“Seamus?” Shawn asked in surprise. 

“Shawn Spencer.  I should’ve known that if Gus were here, you wouldn’t be too far behind,” Seamus said, shoving a gun in Agent Sanders back. 

“But, you’re dead.  That Jean Claude guy killed you,” Shawn said.

“Jean Luc, Shawn,” Gus corrected, his eyes still locked on Seamus and Agent Sanders.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn sang.  Gus, Agent Sanders and Seamus gave him funny looks.

“Shawn, Shawn, Shawn, don’t you remember?  Or has your eidetic memory finally left you after so long?” Seamus asked.

Shawn closed his eyes and thought. 

Washington, D.C. 2000

Shawn got into the car’s passenger door, while his new partner, Seamus Collins, got into the driver’s seat.  The car soon began rolling down to the Interstate on their way to headquarters in West Virginia. 

“Seamus, before you became an agent, what did you do?” Shawn asked, trying to make conversation. 

Seamus switched lanes before answering, “I went to a performing arts high school.  I wanted to be an actor.”

Shawn tilted his head, *seeing* what he could as they drove.  “An actor?  Yet, you’re an agent?”

“Yeah, well, the acting didn’t pan out the way I had hoped.  I was a really, really good makeup guy, though.  You should’ve seen some of the faces I did while I was there.  Of course, that’s all in the past, now.”

Shawn *saw* a slightly nervous twitch on the corner of Seamus’ mouth, but figured it was because he didn’t want to delve any further into his past.

Shawn opened his eyes and stared daggers at his former partner, “It was acting.  You were playing dead.”

Gus looked confused, “Wait, how would that have tricked you?  You’re eyes should’ve caught breathing, or you should’ve felt for a pulse or seen a makeup line.”

“One thing we learn at the academy, Gus, is how to hold our breath for long periods of time.  I had to keep looking away to find Jean Luc.  I couldn’t find a pulse because of the makeup, and I didn’t see a makeup line because Seamus is a master.  He was top of his class before he graduated,” Shawn stated.

“Right you are, Spence.  Just like last year with you, I faked my own death.  Jean Luc knew and missed me on purpose.  He was a sharpshooter, you know.  The other guy, he was just a mortar.  He dialed me, but my phone was on silent.  Jean Luc killed him because we both knew he’d talk.”

Shawn began to shake with anger, “You tricked me this whole time, Seamus.  You son of a…”

A click of the gun stopped Shawn from speaking anymore.  Seamus’ gun was still trained on Agent Sanders’ back.  Gus looked at Shawn, who returned the look.

“So, is there really a Jacques Pierre?” Gus asked.

“I’m Jacques Pierre.  You see, when the CIA infiltrated the restaurant, I had already been in the CIA for about two years.  Nobody knew my background in makeup and acting.  I fudged my application and said I went to some high school in West Virginia.  During the interrogation, I asked to use the bathroom, took off all of my makeup and walked out as if I’d been working that day.  The fools there didn’t even know until later that “Jacques Pierre” was gone.  They found the makeup in the bathroom and assumed he was a master of disguise.  Brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

Shawn shook his head in disgust.  He felt ashamed.  Seamus, his partner for four years, fooled him.  He now knew how his dad felt when he found out his partners were taking money under the table.  Betrayal.  It seemed to be a Spencer family tradition. 

Gus looked down at his hands.  Well, the gun and his other hand, anyway.  He knew this was killing Shawn.  Betrayed by his partner.  Gus, in a way, knew how Shawn felt.  When Shawn had up and left so many years ago, Gus felt hurt and deceived.  In the years that they’d been doing Psych, he and Shawn had grown closer (even with the ‘psychic’ bit).  Gus’ mind seemed to switch into high gear.

Shawn made a move to get closer to Seamus.  The arms dealer moved swiftly, moving the gun and firing.  Shawn shouted in pain and went down.  Gus watched for mere seconds.  He watched Shawn go down.

“SHAWN!” he cried. 

Remembering the gun he held, Gus held it like he’d seen in those cop movies, and fired two rounds.  The first went into the stairs, but the second hit flesh.  It grazed Agent Sanders in the shoulder, then made a direct line to Seamus.

Gus watched him go down, then ran to Shawn.  He tossed the gun down as he approached his friend; his brother. 

Blood poured from the wound.  Shawn was out cold, but breathing.  He looked back at Agent Sanders, who was grabbing her shoulder, but standing upright with a gun in her hand.  She smiled at Gus.

“Good shooting, Detective,” she said, then knelt down next to him, “Shawn’s got a pretty good wound, there.  Deep in his chest,” she added, moving Shawn’s shirt carefully. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Gus asked.  He was still shaking from shooting the gun.  Up until that moment, he had only shot a gun once in his life, way back when he and Shawn were kids and he had tagged along to the shooting range.

“Shawn will have to have surgery, but he should be fine.  Come on, my team should be here along with the San Francisco Police,” she said.

No sooner than the words came out, three agents and a few officers came rushing down the stairs with guns drawn.

“Agent Sanders, are you all right?” asked one of the other agents.

“It’s just a graze, but Agent Spencer is hurt badly,” she said, pointing to Shawn.

“Agent Spencer?” the agent asked, then saw it was him, “On it!  You, call for an ambulance.  We’ve got wounded!”

“Agent Collins was behind this all along.  I can’t believe it,” Gus said, shaking his head.

“Gus?  Quick, help me,” Agent Sanders said.  She was ripping Shawn’s shirt off.

“Help you what?  Strip him?”

“No!  He’s stopped breathing!  Help me do CPR!” she cried.

Gus immediately set to work, helping Agent Sanders.