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ficwizeTitle: It's Called E.S.P.
Fandom: Psych! and X-men crossover
Prompt: 60 - leathery at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Warnings: Spoilers for the X-men movies and some general spoilers for Psych!
Rating: Teen - some language, potential violence
Summary: Shawn claims to be a psychic. Some people believe him.
Disclaimer: None of the lovelies are mine. But I have enjoyed playing with them!
A/N: for the beta!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
***************************************
A swoosh of net in the corner of the room provided a steady back drop. “Gus!”
Gus ignored the voice calling his name, and frowned as he turned the newspaper page.
“Gus!”
“Shawn, I’m not sure that you pretending to be a psychic is such a good idea,” Gus said, turning suddenly to face his longtime best friend who blinked at him.
“It’s a bit late for that, Gus. We’ve been doing this for a year now.”
“We haven’t been doing anything, Shawn. You have been lying to the police.”
“Yes, but you’ve been helping me.” Shawn pointed out, twirling the nerf basketball on his fingers before it flew across the room and rolled into the front office.
“Well, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why the cold feet suddenly?” Shawn demanded and Gus folded up the paper and tossed it to the other man.
“What?” Shawn perused the page quickly. “A three car pile up is hardly something to make you decide that we should switch careers…. Or maybe it’s the article on fall fashions that caught your interest?” He looked up. “Did you suddenly decide to become a tow-truck driver? Wait! No! Fashion design!”
“I have a job, Shawn - a real one that doesn’t involve lying to the police.”
“I have a job, too, Gus. And it’s not lying as much as it’s misinforming.”
“You told them you were a psychic.” Gus retorted dryly.
“What’s your point?”
“My point,” Gus stood up and took two steps so that he could take the paper back. He turned it an unfolded it so that Shawn could see the article he’d been reading. “ My point… is that it’s not a good time to identify yourself as something as inflammatory as a psychic.”
“Mutant registration?” Shawn rolled his eyes. “They’ve been trying to pass that law for the past four years and they keep failing. Have a bit more faith in the American public, Gus.”
Gus shot Shawn a look of such disbelief that the other man blinked. “What?”
“The American public isn’t the most accepting group of people.” Gus answered quietly. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
“Is this because you’re black?” Shawn asked after a moment. “Or are you a mutant and you just haven’t told me?”
“For God’s sake, Shawn.” Gus snatched the paper back and went back to sit down at his desk again. “You’re publicly claiming to be a psychic, which you’re not. That means that people are going to think you are a mutant. Which you’re not.” Gus paused, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It’s not the safest thing to do.”
Shawn sighed, for a moment being serious, “I know. But I don’t think that the police really believe me. Besides, there are very few mutants in the world. Hardly as many as people think there are.” He picked up the nerf ball again, fetching it from the front hall way. “Weren’t you the one telling me that only one in like a thousand is a mutant?”
“More like one in ten-thousand, Shawn, but that’s not the point. Most mutants are trying to stay out of the public spot light. You’re not even a mutant and you’re putting yourself out there. It’s dangerous.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Shawn threw the foam ball at the goal and it fell woefully short before it rolled over to land at Gus’s feet. Gus picked it up and tossed it in the net with no fanfare. With a smug look at his best friend, he dusted off his hands.
“That’s not fair. You’re naturally good at basketball!” Shawn protested.
“Why?” Gus demanded icily. “Because I’m black?”
“No.” Shawn narrowed his eyes, looking out the window at the street. “Because you’re a mutant. I can’t believe you never told me.”
“I’m not a mutant.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me. We’ve been best friends forever. I won’t judge.”
“You’re crazy.” Gus sighed and turned back to his paper.
Shawn shrugged. “Whatever, dude. You know you love me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Think of all the things I’ve done for you and you’ll remember.”
“Like what?” Gus looked up incredulously.
Shawn gestured around the office. “You work in splendor.”
“I work at for a pharmaceutical company. I read the paper here.”
“You work here sometimes.” Shawn defended.
“There hasn’t been a customer in a week.”
“That’s about to change.”
“How do you know?" Gus demanded.
“Because one is going to walk in the door in five… four… three… two…”
Right on cue, the front bell rang. Shawn smirked at Gus. “Told you so.”
“How did you know that?” Gus hissed.
“I saw him walking past the door a few times. He finally came in.” Shawn answered in hushed tones, before stepping into the front room in his usual flamboyant style. “Hi! Welcome to Psych! I was expecting you.”
Gus heard an amused chuckle and he stood and leaned around the door. The man in the entrance way looked barely over twenty. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes and an easy smile. There were sunglasses perched on his forehead, and his jeans and shirt, though nice looking, were wrinkled.
“I seriously doubt that,” he answered. The tiredness in his voice was hard to miss and Gus felt his forehead wrinkle as he studied the new comer. “How can we help you, Mr….?”
Ignoring the polite request for a name, the stranger looked around the office with interest. “I’m in need of a psychic.” He looked at them both again, his gaze suddenly much more penetrating. “Which one of you would that be?”
Shawn shot Gus a slightly bemused look, but he hid it well and stepped forward. “That would be me.” He cocked his head slightly. “Do you want something to drink? You’re probably tired after your flight.”
The stranger looked surprised for a second, but he smiled slightly. “I would, thanks. I’ll take a soda.”
“One fully caffeinated carbonated beverage coming your way.” Shawn grinned. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the caffeine. Night flights are hard.”
Gus was watching the stranger with interest. He didn’t appear impressed by Shawn’s apparent psychic ability (and Gus really had no idea how he was guessing about the night flight). He seemed more amused. “Would you like to have a seat and tell us your problem?”
“Thanks.” The stranger came in and sat down, gratefully taking the can of soda from Gus after he pulled it from their mini-fridge. “How did you know I was from out of town?” he sounded curious, but not alarmed.
“Consider it part of the service here at Psych,” Shawn answered easily, taking a seat on one of the chairs across from the sofa. Gus took the other one and the two of them watched as their visitor drank most of the soda in two gulps. “What else can we do for you? I’m assuming your friend will be back for you soon.”
The blonde man grinned again and popped open the soda can. Gus watched quietly as the stranger finished his soda. He noticed that Shawn was eyeing the blonde man intently and figured that his friend was searching for clues that would let him play 'psychic' when the time came.
Still… he didn't have to play psychic. "I'm Burton Guster. This is Shawn Spencer."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Guster."
"Call me Gus." Gus tilted his head, his expression clearly expectant and this time he was rewarded.
"I'm Robert Drake. You can call me Bobby."
"Nice to meet you Bobby." Gus threw a subtle smirk at Shawn. He'd managed to get the guy's name first. "How can we help you? Other than the obvious needing a psychic." His tone was neutral, but he hoped the mysterious Bobby would take the words for a slight rebuke of his earlier cavalier response to the question.
"Isn't it obvious, Gus?" Shawn interrupted, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Bobby is looking for someone."
Personally, Gus didn't think it looked obvious at all, but when Bobby nodded, he was willing to accept the answer. "Who?"
"Before I get into specifics," Bobby hedged, "I was hoping that you could tell me about some of your past cases. I understand that you do work for the local police force." He eyed them both curiously. "I take it that means they are accepting of your… gift?"
Shawn and Gus exchanged an amused look. "Reluctantly accepting, perhaps. But what can they do when faced with the cold facts and hard evidence." Shawn shrugged. "I'm a psychic. I do what psychics do. They like that it helps them solve their cases."
Bobby nodded slowly. "I hope this doesn't come across as rude…"
"We're a lot more relaxed in California than in Bean Town," Shawn interrupted smoothly. Gus noticed the slight twitch of the muscle under Bobby's left eye.
"I haven't lived in Boston in years," he replied shortly, taking both Shawn and Gus up short. Noticing their slightly bemused look, he shrugged. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore subject.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gus replied, trying to smooth it over. He tossed Shawn an irritated look for staying quiet, but Shawn was starting at Bobby strangely.
“So… what is it you wanted to know?” Shawn shook himself visibly and pulled them back on subject. “I believe you were grilling me about the local police. They’re decent, good at their jobs, and usually on top of things. But…” and he eyed Bobby sharply again, “they don’t usually run into many mutants, Mr. Drake.”
“What makes you think I’m a mutant?” Bobby asked lightly, but his voice was no longer amused.
“Our mini-fridge is cold, but it doesn’t put frost on a soda like that,” Shawn nodded at the soda can and Gus looked at it sharply. Sure enough, there were small frost tendrils under Bobby’s fingers.
“How are you doing that?” Gus stared at the other man with increased interest.
Bobby looked at the soda in his hand as if it were from outer space, then he sighed. Shoulders slumping, he turned to Shawn. “I’m more tired than I thought. I’ve been back and forth from New York to San Francisco to New York to here in the last four days.”
“Why all the plane hopping? Gus asked, brow furrowed.
“Because your psychic friend is right. I’m looking for someone. Several someone’s actually. And I think they’re in California. Somewhere…”
“In Santa Barbara?”
Bobby shrugged. “Yeah.” When it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate, Shawn made a face.
“Is this the part where you want me to read your thoughts and tell you who you’re looking for? Or are you going to tell me?”
Reaching into his pocket, Bobby pulled out a handful of photos. Holding it with the picture facing him, he studied them both intently. “Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“With a mutant you mean?” Shawn nodded. “Sure! Gus just told me earlier that he was a mutant and I was fine with it.”
“Shawn!” Gus barked at his friend, appalled. “I am not a mutant. I’m black. There is a difference.”
With narrowed eyes, Shawn stared back at his friend. “Then explain the basketball thing! You’ve always been black, but you were never good at nerf basketball until recently.”
Bobby snorted laughter and the two detectives turned to look at him sheepishly. “Sorry,” Gus apologized. “We were just having a debate before you arrived.”
“Ahhh.” He eyed them both speculatively. “So you’re okay with helping a mutant.”
“Sure.” Shawn ignored the question in Bobby’s eyes and Bobby was tactful enough to not ask him directly. “So…” the brunette leaned forward with an anticipatory look and plucked the pictures from Bobby’s hand. “Ohhh, hot blonde! And a hot brunette. And… a blue lady. She’s hot, too.” He flipped through the photos quickly, until he reached on in particular. Pulling it out, he showed it to Gus, who was looking over his shoulder. “And that guy…”
“That’s Senator Kelly… who has been missing for the past seven months.” Gus answered taking the picture and looking at it with interest.
“All of those pictures have something in common,” Bobby said, conversationally. “They are the same person.”
“The same photographer?” Gus asked.
“Nope, the same person.” Bobby leaned forward and pulled the picture of the brunette from the stack. “This person. Raven Darkholme a/k/a Mystique.”
“So…” Shawn sat back and crossed his legs, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. “She can look like anyone?”
“Even me.” Bobby answered wryly.
Shawn frowned. “I like the blonde best…” Looking up, he shrugged. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Bobby leaned back, laying one hand over the back of the sofa. One hand absently rubbed the leathery surface as he studied the two detectives. “So… can you help me?”
“I don’t…” Gus began, but he didn’t have a chance to finish.
“Sure!” Shawn answered brightly. “I don’t think finding a person who can look like anyone she wants is going to be a problem.”
Bobby snorted, his eyes twinkling again. “That’s because you haven’t had a run in with Mystique yet.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “But since you think you can help, if you don’t mind, I’m going to call my friend.”
“No problem. We’ll give you some privacy,” Shawn grabbed Gus’s arm and pulled them both out of the room before Gus could vent any of the frustration in his eyes verbally.
“What are you doing, Shawn?” Gus hissed. “How are you going to find that woman?”
“No idea!” Shawn replied enthusiastically. “But did you see that thing with the frost? That is seriously bad ass.”
“This is dangerous.”
“We live for danger, Gus.” Shawn clasped his shoulder and leaned in to see Bobby still on the phone.
“He thinks you’re a mutant,” Gus replied shoving Shawn back where they couldn’t be seen. “And we talked about this earlier! It’s not a good idea to put yourself out there as a mutant.”
“Trust me, Gus.” Shawn looked at his friend with sincerity. “When have I ever led you astray?”
Before Gus could reply around the astonished disbelief he felt, the door opened. A man wearing blue jeans, a white tee-shirt and a brown worn leather jacket stood in the door. He looked between them both with raised eyebrows before he barked out Bobby’s name.
Bobby’s head poked around the door and his expression was wary. “You got here fast, Logan.”
“This is your solution?” The shorter man pulled out a cigar and tapped it against his hand.
“This is a no smoking office,” Gus told him. Logan gave him a look that made him stand up straighter and back up a step. “There’s a sign.” He pointed.
Logan glared at Bobby, who shrugged. “There is a sign,” he agreed. Shawn nodded his agreement and Logan sighed.
“If this doesn’t work, Bobby…” He let the threat trail off, but Bobby looked decidedly nervous.
“Have a little faith, Logan.” Shawn stepped up and held out his hand. Logan looked at the extended palm with mild annoyance before sticking the unlit cigar in his teeth.
“Faith hasn’t done a thing for me, kid.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Shawn replied cheerily, dropping his hand and stepping back to stand a little behind Gus.
Logan snorted. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have some faith if you actually turn out to be useful.” He took the cigar in one hand. “No offense.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Shawn answered. He clapped his hands. “So… whose gonna tell me what this is really about?”
“You tell me.” Logan retorted. “You’re the mind reader.”
“I really prefer to be called a psychic. It’s not mind reading; it’s E.S.P.” Shawn winced at the look Logan shot him at that. “Now, that I could read without any problem.”
Bobby snickered. “I think this just might work.”
“Great.” Gus chimed in, glaring at Shawn again. “This is just great.”
“My sentiments exactly, bub.” Logan sighed.
Fandom: Psych! and X-men crossover
Prompt: 60 - leathery at
tamingthemuseWarnings: Spoilers for the X-men movies and some general spoilers for Psych!
Rating: Teen - some language, potential violence
Summary: Shawn claims to be a psychic. Some people believe him.
Disclaimer: None of the lovelies are mine. But I have enjoyed playing with them!
A/N: for the beta!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
***************************************
A swoosh of net in the corner of the room provided a steady back drop. “Gus!”
Gus ignored the voice calling his name, and frowned as he turned the newspaper page.
“Gus!”
“Shawn, I’m not sure that you pretending to be a psychic is such a good idea,” Gus said, turning suddenly to face his longtime best friend who blinked at him.
“It’s a bit late for that, Gus. We’ve been doing this for a year now.”
“We haven’t been doing anything, Shawn. You have been lying to the police.”
“Yes, but you’ve been helping me.” Shawn pointed out, twirling the nerf basketball on his fingers before it flew across the room and rolled into the front office.
“Well, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why the cold feet suddenly?” Shawn demanded and Gus folded up the paper and tossed it to the other man.
“What?” Shawn perused the page quickly. “A three car pile up is hardly something to make you decide that we should switch careers…. Or maybe it’s the article on fall fashions that caught your interest?” He looked up. “Did you suddenly decide to become a tow-truck driver? Wait! No! Fashion design!”
“I have a job, Shawn - a real one that doesn’t involve lying to the police.”
“I have a job, too, Gus. And it’s not lying as much as it’s misinforming.”
“You told them you were a psychic.” Gus retorted dryly.
“What’s your point?”
“My point,” Gus stood up and took two steps so that he could take the paper back. He turned it an unfolded it so that Shawn could see the article he’d been reading. “ My point… is that it’s not a good time to identify yourself as something as inflammatory as a psychic.”
“Mutant registration?” Shawn rolled his eyes. “They’ve been trying to pass that law for the past four years and they keep failing. Have a bit more faith in the American public, Gus.”
Gus shot Shawn a look of such disbelief that the other man blinked. “What?”
“The American public isn’t the most accepting group of people.” Gus answered quietly. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
“Is this because you’re black?” Shawn asked after a moment. “Or are you a mutant and you just haven’t told me?”
“For God’s sake, Shawn.” Gus snatched the paper back and went back to sit down at his desk again. “You’re publicly claiming to be a psychic, which you’re not. That means that people are going to think you are a mutant. Which you’re not.” Gus paused, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It’s not the safest thing to do.”
Shawn sighed, for a moment being serious, “I know. But I don’t think that the police really believe me. Besides, there are very few mutants in the world. Hardly as many as people think there are.” He picked up the nerf ball again, fetching it from the front hall way. “Weren’t you the one telling me that only one in like a thousand is a mutant?”
“More like one in ten-thousand, Shawn, but that’s not the point. Most mutants are trying to stay out of the public spot light. You’re not even a mutant and you’re putting yourself out there. It’s dangerous.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Shawn threw the foam ball at the goal and it fell woefully short before it rolled over to land at Gus’s feet. Gus picked it up and tossed it in the net with no fanfare. With a smug look at his best friend, he dusted off his hands.
“That’s not fair. You’re naturally good at basketball!” Shawn protested.
“Why?” Gus demanded icily. “Because I’m black?”
“No.” Shawn narrowed his eyes, looking out the window at the street. “Because you’re a mutant. I can’t believe you never told me.”
“I’m not a mutant.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me. We’ve been best friends forever. I won’t judge.”
“You’re crazy.” Gus sighed and turned back to his paper.
Shawn shrugged. “Whatever, dude. You know you love me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Think of all the things I’ve done for you and you’ll remember.”
“Like what?” Gus looked up incredulously.
Shawn gestured around the office. “You work in splendor.”
“I work at for a pharmaceutical company. I read the paper here.”
“You work here sometimes.” Shawn defended.
“There hasn’t been a customer in a week.”
“That’s about to change.”
“How do you know?" Gus demanded.
“Because one is going to walk in the door in five… four… three… two…”
Right on cue, the front bell rang. Shawn smirked at Gus. “Told you so.”
“How did you know that?” Gus hissed.
“I saw him walking past the door a few times. He finally came in.” Shawn answered in hushed tones, before stepping into the front room in his usual flamboyant style. “Hi! Welcome to Psych! I was expecting you.”
Gus heard an amused chuckle and he stood and leaned around the door. The man in the entrance way looked barely over twenty. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes and an easy smile. There were sunglasses perched on his forehead, and his jeans and shirt, though nice looking, were wrinkled.
“I seriously doubt that,” he answered. The tiredness in his voice was hard to miss and Gus felt his forehead wrinkle as he studied the new comer. “How can we help you, Mr….?”
Ignoring the polite request for a name, the stranger looked around the office with interest. “I’m in need of a psychic.” He looked at them both again, his gaze suddenly much more penetrating. “Which one of you would that be?”
Shawn shot Gus a slightly bemused look, but he hid it well and stepped forward. “That would be me.” He cocked his head slightly. “Do you want something to drink? You’re probably tired after your flight.”
The stranger looked surprised for a second, but he smiled slightly. “I would, thanks. I’ll take a soda.”
“One fully caffeinated carbonated beverage coming your way.” Shawn grinned. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the caffeine. Night flights are hard.”
Gus was watching the stranger with interest. He didn’t appear impressed by Shawn’s apparent psychic ability (and Gus really had no idea how he was guessing about the night flight). He seemed more amused. “Would you like to have a seat and tell us your problem?”
“Thanks.” The stranger came in and sat down, gratefully taking the can of soda from Gus after he pulled it from their mini-fridge. “How did you know I was from out of town?” he sounded curious, but not alarmed.
“Consider it part of the service here at Psych,” Shawn answered easily, taking a seat on one of the chairs across from the sofa. Gus took the other one and the two of them watched as their visitor drank most of the soda in two gulps. “What else can we do for you? I’m assuming your friend will be back for you soon.”
The blonde man grinned again and popped open the soda can. Gus watched quietly as the stranger finished his soda. He noticed that Shawn was eyeing the blonde man intently and figured that his friend was searching for clues that would let him play 'psychic' when the time came.
Still… he didn't have to play psychic. "I'm Burton Guster. This is Shawn Spencer."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Guster."
"Call me Gus." Gus tilted his head, his expression clearly expectant and this time he was rewarded.
"I'm Robert Drake. You can call me Bobby."
"Nice to meet you Bobby." Gus threw a subtle smirk at Shawn. He'd managed to get the guy's name first. "How can we help you? Other than the obvious needing a psychic." His tone was neutral, but he hoped the mysterious Bobby would take the words for a slight rebuke of his earlier cavalier response to the question.
"Isn't it obvious, Gus?" Shawn interrupted, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Bobby is looking for someone."
Personally, Gus didn't think it looked obvious at all, but when Bobby nodded, he was willing to accept the answer. "Who?"
"Before I get into specifics," Bobby hedged, "I was hoping that you could tell me about some of your past cases. I understand that you do work for the local police force." He eyed them both curiously. "I take it that means they are accepting of your… gift?"
Shawn and Gus exchanged an amused look. "Reluctantly accepting, perhaps. But what can they do when faced with the cold facts and hard evidence." Shawn shrugged. "I'm a psychic. I do what psychics do. They like that it helps them solve their cases."
Bobby nodded slowly. "I hope this doesn't come across as rude…"
"We're a lot more relaxed in California than in Bean Town," Shawn interrupted smoothly. Gus noticed the slight twitch of the muscle under Bobby's left eye.
"I haven't lived in Boston in years," he replied shortly, taking both Shawn and Gus up short. Noticing their slightly bemused look, he shrugged. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore subject.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gus replied, trying to smooth it over. He tossed Shawn an irritated look for staying quiet, but Shawn was starting at Bobby strangely.
“So… what is it you wanted to know?” Shawn shook himself visibly and pulled them back on subject. “I believe you were grilling me about the local police. They’re decent, good at their jobs, and usually on top of things. But…” and he eyed Bobby sharply again, “they don’t usually run into many mutants, Mr. Drake.”
“What makes you think I’m a mutant?” Bobby asked lightly, but his voice was no longer amused.
“Our mini-fridge is cold, but it doesn’t put frost on a soda like that,” Shawn nodded at the soda can and Gus looked at it sharply. Sure enough, there were small frost tendrils under Bobby’s fingers.
“How are you doing that?” Gus stared at the other man with increased interest.
Bobby looked at the soda in his hand as if it were from outer space, then he sighed. Shoulders slumping, he turned to Shawn. “I’m more tired than I thought. I’ve been back and forth from New York to San Francisco to New York to here in the last four days.”
“Why all the plane hopping? Gus asked, brow furrowed.
“Because your psychic friend is right. I’m looking for someone. Several someone’s actually. And I think they’re in California. Somewhere…”
“In Santa Barbara?”
Bobby shrugged. “Yeah.” When it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate, Shawn made a face.
“Is this the part where you want me to read your thoughts and tell you who you’re looking for? Or are you going to tell me?”
Reaching into his pocket, Bobby pulled out a handful of photos. Holding it with the picture facing him, he studied them both intently. “Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“With a mutant you mean?” Shawn nodded. “Sure! Gus just told me earlier that he was a mutant and I was fine with it.”
“Shawn!” Gus barked at his friend, appalled. “I am not a mutant. I’m black. There is a difference.”
With narrowed eyes, Shawn stared back at his friend. “Then explain the basketball thing! You’ve always been black, but you were never good at nerf basketball until recently.”
Bobby snorted laughter and the two detectives turned to look at him sheepishly. “Sorry,” Gus apologized. “We were just having a debate before you arrived.”
“Ahhh.” He eyed them both speculatively. “So you’re okay with helping a mutant.”
“Sure.” Shawn ignored the question in Bobby’s eyes and Bobby was tactful enough to not ask him directly. “So…” the brunette leaned forward with an anticipatory look and plucked the pictures from Bobby’s hand. “Ohhh, hot blonde! And a hot brunette. And… a blue lady. She’s hot, too.” He flipped through the photos quickly, until he reached on in particular. Pulling it out, he showed it to Gus, who was looking over his shoulder. “And that guy…”
“That’s Senator Kelly… who has been missing for the past seven months.” Gus answered taking the picture and looking at it with interest.
“All of those pictures have something in common,” Bobby said, conversationally. “They are the same person.”
“The same photographer?” Gus asked.
“Nope, the same person.” Bobby leaned forward and pulled the picture of the brunette from the stack. “This person. Raven Darkholme a/k/a Mystique.”
“So…” Shawn sat back and crossed his legs, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself. “She can look like anyone?”
“Even me.” Bobby answered wryly.
Shawn frowned. “I like the blonde best…” Looking up, he shrugged. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Bobby leaned back, laying one hand over the back of the sofa. One hand absently rubbed the leathery surface as he studied the two detectives. “So… can you help me?”
“I don’t…” Gus began, but he didn’t have a chance to finish.
“Sure!” Shawn answered brightly. “I don’t think finding a person who can look like anyone she wants is going to be a problem.”
Bobby snorted, his eyes twinkling again. “That’s because you haven’t had a run in with Mystique yet.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “But since you think you can help, if you don’t mind, I’m going to call my friend.”
“No problem. We’ll give you some privacy,” Shawn grabbed Gus’s arm and pulled them both out of the room before Gus could vent any of the frustration in his eyes verbally.
“What are you doing, Shawn?” Gus hissed. “How are you going to find that woman?”
“No idea!” Shawn replied enthusiastically. “But did you see that thing with the frost? That is seriously bad ass.”
“This is dangerous.”
“We live for danger, Gus.” Shawn clasped his shoulder and leaned in to see Bobby still on the phone.
“He thinks you’re a mutant,” Gus replied shoving Shawn back where they couldn’t be seen. “And we talked about this earlier! It’s not a good idea to put yourself out there as a mutant.”
“Trust me, Gus.” Shawn looked at his friend with sincerity. “When have I ever led you astray?”
Before Gus could reply around the astonished disbelief he felt, the door opened. A man wearing blue jeans, a white tee-shirt and a brown worn leather jacket stood in the door. He looked between them both with raised eyebrows before he barked out Bobby’s name.
Bobby’s head poked around the door and his expression was wary. “You got here fast, Logan.”
“This is your solution?” The shorter man pulled out a cigar and tapped it against his hand.
“This is a no smoking office,” Gus told him. Logan gave him a look that made him stand up straighter and back up a step. “There’s a sign.” He pointed.
Logan glared at Bobby, who shrugged. “There is a sign,” he agreed. Shawn nodded his agreement and Logan sighed.
“If this doesn’t work, Bobby…” He let the threat trail off, but Bobby looked decidedly nervous.
“Have a little faith, Logan.” Shawn stepped up and held out his hand. Logan looked at the extended palm with mild annoyance before sticking the unlit cigar in his teeth.
“Faith hasn’t done a thing for me, kid.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Shawn replied cheerily, dropping his hand and stepping back to stand a little behind Gus.
Logan snorted. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have some faith if you actually turn out to be useful.” He took the cigar in one hand. “No offense.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Shawn answered. He clapped his hands. “So… whose gonna tell me what this is really about?”
“You tell me.” Logan retorted. “You’re the mind reader.”
“I really prefer to be called a psychic. It’s not mind reading; it’s E.S.P.” Shawn winced at the look Logan shot him at that. “Now, that I could read without any problem.”
Bobby snickered. “I think this just might work.”
“Great.” Gus chimed in, glaring at Shawn again. “This is just great.”
“My sentiments exactly, bub.” Logan sighed.
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no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-17 01:02 am (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it.