akblake

                Shawn was a man on a mission as he ghosted through the station. Shift change, the perfect time for him to slink in unnoticed, shielded by the chaos and confusion of day shift handing off to night, reports being hurriedly turned in, and bodies scrambling for the doors anxious for sweet, sweet freedom. He grinned to himself, proud of his mad skills at sneaking- just the right blend of skulking and deliberateness that made anyone who happened to notice him write off his presence without thinking, assuming that he was there on a case. Nothing to see here, folks, just Shawn Spencer dawdling around like he always does. He twisted around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and was there, at the Holy Grail. Well, the downstairs filing cabinet actually, but in his mind he was Harrison Ford sneaking past the encampment of hostile forces to discover his prize.

                A quick search and he found the file he wanted- Psych’s official record. Gus had gotten it in his head that they had only solved fifty-three cases, when Shawn argued that they had obviously solved sixty-one. Several arguments later, a very pissy Gus had thrown out his ultimatum: he wouldn’t help Shawn solve the Gibraltar diamond heist until their official record was produced, proving Gus right. Of course, Shawn intended to produce the record and prove himself right, but he’d save the victory dance until after he made Gus acknowledge that he had the awesomely superior memory.

                Copy made and original back in the file, Shawn briefly glanced over the page in his hands and froze. He didn’t really register that there were, in fact, sixty-one cases listed at the bottom two-thirds of the page; what caught his eye was a tiny designation at the top, 10-c. He quickly pulled Psych’s file back out of the cabinet and, disregarding any previous attempts at secrecy, frantically flipped through the papers inside. It had to be a typo, he thought, as he knew every single SBPD code and 10-c wasn’t the coding for a psychic. He abruptly stopped in shock at the third paper down in Psych’s file: a private investigator’s license… a license which he very clearly remembered not applying for, deciding in favor of exploiting the loophole to that law. Closer inspection revealed that both the signatures on the license were very clever forgeries with only minimal hesitation marks showing in a slight feathering of the ink.

                Only one person Shawn knew had that level of attention to detail combined with a hidden ability for calligraphy, but he couldn’t think of any reason why… he froze as the details clicked. 10-c was the code for a private consultant of the miscellaneous variety, only issued by special dispensation of the Chief. His father had forged an application for a private investigator’s license, and obtained said license without telling either Gus or him. The only conclusion which popped into his head, highlighted in red screaming neon color, was that Chief Vick knew that he wasn’t actually psychic and had collaborated with his father in a cover-up. But, this wasn’t even a cover-up! They both had gone out of their way to not only protect the department, but also… Shawn and Gus? With the paperwork he held in his shaking hands, even if it was proven without a doubt that he wasn’t psychic at all, he couldn’t be charged with anything- there were no laws against a private investigator pretending to be psychic in order to discover incriminating evidence.

                Should he thank… nah. The date on Psych’s authorization form was six years old, which meant that it had been set up that way since their first case, and Shawn believed that the statute of limitations on thanks expired one hour after the act which deserved thanking, meaning that he was free and clear. He cheerfully replaced the papers in folder and tucked the folder back into its spot in the cabinet, folding the photocopy and shoving it into his jacket pocket. Objective complete, he mentally hummed the theme from Mission Impossible as he made like Tom Cruise back out of the station. He had the proof that they’d closed sixty-one cases, and deliberately chose to ignore that in eight of those cases they had indicated the suspect after Lassiter and O’Hara had already made the arrest. Hey, it was the thought that counted, Shawn mentally argued, preparing for any possible objections Gus could come up with. He was so going to enjoy dragging his best bud to the scary abandoned warehouse tonight in search of clues to the heist. The warehouse which may have less to do with the search for clues and more to do with a little bit of payback for Gus doubting his mental super powers. Shawn grinned at the thought and cheerfully took off back to the Psych office.

                If Chief Vick found herself to be the recipient of a box of exceptionally fine Belgian chocolates several days later, given with a cockamamie story and plenty of flopping around designed to distract her from asking too many questions, she simply chalked it up to Shawn being Shawn and appreciatively eyed the heavenly chocolates. If his father later discovered that his tab down at Rick’s Boat & Bait Shop had been paid in full, he simply added two and two together and chuckled to himself in the privacy of his boat. Shawn may not believe in saying thank you so long after the fact, but he firmly felt that showing gratitude never had an expiration limit.