Psych and NCIS belong to their respective creators
And special thanks to my beta readers shortestgiraffe and scotlandfreak for putting up with things like my rambling late phone calls.
Shawn had just begun to consider whether or not his latest stunt had really been the best option.
He wasn't so dense about his own personality that he wasn't unaware of his ability to say certain things that had certain side effects. Such as telling a family that one of them would most likely be arrested for murder, which had the side effect of being chased away by guard dogs. His flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants approach to gathering evidence and solving cases usually served him well. Unfortunately, that meant that on a rare occasional his mouth would move faster than his brain.
Then again, this time it had been Gus involved instead. As a contrast to Shawn's spotted record, being a suspect in much of anything was a new thing for him. Shawn wasn't about to let his best friend wait around in jail alone, particularly if it was for murder.
Still, maybe he could be doing more constructive things if he hadn't made those agents think he was an accomplice of some sort.
Instead, Shawn currently got to enjoy the sensation of sitting on a hard cold metal chair in a bare (with the exception of the obligatory two way mirror) square room, elbows rested on the matching steel table in front of him.
Shawn sighed, head resting in his hands. It probably wouldn't be so bad having agents think he was involved in crime because he knew too much about it (as though that was a new concept for him), but he and Gus had been placed in two different interrogation rooms, depriving him of his straight man. It probably didn't help that he wasn't being held at his usual cell. Nope, this couldn't happen in the (relative) safety and comfort of his hometown. It had to be not only in a different state, but at the capitol.
Gus really had to stop going to medical conventions. Then Shawn would have no excuse to tag along anywhere beyond the state borders and they wouldn't end up in these situations.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and one of the agents from the crime scene (DiNozzo, Shawn thought) stepping in. He was flipping through the pages of a file he held in front of his face.
"Well now, Mr. Spencer." Closing the file, DiNozzo settled down in the only other chair in the room, which just happened to be on the other side of the table. "You have an impressive track record in your file."
Great. Here we go again. Why is everyone so hung up about my record? "Well, I've always been something of an over achiever. Whatever I set my mind to deserves all the attention and focus that I can- where did you get that tie? It has a Lieutenant Casillo thing going on."
Taken off guard by the flippant response, DiNozzo stared at his suspect for a moment before shaking his head as though trying to piece together what he just in a way so it actually made sense. A second later he seemed to have come to the decision to ignore him.
"You seem to be pretty well informed about what happened at the murder scene."
Ah. This takes me back. "Back home, you'll often find me doing this often. Solving cases is kind of my job. The Santa Barbara police often hire me and my associate Sir Bumblebee McSweeny for our services."
"I assume you're referring to your friend-" he glanced at the sheet. "-Burton Guster?"
"Well, that's his street name."
"And you're telling me the Santa Barbara Police Department asks you to take on cases?"
"Except for the times we invite ourselves, yep, that's pretty much how it goes. The Chief is quite impressed by our success rate."
DiNozzo let out the sigh he had been tensely holding in since the interview had begun. "And what has your success rate been, if you are at liberty to disclose such top secret information?"
He understands the art of sarcasm. He's beginning to grow on me. "100 percent."
The agent stopped, looking Shawn straight in the eye. "100? You've never lost a case?"
"Nope. Not a one. And that is why I'm going to need to hear the results of the autopsy right after questioning the family and stopping by a local diner to try the pie you're so famous for, and-"
"Wait. What are you going on about now?"
"We have a case to solve. It best to start now, isn't it?"
Clearly beginning to get a headache, DiNizzo gave up all pretenses and rubbed two fingers against his forehead and took on an exasperated tone.
"I'm sorry, I think I blanked out there for a minute. When exactly did you get hired for this investigation?"
"I'm already involved. It seems like the next logical step."
"You're involved as a suspect. Doesn't that seem like a damper on the whole situation?"
"Oh yeah. I have to clear my name first. Why aren't you questioning me, anyway?"
Both seemed to be terrible at the positions of interrogator and interrigate.
Is that a real word?
"Where were you night of the murder?"
Pulled out of his thoughts, Shawn looked over at the agent still seated across from him,
"Hmmm? Oh, I was taking in the sights."
The agent blinked at his suspect.
"You...don't strike me as the sightseeing type."
"I don't?" Shawn raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "I'll have you know I'm quite the world traveler."
DiNozzo drummed his fingers on the table top. "You've been outside of the US then?"
"Indeed I have."
"Canada. It had a very exotic flair to it. You should go there sometime. Expand your horizons some."
DiNozzo slapped his hand across his face and dragged it down. "Anyway. Did anybody see you during this time?"
"Sure. There were plenty of people."
"Well, there were a few engaged people by the Washington monument, some kids from Iowa at the Lincoln memorial, a blind guy at that one dome-shaped building-"
"I mean anyone who can verify your whereabouts?"
"Ohhh. Yes, Bumblebee was able to leave his meetings early that evening."
"Yeah. Wait, does that not count?"
"When you are being accused of a crime and the alibi is from another suspect, then yes, it does not count."
Getting testy. Got a bit of Lassiter in him.
Shawn thought for a moment. "I did take pictures."
"...why did you not mention this earlier?"
"I assumed you looked at them."
"They're on my phone. You've already got that. May I go now?"
"Why don't you just sit tight? I'll be right back." File in hand, the agent stood up and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I think that went well.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? Why do I get all the crazies?
Tony walked around a corner and moved until he was in front of the two way glass and standing next to Ziva, looking in at Spencer.
"You certainly know how to pick 'em."
Looking over, Tony could see she was shaking slightly, hand covering her mouth as she tried to hold in the chuckles threatening to come up. She probably wants the video just to relive this moment.
"You know me," he told her with confidence he didn't really feel. "I like my suspects to be a challenge."
"Right. Here you go. It's all yours." Ziva held out the confiscated cell from Spencer's personal affects.
"Why isn't Gibbs here doing this, anyway? He would be talking circles around this guy." Tony flipped open the device and began scrolling through the images, taking note of the date and time by each one.
"He was still at the crime scene last I heard," Ziva told him, watching the suspect as he leaned back in his chair. "You want to run over and tell him you can't get a straight answer out of this guy?"
Tony tilted his head and thought for a moment before replying, "No thanks. I'd rather retain some dignity by the time this is over. "
"Then get back in there," she told him, pushing him back towards the door.
Glancing at the images, Tony noticed something strange. Hey, wait a min-
Opening the door, Anthony slide back down into his seat, file back on the table and phone still in hand. Thus began the second phase of his infuriating suspect.
"What? Did it die on you?"
Tony sighed. There's no point in snapping at him. It's best to approach this with tact and subtly. "Mr. Spencer, you are aware that to take a photograph in the dark, you should turn on the flash, correct?"
"Eh?" Tony held up the device to allow Spencer to look at the image on the screen. It could have been Guster leaning against the Washington monument. It also could have been a chicken sitting in the Oval Office.
"Hmm. Do you think the developer at Walgreen's could get rid of the red eye in that one?"
Did I tell myself to have tact with this guy? Screw it. "You two were found at the scene. Guster had evidence on his person and you know far too much to have not been there.
"There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for what I know."
Tony rolled his eyes, finally at the end of his rope. Oh, I can't wait for this one.
"And that would be..."
"I am a psychic."
...I really should have seen that coming.
"I thought you worked with the police."
"Psychic Detective, Shawn Spencer. Here is my card." Seemingly reaching out of thin air, Spencer pulled out a business card and handed it to him.
How the hell did that get past security? Examining it, Tony noticed the raised print and address typed on the front. He actually got an office for this. He really went the distance.
Wait, the place is called Psych?...interesting choice.
"And they hire you."
"As a psychic detective."
"See. You're catching on."
Tony groaned, eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling. "So, you see the future?"
"Bits and pieces come to me, particularly from the deceased. However," Spencer sighed dramatically, "the spirits are rarely straight forward with their information. This requires me to go put all of fragments together." Closing his eyes, he finished with, "It's a hard life, but quite rewarding on a spiritual level."
Tony stared at him. "You've given that speech a lot haven't you?"
"It changes here and there, but the gist stays the same."
Tony took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and launched into his own personal understanding of the situation. "So, let me make sure I've got this. You're telling me that you two are innocent."
"That you two were the only people at the crime scene when you were was a coincidence."
"And you were aware of inside information like the victim's name, occupation, military rank and preferred brand of beer, despite the body having no identification on him. That's unusually specific."
Spencer took a deep breath. "There's an unusual quality to the air of this place that- oh." Suddenly, his left arm and leg began shaking and jumping up and down, almost as though he beginning to have a seizure.
Surprised, Tony stood up knocking his chair away from him. "Woah. What's going on?"
Hissing, Spencer let out, "The spirits-" Oh. Of course. "-are telling me..." sucking in air, he pressed his thumb and first two fingers to his temple and forehead, closed his eyes, and scrunched up his face as though concentrating. His free arm swept forward and pointed toward Tony himself.
Anthony DiNozzo, most people call you Tony.
"You held a series of different jobs before settling here. Raised in New York. You love movies and quote them constantly. This pisses off practically everyone you know. You have a crush on the gorgeous female co-worker behind the wall there."
As suddenly as he started, Spencer relaxed, arms falling to his sides and shaking his head slightly. "So are we done now?"
Tony's brain refused to beginning working again immediately. When Spencer promted him a second time with a "Hey, are you okay, man?" it finally kicked into gear and his mouth began moving.
"Oh, what? Yeah, yeah, it fine. Just sit tight here for a few minutes, I'll be right back. I'm sure it'll all be straightened out in no time. Now if you'll excuse me." Bolting for the door, Tony rushed out of the room and headed for exit to the hallway.
Of course, there was one more obstacle in his path.
Ziva stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. "Did you see-"
"Yeah, crazy bastard, doesn't know what's what." Tony was faintly aware he was babbling, but it really wasn't the time to be concerned with things like poise when you really had to run as fast as possible. "I'd better get this to Gibbs to try and clarify the image...oh wait, he would probably break it. Abby, Abby is who I meant. I've gotta go."
With that, Tony went out the doorway and headed straight for the elevator. The last thing he saw before the doors shut was Ziva's surprised, uncertain expression.
Shawn looked at the empty seat in front of him. That certainly got him moving. You'd have thought I was talking about an affair he had.
bPrompt/b: Prompt: We're the good guys