A/N: I think I've kinda been in a crossover mood lately... haha. I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles, Psych, CBS, USA, or any other known entity. This story's short, only 3 chapters, but I hope you guys enjoy it. Please review!
Chapter 1
He was staring down the barrel of a gun, though his captor didn't seem all that intent on using it. Cold, curious blue eyes meeting silly, even more curious brown ones. The brown ones darted around the barren room, taking in his surroundings.
"Dude, you need some decorating tips," the brown-eyed man said.
Nothing but a cold glare from old blue eyes.
"I mean it. There's nothing in here."
"I don't need things," the older, blue-eyed man answered sharply. "Who are you?"
"The unarmed man you're currently holding at gunpoint."
A grunt, followed by the clicking back of the hammer. "Who are you?" Each word enunciated to the point of them being their own sentence made the younger man swallow slightly.
"I was hired to find you," he said.
"By who?"
"Someone that thought I couldn't do it. I mean, you've got no real trail of existence. Only known whereabouts was somewhere in Los Angeles. Makes for a tough find."
"Who hired you?"
The younger man rolled his eyes. "Again, with the accenting? Seriously, I don't see the point of it. You're pointing a gun at me. You really don't need to do that."
The older man grunted out a sigh. "Tell me who hired you."
The younger man shrugged. "I didn't get his name. My associate might have, for payment purposes, but he doesn't let me handle the account. You know what this moment needs? Pineapple smoothies. You want one? You can pay this time. I'll get the next one."
The hammer clicked against an empty chamber.
"Yeah, next time you wanna point a gun at someone, make sure the clip is loaded." The younger man pulled a handful of bullets out of his pocket. "First place I looked."
The older man narrowed his eyes. Mostly because he had expected the younger man to be more threatened by the weapon, since the older one knew it was unloaded by the weight of it. He dropped the weapon, reaching for a second one hidden in the coffee table.
The younger man smiled. "Second place I looked," he added, watching the older man glare at the unloaded gun. When the older man pulled a small knife out from behind a plant on the mantle, the younger man inhaled sharply.
"Didn't find that one, did you?" the older man snapped.
"Okay, okay, you got me." He held his hands up in concession.
"Who hired you?"
"I just told you, I don't know his name. My associate might, but I don't."
The older man groaned. "Where is your associate?"
"Still in Santa Barbara," the younger man replied. "It's about an hour or so drive on my bike. He was too busy doing something else, and he didn't want to come up here. Said he didn't trust the guy who hired us. I don't know. He looked like a decent guy."
"What did he look like?"
"Older than my dad. Said he wanted to find you."
The older man narrowed his eyes. "Why would someone hire you to find me?"
The younger man smiled. "Because I specialize in finding people who don't exist. Well, that, and eating pie. Which, by the way, I'm hungry. Do you have anything?" He made a move toward the kitchen, but was stopped by the older man and knife. "Seriously, dude. What kind of host are you?"
"I'm not a host. You broke into my house."
"Well, it's not breaking in if the door's unlocked."
The other man glared, flinching his hand tighter around the knife. "It wasn't unlocked earlier when you apparently broke in to steal the bullets out of my guns."
"Okay, okay," the younger man conceded. "Truth?"
"That'd be better for you," the older man replied.
"My name is Shawn Spencer. I'm a psychic detective from Santa Barbara. An older-looking guy hired me to find you. He was a lot taller than you, about 60 but not quite, white hair, brown eyes. Scab on the forehead, walked with a slight limp. Sounded like a heavy smoker. Didn't smell like it, though. The Super Smeller hinted at some Old Spice mixed with cinnamon. And now, I could go for some cinnamon."
The older man knit his brow together. "The Super Smeller?"
"That's… hard to explain."
He shook his head. "How did you find me?"
Shawn shrugged. "It's kind of my thing."
The older man glared again. "How did you…"
"Yeah, yeah," Shawn said. "A little bit of this." He held his right hand to his head. "And a whole lot of that." He held his left hand to his head.
The other man simply shifted grip on the knife.
"Okay, okay. I may have had a little help," Shawn conceded.
"From who?" the other man replied.
"The spirit world. I'm a slave to my visions."
"I don't believe in psychics."
"Believe what you will, Serious Guy With an Arsenal in His House."
The older man sighed, shelving the argument for the moment. "And you don't know who it is that hired you."
"We can call my associate and ask."
"And what is the name of this associate?"
"Jerry Maguire."
The older man rolled his eyes, while Shawn dialed Gus's number. "Speakerphone," the older man said.
Shawn obliged as the phone answered, "Burton Guster."
"Hey, buddy," Shawn said.
"What now, Shawn?"
"Remember that job we just got hired for?"
"To find that guy in Los Angeles?"
"Yeah. Who hired us?"
"Uh, I'll look." The two men in the room listened as Gus was typing on the other side of the phone. "Wait. Since when do you care who hires us?"
Shawn paused, thinking of an answer.
"You found him, didn't you?"
"I asked you if you wanted to come to L.A. with me," Shawn said.
"Uh, no, you didn't."
Shawn cut a glance over to the man with the knife. "Dude, trust me on this one. You might be better off not being here."
"What?"
"Just, give me the name."
"Shawn…"
"Gus, I'm fine. Who hired us?"
"Lester Callen."
The older man's eyes grew slightly wider, something that didn't go unnoticed by Shawn. "Who's Lester Callen?" Shawn asked his captor.
"I don't know a Lester Callen," he replied.
"Wait, you're there with him?" Gus asked into the phone. "Seriously?"
"Well, you should've come."
"You didn't tell me you were going."
"Not now, Gus." Shawn turned back to the man in the room with him. "Why is Lester Callen so important to you?"
The older man finally lowered the knife, opting to grab his phone instead of acknowledging Shawn's question. "Did you guys even check out this client before you agreed to the job?" he asked.
"…Gus?" Shawn asked.
"I told you we should've run it by Juliet or Lassiter," Gus replied.
Shawn turned back to the older man. "I'm sensing that your name isn't really Fred Curtis."
He simply looked at Shawn as he put his phone up to his ear. "Hetty, we have a problem," he said into the phone, turning his back to Shawn.
"How did you find him?" Gus asked.
Shawn smiled. "We'll talk about this later, bud."
He hung up the phone, turning back to Shawn. "We need to leave," he said. "And you need to hang up the phone."
Shawn shrugged, doing as the older man asked. "Since your name isn't Fred Curtis, do I at least get to know what it is?" he asked.
The older man glared slightly. "Shut up," he replied.
"Okay, but you should know, I don't follow directions well."
A third gun was produced from a spot previously unknown to Shawn. "Let's go."
For the first time in a long time, Shawn easily obliged.