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All starts with a note, written in impeccable cursive, left in chief Vic’s home.
“’La femme triste’ is quite the beautiful painting, isn’t it? It shall make a beautiful addition to my personal collection.
P.D.”
Shawn is fuming as the chief tells him about it.
At least she has the decency to seem annoyed as well, though for a different reason than he is.
She might even have dismissed the entire thing, if it hadn’t been for Despereaux’s signature cigarette, found beside the note.
Really? The chief? Sure, she’s the boss while he’s just a consultant, but Shawn feels a bit insulted. She didn’t even appreciate the fun challenge, just rolled her eyes and told him to get to it, since he’d proven helpful in catching Despereaux before.
At least he’s not the only one feeling left out in the art thief’s newest plans. Good old Lassie is absolutely furious about being so blatantly disregarded by his self-proclaimed “nemesis”.
“You two clowns stay out of this,” he hisses with his signature frown, trying and failing to be threatening.
“Despereaux is mine. I’ve caught him before, and I will again.”
If Shawn hadn’t been determined before, he is now.
That’s how he finds himself arguing with the guard at some fancy gallery, trying his hardest to get in.
Gus is by his side, trying to look important.
Ever the peanut butter to his jelly.
The big, dark, beautiful peanut butter.
“Anyway, me and my partner Pinocchio Bonnaparte are most definitely on the guest list.”
He fixes the poor man with a challenging gaze, offering his most winning smile.
“Check again.”
“I-I’m really sorry sir, but I already checked three times. Neither of your names are on the guest list.”
“Maybe you spelled Shawn wrong. You know, it’s not actually spelled with a J, it’s S - H - A-“
“Please leave,” the man says, starting to eye the security man a few steps over quite obviously now.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, they’re with me.”
Shawn watches in real time as Gus’ eyes get so big that they almost pop out of their sockets.
His own expression probably doesn’t look any less stupid, but at least he can’t see it himself.
Desperaux.
Suave as ever, in a fancy three-piece suit, catching blue eyes and a winning smile.
The relieved looking guard shrugs his shoulders, steps aside to let them through.
“Of course, Mr. Beauchamp. My apologies, I didn’t know.”
“Well, this is awkward, Mr. Beauchamp,” Shawn says, as they’re following the art thief into the function.
“You know, since we’re here to catch you.”
“I see how that might be uncomfortable,” Desperaux admits with an easy smile, leading them to one of the little tables sprinkled across the room. “Worry not, for I’m innocent.”
“So the threat wasn’t you?” Shawn exclaims, utterly failing to hide his excitement. The only thing more awesome than catching Despereaux would be catching someone else, with Despereaux.
“Are you sure? It was found with your calling card, and signed with your initials,” Gus ads, less convinced.
“What can I say, I seem to be art, the way people feel the need to frame me.”
He smirks at Shawn, pleased with his obvious delight at the pun.
“Really now, would I welcome you here, if I was planning to rob the place?”
“Yes,” both Shawn and Gus exclaim at the same time, remembering previous instances all too clearly.
“I suppose that’s fair. Well, I can promise you with absolute certainty, these threats aren’t from me. I admit I’m not above a good challenge myself, but don’t you think I would have challenged someone more… interesting than the chief?”
That all three of them know it’s exactly what Shawn wants to hear right now doesn’t make it any less nice to hear. Shawn beams.
Beside him, Gus groans audibly.
“Mr. Gaster! Before I forget it, I believe there’s someone here you ought to meet.”
Despereaux’s smile is as polite as always, even though Shawn is almost sure he has managed t spot annoyance in his eyes.
“You see that fine gentleman over there? He’s the lead Doctor of the local hospital. I’m sure he’ll find your spiel about pharmaceuticals… riveting.”
Gus is gone before either of them can blink, only stopping to throw his signature “I’ll be watching you” glare at the art thief.
“Sooooooo….” Shawn starts, slightly awkward now that they’re alone.
“First, let me get you a drink.”
With a subtle nod of Despereaux, a waiter pops up from seemingly nowhere. Fascinating, how they always manage to do that… Where do they come from? Where to they go? Waiters at fancy events have surprisingly much in common with cotton eyed Joe.
“I’ll have a Convalmore 1977.”
Shawn can tell how much that beverage, whatever it may be, costs, just by watching the way the waiter’s eyes widen.
“And the other gentleman?”
“I’ll also have a corner mole ninety-eighty-something.”
“He’ll have an apple juice in a whiskey glass please,” Despereaux interjects with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “And some peanuts, if you’d be so kind.”
“Seriously?” Shawn complains, as soon as the waiter is gone. “What am I, a child?” He is excited for the peanuts though, since he hasn’t eaten in almost half an hour.
“My apologies. I suspected that a Convalmore 1977 might not quite match your tastes. You can taste mine, and if you like it, we’ll switch beverages. Deal?”
As if Shawn would ever admit to not liking it, after this.
He gives Despereaux a wide grin and a thumbs up.
“You bet we will.”
He steals a glance at Gus, still in animated discussion with his boring Hospital guy.
Good for him.
“So. Any idea who might have it out for you?”
“Regrettably not.”
“Oh come on, a smooth criminal like you, you’ve got to have a mortal enemy.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of people who despise me, and for good reasons. But I can think of none that would choose this folly over a simple bullet to the head.”
Shawn shudders at the image it conjures. Despereaux, lying in a ditch somewhere, lifeless blue eyes staring up at the sky, unblinking as the blood drip drip drips.
He shakes the image off, uncomfortable.
“Maybe I don’t need a mortal enemy after all. Doesn’t sound as fun as I thought.”
“You wound me. Here I was, thinking we were such antagonists. Me, making you look silly, and you being the first and only to catch me.”
“Are you kidding?” Shawn retorts, unthinking. “While all of that was absolutely awesome, we’re totally friends now.”
Only when the words are out, does he realise he might have betrayed more sincere affection than he had planned.
Oh well, it seems to be an entire thing, whenever he is near the man. Especially when Gus isn’t nearby to snap him out of it.
Thankfully, that’s when the waiter arrives with their drinks.
Despereaux accepts his glass with a flourish, tipping the waiter graciously.
He takes a sip, expression revealing utter bliss (a good look on him), before he hands the glass to Shawn, as promised.
It certainly looks okay enough, the golden liquid sloshing around the pretty crystal glass lazily. The smell is questionable, but the taste is probably better. Right?
Shawn takes a careful sip, and immediately starts coughing awkwardly. It’s all he can do not to spit it back in Despereaux’s glass, despite the disgusting burning in his throat.
He swallows with a grimace.
“That’s… that’s really good. Yum. In fact, it’s so great that I wouldn’t want to take it away from you by switching. I’d feel bad.”
He’s impressed when Despereaux doesn’t flat out laugh at him. Instead, despite the mirth clearly visible in his eyes, he nods sagely.
“That’s too kind of you, Shawn.”
“What can I say, I’m selfless at heart.”
That’s the moment Gus chooses to re-join them.
“Now, when you two are done chatting, why don’t we take a look at that painting Despereaux is going to steal? I’d like to see it before it’s gone.”
“The painting that someone plans to steal,” Despereaux corrects with the barest hint of annoyance.
“Great idea! What was it again, le flame tea? Sounds cool.”
He could have probably made a more valiant effort to pronounce the painting correctly, but the way Despereaux’s face scrunches up in distaste, while Gus suppresses a giggle, is well worth it.
“La femme triste, by Jean-Paul Allard. It’s worth quite the sum.”
“For someone who claims to have no interest in the painting,” Gus remarks, stealing Shawn’s peanuts, “you sure know a lot about it.”
“Don’t be rude now, Gus,” Shawn replies, yanking the bowl of peanuts back from Gus’ hands, spilling half of them over the posh little table, “it’s his job to know this kinda stuff.”
“Yeah, Shawn! Because it’s his job to steal paintings!”
“See? You’re rude. You’re being so rude right now.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Desperaux sets down his glass of fancy Whiskey.
“I’m out on bail at this very moment, do you really think I’d risk stealing art, with my name explicitly attached to it? With the police being on scene, ready to arrest me?”
“Yes,” both Shawn and Gus reply once again.
“Hm, it does sound entertaining, now that I think about it. I shall reconsider my line of reasoning.”
“You definitely should,” Gus interrupts, “because right now you’re not even convincing Shawn, and he wants to believe you so bad he’s almost drooling.”
“Hey!” Shawn complains, punching Gus in the arm, who immediately starts to retaliate.
“Still,” Despereaux continues, ignoring their antics. ”I’d rather not be put in jail for something I didn’t actually do. That would be embarrassing. So if you could please concentrate, and join me in taking a look at the art.”
Agreeing for once, they follow him to where the art is being kept.
“Since you haven’t been dragged out of here in handcuffs, I assume it hasn’t been stolen yet?”
The three of them stare at a rather bland, old looking painting.
la femme triste, a little paper square on the wall reads.
“Au contraire, it definitely has. This one is mere replica, the police simply hasn’t noticed yet.”
Shawn’s and Gus’ head whip around.
“What?? Then what are you still doing here?”
“Well, as I said, this scheme isn’t of my design. And I am assuming that my continued presence here is the reason your dear friends of the police force are so confident the painting hasn’t been stolen yet, so if I left now, they might just take a closer look.”
“Don’t worry Mr. Despereaux, for a small fee of one million dollars, Shawn and I will gladly help you prove your “innocence”, Gus tries his luck, earning an amused glance from the art thief.
“Mr. Guster, you know as well as I do that my assets are currently frozen.”
“That’s okay,” Shawn interferes, “We’ll also accept one of your super cool batman gadgets as payment.”
“That, I can do.”
Gus’ gaze flickers between Shawn and Desperaux, looking severely displeased.
“Despereaux, can I talk to you for a second? Shawn, you stay here, Psychically analyse that painting, or whatever.”
It is sorely tempting to stare at Gus dragging a huffy looking Despereaux across the room for god knows what, but Gus is right. He needs to look for clues.
He blankly stares at the painting, and at the wall surrounding it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a balding guy in a suit asks him, sporting a dreamy smile.
Shawn hadn’t even noticed his appearance.
“Uh, yes. I like the…” he looks at the painting, scrabbling for something positive to say. It’s, for all intents and purposes, a sad woman. Not even an especially great one, since the proportions are all wonky.
“…paint,” he finishes lamely. The boring guy just nods sagely.
“It’s true that Allard used a quite extraordinary method of applying his paint. No one did it quite like him. You have a good eye for detail, Mr…?”
“Miller,” Shawn lies with a winning smile. “Doctor Ben Miller, art professional.”
“Ah, I see…” the man falters, obviously suspicious but unwilling to call his bluff.
“And you are?”
At this, he brightens, relieved to have something safer to talk about.
“My deepest apologies! I assumed you knew. I am Harland Rudolph, the owner of this gallery. Or, well, one of them.”
“Oh?” Shawn mumbles noncommittally, watching Gus animatedly wave his hands at Despereaux, who looks bemused. “And where’s the lucky other half?”
“My business partner has neglected to show up this evening.”
That manages to catch his attention.
“Really? Man, that sucks. A grown man, playing hooky, when he has an art gallery to run?”
The bald guy tenses, anger flashing over his pale face momentarily.
“Co-run. And only if it were that easy. Ernest Jackson has… quite a bit of debt. I fear he might have left the country permanently.”
“…Right,” Shawn replies, his mind running at hyper speed.
“Worst of all: he was supposed to hold a speech this evening. Now, we’ll have to find a replacement on the go. It’s a nightmare.”
“I’ll do it, won’t be an issue.”
“I was actually hoping for an expert on the matte-“
“That’s me! Expert here. One of the leading experts on art, paintings and Fun go.”
“Van Gogh?”
“I’ve heard it both ways.”
“I’m not sure- and anyway, the subject of the speech was supposed to be the presence of the golden ratio in the works of Caspar David Friedrich…“
He offers the man his most winning smile, grasps his shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it, I’m an expert at that too. And I’ll even do it for free. Would be tragic if all these fancy art lovers came for nothing.”
***
He’s still standing in front of the painting, blankly staring, thinking about reality tv, when Despereaux rejoins him.
“I believe I’ve just been given the shovel talk by your friend Guster.”
Shawn’s heart skips three and a half beats. Oh god. Does Gus know? How can he know?? Had his “joking” flirting with Desperaux been too obvious? Should he say “no homo” more often??
“He threatened to murder me, should this all be a scheme to take advantage of your naivety, and get away with stealing those paintings.”
False alarm.
“Oh. Don’t worry about it, Gus is about as dangerous as an adorable little kitten. By the way, where is he?”
“I only escaped his lecture by pointing out a charming young lady, who had been stealing glances at him occasionally.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll do it. The strategy never fails. Anyway! I’ve been getting some really strong psychic vibes, and all I need is you to agree to my plan without asking too many questions.”
“And what might that plan be?”
After explaining, there’s a whole three minutes of silence. Shawn knows, because he’s staring at Despereaux’s fancy wristwatch the entire time.
“That’s a ridiculous plan, with little hopes of success, and high personal risk for all involved, especially for me.”
Shawn ignores the twinge of disappointment blooming in his chest.
“That’s how we roll here at Psych.”
“If anything, anything goes wrong, are you aware how terrible it’ll look for me?”
“So you’re out?” he replies, keeping his voice carefully even. He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.
“Not necessarily. Maybe what I need to commit to this hare-brained scheme of yours is a proper incentive.”
“Other than proving your innocence?”
“Yes. I can think of several easier ways to do that.”
None of them would be as fun though.
“Alright, uhhh…” he begins, digging deep into the pockets of his jacket. “I can offer you three dollars, a penny, and a hot dog coupon. Deal?”
Despereaux rolls his eyes.
“Truly a uniquely tempting offer. However, I will have to decl-“
“AND you can have the five and a half gummy bears I’ve been keeping in my pocket for emergencies.”
“Look, Shawn-“
“What more do you want? Come on. You want me to offer up my body?” He blinks up at Despereaux in faux innocence. “Oh beautiful gentleman, won’t you pwease help this poor maiden? Trust me and I shall promise you true love’s kiss.”
Despereaux lets out a long-suffering sigh, and visibly deflates.
“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall play my part.”
***
“And since my partner Ernest has apparently taken an impromptu vacation,” right on cue, polite laughter fills the room. “I will be presenting you the man who so graciously offered to help out. Doctor Benjamin Miller!”
Doing his best to hide the doubt on his round face, Harland welcomes Shawn on stage.
“Hello party people!” he starts, relishing in the second bout of polite laughter.
“Today I will be talking to you about…” what had the guy said again?
“…the presence of the golden ray cheetoh in the works of Kasper Dave fried Rick.”
He can see Gus shaking his head in the last row. Nailed it.
“Now, I know that with art, most people just love to look at it. They do it all the time. They look and look and look.” He pauses, letting confused silence settle over the audience. “When in reality, they should feel. That’s right. I’m Doctor Ben Miller, and today, I will guide you on your way to feeling art. With your soul.”
Gus facepalms.
“Now everyone, let’s close our eyes. Yes, that means you as well, blonde lady in the third row. Or do you perhaps think it’s stupid? Do you think art is stupid?”
The woman in question closes her eyes, an embarrassed flush creeping across her face.
Good.
He turns around, gives Despereaux the secret sign they had agreed upon. Which might just be a thumbs up, but “secret sign” does sound more spectacular.
“I will know if you are peeking!” he threatens, just to drive the point home. “And I will know that you are therefore soulless and hate art.”
He watches in building excitement as Despereaux steps towards the wall, silent, approaching the paintings with a spring in his step.
“Picture the art in your mind. Picture that golden cheetoh. Reeeally get a mental grasp on it.”
He sends a quick glance at the audience, to make sure they’re all keeping their eyes shut, and won’t notice what is really happening. Contend with the result, his gaze is pulled back to Despereaux, who by now has managed to remove the sad woman painting, notably without tripping the alarm.
So fucking cool.
It’s quite hard to rip his gaze away from the art thief, and focus on the backside of the painting instead, which he’s holding up for him to see.
Like he thought.
Paint.
He gives Despereaux a thumbs up, and a giddy smile, before turning back to his audience, which seems to be getting very restless by now. He’s been silent too long.
“Do you see it? More importantly, do you feel it? In your heart? In your soul?”
Despereaux has hung up the painting exactly as it was, and is slipping away just as quietly as he had appeared.
Shawn is feeling all warm and giddy, just from watching him work. So smooth, calm, handsome…
“Good. You’re all doing really good. You can open your eyes again.” He gives them a warm, reassuring smile. One of his best ones. “I hope you learned something.”
A few of them nod hesitantly.
“I’m sorry, but this is a load of crap. Are you even really a doctor?” an angry looking guy in the front remarks.
“Well, you got me, congrats! I’m not actually Ben Miller. Though he is a highly esteemed professor at Braxton university, as I can assure you. And his method of feeling art in your soul is actually very scientific and has won multiple Grammys.”
The man groans, visibly pained.
“You wanna know who I actually am? Easy, I’ll tell you. Ever heard of the international art thief Pierre Despereaux? That’s me.”
Shocked silence falls over the room, all eyes on him. He smirks.
“Yeah yeah, take me in people. The full package. The great, beautiful, smart Pierre Despereaux.”
Gus glares at him, sporting his trademark “are you fucking kidding me right now” expression.
An undercover cop in the third row gives a discreet hand signal to suspiciously cop shaped janitor near the glass entrance.
Good.
It won’t be long until Lassie and Jules arrive.
“I’ve come here because I’m outraged. Truly, the crime community isn’t what it was during the good old times. What about honour amongst thieves? What about honesty? Friendship?” he fixes the seething man in the first row. Winks at him. “What about love?”
The man explodes, jumping up to get at him, only being held back by the anxious looking blonde at his side.
“You fucking clown! Are you drunk? High? Can’t someone get him off that fucking stage?”
“Calm down my good sir. Don’t you want to know what has roused my anger? I’ll tell you. I’ve been fr-“
That’s the moment Jules and Lassie choose to burst into the room, guns drawn.
“Arrest this man!” the gallery owner shouts, “Arrest Pierre Despereaux!”
Shawn smiles, waves, does a little curtsy.
“Wait, don’t shoot!” Gus shouts, jogging across the room at a rather leisurely pace.
“He doesn’t deserve to die! Even though he’s irresponsible, frustrating, a compulsive liar-“
“Why thank you Gus,” he interrupts. “That’s really kind of you.”
Jules and Lassie lower their guns, annoyed. Harland isn’t as easily deterred.
“He told us to close our eyes, but I peeked. He stole the painting, just like he said he would! In that note you guys mentioned.”
Lassie rolls his eyes. “I might not be into all this art stuff, but even I can tell that the painting is still there.”
“That’s because he switched it,” Harland whispers loudly, leaning closer to Lassie conspiratorially.
“The one on the wall is a fake. He really is one of the most impressive art thieves.”
Shawn nods sagely. “Yeah, I really am very impressive.”
“That man isn’t Pierre Despereaux,” Jules explains, “sorry to disappoint you. That’s Shawn Spencer, department psychic.”
“And I’m having a very strong vision right now.” He gestures at Harland, who looks a little like a startled hamster. “Regarding this man!”
Gus, who has no idea what he is talking about, nods approvingly.
“But first, I will need a conductor to the spirit world!”
He skips over to the painting, takes it from the wall. Immediately, a blaring alarm fills the room. At this point, there’s no one left in the room not glaring at him.
“THE SPIRITS ARE SAYING,” he yells, undeterred by the alarm, “THAT HE KILLED A GUY.”
“WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE SHUT THIS UNGODLY NOISE DOWN?” Lassiter shouts.
Harland fishes a big ring of keys from his pocket, handing it to Lassiter.
“YOU’LL HAVE TO DISABLE THE MAIN ALARM WITH THE BLACK KEY. ”
“YOU!” Lassiter shouts, waving the undercover cop that had been awkwardly looming in their vicinity closer. “GO DO THAT.”
The five of them stand in somewhat awkward “silence”, none of them attempting to say another word until the ungodly blaring stops.
Once it does, the relief is palpable.
Shawn takes the painting still held in his grasp, holds it in front of his face like an oversized carnival mask.
“He dirtied me!” he squeaks in his worst falsetto. “The sad girl in the painting is speaking through him,” Gus explains to the confused looking art gallery owner. Jules and Lassie know exactly what’s going on. They’re wearing their long suffering Shawn is having a vision faces.
Memories flash before his eyes.
The lingering, barely noticeable smell of fresh paint.
Anger flashing across Harlands face, at the mention of his co-owner.
‘My business partner has neglected to show up this evening’
‘I fear he might have left the country permanently’
A speck of blood on the skirting board.
Traces of paint on the backside of the painting, as Despereaux held it up for him to see.
“He spilled honest blood… no, eery blood? Early blood?”
“Earnest,” Gus helps out.
“Yes! That’s it! He spilled earnest blood all over me…”
“The co-owner is called Ernest. Ernest Jackson,” Jules muses. “He was supposed to be here tonight.”
Shawn lowers the painting.
“So what, it’s my fault now that he didn’t show up? Just because this man said so? He seems to be in the habit of lying.”
Shawn clutches his heart in mock hurt. The man isn’t exactly wrong, he does love telling stories for entertainment’s sake. Truth often isn’t very high on his priority list. It definitely ranks below “fun”, “shenanigans” and “the bit”.
“He’s right O’Hara,” Lassie admits begrudgingly. “If we want to arrest this guy, we’re going to need proof.”
“I don’t suppose you wanna tell us where you hid the dead body?” Gus asks, making Harland’s face scrunch up in distaste.
“You will be hearing from my lawyer. This- this defamation cannot stand.”
Right. The dead body. What could this guy have done with it? And the painting? He doubts a guy who had dedicated his life to valuing art would have the stomach to burn it, even if it was covered in a murdered man’s blood, and therefore damning evidence.
Another memory flashes in front of his eyes.
Harland, fishing out his bundle of keys to dismantle the alarm. A house key, one fo the gallery, a car key, a bunch of others… A small grey key with an engraving. ‘Odell storage’.
“I’m having another vision! ‘Odell storage’. Does that mean anything to you, Harland? Because I’m getting some very strong vibes about a storage room you don’t want to be found. Number…. 8….3…. 9? 5? No. Number 834.”
Harland’s little hamster face falls.
“I… I didn’t mean to do it. But he had no respect for the profession. Analysis, art history, inspiring people, touching their hearts – none of it mattered to him. All he was after was money.”
Shawn and Gus high five as discreetly as they can. Which isn’t very.
“He wanted to sell his half of the gallery to some strange mafia man, who would have used it for god knows what. He had to be stopped. You understand that, right? You do?”
Lassie doesn’t. He already has his cuffs out, twisting the man’s arm just a bit too roughly.
“Harland Rudolph, you’re under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“See?” Shawn turns to Gus, victorious. “It wasn’t Despereaux.”
“That’s why you’re here?” Lassie interjects, sounding downright disgusted. “You came here, just on the off chance you’d meet him? Jesus, I know you have a crush on the guy, but have some self-respect.”
Shawn gapes at him, unable to formulate words for once.
“He’s not wrong, you know,” Gus agrees.
“At too, brute?”
“Okay, first of all, it’s Et tu, brute-“
“Yeah yeah, don’t be a tiny little chihuahua barking in a bus full of people.”
Gus rolls his eyes, but thankfully drops the subject.
“You still owe me hot dogs. Let’s get some.”
“For sure. But first, there’s something I still need to do.”
Gus’ side eye tells him that his best friend knows exactly what he’s planning to do. Who he’s hoping to meet.
“And besides, it would be so rude to just leave that lady friend of yours behind. She’s still staring, you know. Must be pretty impressed that you just helped arrest a guy.”
It’s a diversion, and they both know it. Just as they both know it will work anyway.
“I want nothing to do with Guster’s endeavours with the ladies,” Lassiter grumbles, dragging the pale faced Harland away.
“Neither do I,” Juliet says, quick to follow. “But knock yourself out.”
“I’ll see you later. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the hot dogs!” Gus hisses, jabbing his finger at him, before slinking away as well. “Bye bye you magnificent black butterfly!” Shawn calls after him. “Fly! Fly to your freedom!”
Free at last to do as he pleases, he scans the room. No Desperaux. Which makes sense. He doubts the man would want to be spotted by the police, if he could manage to avoid it.
No, Despereaux is too smart for that. He’s probably in one of the upper levels of the building, hiding.
Or perhaps he isn’t hiding, he mentally corrects himself, passing a little statue, around which there is suspiciously little dust. As if someone had messed with the display very recently. He quickens his steps.
Once he has found his way to the upper floors, it’s not too hard to pick the right room from the rows of offices. Only one of them has the door left open just a crack, like an invitation.
An invitation he takes, stepping into the room confidently. There he is, Pierre Despereaux, a small bag slung across his broad back, in the process of climbing out the window. At the noise, he turns around, beaming brightly at him.
“Shawn! Such a joy you found your way here in time. It would have been a shame not to say goodbye, especially after you so graciously helped clear my name.”
Shawn glowers at him. “You used me. You used me as a distraction to steal some statue.”
Despereaux’s smile turns apologetic.
“You weren’t supposed to be here, but I admit I couldn’t resist the temptation when I saw you with that guard. Don’t forget it’s you who insisted on that little plan of yours.”
“My plan was great! It worked, we got the guy, proved it wasn’t you. I never talked about stealing any statues though. I think I’d probably remember that.”
“He planned to frame me for one of his crimes. I believe it’s only fair he will be framed for one of mine. Kind of… karmic, don’t you think?”
It kind of is. Shawn is tempted to just let it go. The guy was arrested for murder, would one small statue really make much of a difference? Probably not. Still…
He sighs, stands up a little straighter. “I can’t let you take it.”
Despereaux still looks very amused, but he removes his gloved hand from the open window nonetheless, taking a careful step towards Shawn.
“And how, pray tell, to you plan to stop me?”
Shawn subtly slips his hand into his pocket, hoping to retrieve his phone without the art thief noticing. No such luck, because Despereaux reaches into his own pocket, retrieving Shawn’s phone. “Looking for something?”
“Hey! When were you gonna return that??”
“In a day or two, ideally via the trusted services of some postal delivery worker.”
Despite the situation, Despereaux’s smooth voice has him reeling. He has no doubt that that had actually been the plan. And it would have been so goddamn cool.
“Doesn’t matter if you have my phone. I can still snitch on you by screaming really loudly.”
Despereaux sighs, expression turning seriously regretful now.
He reaches for his gun.
Shawn’s heart skips a beat.
“Be a dear and do exactly as I say, or I will be forced to shoot you.”
“Will you though? Let’s be honest here, you totally won’t.”
Nonetheless, he steps away from the door, letting it fall shut behind him.
“Have you already forgotten our little encounter at that pier? I was going to shoot you then, and I will now, if you force me to.”
There’s something intense in Despereaux’s eyes now, something dark and dangerous. The same something he had spotted during their encounter in the hotel room, that had sent him stumbling over his own words in nervous excitement.
“You said your gun was empty.”
Shawn’s mouth feels too dry.
“I lied to you, Shawn. Guster was right, warning you. I’m a criminal, it’s what I do.”
“Really? Then how come Lassie confirmed that there really were no bullets found with your gun?”
He hadn’t wanted to check. He had wanted so very badly to just believe the man, hadn’t even wanted to know the truth, just in case he was lying.
But if you take your best friend to meet a career criminal who has held you at gunpoint before, you want to make very sure.
“Alright, I admit my gun really was empty back then - believe me, it isn’t now. Don’t make me do this, Shawn.”
He isn’t scared, not really. Even so, his palms are all sweaty, and his heart is racing. He’s hoping very much that Despereaux isn’t as perceptive as Shawn is.
“Dude, seriously? You want me to think you’d shoot me over some dumb statue? Come on, man. We both know you won’t. You bought me apple juice. You adore me.”
The tense silence stretches, like a rubber band pulled just a bit too far, about to snap. Despereaux’s eyes are boring into his, daring him to flinch first. Shawn holds his gaze. Winks.
With a long-suffering sigh, Despereaux lowers the gun.
“I was quite hoping you didn’t know that. Still, face it Shawn. You have no way of stopping me.”
“Auh conter!”
It’s so fun, watching the man’s face twist in displeasure.
“It’s Au contraire, and what could you possibly do? Fight me?”
“Wow, Despy, you figured it out! I will stop you with my awesome kung fu moves. If you give up now, I won’t kick your ass.”
Despereaux rolls his eyes, but slips into a fighting stance nonetheless. Most likely humouring him.
Which is disconcerting, because Shawn had quite hoped he was too gentlemanly to know anything about fights.
Well, too late to back out now.
Squinting his eyes to create maximum focus, he swings his fist at Despereaux. A wild hook, unpredictable, filled to the brim with explosive strength.
Except maybe not that unpredictable. And maybe not that strong either, because Despereaux easily catches his fist, and uses the leverage, as well as his own body weight, to shove him against the door.
He tries wriggling free, not ready to give up so easily. With his arm twisted behind him, and the hard line of Despereaux’s body pressed firmly against him, there’s not much he can do though.
“Have you had enough, Shawn?” Desperaux murmurs into his ear, voice soft and mocking.
“Not nearly. I haven’t even launched my ultimate special attack.”
Despereaux chuckles airily behind him, breath warm on his neck, eliciting goosebumps.
“Well, trapped like this, I hardly see how you could.”
Annoyingly enough, he’s correct. But maybe that’s not too bad either, because he definitely lied about having impressive moves other than the one he already failed with. And he’d hate getting called out for that.
“That’s a really great point.”
“Then surrender,” Despereaux drawls, “Be good.”
“Hah, gay,” Shawn wheezes, trying and failing very hard not to be affected.
“Oh?” Despereaux chuckles, yanking him away from the wall, turning him around to face him.
“Interesting you should say that. I vividly remember you offering me a kiss. Yet me restraining you is what you choose to call ‘gay’?“
Now he really can’t help the heat creeping up his face. He’d hoped that Despereaux had forgotten about that particular blunder.
“Perhaps that’s less your assessment of the situation, and more an expression of your own desires, hm?”
God damn it, does he have to tease him like this? It’s doing things to him. He does his best to think of something else.
List of good snacks: ice cream, chips, hot dogs, pizza, smoothies, chocolate…
“You know me, I’m a jokester. A goofy guy. A funny little lad. If you want the promised gummy worms though, they’re in my left pocket.”
His face is on fire, as he pointedly does not stare into Despereaux intense blue eyes. Not that his mocking smile is any better.
Staring at his lips seems dangerous, so he tries staring at the wall behind him instead.
Having him so close does nothing to calm his hammering heart. He wonders vaguely if Despereaux can hear it too.
He shouldn’t have said the kiss thing. In fact, he has no idea why he did, it hadn’t even been funny. Of course Despereaux would remember, of course he’d be weirded out by it.
Desperaux’s hand is warm on his face, tilting his chin up.
“Don’t worry, it was quite the convincing argument.”
That’s the moment the ever-racing thoughts of Shawn Spencer come to a grinding halt.
Convincing argument.
He mentally rewinds the last few seconds, only now noticing that the man’s self-satisfied smirk might not have been as taunting as his panic had led him to believe.
Despereaux is looking at his lips.
Convincing argument.
Is that a slight blush on his face?
“If you’re planning on saying sike, now would be a great moment-“
Despereaux’s lips are on his, cutting him off. Warm and confident, tasting of whiskey and some spice he can’t name.
Shawn melts completely.
Any thoughts of calling for Lassie and Jules immediately leave his mind, replaced by much less innocent plans. Quite suddenly, his world narrows down to the present, to warm lips on his, hands in his hair.
His own hands seem to have developed a mind of their own, slipping under Despereaux’s dress jacket, twisting in the smooth fabric of his very expensive shirt to pull him closer.
Much too soon, Despereaux disentangles himself from him with an apologetic murmur.
Closing in for one last peck.
By the time Shawn manages to regain a shaky grasp on his wits, Despereaux is already halfway out the window, his grappling hook gun in hand, giving him a big, devilishly handsome grin.
“It was wonderful to see you, but I really must go. Goodbye Shawn, until we meet again.”
Shawn is left alone in the room, a lot of confusing emotions whirling inside of him, like a merry go round of ‘what the fuck just happened’?
It’s confusing, but in a good way.
A very good way.
Despereaux just kissed him.
He concentrates on the feeling of his sweaty palms pressing against the door at his back, smooth, cool wood.
There’s something in his pocket. His phone?
It’s not the familiar shape of his phone that his fingers grasp, when he slips them inside his pocket, curious.
No, it’s something else.
He pulls the strange object out.
Night vision goggles.
Oh right, he remembers now. ‘We’ll also accept one of your super cool batman gadgets as payment.’
Shawn thinks that perhaps it’s simply impossible not to be in love with Despereaux.