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Running was a hard habit to break, once ingrained. Especially when muscle memory is involved. In Shawn’s case, anything to do with memory was its own beast, anyhow. And that was the whole root of the problem, wasn’t it?
Shawn has been stuck, insomniac, looping on memories. He had a lot to go through, favorites to revisit regularly, but even in his thirties there were only so many to hold his attention. And then what was left except the memories he always tried to shove off? Unfortunately, the thing about pink elephants had always been true. The harder you try not to think of them, the more you will.
Day three of his brain, unhelpfully, supplying things he wished to forget with clarity even a video camera couldn’t muster and Shawn felt the familiar itch down in the soles of his feet.
Running was easy. It led to a quick way to flood his brain, new memories and experiences and an overwhelm of information to take in. It made everything so much easier to slide away from.
Honestly, he’d managed to stay in Santa Barbra longer than he’d ever expected to again, assuming he’d roamed for the duration of his adult life with occasional stops back to good old SB when he needed a little more grounding, a safe place to land for a respite. He hadn’t ever expected to put down roots.
In this moment, he was regretting settling for so long. Like sediment in a water glass, everything was separating and he could see the bad just a little too clearly in the sunny weather and the well worn sidewalks.
“Shawn!” Juliet repeated, slightly exasperated and just a tad concerned.
His eyes flicked up and he pressed a smile too wide onto his face, “Sorry, Jules,” he waggled his fingers near his temples with a jaunty tempo, “the spirits pulled me a bit too far. What’s up?”
She paused, searching his face, but determined no danger and moved on, “I was asking if you were coming tonight?”
“Sure!” Shawn agreed breezily before adding, “Where?”
She groaned, cute and crinkling her nose, “You so haven’t been listening! To the big dinner for Buzz and Francie’s anniversary. I helped them arrange it over at the hotel on Mariposa. Francie even said she’d make you a special pineapple shaped sugar cookie.”
“Oh, yeah! Of course, of course. I thought you meant something else entirely,” Shawn fibbed, grinning brilliantly even as his hands danced across Juliet’s desk, searching for something to fiddle with as another memory flared in the background. He jammed it down hard, standing, “Is Gus coming?”
Juliet shrugged, glancing down at a paper that Shawn quickly surmised was some kind of guest list. “He RSVP’D maybe, so I’m not sure.”
Shawn scoffed, spinning around Juliet’s chair and stalking to Lassiter’s desk where he began rifling through the single unlocked drawer, “Who even RSVPs anymore?”
“A lot of people, Shawn. What’re you looking for?” Gus, suddenly appearing with three precariously balanced plates of cinnamon rolls, eyes taking in his best friend.
“Ooh, snacks!” Shawn abandoned whatever he was doing and rushed forward, snatching a plate and digging in with just his fingers, causing Gus to grimace in disgust as he politely handed a fork and one of the remaining plates to the detective.
“Thanks, Gus!” Juliet beamed and stole a quick bite before she put the plate down and asked, “So, are you coming?”
Gus took another wary glance at Shawn, who had already inhaled his pastry and was actively licking his styrofoam plate clean, snapping it into pieces to get all of the icing possible and sending flakes of dried cream and flutters of styrofoam to the ground, “Yeah.. I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss Francie’s cookies. Plus, Buzz is a great guy.”
Juliet leaned over and checked his name off this list, “Great! Remember, 7 sharp!”
“O’Hara!” Lassiter called from the chief's office and Juliet politely ducked out, heading over to see what her partner wanted. Shawn took the opportunity to snag her plate, the remnants of his own piled in a deconstructed snowman on Lassiter’s desk.
“Shawn!” Gus groaned, but it was only half hearted. He could see it.
Unfortunately, Shawn heard it and made a quick glance up, eyes darkened and cinnamon speckled on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t, Gus.”
“Shawn..”
“Don’t.” Shawn repeated, hard. He swiped the remains of the sugary goodness into his mouth with two fingers and then unceremoniously dropped the plate. “I have to go. Gotta pick out of my outfit for tonight.”
Gus spun to follow, calling out behind him, his own dessert still in hand, “Shawn!” He watched as his friend retreated, fist bumping a few officers on his way out the door, leading a trail of people to look at their now sticky hands in confusion. Gus heaved a sigh heavier than an anvil, feeling a sense of deja vu he’d managed to avoid since Psych opened its doors.
—————————
Shawn swept into the banquet hall, a shoddily wrapped gift in hand, his blazer jacket failing to hide the mustard stains on his grey shirt. What could he do? The hot dog guy had sold him two hot dogs for the price of one and he was starving and eating quick and clean wasn’t in his skill set.
He grinned, sidling up beside Juliet who was mingling with Lassiter and Chief Vick, “When’s the party start?”
Lassiter rolled his eyes, mumbling “Pretty sure you just ruined it.”
Vick, jumping in, replied, “Hello, Mr. Spencer.”
He grinned at her, all teeth, “Lovely dress, Kare! Sets off your eyes.” He roved his gaze over Lassiter’s sharp suit and cerulean tie, “Sexy sternum bush, Lassie. Glad you keep taking my advice.” Finally, he turned to look over Juliet’s beachy waves and floral dress, just a hint of casual in the tight structure of it, “And as always, Jules, you look like a million bucks. Seriously, are you made of money?”
Jules giggled, blushing slightly before she righted herself, poking him directly in the ugly yellow stain, “I can’t say you clean up nice, huh?”
He glanced down, shrugging, “My hair makes up for it.” He grinned, spotting Buzz, “Gotta blast!”
Shawn snaked his way through the crowd to Buzz, who had an arm around his wife and a wine glass settled in the fingers of his other hand, “LIGHTYEAR!”
Buzz smiled, puppy dogs and sunshine, “Hey, Shawn! Glad you could make it!” He and Francie moved in as one unit, leaning in for a quick sort of a hug in which Shawn reminded himself internally not to pickpocket either of them. (Especially since neither had a single thing worth taking on them. Buzz’s wallet was in Francie’s purse back at the table and all that was in his pocket was a tin of mostly empty altoid sours and crumpled up sheet of paper he tried to write a speech on. Francie had no pockets on her dress, either.)
“Shawn, I’m glad you could make it.” She eyed the present slightly, “Feel free to go put that down on the table, if you’d like.” Her hand shot out to point him in the direction and he saluted and headed off past the bar towards the small table that had been set up and currently had a handful of gifts displayed.
Making sure his was on top of the pile, Shawn took a moment to glance around. He soon wished he hadn’t. At first, he didn’t notice, instead seeing sweeping swaths of people grouping up to chat prior to the light meal being served and all the millions of things about them that he always noticed. Vick’s phone, tucked into her palm in case her husband called about their daughter. Officer Reynolds sneaking extra doses of whiskey into his glass from the flask hidden in his pocket. Tabitha, the front desk clerk, with a barely covered hickey on the base of her neck that was definitely not from her boyfriend who had just returned from a business trip. All normal things. Boring, routine, rote.
It was when his eyes returned back towards the table that he caught it. A plaque on the wall, reading simply, “A destination of magic”. Just like that, a memory swallowed Shawn whole.
Young, Shawn sat squished between his mother and father in an awkward way at a table neither wanted to be at. This had been pre-booked and non refundable. It was one final outing. It was Shawn’s final chance to try and get his parents to talk.
He’d spent all dinner trying. He tried being good. He tried throwing his food. Hell, he even tried to pay for dessert so they could share their combined favorite of brownie with ice cream on top. But nothing had worked.
And now Shawn sat, staring as his mom stood up, eyes sad but resolute. “I have to go now, Goose:”
“No!” Shawn tried, seething anger, popping up like a twisted whack a mole. “You can’t!”
“Shawn,” his father warned, hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off like a wet dog.
“You can’t just go!” He argued again, voice raising, spilling out of their small bubble and into the room around them. Eyes turned and Henry pulled Shawn back to his seat, hushing him harshly.
Madeline kneeled beside her son, smiling softly, “I’ll be back. This isn’t forever, Shawn… just for now,” She promised, floating a quick kiss to his forehead before she hustled away, not wanting to look Henry or her son in their eyes as she lied.
Shawn wouldn’t see her after that for nearly a full year. And then her work became spread, her visits sporadic, and until he was eighteen he’d spend no length of time with her longer than a half a school holiday break.
Adult Shawn, back in the present, felt the coolness of the memory settle in his gut. This. This was why he didn’t stick around. Too many memories, too easy access to all the things that haunted his hippocampus. Coughing away the remnants of emotion, Shawn felt the itch, and he followed it.
Urging himself through the crowd, ducking under waiters with drink trays and past at least a few people who called out greetings, Shawn burst into the muggy night air. He needed out. He needed to go.
Shawn swung wide around the corner of the hotel, heading for the parking lot, stopped only by Gus, leaning against Shawn’s bike.
“Hey,” Shawn mumbled, eyes not quite meeting his friends.
Gus only nodded, silent, face blank.
Shawn broke, always bad with quiet, and danced on his feet, shifting his weight like a kid would doing the pee dance, “Gus.. C’mon, man. It’s.. it’s not what you think.”
Gus shifted positions, moving to stand further away from the front of the bike and instead beside the seat. He lifted the side satchel, unzipping it to reveal Shawn’s favorite clothes, a wad of cash clearly pilfered from the psych office, and at least a handful of stray gummy worms that he did concede in making a face at, “Care to explain?”
Shawn had a million fanciful lies come to mind immediately. Three of them involved Juliet and a sleepover, one involved Lassiter and a night in a jail cell, and a couple shakier ones involved less formed ideas and people he could probably throw out and at least confuse Gus for a moment. He even briefly considered his mom, reigniting the pain inside his chest that had nothing to do with scar tissue and everything to do with the fact he hadn’t seen her in seven months.
Instead of a lie, Shawn heaved a sigh and physically wilted like a flower, “You know.”
Gus looked a bit cowed at the admission, but he covered it quick and nodded, “I assume no idea where?”
Shawn shook his head, glancing back towards the hotel and suppressing a shudder, “Never was great at planning. Not really my style.”
“I know that’s right…” Gus muttered, lips half curling even if the words were saturated in loss. “Did you plan to tell me?”
“Hadn’t decided if I was doing it.”
Gus shook the bag again, jangling the zipper and rattling around Shawn’s shaker charm of cryptids that was attached, causing Bigfoot and mothman to collide with the Fresno night crawlers like they were in a mosh pit.
“I thought… maybe if I packed a bag…the.. need would subside.”
“Shawn, that’s like a junkie buying crack and just staring at it to take the edge off,” Gus admonished, eyebrows drawn together, but it wasn’t in anger. He’d already accepted what would be happening. Gus' face emanated resignation.
Shawn gave a half shrug, trying for a shaky smile, “Guess I learned my lesson on that one?”
“Not sure you’ve ever learned your lesson,” Gus mumbled, but he dropped the newly zipped bag and stepped away from the motorcycle. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Shawn asked, his own face swirling into doubt and confusion.
“I know you, Shawn. You’ve made up your mind. You’re disgustingly stubborn and you suck at goodbyes. There’s no talking you out of this.”
“Gus,” Shawn began, a slight creak to his voice, belaying his emotions, but Gus cut him off with a waved hand.
“There’s stipulations this time. We co-own Psych now, so it’s different.”
Shawn nodded, a little too fervent, closer to Bobblehead than acknowledgement.
“You can’t be gone for forever. Consider this unpaid sabbatical. Six months is the longest you can go before we need to re-evaluate, okay?” At Shawn’s quick nod, Gus continued, “And I want semi-regular check ins. Not postcards from Nevada when you remember or an email on my birthday that you write at 2am. Actual check ins.”
“Yeah, Gus. Of course,” Shawn agreed. This wasn’t the same as last time. It was, because he was running, but.. his relationships had changed. Even if Gus would always forgive him, always wait with a light on, it wasn’t fair to leave him high and dry like a wife while her husband goes to war. Shawn didn’t want to live like that anymore.
“And Shawn?” Gus spoke, just as his friend stepped forward, swinging a leg over the bike and righting it.
“Yeah, Gus?” Shawn asked, sliding his helmet on to hide his teary eyes.
“Drive safe,” Gus mumbled, patting his friend on the back before pulling away, stepping out of the parking spot entirely, like the bike itself let off a protective shield around his friend.
“Yeah, Gus. Of course,” Shawn croaked and revved the engine. He took one last look at the hotel, at shapes moving past the windows. He looked at Gus, whose own eyes were dewy, and he felt it settle into his bones. He’d be back. He’d always be back.
Shawn, stupidly, smiling under his visor, held out his finger to Gus.
Gus chuckled, watery but true and touched his finger to Shawn’s. “I’ll be right here,” he quoted.
Shawn beamed, “Bye,” Then he reversed and drove away, laughing as he heard Gus’ final words,
“Why do I always have to be damn E.T.? Maybe for once I wanna be Elliot. You’re the one that needs to remember to phone home anyways.”