to see Mrs. Marsden standing in the doorway.

Oh, that was just fantastic.

"Really, Shawn, are you okay?" Juliet repeated. She moved to kneel at his side, her hands gently tilting his head forward so that she could feel the bump forming on the back of his head.

He hissed sharply and then rasped, "What—are you doing here?"

"Doesn’t look like there’s any blood," she replied and then looked up at her partner, who had pushed to his feet with the help of the toilet. "Would you go see if you can find some ice?"

He grumbled something under his breath in response, but then moved out of the bathroom, favoring one knee a little.

Juliet moved back to look at his face and Shawn felt the blush creep up his face again. He pulled the towel up a little further. "You know," he told her, voice rasping like that of a chain smoker, "if you wanted to get me in a compromising position, you could have done it without waiting for me to crack my head open."

Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile. "You didn’t crack your head open, Shawn. But you are going to have a very nice goose egg. You’re going to look a bit lumpy for awhile." This, she did smile at. And smugly, too.

He pouted at her. "Not my perfectly shaped cranium! What will I tell the hat-makers I’m supposed to model for on Thursday?"

"I guess you’ll just have to take a rain check," she said. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My pride is shattered, but I guess I’ll survive."

Lassiter returned then with a dishtowel stuffed with ice. He scowled at the bathtub, completely avoiding looking at Shawn. "You need to refill your ice tray, Spencer."

Shawn tilted his head forward in obedience to Juliet’s gentle touch and said, "I’ll get right—" He hissed as she put the ice against the swollen area on the back of his head. "—on that," he finished through gritted teeth. The coolness of the ice was soothing once it was in place though, and he relaxed, forehead resting against his knees, Juliet’s free hand resting lightly next to that.

Okay, so barring utter humiliation, pain, and the complete destruction of his relaxing bath time, this part wasn’t so bad.

"Why are you here?" he asked again. "And how did you get here so fast?"

"I called them!" Mrs. Marsden piped up.

"We were on our way back to the station from another call when she called Carlton’s cell phone." Her mouth twitched again, this time curving ever-so-slightly into a smile. "He thought it was a prank."

"I assured him I was quite serious," Mrs. Marsden said. Lassiter just scowled at the wet spots on his suit.

"She called you specifically?"

"I got a card from this lovely young lady one evening when you two and your other friend came home. I know you work with the police and I thought it might be a good idea, just in case." She tilted her head and tutted at him. "You do get in so much trouble."

The flush creeped up the back of his neck.

Clearly, today was Em(bare)assing Moments day, or something.

"Well," Juliet finally said, "Carlton and I need to get back to the station, we still have some paperwork that needs to get filled out. Are you going to be okay?"

"Oh, sure," he said into his lap. "Wounded dignity, a lump the size of my fist, I’m great. I’ll be fine."

Juliet smiled and patted his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe you should save the bath for another night."

"I may never bathe again," Shawn replied gravely.

Reluctantly replacing his hand with Juliet’s on the improvised ice pack, he looked up quickly before dropping his gaze back to the water drenched floor. "Ah, thanks guys, for coming to the rescue."

"Anytime," Juliet said.

"Don’t ever call me for something like this again," Lassiter grumbled. Juliet smacked him with the flat of her palm and then gave him a little push into the hallway.

"Bye, Shawn."

He smirked. "Bye, Jules."

Mrs. Marsden stood in the doorway, watching them go. When the front door had closed behind their quiet arguing, she turned back, confiding in a whisper, "She tried not to look, sweet girl, but she couldn’t help sneaking a peek at your bum. Every girl knows a good one when she sees it. I think she’s quite keen on you."

And suddenly, a little humiliation didn’t seem so bad.