Aria (a psych fanfiction)

Chapter 15

ARIA HAS 13 HOURS LEFT TO LIVE

Shawn was awakened by a voice, a low, warm, smooth voice that was accompanied by the warm, familiar scent of...Is that pizza?He opened his eyes, only to be blinded by a bright white light, against which he could just barely make out a silhouette - the owner of the voice.

"Shawn," the voice said gently. "Shaaaaawn."

Shawn blinked again, confused. "Is this heaven?" he asked dazedly, a goofy grin on his face as he inhaled the delicious, cheesy scent.

A completely-conscious Gus clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Shawn!"

"Oh." The bright light and pizza-y aroma vanished as soon as he recognized the voice. He shook his head a few times, trying to rid himself of the dizziness. "Dude, did I - " He paused to yawn. "Did I fall asleep? What did I miss?"

"Nothing. The flower shop lead was a bust, so we came back. We're pulled over by the Psych office now. Where to next?"

Shawn had been checking his watch like crazy all day and night - now it was around midnight, and he was exhausted. Gus was even more visibly tired, not having had the luxury of sleeping on the way back to Santa Barbara, and Shawn briefly considered calling it a night so that they could both grab some sleep.

But that called for time. And if there was one thing they were definitely short on, it was time.

"Um...can we eat while we think about our next move?"

ARIA HAS 12 HOURS TO LIVE

The pizza had just arrived at the Psych office when they got the call. Shawn didn't even check the caller ID before picking up, putting the call on speaker phone. "Hello?"

"Your time's half gone," the voice whispered.

"I want a clue."

"That wasn't part of our agreement, Shawn."

"Yeah, well, it is now. Like you said, I don't have time to argue, okay? Just one clue."

The man chuckled. "My, my, my, you are persistent, Mr. Spencer. I must say, I really am impressed. Your flower shop theory? Brilliant. Too bad it led to nowhere...all that time wasted." He tsked. "Such a shame."

Shawn and Gus stared at each other. Gus was the first to speak. "How did you - "

"I'm every bit as persistent as you are, Mr. Guster. After all, I hardly would have followed little bird across the country if I wasn't dedicated to my work."

"A clue," Shawn interrupted.

"Oh, Shawn, you do make me laugh." He sighed. "Well, I must go attend to my guest - I'm afraid she might have gone and concussed herself, and it wouldn't do to just let her die. What would be the fun in that. I hope you enjoy the pizza. My favorite part has always been the crust, personally."

"You - " But he'd already hung up. Shawn's eyes lit up suddenly. "The pizza crust!"

They destroyed the pizza, ripping open the crust of each slice.

"Here!" Gus waved the little piece of paper triumphantly. They bent their heads over it, reading silently.

To make it in any industry,

You have to make the grade.

Dear little bird, she longs to sing

On a New York, Broadway stage

But the pay is often better

In the town where movies are made

"What kind of a rhyme is that? Grade, stage, made?"