This story is based on a quote of Gus's in Disco Didn't Die. It was Murdered. I thought it would be a good idea and I really hope you like this. So, please tell me what you think, I own nothing remotely recognizable, and catch you in chapter two…

Psych

1984…

"You're not playing right," Shawn snapped stalking over to his friend who had moved several feet away from the tree, or what he designated as the 'jail cell.'

"I told you, Shawn, I don't want to play," Gus replied sounding slightly irritated that he had to remind his friend yet again.

"It's cops and robbers, Gus. I can't play by myself." Shawn tried to reason with his friend for what felt like the billionth time.

"I know, you remind me every time we play. And every time you always make me the criminal. I'm sick of being the criminal. Why can't I be the cop?"

"Because my per… percept… I have better paying attention skills than you do."

"It's perceptiveness," Gus shot back.

"How do you even know that?"

"My parents got me a dictionary for Christmas," Gus replied proudly.

"That's it, three more years in jail for being a know-it-all."

"Now you're cheating," Gus argued.

"Arguing with the police officer, ten more years."

"Shawn…"

"Using the police officer's first name eighty more years."

"You are ridiculous," Gus grumbled and stalked toward the gate.

"Gus, you can't walk out of jail," Shawn called back.

"Watch me," Gus retorted and slammed the gate behind him. "Besides, I don't ever plan to go to jail, Shawn."

"Criminals," Shawn grumbled with a shake of his head, watching his friend disappear around the corner…

Psych

Present Day…

It took a moment for Gus's eyes to adjust to the light coming from the window. He couldn't quite remember where he was, the night before a blur of shapes, sounds, and colors. He tried shaking his head to clear it, but a spike of pain shot through it and he cried out. He made to rub his forehead but froze when he noticed his hands were covered in something vaguely familiar.

He let loose a shout of surprise, springing to his feet. Another jolt of pain erupted through his skull, strong enough that he had to grab a nearby dresser to keep himself up. His eyes raked across the bed he had just left, the sight making his stomach churn. Lying across the mattress, her glassy, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it, was a woman he recognized as his neighbor: Regina Taylor. He looked down at himself, blood drenching his clothes, and he felt the last of his restraint give way as he collapsed to the ground.

The next thing he was aware of was someone shaking him, spikes of pain going through his head every time he was jolted. He opened his eyes, landing on the partially concerned face of Carlton Lassiter and the worried face of Juliet O'Hara.

"Guster," Lassiter's voice said, shaking him one last time.

"Stop," he snapped feeling like he was going to puke.

"Gus, what happened?" Juliet asked when she and Lassiter backed up.

"I…I don't… Regina, R…Regina's dead," Gus stammered scrambling up. He didn't want to see her, but his eyes automatically locked on her bed. Three men were blocking her, all three wearing jackets with the word coroner written across the back in yellow lettering.

"Come on, Gus," Juliet said trying to take his arm. Before she could help him up, a small, squirrely rookie ran into the room and stopped short of Lassiter's side.

"Um… Detective Lassiter, sir," the rookie said in a breathless voice.

"What," Lassiter replied pushing himself to his feet. The rookie didn't get the words out, a gruff voice interrupting him, "Step away from my suspect, Detective O'Hara."

"Suspect," Juliet sputtered getting to her feet. "What suspect?"

"Well, let's see," the gruff voice continued, the owner walking into the room and scanning it. He was tall, six-six at the most, and wore a pair of jeans and tee-shirt as if he were called out of bed. He had dark blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a frown plastered across his pale face, "Mr. Guster is in the victim's room, most definitely covered in her blood. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together, O'Hara. Now, step away from my suspect."

"But…" Juliet tried to protest.

"Steinberg, I think you need to rethink this" Lassiter started getting Gus's attention. If Lassiter was defending him it must look really bad he figured.

"Lassiter, as head of homicide I have the right to arrest any suspect I see fit. So, step away from my suspect," Steinberg said the last few words in a slow, growl stepping towering over Lassiter as he stepped toward him.

"I still think you're making a mistake," Lassiter said but stepped back. Juliet glared at Steinberg, stepping in front of Gus. The sales rep watched as Lassiter grabbed her sleeve and pulled her away.

"Burton Guster," Steinberg started pulling his handcuffs from his belt, "you have the right to remain silent…"