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It's a Gift (1/?)

EDIT: It's now finished and has been beta'd so I'm posting the edited version now. No major changes to the plot, just grammar and typos. It's my first long fic for Psych and the POV switches between Shawn and my original character Alan Kelly from The TOC Files If you have any constructive criticism or ideas for a title, I'll listen.

Shawn Spencer sat back on his favorite bench on the pier and looked out at the Pacific. He had solved his previous case for the Santa Barbara Police Department a couple days ago so all was right with the world—or at least his part of it. The only thing that would make this moment any better was having a certain woman sitting next to him instead of his best friend, but it was still good.

“This is the life, eh, Gus? Relaxing in the sun, no worries of theft or murder hanging over our heads…” He took a sip of his pineapple smoothie. “Life can’t get much better.”

Burton Guster, professional worrywart and Nervous Nellie, looked up from his cell. “Don’t talk to me about relaxing. I have to reschedule all my appointments I missed today because of you. You seem to forget I have another job except when it helps you.”

“But we’re outside enjoying the fresh air. You have to admit that’s better than being stuck in an office.” Gus merely shrugged, but Shawn took it as admittance that he was right.

He let his eyes wander over everyone on the pier. From the vendors, young couples, sunburnt tourists, families with little kids, to sketch artists, everyone was there for a definite, innocent purpose. His eyes then spotted a man closing in on 40 who seemed out of place. Well, to be fair, he spotted the cool bomber jacket first. “Gus, what do you make of that?”

Gus followed his gaze. “I haven’t even finished my smoothie, why would I want ice cream?”

“No, not that, though it does sound good. The man next to it; he hasn’t moved.”

“So? Neither have we. You’re just looking for a mystery where there isn’t one.” Gus turned his attention back to his texting.

“It’s not just that, man. It’s how he’s not moving.” Shawn couldn’t really put it into words—at least ones that wouldn’t make him seem paranoid. He looked for the man again out of the corner of his eye, but he was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere along the pier.

Gus closed his cell. “There, schedule all fixed, no thanks to you. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for dinner at your dad’s?”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess we should.” Shawn stood and began walking back to the office. “I told Dad you were bringing dessert.”


He didn’t look back at Gus’s protest. Some days it was just too easy.


The next morning found them lounging at Psych when they received a phone call from Chief Karen “Don’t Call Me Ma’am” Vick asking them to meet her at the one of the many banks downtown.

“Dude,” Shawn looked at Gus, “I think we just got called in on a bank heist. We’re moving up.”

Gus grabbed the keys to the Echo and followed Shawn out to the parking lot. “We’ve caught an international art thief and stopped a serial killer. How is a bank heist moving up?” he asked as they got into the car.

“It’s a classic,” Shawn replied as they pulled onto the road. “You had bank heists long before the first known serial killer or art thief,” he explained as Gus drove downtown. “Plus, I like saying ‘heist’.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you want to walk into the vault?”

“Ah, you know me so well. There’s a spot.”

Gus parked the car and they made their way to the crime scene. Shawn spotted Buzz McNabb towering over everyone else.

“Hey, Shawn. Gus. The Chief told me to wait for you,” he said, lifting the yellow tape to let them through.

“What do you know, Buzz?”

“Not that much,” Buzz answered as he took them inside. “I heard they took around $250 million.”

Shawn whistled appreciatively. “Wow, that’s some haul.”

“How did the robber get in?” Gus asked the detectives.

“Burglar,” Shawn corrected. “It happened at night when the bank was closed so it was technically burglary.”

The others looked at him, surprised. He merely shrugged.

“Employee entrance, back door,” stated Chief Vick as they reached the vault. “We’re hoping you can bring this to a quick conclusion.”

“It’s an inside job, Chief,” stated Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, or, as he was known to his nowhere-near-close friends (mainly Shawn), “Lassie”.

“An inside job wouldn’t explain the other bank robberies in the area,” argued Junior Detective Juliet O’Hara, the bright, chirpy, Bluebird of Happiness of the Santa Barbara Police Department.

“As you can see, Mr. Spencer, your help would give us a clear path to follow.”

“I would be more than happy to help, Chief.” Shawn put his hands to his head, resting the fingertips on either side, and walked the room pretending to “read” the signs from the spirits. He mimed the burglar going from one deposit box to another, stopping only at certain ones. “Ooh, shiny,” he commented. “Glitters.”

He heard a sigh of exasperation and knew Lassie was rolling his eyes. “But it wasn’t just jewels, no. I’m seeing very detailed and embossed paper. Dalton, Lazenby, Craig.” Shawn faced Gus, hoping he would notice the hint. “Connery.”

“Bonds,” declared Jules. “They all played James Bond.”

“We could have easily found out what was taken,” Lassiter pointed out. “You’re here to tell us who.”

“I can’t do everything for you, Lassie, but I am getting three distinct things. One, whoever it was turned off the alarm when they came in. Two, there are scratch marks only by the customer locks which means they had a master key. Three, they knew which boxes had the good stuff.”

“Which supports my inside job theory.” Carlton sounded smug.

“It would seem so.”

“But, Chief--” O’Hara began to protest.

“Wait!” He closed both eyes.

“What is it, Shawn?” Gus asked, playing his part.

“I’m not sure. It’s like the spirits want to say something else but it’s not clear.”

“Someone jamming your signal, Spencer?” scoffed Lassiter.

Shawn opened one eye, glared at the head detective, and then closed it again. “It’s more like they’re confused as to what happened, arguing amongst themselves. Just because it looks that way doesn’t necessarily mean an employee was responsible.” He opened his eyes. “Sorry, but that’s all I’m getting.”

“We’ll keep an open mind regarding the evidence,” said Vick. “Won’t we, Carlton?”

“Fine, but I want acknowledgement when I’m proved right.”

“And if he’s wrong?” Gus whispered to Shawn as they followed the police from the vault.

“Simple. He’ll deny it.”

As the police began their preliminary interviews of the employees, Vick walked with them to the door. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Spencer. We’ll call you if we need you down at the station. If you have any further visions— Are you listening, Mr. Spencer?”

On the opposite sidewalk in the crowd watching it all unfold; Shawn spotted the same man from yesterday. “Gus, he’s there again.”

“Shawn, you are not being followed.”

“You think you’re being followed, Mr. Spencer?”

“Yesterday on the pier and now,” Gus told her.

“That’s nothing to worry over,” said the Chief. “Both are random public places. If you see him outside the office or your apartment, then you tell me.”

“Thanks, Chief.” Shawn opened the door and headed back to the car. “C’mon, Gus. We’re gonna make it so hard for him to follow.”



Close to three hours later, the blue Echo pulled into the parking lot at Psych. “You are lucky I cleared my schedule today,” Gus stated.

“Those errands needed to be done,” Shawn protested.

“You just happened to choose to do them the day you had a supposed stalker.”

“It worked.” Shawn unlocked the front door.

“Shawn, you are not being followed.”

Shawn stopped, eyes on his desk. “Dude, you’re right. I’m not being followed. He’s already here.”


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