Disclaimer: I don't own anything Psych, or the brief mentions of things related to Hannibal Lecter, who will NOT be a character, I'm just using bits of information from the movies. I also don't know anything about the FBI training, and how long it takes to accomplish. Please keep in mind that this is FANFICTION.
Updates: Will probably be slow.
Pairings: I don't know yet.
Shawn Spencer was making his way towards Carlton Lassiter's desk when motion around the area stopped, and he felt all eyes fall on him. Raising his hands slowly in the silence he raised an eyebrow, "why are you staring at me?"
Then he felt the cold metal barrel of a gun press into the back of his head. "They're not staring at you dumb-ass. They're staring at the gun that is pressed against your skull."
"I'm going to give you three reasons why this is a stupid idea, would you like me to start with number one or number three?"
"Let's start at number three." The voice said.
"Number three, we're in a police station, and you wouldn't live long after shooting me."
There was a light snort behind him. "If that's number three then I can't wait for one and two."
"Number two, you would take a man away from ever eating the deliciousness of pineapple again."
"Nevermind, you're just stupid." He said, before cocking the gun.
Shawn grinned, "For number one, I need you to lift up the back of my shirt and pull the wallet shaped thing out of the leather strap, and read it."
The chief and Henry came out of her office, and Shawn held his hand out to stop her from moving closer. "FBI, Special Agent, Shawn Henry Spencer."
Shawn spun around and slammed his fist into the mans jaw, while using the other to knock the gun out of his hand, spinning it around and aiming it at the fallen man. "Take off your mask." The hands slowly reached up and pulled off the ski mask. Shawn's lips twitched when he saw the face that was revealed. "Gerald, why were you holding a gun to my head?" Knowing his old friend wouldn't really hurt him, Shawn reached down and helped the man up.
"I'm here for a reason." Gerald said, wiping his back off.
"And that is?" Shawn asked, as he tucked his credentials back into the strap.
"And so the Copper loses color, as the Iron finally drains." Shawn paled as his ex-partner spoke the calling card of someone they had put away. "Down and down his conscious goes, Green Lightning strikes again."
Shawn opened his mouth to speak when he heard a very familiar voice, "Am I the only one, who would like to know just what the hell is going on?"
Shawn turned to his father. "Dad, this is an old friend of mine named Gerald."
"He had a gun to your head!" Henry yelled.
Shawn pulled the cartridge out of the gun that was still in his hand, and showed his father it was empty. "Back in our academy days, we would come up behind each other with a gun, and the other would have to disarm us. We never used a loaded gun. I recognized his voice, and that's why I motioned for you and the chief to stop."
Gus walked away from Buzz's desk. "Your academy days? Shawn, when were you ever in the academy?"
Gerald patted him on the shoulder. "This bad ass went through the FBI training in six months. When we graduated we were partnered, and he quickly advanced through the ranks."
"Why did you come looking for Shawn?" The chief asked, before motioning her head detectives, Henry, Gus, Shawn, and Gerald to follow her into her office.
When they were all seated comfortably, Gerald began his explanation. "Before Shawn left, we had this big, high profile case. A lot of people were murdered, and at each crime scene, there was a poem on the wall. Each one ending with Green Lightning strikes again."
"Gerald, we put him away. Maximum Security Insanasylum. Same place as that nobody Hannibal Lecter had been in. There's no way he could have gotten out."
Ignoring the interruption, Gerald continued. "Two weeks ago the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminably Insane burnt to the ground and all of the patients were accounted for except for-."
"No. He can't be-." Shawn tried to interrupt again.
"Yes he can. The Green Lightning was not evacuated, and when his cell was checked later there was no body." Shawn stood and looked out the window. "Last week, a bald man wearing a Hawaiian shirt was murdered, it was the poem that made me come here."
"What was it?"
"Santa Barbara will meet a murderer, the likes of which they've never seen, Shawnee-Boy will always regret, capturing the Lightning, Green."
"I need to call the office and get re-instated." Shawn said, pacing now. "Then I will end this son-of-a-bitch once and for all."
"What still confuses me, is if you made it to the FBI, why did you quit?" Gus asked, still hurt that his friend never told him.
Shawn lifted the front of his shirt, revealing a knotted scar that went from the bottom of his sternum to his left hip. "Because, when I caught him, he knocked me unconscious. I woke up and he dragged a knife through my body. I bashed him in the head, and escaped, with barely enough time to call for reinforcements before I fell unconscious." Lowering his shirt, he smiled at his friend. "I figured that it was time to bow out."