Story Notes:

There is no "major" character death but there is the death of a character we don't really see much of in the series. I would say the death is very "sensitive" in an emotional sense. This is a very DARK story. I thought I'd give you a heads up though.

Author's Chapter Notes:

Lots of thanks required here, so bear with me a moment. Thanks to Koli for the useful and honest beta. Thanks to RP for helping me with motivation, ideas, and helping me make this chapter work. Your encouragement did wonders for me.

Thanks to angw for being my fresh pair of eyes. Thanks to Syd, mia, Sam, CK and everyone else who kept giving me encouragement during this chapter and later ones.

Gus

He wiped away the Psych logo from the main window, feeling as though he was washing his own soul away with the paint. Shawn hadn't taken a case for a while now. Gus had hoped they'd continue, but there were only so many bills he could cover with a single job. It was time to let the office go. The adventure was over.

Climbing down the ladder, he glanced one last time at the Psych office and chuckled silently to himself. The landlord would freak when he noticed the broken down wall and bullet holes. The office had survived their last six years of service about as well as Shawn had.

Gus grabbed the final box and headed to his car. Overcome by nostalgia, he sat at the steering wheel while staring vacantly at the empty office. He remembered everything so fondly, including the times people were shooting, stabbing, or otherwise trying to kill him. It was as the old saying went, "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

Those days were over now, though. Now he could sit at home safe, take the evenings off, and even show up to work on a regular basis. Once upon a time, he would have wanted these things, but not anymore. Now, as he gazed at what once was, he longed for nothing more than a chance to begin again.

Juliet

She watched as Karen wandered into the police station with a vacant expression. Karen nodded halfheartedly at the few who would meet her eye, but most were pretending to work. Juliet was no different. She wanted the courage to look up and say whatever it was that could be said, but courage hid under the nearest rock and there were no words to be found.

The station breathed again when Karen locked herself in her office without saying much of anything. There was no way to understand Karen's pain and platitudes were hollow.

"She's not ready." Carlton leaned against the corner of Juliet's desk, ignoring her glare.

"Of course she's not. What do you expect?"

Carlton shrugged, shifting slightly. "I don't know. I don't know about these...things."

"Neither do I."

It seemed so long ago and yet like yesterday when everyone was happy. Then the call came and the sleepless nights began. The Chief begged Shawn to have a vision, demanding that he find her daughter and bring her home safely.

Shawn promised he would, even knowing it was a promise he had little control over.

Juliet blinked the memory away, not wanting to relive the event again, yet somehow she was always drawn back to the pain. Two months seemed hardly enough time to reclaim normal, but she knew that life had to continue. The Chief knew this as well, or she wouldn't be back.

Juliet hardly noticed when Shawn entered the station shortly after the Chief. She flashed to images of him carrying the Chief's child, Iris, in his arm as blood dripped to the pavement below. When the EMTs took her from him, he'd fallen to the ground gasping for breath.

"Hey, Jules, Lassie." His smile was empty. She'd interviewed enough suspects to know the difference, and she knew Shawn too well for him to hide much from her.

She smiled back at him anyway, pretending she didn't notice. If her smile was just as fake as his, then it didn't really matter.

"Spencer," Carlton responded casually. He edged off Juliet's desk and made his way back to his own.

She knew that Carlton blamed himself for not finding Iris on time--for still not uncovering all of the details of the case. Not that Juliet blamed him. She often lay awake at night wondering how she too could miss something so important.

Then there was Shawn. He dropped into the nearest chair, weariness overtaking him as he joined the others in staring at the Chief's door. "How is she?"

Juliet shrugged. "Not good."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know. Are you ready to work again?" The words escaped before she could stop them, tinged with bitterness she didn't know existed. She missed his visits and flirtations, but when everyone else was banding together to offer the chief comfort and to find the missing pieces, Shawn had disappeared. Now he returned with a fake smile and no explanation. So yeah, she was a bit bitter.

If Shawn detected this, he didn't show it. He tapped gently on her desk, not meeting her eye. "No. We're closing up shop. Permanently." Then, as though the seriousness of the conversation was too much for him to bare, he tilted his head and quipped, "Gus thinks we should join the circus, but I'm hoping to find a more tantalizing career. Something with more flare, you know?"

"You're closing Psych?" she gasped, yet somehow she'd known this was coming. When Shawn lowered Iris's still form to the ground, a part of him had broken. He blamed himself in a way that Juliet couldn't comprehend.

"I should have known," he'd said again and again and while Juliet had thought the same of herself, it was different with Shawn. There was something tangible there, something he definitely understood that he wasn't sharing with the rest of them. Whatever it was, it'd taken the Shawn Spencer she knew and cared for and replaced him with an echo of his former self.

Small talk only lasted so long. There was a long pause in which Shawn grabbed her paperclips and started linking them together. She missed this. She liked Shawn hanging around the station doing something random just because he couldn't stand sitting still. If nothing else, it was a nice break to the monotony.

"You should stop by more," Juliet told him.

Shawn quickly glanced at the Chief's office. "Maybe so," he replied.

"Jules?"

"Yeah?"

For a moment, she could see his guilt beyond the Spencer mask. She knew he wanted to tell her something, as though he were a criminal longing to make a dark confession. If she pushed, he might tell her, but somehow her own words never formed. Something told her it was better if she didn't know—if he didn't speak.

Whatever he might have wished to say, the only words that came out were "I'll be seeing you."

As Shawn exited the station , she glanced back at her partner and noticed that he too was watching Spencer with confusion and concern.

...

Lassiter

Vick wasn't ready. He told her this because it was his job to watch out for the department, but also because he cared. The Chief needed to be ready for an emergency, to hold down the fort, and to inspire the masses that worked under him or her. Vick had proven herself again and again, but he could see that her spark was gone.

"This isn't up for debate, Detective."

Perhaps it was the slight crack in her voice that halted his arguments. He nodded, continuing with the updates. Not that there was much to say. Most of the cases were just wrapping up. No great mysteries to unravel, no crazy psychics around to mess up crime scenes, and no anything else that generally annoyed the head detective.

Heck, he'd even had time for a decent night's sleep on a regular basis! Of course, he still carried the black bags under his eyes because having time to sleep and actually resting were two completely different dilemmas.

Vick listened carefully, adding only a question or two. Carlton wondered just how much he'd have to cover for her over the next few months and began mentally rearranging his schedule. He'd handled the interim-Chief job for eight weeks without a problem, the only question was how much he could do while out there working cases.

"Spencer was here," Vick noted, leaning back against her chair and staring at Juliet's desk where Spencer had sat just an hour before.

"Yes. Pleasantly, he hasn't been around much lately. It's been nice. I think he wanted to check up on....things." On you. Though he dared not say the other part aloud.

"I don't see his names on any of the files."

He couldn't read what the chief was thinking. He wanted to, of course, as he watched her as closely as he would a suspect. There was loss in her expression and something else. It was something he couldn't place, but it was definitely directed at Spencer.

"We offered him a few cases. He turned them down. According to Mr. Guster, they're closing Psych."

"I see. Do you think we can change their mind?"

"I doubt it"

Carlton had little reason to want Spencer's return, or maybe he did despite how the thought sickened him. Spencer just had a way of driving him mad at the same time as, unfortunately, proving useful. After six years, it was possible Carlton had grown used to having the so-called psychic around, but it was easier to just ignore that possibility.

"He blames himself."

Vick nodded absently, her finger tracing the outline of a yellow file. To the untrained file, it was no different than any other, but Carlton recognized it immediately. He had a copy of the same file on his desk.

Vick was still trying to understand what had happened, probably desperate to connect the pieces they'd never managed to fit together. It was her daughter, after all, and not just another case.

He'd always wanted kids. He couldn't imagine having one only to lose her at such a young age. How Vick managed—how any grieving parent managed—Carlton didn't know. What he did know was that if he did have a kid, if that kid had been taken from him, he'd do anything to find those responsible and see them pay. Vick was no different. Until she understood every last detail of the case, she would not stop investigating.

Noticing his gaze, Vick grabbed the file, slipping it into the top drawer.

"What about you? Do you blame him?" He was surprised by the sharpness in her tone.

"No." Spencer wasn't the detective. He wasn't the one with a Masters in Criminology. There was plenty of blame to go around.

...
Henry

Eight weeks had passed since the incident, but Henry would never forget that night.

It was 3 am when Shawn wandered into Henry's living room. At first Henry thought his son had been replaced by a zombie, because Shawn never stared so blankly nor remained so motionless. There was blood on his hands and clothes.

"I could have saved her," Shawn told him. "I could have."

Henry already knew who 'her' was. The images were all over the news as a thousand ravenous reporters told of kidnappers and thieves and failed heroic attempts.

"Why do you say that?" Henry asked, knowing that platitudes would get him nowhere. Only the logic of the situation could drive Shawn from his misery.

"I knew the facts. I was on the right track. I...I should have known."

Shawn Spencer wasn't a cop, despite all of the prodding his father had done, but that didn't mean he was free from the dangers that came with the job. There was no training or experience that could prepare a person for the life Shawn had chosen, nor was there a way to go back and fix the biggest mistakes.

"Let's get you washed up."

Henry looked back at that night still searching for the words he couldn't find. He suspected none really existed.

Now, eight weeks later, as he watched his son mix eggs and bacon together, not once taking a bite, Henry realized that he needed to find those words soon.

...

Shawn

He wasn't the maudlin type. He liked jokes and adventures and generally not taking life too seriously. There were times, however, when life demanded more than a quick laugh.

His stop at the station the day before had only confirmed his worst fears. Where Chief Vick once sat was now an empty imposter who smiled at the right times but never quite lost the empty countenance. Her hollow gaze bore into his soul, digging until Shawn wasn't sure if anything remained.

"You haven't touched your bacon," Henry chided from across the table.

Peeking through the Spencer mask, Shawn saw his dad's pain. Henry hated showing his real emotions about as much as Shawn did, so Shawn ignored the hurt as though he couldn't see it, hoping maybe his father would believe the lie.

"This sucks," Shawn replied without really answering, tossing his eggs from one side of the plate to the other.

"Yeah, it does, Kid, but listen to me." Henry carefully placed his own fork back on the table and drew in a deep breath. His final demand was in pure Henry-lesson mode, but Shawn had heard it all before.

"How about we just not do this? Gus will be here in five minutes, anyway, so we don't have time--"

"Listen to me."

Thirty years of blowouts told Shawn that there was no arguing with that tone. Crossing his arms protectively around himself, Shawn motioned for his dad to continue.

"I know you don't want to hear that it wasn't your fault. I also know that you wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Okay. Nice talk. Loved it. Purely inspirational."

"Shawn, shut up for a change. Please."

Please? Shawn couldn't remember his dad every asking him to listen, especially not with such a worried, hurt expression. "Go on."

"I know what you're planning."

Shawn scoffed. Of course his dad was expecting him to run. Even Gus had confided he was surprised Shawn was still around after everything that happened. After all, that's what Shawn did when things went bad, right? He ran?

"That's not what I'm saying."

Shawn blinked, not realizing he had said any of that aloud. Somehow he was on his feet, pacing back and forth as a caged animal waiting for his chance to escape. "Sure it is."

"If you were planning to jump on your bike and leave town, you would have already left. I know that and you know that."

His dad was yelling now, though Shawn wasn't quite sure what there was to yell about. It was just their natural instinct when dealing with one another. Yell to hide the pain. Yell to run away.
Yet somehow, Shawn found the floor tiles fascinating and his father's eyes the plague.

"Look at me, Shawn."

He didn't dare. He'd never consciously made a decision, but maybe subconsciously he had. His dad, ever the vigilant father, had seen right through him before Shawn could even understand himself.

"Look at me," Henry demanded again, this time in a gentler voice.

Slowly, Shawn gazed up at his dad, wishing all the pain and worry would disappear and lead them back to normal again. But normal was gone. Normal never was.

"Don't tell them." Henry never begged. His father, his dad, the perfect cop that everyone respected, he didn't beg. So why was he doing it now and why wouldn't he turn away and hide the horrible drops of pain that wouldn't be discarded?

"I have to," Shawn whispered. His shoulders sagged as he fell back into the chair.

"It's selfish." His dad's voice reached a crescendo before descending into a whisper. "What about Gus? If you do this--"

Shawn realized he was visibly shaking, and willed his hands to be still. Did his dad really believe he hadn't thought this through? That he didn't know what he was doing? It was so like his dad and yet it was so maddening! Was it any wonder Shawn had left before?

"I'll tell them I had you both fooled. They can't prove--"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Back to crescendo.

"I'm going to do this, Dad." Defiant, Shawn forced himself to stare back at his father in the epic battle of wills.

A million words passed between them without reaching the audible world. Henry was now the psychic, reading his son's mind with the knowledge that only a parent could have. Somehow Shawn's dad knew not just 'the what' but 'the why', and maybe 'the why' was the most damaging of all.

"I don't need to tell you that this is stupid. I don't need to tell you that you're throwing everything away out of some misplaced sense of blame."

"Then don't." Shawn's legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He wasn't an idiot. He knew his dad cared, but seeing the way his dad laid the cards out in front of him was a kind of torture. He didn't want to be stopped. He didn't want to be talked out of this. He just wanted to be let alone.

He knew his dad could see right through him, and yet Henry answered, "I won't."

Shawn waited for the catch as his dad drew in a deep breath.

"I'm just asking you not to be an idiot. Grab your bike, fill it with gas, leave town and never look back. Go out there and force yourself to find your life again. If that's what you need to do, then do it! But, God, Shawn, don't throw it all away. Once you tell them, once you speak, you will never be able to get back what you'll lose."

Shawn blinked twice, staring at his father as though he were an imposter. For all he knew, maybe that wasn't far from the truth, because there was no way in hell that his dad would make such a suggestion. Shawn tried to respond, but no words formed. It didn't process; it couldn't.

"If you leave, you can always come back."

A knock at the door interrupted any further tension, causing Shawn to jump. Not missing a beat, he raced to the door, stopping an inch away.

"Just think about it, Kid."

Shawn had thought about everything. He'd thought about it each night since he'd discovered his mistake. He'd thought about it each time he saw the Chief's empty desk. He'd thought about it again when the Chief returned an empty shell of her former self. He'd thought about it so much it had made his head explode. There was nothing left to think about.

"Bye, Dad."

TBC

Okay, I'm posting my Psych stories mainly on Psychfic under the name Tazmy so as not to clog up the mailboxes of everyone who has me on alert for SGA. I'll continue to post chapters of this fic here if there is any interest (Is there? Or is it the same audience?), but you should check out Psychfic for my other stories if you want.