Title: Reckless
Rating: FRT.
Pairing: Gus/Shawn.
Challenge: #3 – Sickness psychflashfic
Word Count: 1264
Summary: He had been walking on eggshells around Shawn his whole life.
Author's Note: My first 'Psych' fic? Slash. (why is it that the majority of 'psych' fic I see around is slash? I'll have to include Juliet in my fic next time…)

Reckless

Gus tried to do things the right way. He liked planning. Simply put, Gus liked everything safe. Cool, calm, and collected. Everything had a place and everything should be done in time with a routine. The only problem was Shawn. Where Gus was calm, Shawn was wild. It had to be one of the most frustrating things in Gus' life, but it was also the best thing.

The whole fake psychic detective agency was another thing altogether. As usual, where Gus had reservations, Shawn saw opportunity and adventure. There are certain people you keep coming back to, and for Gus, Shawn Spencer was one of those people.

The only thing was he was tired of pretending to be brave like Shawn. Gus wished he could stop being cautious and finally do something brave. Finally.

"Haven't you ever wanted to do something, Gus, something you've wanted for so long – and you have no idea how it will turn out but you just want it so badly it hurts?" said Shawn, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Gus frowned and leaned back in his chair at the agency. He did know what it was to want like that, and it made him angry. But only just a little bit, because it was Shawn and to be completely honest, Gus could never stay mad at Shawn for long.

"I do know, Shawn. You think I don't? I hate getting second thoughts all the time. I'm so tired of pretending to be brave like you, I really do want to be brave—"

Shawn sat down on the edge of his desk and grinned. "Ever since I've known you, Gus, you've been stronger than you think. Get reckless, man. Carpe diem. No day but today, right?"

Gus nodded. "No day but today."

He entered the agency (that green lettering was the bane of his existence) and flicked on the lights. If someone had approached him at that exact moment and asked Gus why he was there at nearly midnight, he wouldn't have had an answer. Part of Gus would like to think that he's getting brave already, since his talk with Shawn. That maybe something is waiting behind the doors of Psych –

"I'm having a vision," said a voice, "a vision of a dear friend. He is unable to sleep. I'm sensing a 'G.' George. Goonie. Geoffrey. Gus! That's it."

Gus leaned against the doorframe to the main office as Shawn spun around in his chair, grinning.

"Am I good or what?"

"You saw my reflection in the window, Shawn. Not to mention that the lights are on. You're not psychic."

"Am too," said Shawn defensively.

"You know, I think you should see one of those psychiatrists Lassiter keeps recommending, if you really believe you're a psychic."

Shawn picked up a paperweight on his desk and stood up. He regarded Gus as he moved the paperweight between his hands, and finally set it back down. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and moved just slightly closer to Gus. (and if Gus remembered rightly from that psychology course he took in high school, crossing your arms in front of yourself means you're closing yourself off.)

"Bet I could guess why you came here, Gus."

"I couldn't sleep."

Shawn made a clucking sound with his tongue and shook his head.

"Can't fool the psychic. To find out your true reasons for journeying to our humble work abode, I must first have the help of Magic Head. What say you?"

"Oh, God. Shawn—"

"C'mon, Gus. It's all in fun."

Gus walked forward a few paces, so that he was standing as close to Shawn as possible without seeming like he was doing it on purpose. (which he was.) Shawn placed one hand on Gus' head and, with the other, a few fingers against his own left temple. He tilted his head and frowned. Here we go, thought Gus.

"I sense… I'm sensing some seriously dark jujumagumbo. You're worried. You're worried that you're not brave enough to go after what you want. You're mad…at a dear friend. And—"

As Gus pushed Shawn away, he wasn't sure what bothered him more; that Shawn was spot-on with his "psychic" observations, or the look on Shawn's face.

"Gus…"

"No. You remember that time when we were in fourth grade, Shawn? Before your dad took away all your comics and your cape? We used to pretend to be superheroes. One day, you got the bright idea that if we jumped from the oak tree in your backyard we could fly—"

"Gus."

"—and I wasn't brave enough to say no to you. I've never been brave enough to do that. I just can't say no to you, Shawn. I broke my arm that day, you remember?"

"Gus! I remember, okay?"

Shawn looked away, looked back. If there was anything he hated about Gus, it was the way Gus could throw him out of his element. And there was nothing Shawn Spencer did worse than sentiment. He decided to go with honesty instead.

"I remember because you were crying, and I held your hand 'til my dad got there and took you to the hospital. And I remember because you felt horrible even after you got that awesome cast, so I jumped down from the tree until I broke my arm. I did that, Gus, so you wouldn't feel so lonely. Do you remember that?"

Now Gus felt horrible because he did remember that. His mother had entered his room and told him about how Shawn had broken his arm jumping from the same tree, and how mad Shawn's dad was. All Gus could do was grin, though, because he knew that Shawn had done it for him—

"I think you should see one of the psychiatrists Lassiter keeps recommending."

"What?"

"Gus, you're grinning like an idiot."

He guessed that was a good thing, because inside he felt just a little bit like crying. To hell with it, Gus decided, as he pulled Shawn into a hug. (and it didn't matter that he hadn't hugged Shawn in years, not since Gus' dad had died; it still felt like home.) And, to tell the truth, there's no time like the present. Carpe diem, right? That is what Shawn said, although he didn't say it when he had his arms wrapped around Gus and his face nuzzling into the crook of his friend's neck.

But since when did Shawn nuzzle anything?

"Shawn…" Gus pried the fake psychic off him as he spoke, and made the decision to be reckless in the split second it took Shawn to be surprised. Gus had, after all, kissed him. What was even more surprising was that he had kissed Gus back.

"I sense that was you being brave."

"It was."

"Good," said Shawn. "I've been waiting for that for years."

Gus arched an eyebrow. "Years? You have not."

"Yeah, I have. I'm a psychic, remember? And, dear Burton, in our immediate future I see lights off and much sleep. Perhaps more kissing, if we feel so inclined. What say you, Magic Head? Psych-Man awaits."

As they walked out of the office together, Gus expressed several points of doubt. As Shawn locked the door behind them, Gus said, "Fine. We go home and we sleep. But stop calling me Magic Head. And you are so not psychic."

But, to be completely honest, Gus had his doubts. Maybe Shawn was psychic, or maybe it was that Shawn somehow knew him better than Gus knew himself. The world will never know.

finis.