So, first story on here, I hope you like! If you're confused, it goes Psych, then CSI: NY, then NCIS.
Shawn was pretty damn content where he was. There was no way he was going with these creeps. He stared the brown eyes in the ski mask down as they stood still, knees bent, arms locked on the other man's shoulders.
Mask's partner watched from the side, not daring to move, not really daring to breathe. All three men had been like this for at least forty-five seconds, ever since they had surprised Shawn in the Psych office and pulled the gun on him.
It was then the psychic surprised them, however, doing some kind of weird karate move and twisting the gun out of him hands. Now they were all locked in a staring contest, the two criminals wary now, and Shawn openly smirking, pleased with himself.
"Mr. Spencer," the first masked man said slowly, "Let's not make this hard on you. If you don't come with me now, my partner and I will be forced to spill blood, and I assure you, we don't want to clean that up."
Shawn's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize the voice, and he hadn't taken on a case in a while, so either these people were confusing him for someone else (not likely, the man had just used his name, after all) or they wanted him for some sort of sick revenge thing on his dad (gross and a little weird, but that's what he got for being the son of a successful cop).
Then his lips turned up in a friendly sort of smile, although his limbs stayed locked and ready. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got a date tonight, and I'd really hate to miss it."
"Right," Mask #1 said, nodding slowly. "Well, in that case…"
Mask #2 lunged for Shawn from the left, but he'd seen him shifting way before he moved and was ready. The other man met empty air and took a nose-dive into the floor of the Psych building.
The psychic had seen the almost-funny scene but was more focused on Mask #1, who had ignored his partner and swiped at Shawn with a wicked looking blade. Shawn pulled his stomach in and lashed out, almost breaking the other man's knuckles as the heel of his palm smashed into the gloved hand.
Mask #1 howled loudly and clutched his hand, spitting swear words out from his clenched teeth and waving his hand up and down.
Shawn would've stopped to laugh in his face, but instead he raced, instead, outside and started hollering his head off.
"Somebody help me! Help! They're trying to kidnap me!"
"Whoa, whoa, what's up?" A man yelled, leaning his head out of a car after pulling up to the curb.
The pseudo psychic skidded to a stop in front of the car, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the Psych office. "Thanks dude," he panted, jerking his thumb behind his back. "There were these two dudes wearing ski masks. They tried to kidnap me or… something…"
His voice trailed off as he spotted something in the car, his amazing eyesight cutting through the darkness of the winter evening and zoning in on a black piece of fabric in the passenger seat. It looked suspiciously like a hat. A black, two holed, ski hat…
He looked up at the driver, who held a gun so close to him it almost touched his nose. Shawn's eyes went cross eyed as he tried to focus to the barrel.
"Don't move," the driver said, his voice dangerously low.
Shawn's hand went up automatically, and he gulped. "Listen, man—"
"You talk too much," Mask #1's voice came behind him. Too late, Shawn turned to face him, and too late did he see the knife hilt swinging at him.
There was a loud crack and his temple exploded in pain. Then his body lost the fight and Shawn fell into the darkness.
The quirky lab tech jerked awake suddenly as his name echoed in his ears, his mouth automatically opening to shoot out an excuse.
He, however, thought better of it when his boss, Detective Mac Taylor, raised a brow at the young man. "How long have you been here?"
Adam bit his lip and looked away sheepishly. He'd known how long he'd been in the CSI lab, and he knew that if he told Mac he'd be sent home and given a sick day. "Um…"
"Go home." Mac held up his hand to block Adam's protests. "I mean it, Ross, you better get some sleep. I'll have Danny take your shift tomorrow, okay? Go. Now."
"Yeah, okay," Adam sighed, but he smiled wearily anyways. "Thanks, Mac."
Mac smiled back and ruffled Adam's ridiculously curly hair. "Eleven o'clock, okay? Don't forget."
Adam nodded dutifully and got up, hanging his lab coat on the hook where it belonged, nodding goodbye to his co-workers and edging past Mac so he wouldn't have to look at him.
New York traffic was just as bad at night as it was at day, even at one in the morning. It was pretty ridiculous how long he'd stayed at the lab, but it was, after all, his job, and he loved his job. Catching the bad guys the geek way was just as gratifying as pulling the handcuffs out and reading criminals their Miranda rights. Many of the CSIs he worked with still carried guns, but he couldn't fire a gun if his life depended on it, which it normally did.
It was why he spent most of his time in the lab instead of out in the field, safe, out of danger. For the most part.
Adam sighed tiredly as he pulled into his apartment's garage and turned off his car. He thought that he could probably fall asleep in the driver's seat as it was, and contemplated the enticing idea of spending the night in the car.
It wasn't a hard decision, contrary to popular belief, and Adam made a face as he got out of the car, staring up at the multiple stairs he had to climb to reach his apartment. The night air was chilly and Adam hurried to the stairs to get out of it, pulling up his coat collar to the neckline, huddling to get warm enough.
A hand closed around his shoulder and he jumped, yelping a little bit. A man, a stranger, really, took a step back in surprise.
"Jeez, man, take it easy," he complained.
Adam felt a little sheepish. "Sorry, dude. Can I… help you?"
"Yeah," the man said, and he smiled a wicked smile. "You can."
Before Adam could ask what he meant by that, something hard crashed into his head from behind. He gasped and fell to his knees, looking up at the man with a sort of ironic, betrayed expression. Black spots swam in front of his eyes and he knew no more.
Very Special NCIS agent Tony DiNozzo was silently cussing his boss out in his head. New York was an unnecessarily long drive from D.C., and to come all the way over here, in the middle of the night—sorry, morning, was a little-more-then-ridiculous way of solving a case. Or going on a stakeout, as this case called for.
His partner, Ziva David (pronounced Dah-veed) was asleep and leaning against the window, and any other time the juvenile agent would've taken the time to take a picture of the former Mossad officer.
But not now, because Tony was still pissed as hell at Gibbs, and if he had his way, he'd be either at home sleeping the morning away, or hanging out at Jessica's (hottest chick on the planet) place. Either of those options were wonderful and tempting to say the least, but a case was a case, and he'd be insane to go against a direct order from Gibbs.
Because Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't one to cross in a dark ally, in a completely respectful way, of course.
"Great, now you're being polite when he isn't even here," Tony grumbled under his breath.
Ziva stirred next to him, sighing in her sleep. Tony smiled a bit, more in amusement then anything else. He'd never actually seen Ziva sleep, mostly due to the fact that Ziva practically never slept. Ever.
He pulled into the apartment complex of their suspect's ex-girlfriend, and Tony contemplated waking Ziva up.
Probably not, he figured, considering he'd never seen what she would do when woken up abruptly. Mossad officers were known for killing people, after all. She'd probably stick a knife through his chest before her eyes were even open.
Tony, instead, opened the door very carefully and quietly, and slipped out, not shutting it all the way in case it would wake her up. He stretched his long legs and yawned, scanning the apartment's campus for anything out of the ordinary. A man walked tiredly from his garage to the stairs in one of the buildings, but that wasn't weird, if you were talking crime.
Several joints in his body cracked, and Tony winced at the odd sound. He was about to turn and slowly wake up his partner when he saw something dart across his peripheral vision.
Tony's hand crept towards the Glock he held in his shoulder holster, green eyes rapidly scanning for any signs of trouble. The night was quiet and then his trained ears caught a cry of pain, and without hesitation he raced towards the sound.
"Freeze! NCIS!" He yelled in advance, skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and aiming his gun quickly.
A figure dressed in black whirled and raised his hands. Tony's eyes went from him to the man he'd seen earlier on the ground, unconscious, and then back to him. "You are in so much trouble—"
A crushing blow to the back of his head cut off his reply, and Tony dropped to the ground next to Adam, eyes closed.
Ziva had been awake the entire time and wanted more then anything to drop back into wonderful sleep. Knowing, however, that they both had a job to do, she sat up and stretched, searching for her partner.
When she didn't spot him her eyes narrowed, her head swiveling as she looked around. "I swear, Tony, if you are playing one of those tricks on me…" she warned under her breath.
But Tony was no where to be seen. Ziva got out of the car and got her gun out, holding it in front of her, ready to raise it at the first sign of danger. She searched the apartments one by one, stopping when she got to the second one.
At the bottom of the steps something small, dark, and round covered the gray cement ground. Ziva's heart dropped. Even from this distance she could tell it was blood.
Tony's blood? She didn't know. Whipping out her cell phone she called him, but the phone went straight to voicemail.
Ziva scowled, hoping it was nothing. God, she hoped it was nothing.
"Gibbs?" she said when her boss picked up. "We might have a problem…"