Let me tell you a story ... Once upon a time, a long time ago (read two and a half years ago), a fic writer named DG was inspired by a challenge on the Psychfic archive to write a fic where Shawn Spencer and Charlie Eppes meet, since Charlie voiced his unbelief in psychics several times. She kept up with the writing for about eight badly-written and rather short chapters, then suddenly quit posting. Her muse had abandoned her and, while she never forgot the fic, she left it languishing in WIP status. Finally, this writer got a brilliant idea for how the mystery should turn out, and she blew the dust off her long-abandoned fic. Sadly, this was the week she had no home internet and hardly any chance to get to the local library or coffee shop. Eventually, she reworked the storyline, edited all she had written so far, and finished up the story. Once she got internet back, she began posting, and everyone lived happily ever after.
True story. :D
I'm still not completely happy with the way some portions of this fic turned out. I started it a few years back when I first got into fic-writing, and my writing has immensely improved since then. While I've re-written and re-re-written it several times, some parts still insist on being stubborn and not sounding right. I think it's okay overall, though and I hope you all enjoy the story anyway!
Disclaimer: Nothing Psych or Numb3rs belongs to me, just the original characters and plot line (and maybe the hotel, since I didn't base it on any real hotel). No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this.
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"And the fun begins!" Shawn exclaimed, climbing out of the little blue car in the hotel parking lot. He took a deep breath and let it out, studying their surroundings with interest.
Shawn's best friend, Gus, got out of the driver's side. "Shawn, you know I'm just here for a medical conference."
Bounding around to the trunk, Shawn pulled out their bags. "That doesn't mean we can't have any fun."
"I still don't see why you decided to come along. You hate conferences."
"Yes, but I haven't had a real vacation in forever, and this is the perfect opportunity," Shawn replied, looking up from the luggage. "Plus, after the seminars are done each day, we can hang out and do all sorts of cool stuff - like finding a place with awesome jerk chicken on the menu." He slung his backpack over his left shoulder and picked up a blue duffel bag with his right hand.
Gus rolled his eyes as he retrieved his suitcase from the pavement beside the car. "Fine. Let's go check in, then I have to get to the first presentation."
Shawn just grinned and headed for the hotel's large front entrance. He'd figure out a way to get Gus away from those stuffy meetings before the day was up.
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A few hours later, Shawn and Gus were seated on the third row from the front of one of the meeting rooms. Gus found it all riveting. Shawn didn't know when he had ever been more bored - not counting math class, of course.
Shawn's notepad was half-covered in doodles of pineapples when the sound of breaking glass suddenly echoed through the room. From a room nearby, someone screamed.
"What's going on?" Shawn asked, jumping up and looking around wildly. His pad fell unheeded to the floor.
"I have no idea," Gus replied worriedly.
No one else in the room seemed to know either. The speaker had paused his lecture, and those closest to the door were already peering into the hall, trying to locate the source of the noises.
An explosion sounded from somewhere in the lower part of the hotel, and the floor began to shake under their feet. Silence reigned for a moment, then every seat was vacated as people began diving under chairs or rushing for the exit.
"Gus! I think that was a bomb!"
"You think? Let's get out of here!" Gus shouted to be heard over the noise of the other occupants of the building.
They ran out of the room and headed for the nearest stairwell. Practically flying down the stairs, they were passed by several firefighters and police officers. When the friends finally made their way through the exit door, several paramedics pulled them over to the makeshift hospital that had been set up.
"We just need to make sure you're all right," one explained.
Shawn noticed a man hovering at the edge of the police barricade. He had a wireless device in his ear, and his hand was hidden in his jacket pocket. Shawn caught the outline of a small rectangular item hidden in the pocket. It wasn't large, and most people were too preoccupied to pay attention to it. The man was checking his watch every few seconds.
"Excuse me a minute," Shawn told the paramedic who was checking him out.
"Sir -"
"I'll be right back; I promise," Shawn told her distractedly. He managed to slip away despite her protests and looked around for a police officer or someone in charge. His gaze was attracted to a couple of FBI agents standing near a van with electrical equipment inside, and he hurried over to them.
One, an attractive woman with light brown skin and curly hair, hurried to intercept him. "Excuse me, sir, but you can't come over here."
"I need to talk to the agent in charge," Shawn insisted. "It's about the bombs."
The other agent who had been standing by the van turned at that. "What did he just say?" the dark-haired man asked.
"I said I need to talk to whoever's in charge about the bombs," Shawn repeated himself. "Nice hair."
"Uh, thank you." The man raised an eyebrow as he continued. "It's all right, Nikki," he nodded to the woman. He turned to Shawn. "I'm Don Eppes. What do you mean 'bombs'? Is there more than one?"
"Yes. See that guy over there?" Shawn turned and motioned with his head towards the man who had caught his attention. "He's going to trigger another bomb soon."
"And you know this how?"
"I'm a psychic," Shawn explained matter-of-factly. "But trust me. I've had a vision that he has a detonator on him."
"You'd better not be wrong." Don gave Shawn a stern look as Nikki nodded to another agent.
As Nikki Betancourt and the second agent disappeared into the mass of chaotic hotel guests, Don put a hand to his ear. "Colby, David, we've gotten information that there may be another bomb in the building."
Not wanting to miss anything, Shawn stayed where he was. Don didn't object, and Shawn was pretty sure it was because the man wanted to keep an eye on him. In a few minutes, Nikki hurried back to join them.
"It was a detonator. We've got the guy, but there's no telling if there are any others."
Don let out a small sigh. "Okay, I want you to search the crowd. Get some help. Let's find anyone else before another bomb goes off."
Satisfied that things were now under control, Shawn started to move away, but Don noticed and stopped him. "Hey, I need you to stay put. I've got some questions for you."
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Gus was starting to get worried. It had been over fifteen minutes since Shawn had left the medical area, and he hadn't come back or called to let his friend know what was going on.
As Gus stepped past the tent to start searching for Shawn, a police officer approached him. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm going to need to ask you a few questions."
"I don't know anything about whatever happened in there," Gus told him. "I was just here for the conference." He began scanning the portion of the crowd that he could see, but Shawn wasn't there, although it was hard to make out anyone in the chaos that surrounded him.
"That may be so, sir, but we still need everyone who was in that hotel to give a statement." The tall, uniformed man reminded Gus of Buzz. "The smallest details may prove helpful."
Sighing, Gus gave in with a nod. He'd just have to look for Shawn later.
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An SUV pulled up beside them, and Don turned back to Shawn. "All right, Mr. Spencer, I'm going to need you to come back to the FBI office for some questioning."
"Okay, sure," Shawn told him, looking excited by the whole situation, "but I need to find my friend. We came together, and he'll be worried sick about me."
"Yeah, sure," Don nodded, opening the car door. "What's his name?"
"Burton Guster." There would be plenty of time for fake names later. Right now, he was more worried about locating his best friend.
Don motioned to one of the officers nearby. "See that Mr. Burton Guster gets to the FBI office."
"Yes sir."