Author: Regency

Title: The Shirt and the Paper Football

Fandom: Psych

Pairing: Shawn/Gus friendship+

Spoilers: None.

Rating: G

Word count: 741

Summary: Shawn stole Gus’s shirt, but he tries to make up for it.

AN: Written for the comment_fic prompt Psych, Shawn/Gus, "That's /my/ shirt!"

AN II: Constructive criticism. I’m in the mood for something that rhymes with ‘mood’ but isn’t rude.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters recognizable as being from Psych. They are the property of their producers, writers, and studios, not me.  No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.

~!~

"That's my shirt!" Gus shouted from the doorway of the Psych office.

Shawn, who'd been carefully constructing a paper football for the last ten minutes, looked up at his childhood friend.  "I know not of what you speak," he said before picking up a green felt-tip marking and writing, Shawn's ball on the side. He chuckled to himself. Ball.

"Stop playing, Shawn. I bought that polo two weeks ago for a date." He growled when Shawn fluttered his eyelashes innocently.  "It disappeared before the date.  You took it, didn't you? You took my shirt."

Shawn found another piece of paper and began constructing another football. He needed someone to be his field goal and he knew Gus wouldn't go along unless he got a ball, too. "Simmer down, Queequeg. I'm making you a football of your very own."

"I want my shirt, Shawn."

"And I want my virginity back. We can't all get what we want."

Gus stepped back, looking skeptical.  "You don't want your virginity back. You loved losing that."

Shawn raised his eyebrows in feigned surprised. "Oh, we were being serious? I can never tell." He tucked his hands until his chin. "Then, I want a pony. No, no, I want a mini-horse. Ponies are so last decade. I want a tiny equine for the 21st century!" He stood up and set his hands firmly on his hips. "I shall be Tiny Horse Riding Man and," he pointed to Gus, "and you can be my Tiny Horse Wrangler. Think of the adventures we could have."

Gus crossed his arms and scowled. "I'm thinking of the adventures I could have been having in that shirt two weeks ago."

Shawn sighed and dropped the act. "Let it go, man."

"Let it go? Shawn, you stole my new shirt, accidentally set off a stink bomb in my closet, and then went out with the girl I wanted to take to dinner because I had nothing to wear. Yeah, I'm not letting that go. Not for a long time."

"I'll make it up to you." Shawn rummaged around on the desktop before picking up his completed paper football. He held it out to Gus. "Here, I'll start right now."  Gus seemed hesitant to get much closer, but he came anyway.  He deftly swiped the gift from Shawn's fingers before retreating to the safety of his desk.

He turned it over suspiciously, seeking any disgusting scent or indelible ink that could destroy another beloved article of his wardrobe. He found none, but he did spy Shawn's ball scribbled on the side. He smiled--but just a little.

"You gave me yours."

Shawn nodded as obediently as the sort of child he'd pretty much never been.  "I'll even be the field goal for the first flick-off."

Gus lifted his chin in a challenge. His friend wasn't getting off that easily. "The first game."

"The first round," Shawn compromised.

"The first game."

"The first five minutes after we start."

"The first game until my fingers start cramping and you start looking like a better friend."

Shawn gave his proposition some consideration before conceding with a slow nod. "You, sir, drive a hard bargain, but I accept your terms."  He dropped into a squat and threw his arms up in the shape of a field goal post.  "Bring it on, Elphie."

Gus sat down behind his desk and was preparing to flick the ball into the in-zone when the allusion registered. He stood back up. “Elphaba, Shawn? So, what, does that make you G(a)linda the Good Witch? I don’t think so.” Gus stalked out of the office muttering to himself.  “Shawn Spencer, G(a)linda? Ha. Don’t make me laugh. I bet he doesn’t even know the words to Thank Goodness.”

“Come on, Gus. Don’t go,” Shawn shouted after him. “It’s a name. You can be the pretty blonde girl with curls next time. I promise.” Just as Gus was about the slam the front door shut behind him, he heard Shawn grouse, “Great, now who’s gonna be my field goal. Nice going, Toto.”

He spun around and pointed with the accusation of dozen staring nuns at his oldest friend.  “And I still want my shirt back.”  He almost slammed the door behind but he knew if the pane broke he’d end up paying to have it fixed, so he closed it firmly but gently.

He may have left with a whimper but he was still annoyed as hell.