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sherlockian in the first You Know That's Right Shawn/Gus Fest. Sherlockian wanted: "Something in the film noir-style. It doesn't matter if Shawn is daydreaming it all up or whether it's a full-on AU. Bonus points for Gus in the femme fatale role."For sherlockian in the first You Know That's Right Shawn/Gus Fest. Sherlockian wanted: "Something in the film noir-style. It doesn't matter if Shawn is daydreaming it all up or whether it's a full-on AU. Bonus points for Gus in the femme fatale role."
1988
"How're you feeling, Goose?" Shawn's mom leaned over to check his temperature with her hand to his forehead. He made a face and shrugged, his throat too sore to reply.
"Well, I'll tell you what. Try and sleep for a bit while I finish up the dishes and then we'll watch The Maltese Falcon. How's that sound?"
Shawn nodded enthusiastically, yawning as he shifted on the couch while his mom tucked the afghan in around him.
He was fast asleep in less than a minute.
Present Day
"Shawn, where's my sample case?" Gus' voice carried clearly into the bedroom where Shawn was curled up in bed, Kleenex in hand and the covers pulled up to his neck. TCM was running a Bogart marathon, and Shawn watched blearily as Sam Spade found out his partner had been shot and killed.
"Hallway closet!" Shawn called, then coughed miserably. A loud crash told him that Gus had found it. Hopefully the baseball bat stashed on top of the case hadn't brained Gus so he was dying in silent, brain-traumatized agony while Shawn was too sick to run to his rescue. Shawn held his breath until he heard Gus muttering to himself, then turned his attention back to the movie.
Gus came back into the bedroom, rubbing his head with a frown. "Shawn, you have to find a better place to put our sports gear. Your tennis racket nearly caved my head in!"
"We should just take it all over to the Psych office. We could use the lockers." Gus was still glaring, so Shawn blew his nose loudly and tried to look as miserable as possible—which, honestly, wasn't really that much of a stretch this morning. Gus' expression softened with remorse before he grabbed the tie that matched his slate gray suit. Shawn sniffled again for good measure as he watched Gus knot his tie and then tug on the cuffs of his royal purple shirt.
"Need me to get anything on the way home?"
"Juice! And more über-super-soft Kleenex. Please."
Gus smiled and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead. "No problem. See you in a few hours."
Shawn smiled and waved as he watched Gus leave. He focused on the TV, quickly falling asleep as Spade was held at gunpoint.
I knew the minute he walked back through my door that he was going to be nothing but trouble. The impeccably tailored suit, the hand-painted silk tie—nothing said money and expensive tastes like this man's clothes.
Well, at least I'd be able to pay the rent this month.
He settled gracefully into the chair in front of my desk. A well-manicured hand brushed languidly at an imaginary speck of dust on his pant leg as he crossed one leg over the other at the knee, as if he hadn't a care in the world. But the anguish he was trying to keep hidden was easily discernible on his face, belied by the nonchalance of his strictly controlled movements. Beautiful brown eyes gazed at me, taking in the shabbiness of my jeans, the cluttered office, and the sagging couch where I slept each night, before he gave me a half-hearted smile.
"Hello, Shawn."
Burton "Gus" Guster. Former best friend, partner...lover. I hadn't seen him in ten years, since he'd caved to pressure from his family to marry a nice woman and join the family business. He'd gone to the grocery store one day and just...hadn't come back. Not that I was blameless, by any stretch of the imagination—I'd certainly screwed up enough in our relationship—I'd just never thought he'd leave me.
Three months later, I read about his wedding to Mira Gaffney on the Courier's website. I left town the next day.
"That was quite the trip to the store. Tell me you at least got the orange juice."
The flush I knew was there didn't show on his dark skin, but I vividly remembered the heat of it, and the way he ducked his head was heartbreakingly familiar. It made something in my chest clench. If I was lucky, it was just gas.
Gus' hand tightened on the arm of the chair. I couldn't help but notice he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. "I need your help."
I snorted derisively. "That's rich, coming from you, Mola Ram."
"I always felt more like Short Round."
"Hardly. You're being as annoying as Kate Capshaw now, so I'll just call you Willie."
"Shawn, I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I need your help!" He was pleading now, something I'd never seen him do, not sincerely. "Joy's been kidnapped and they're threatening to kill her if we don't do what they want."
Okay, so it wasn't gas. Food poisoning, maybe? Joy was the one person in his family who would have anything to do with me after Gus and I got together, and then I'd screwed it up by sleeping with her when Gus and I broke it off the first time, long before he finally left me for good. We'd never been best friends like me and Gus, but she was still his big sister. "Who took her? What do they want?"
"I don't know! They sent us this"—he tossed a DVD in a paper sleeve on my desk—"and said they'd contact us with the meeting time in a week."
I stared at the DVD for a minute before I replied. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, but it was nothing less than he deserved for assuming he could waltz back into my life like this, without so much as an apology. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."
I looked up in time to see his shoulders relax as he closed his eyes in relief. "Thank you, Shawn. I know I—"
"Don't."
"But—"
"But nothing. I'll call you when I find anything." I looked pointedly away from him. "You know your way out."
He didn't reply, just sighed and got up. I listened as he hesitated before opening the door, but then it clicked quietly behind him, leaving me all alone again.
Ten years later, and it still felt like he'd torn my still-beating heart out through my chest with his bare hand.
It was the busiest night my office had seen in months.
I flopped down on the couch to watch the kidnapper's DVD of demands. Just as I was ready to hit play, I heard a sharp rap on the door before it was flung open hard enough to bang against the wall, rattling the window as Detective Lassiter stormed in. He was bad news in a cheap suit, a gruff man with a no-nonsense attitude and a habit of using a little more force than necessary when hauling in bad guys. His partner was a knockout, equally dangerous, and she invariably made me feel like she was playing with me like a tiger with its prey, but heart-pounding terror had never stopped me from flirting with Detective O'Hara.
"Spencer, where were you last night?" Lassiter was always too loud in my small office. "And do you have anyone to vouch for your whereabouts?"
"Why, hello, Lassie. Arrest any innocent people yet today?"
Lassiter growled and stalked forward so he towered over me where I was sprawled on the couch, in a blatant and pathetic attempt to intimidate me. I pointedly ignored him and turned my attention to the beautiful blonde standing beside him.
"Detective O'Hara, how are you on this balmy evening?"
"I'm fine, Shawn, thanks." She gave her partner a sideways glance before continuing. "We need your help."
"We do not need his help, O'Hara," Lassiter spit out, "we need to know if he has an alibi for last night. Kidnapping and extortion is right up his alley."
"Just for that, Lassie, you're not getting an invitation to the annual Psych Fourth of July barbeque."
Lassiter crossed his arms and glared at me. "I'm crushed, Spencer, truly. Alibi?"
I shrugged and spread my empty hands. "Nada. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume you're talking about the kidnapping of the beautiful and talented Joy Guster, who is currently being held for an as-yet-unspecified ransom by an unknown group of kidnappers."
"Wow, Shawn, how'd you know that? We haven't released anything to the public yet."
I wasn't looking forward to the day when Detective O'Hara caught on to the fact that I was just more observant than they were. And that I had far better sources.
As it was, I just enjoyed getting to run circles around them.
"I have to confess something..." I paused as she leaned in, and Lassiter looked interested in spite of himself. "I'm really a psychic."
Lassiter threw up his hands in disgust. "Come on, O'Hara, he's not going to give us anything tonight." He pointed a finger at me. "I'm keeping an eye on you, mister. One of these days you'll slip up and I'll be right there to snap the cuffs around your squirrelly little wrists," he said, then stomped out of my office.
O'Hara grinned and shrugged as she followed him.
I waved goodbye with an insouciant smile that dropped off my face as soon as they were gone. I looked down at the remote in my hand, then pointed it at the TV to find out what demands the kidnappers were making and figure out how to rescue my ex's sister.
Late the next night, I trudged into my office to find Gus asleep on the couch. I was covered in sand and stunk of fish, and was so exhausted I just wanted to take a shower and crash. The last thing I wanted to do was fight with Gus.
Gus' nose twitched and I could feel a fond smile growing on my face as I watched him slowly wake up. He looked at me with a grumpy frown as he worked out what the smell was that woke him. "Did you decide to ride a dolphin tonight instead of doing actual work, Shawn?"
I glared at him. "No, I thought I'd take up naked deep sea fishing." I dropped my soaked and grimy sweatshirt on the floor and headed to the bathroom. "What're you doing here, Gus? I'd told you I'd call when I came up with some answers."
Silence was the only reply I got as I struggled out of my jeans. The heavy, wet denim hit the floor with a thunk and I hopped into the shower to get rid of the fish smell. The warm water felt wonderful after the night I'd had, and I contemplated staying in there long enough that Gus would take the hint and leave. But then I decided it'd be more satisfying to watch him squirm, so I walked back out into the office in nothing but a clean pair of boxers.
When I finished drying my hair, I let the towel fall down around my neck. Parking my butt on the edge of the desk, I watched Gus, who looked completely at home on my decrepit couch for a man as fastidious as he was. His eyes widened as he stared at my bare chest, before he remembered he didn't have the right to do that any more and looked away.
"I—" he started, then stopped, head down and hands hanging between his legs. He stayed like that for a moment, before straightening his spine and looking directly at me. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I left."
"Yeah, so? Not like that changes anything."
"I know that, Shawn." He stood up and paced back and forth across the small room, stopping when he ended up in front of me. He cupped my jaw as his thumb gently stroked back and forth across my cheek. I closed my eyes; it was too much—I never could resist when he touched me like I was precious and dear to him.
My throat felt bone dry when I swallowed. "I think you need to leave now."
His soulful eyes were glistening with the tears he was fighting to hold back. "Please, Shawn, just give me another chance. I promise—"
I never did find out what he was going to promise, because three masked thugs broke down the door and started shooting without even so much as a "Hey, what's up?"
Shawn woke, flailing as he tried to disentangle himself from the covers, heart pounding in the sudden silence. A heavy hand settled on his ankle and he let out a noise he'd swear to his dying day wasn't a squeak before he saw it was Gus at the foot of the bed. The TV was turned off, so it was probably the absence of sound that had awakened him after Gus shut it off.
"It's just me." Gus moved to set a glass on the bedside table, then crouched down so he was at eye level with Shawn, his hand cool on Shawn's forehead as he checked Shawn's temperature.
Shawn blinked groggily, trying to get his bearings as his heart rate slowed. "Did you get the special pineapple orange juice?"
Gus' smile was the one that meant he was feeling all smooshy inside but he wasn't going to say it out loud. "Of course."
"You are the awesomest boyfriend that ever awesomed, Gus. In fact, I'd kiss you if you weren't treating me like a Typhoid Shawn."
"It's bad enough I'm around you when you're this sick, Shawn. I don't need to spread it to patients and staff at all of the doctors' offices I visit just because you couldn't keep your germs to yourself for three days."
"Whatever. You're done for the week now though, right?" Shawn gave Gus a grin he felt was sufficiently lecherous and made grabby hands until Gus rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged into bed. Shawn waited long enough for Gus to toe off his shoes, then hauled him under the covers and sprawled out on top of him, giving his neck a happy nuzzle. "I had the weirdest dream."
Gus hmmed. "What was it about?"
"I will tell you all about it, my little homie fatale."
"Oh my God, Shawn, tell me you didn't make me the other woman."
"I'm not responsible for what my brain does when I'm asleep!"
Gus snorted. "Right."
"I'm not! Besides, you weren't the other woman, you were my ex-lover, who'd left me under terrible and tragic circumstances ten years before to marry some floozy just because your parents said so. It was awful!" Shawn shuddered dramatically, smiling as Gus' arms tightened around him. "I was a down-on-my-luck detective and you came to me for help because someone kidnapped Joy and they were holding her hostage in exchange for a jewel-encrusted pineapple that belonged to Queen Lili'uokalani of Hawaii—which, of course, turned out to be a fake when we finally found it. Lassie and Jules were there, too, and Lassie was accusing me of murder and extortion and Jules didn't believe I didn't do it." Shawn paused for a moment. "And in a reveal that will surprise absolutely no one, it turned out that Jason Cunningham was the kidnapper. I told you he was evil."
"Starring as the bad guy in your fever- and Bogart-induced nightmare does not count as incontrovertible proof that Jason's out to get you."
Shawn elbowed Gus in the side. "No, convincing you to try to scare me to death while a real psycho ran around trying to kill people was proof enough of that."
"Let it go, Shawn."
"Never gonna happen, Gus."
Gus' chest rumbled as he chuckled, and Shawn tightened his arms around the warm body of the world's most splendiferous boyfriend-slash-life-partner-slash-partner-in-crime. He let out a jaw-cracking yawn and fell back asleep, a smile on his face and Gus' fingers running gently through his hair.
Detective Tom Polhaus (picks up the falcon statue): "Heavy. What is it?"
Sam Spade: "The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of."
Detective Tom Polhaus: "Hunh?"
Thanks to everybody who put up with my endless word count updates on IM. ;) And to Veronica for being an awesome editor as always. *vbg*
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