Wait, wait, wait.

Sorry, that was a horrible way to open the story. There's so many loose ends, so many unanswered questions. Not to mention it's a sadistic cliffhanger that gets the reader's attention in a cruel way. BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA! HA-HA-HA-

Ahem. Sorry.

Let's go back a bit.

1987, Santa Barbara.

Henry Spencer's house.

Ten-year-old Shawn storms up to his room, nose bleeding, cheek bruised, carrying half of a ripped comic book. He is never talking to Gus again. And I mean never.

No, sorry, that's too far back.

Let's scroll ahead a few years…

"I got the information because...I am psychic!"

A little more, please…

Okay. Here we are, an hour and a half before where we started.

Shawn sat in his office, savagely blasting the heads off pixelated zombies on his laptop. His normal mischievous grin (or the sneer he sometimes used because he thought it made him look sexy) was replaced by a rather intense glare definitely not born of concentration on the game, and a slight flush colored his neck and ears, a tell-tale sign that he was genuinely angry.

Stupid Gus. You think I behave like a child-I'll show you who's behaving like a child! I'm not the one who's been refusing to pick up his phone because we had one stupid little argument.

This time he had gone too far. Way too far. Even if he started answering his phone again and stopped being too proud to talk to the guy who was supposed to be his BEST FRIEND since they were five just because of a few harsh words, Shawn wasn't going to take him back. Even if he begged him. They'd crossed the line this time. He was done with Gus. Done, done, done.

Screw you, Gus. I don't need you.

…

…

Gus, where are you? Come back, please. At least let me try to fix this.

This was the biggest fight he could remember them having in years. It had been one of those weeks where it seemed like everything kept going wrong-with cases, with Shawn's relationship with his father, with their attempts to get their bills paid on time-basically everything. And eventually, he guessed, all that resulting frustration had just boiled over, resulting in what had to be the shouting match of the century.

What made it really sad was that it started with something that shouldn't have been a cause for wrath: Shawn commenting that they were out of Red Vines while looking through the office snack cupboard, and that Gus should put them on his shopping list. Gus had slammed his laptop shut, and snapped that Shawn should buy his own d_ Red Vines, because Gus was not his personal valet and didn't have to be responsible for buying his junk food.

Shawn, surprised by the acerbity of the verbal attack, responded in kind by reminding Gus that he, as he so often loved to point out, was the one with the "real" job, and that should automatically make him the one who bought their junk food. Gus retorted that it was mainly Shawn's junk food, which was why he'd been getting so fat lately, and probably part of the reason why he'd had so much trouble figuring out who the culprit was on their last case, because all the fat had gotten into his brain. Incensed, and hurt by the unexpected new twist, Shawn pointed out that he could still find clues Gus wouldn't notice if they bit him in the-

Well, you get the idea.

The fight escalated quickly, ending with Shawn saying, "Well, if you think I'm such an impossible person to work with, maybe you should just leave!"

"Fine! I quit!"

Shawn froze, having not expected to ever hear those words leave his friend's mouth (at least, not when addressing him; he'd all but promised that would never happen). Gus looked equally shocked, and his mouth flapped for a second, looking like he was about to take them back. But of course the 'psychic's' mouth wanted to have the last word, so he snarled, "Fine! I don't need you anyway!"

Looking suddenly hurt, Gus retorted, "Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Gus then snatched up his things, and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. After a few seconds he stormed back in, grabbed up the laptop which he'd almost forgotten on the table, and stormed out again, this time slamming the door so hard it would have knocked pictures off the wall, if there'd been any. And Shawn stood there, blood pounding in his ears, not quite able to believe that they'd just destroyed one of the best things that ever happened to them.

For a while he was certain that this wasn't really happening. Gus would come back soon enough, and apologize for flying off the handle like that (and, if he was honest with himself, he needed to apologize too). But when the chief called about a new case with some bank getting robbed, and Gus not only didn't answer the phone when Shawn called to try to bring him along, but also ignored his text and wasn't at his place or the pharmaceutical company when he went to look for him (though it was Saturday, so he probably wouldn't be working there anyway), he realized that maybe he was serious.

By the next day, when Gus had still not answered any of the twenty-six text messages or thirty phone calls Shawn had made to his phone, he became angry at his friend's childish behavior, and decided he would wait for Gus to come to him. He'd show him that he didn't actually need him tagging along all the time, especially if he wasn't going to be there when he needed him. Fine. See if he cared. Maybe he wouldn't even let him come back to Psych, if he was so eager to believe that he could do without it.

Unfortunately, Shawn had been so busy stewing that he couldn't concentrate on the case, and eventually he was forcibly ejected from the crime scene with an order to come back when he was able to provide something useful. So he'd gone home, ignoring Juliet's concerned expression and Lassiter's jibe that apparently he "couldn't function without Guster" or something.

Now, it appeared that he'd skipped the 'bargaining' stage altogether, and was wavering somewhere between anger and depression.

In hindsight, this lack of response from Gus, and the fact that he hadn't even been able to find the Blueberry, should have been far more disquieting than it was at the time.

Finally, with a sigh, he finished blasting a zombie, and sent another text to Gus.

Look, man, talk to me, please? I'm sorry about what I said. Really. :(

For two minutes he stared at the phone, willing it to light up with a response; then, suddenly, to his relief, it did. Shawn opened it eagerly.

Hi Shawn. I'm sorry, but Gus doesn't really have access to his phone right now. You'll have to come and find him. Quickly. Preferably before three o'clock. Preferably without that obnoxious beanpole detective, or any other cops. In fact, no fair bringing in anyone else; it would be really bad for Gus. But a bouquet of one dozen long-stemmed red roses would be nice, don't you think? :)