Included in the 'Moments' Series with the permission (and insistence) of MusicalLuna.

Yes I'm making this a 'Moments'. My Muse saw the glove of challenge hit the ground and responded with an overly enthusiastic and frightening 'BRING IT ON!'

Then proceeded to pummel me with various ideas on how to injure Shawn (and possibly others along with him) using very odd and random things.

No idea how long this will last. Prolly a while.

Disclaimer:

If I owned Psych we'd see a lot more of this on the show.

Since we don't you can make the obvious leap of logic that applies.

At least I hope you can.

Also, all the technical names and descriptions were snurched from the Williams-Sonoma website. If you need a visual of what is being talked about go there and type it in exactly as I have it.

Though I take no responsibility for any disturbing mental images this conjures for you. That's your own darn fault.

And for the record: I blame you, Jenn. ;D

"Gus? Are you there? Over."

"Yes, Shawn," came the annoyed reply. "I am still here. Just like I was here three minutes ago."

"I'm just checking," Shawn defended himself as he twisted his head to peek around the edge of the dumpster he was hiding behind. "If a crazy psycho snuck up on you and dragged you away you'd appreciate my vigilance. Over."

"Vigilance is not the word you want. That implies an extra amount of care and watchfulness. You just like using the walkie-talkies you bought. Which weren't in the budget for this month, by the way."

Shawn opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off with, "And stop saying 'over'."

Shawn didn't want to give away his position—well, any more than he might by constantly talking over his radio. So instead of lifting his hand to gesture at his best friend who was behind the crates on the opposite side of the loading docks, he settled for sticking his tongue out at the small radio.

He didn't need to add anything verbally. Despite not being able to see it, Gus was no doubt fully aware of the action and rolling his eyes in response.

A good three minutes passed in silence—Shawn was timing it now that Gus had mentioned the number—and then he lifted his radio to taunt his partner.

He never got the chance.

The person who was managing the silence that Shawn was incapable of brought their arm down in a sharp strike, the deadly implement in their hand impacting the crown of his head with a crack that would have sounded painful—if Shawn had remained conscious long enough to hear it, that is.

Dropping the weapon to the ground, the assailant grabbed Shawn's legs and began dragging him across the pavement and to the side entrance that had been propped open.

Some psychic he was, the darkly-clothed figure mused. He hadn't even been expecting the attack.

Ah well. It would be his last mistake.

Within minutes there was no sign that the psychic had ever chosen this for a vantage point, except for the small, spiked tool that now lay on the ground.

o.o

Shawn came to under the harsh glare of a very bright spotlight. Having a headache from the blow to the head that had landed him here didn't make that any easier so he opted to keep his eyes closed for the moment. If his brain decided at some point that it wasn't going to continue the attempt to escape his skull angry-Hulk style then he'd reconsider.

For now he focused on his other senses.

He could hear someone moving around, but nothing that indicated very specifically what they were doing. Shifting boxes around maybe . . .

Suddenly footsteps approached and the light was blocked.

Shawn dared to squint and see if it was safe to try for more.

When he saw the face that was currently between him and the light he couldn't help his eyes opening wider.

Or blinking a few times.

"Mrs. Salazar?"

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" she hissed, the light haloing her fluffy, red hair.

Instead of angelic though, it leaned a little more towards demonic. Especially with the furious expression twisting her formerly pretty features.

When he'd first spotted her at the Home and Garden Show, he'd immediately classified her as a petite stay-at-home PTA President.

He'd been right, too.

She didn't have a job that took her out of the home. As the area Charming Coordinator for Cute Culinary Connections she provided admirably for her family without leaving her house—except for the occasional trade show.

She did the training sessions for the Cute Caterers as well as her own sales parties in her own adorably decorated living room and spotless, yet functional kitchen.

Her kids were also perfect little angels, helping her out and still maintaining perfect grades.

She was June Cleaver reincarnated.

And he'd never even suspected she might be involved in the shady dealings that had already resulted in the disappearance of one Cute Caterer.

While his thoughts had wandered she'd been doing something and he now realized that maybe he should be paying more attention.

When she grabbed his hands—which had been tied together with twine of some kind—and lifted them up he was concerned, but not overly alarmed yet.

Then her free hand brought what looked like a small blow torch into view, the blue flame already hissing.

"WHAT THE HECK IS THAT FOR?" he demanded and tried to pull away. He felt an edge and realized he was on a table or counter of some kind. Still, flame versus floor? No contest.

She jerked him back and managed to keep him from falling off, then brought the flame closer to his hands.

"It's a crème brûlée torch," she said as she continued to fight him for control of his hands.

"Crème brûlée?" he repeated stupidly.

"An irresistible restaurant treat," she explained, thankfully pausing in her attempts to bring the flame in excruciating contact with his fingers. "It hides a creamy custard under a crackly crust. Our set provides everything you need to make this luscious dessert at home. It includes four French Apilco porcelain ramekins; a professional culinary torch for quickly caramelizing the sugar on top, with adjustable, antiflare flame and safety lock. Butane fuel is not included. The torch also caramelizes sugar on fruit tarts and meringues and is handy for roasting bell peppers, melting cheese on onion soup and browning gratins. This set is an excellent gift for anyone who enjoys dessert making and entertaining."

Pure shock kept Shawn from interrupting her spiel, complete with perky grin and cheery voice.

She saw his expression and seemed to suddenly realize what was going on.

With a frown she adjusted her grip so his arm was pinned under hers and then resumed her insane ministrations.

Which was his next question.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he fought her. She had a slight advantage leverage-wise, but he wasn't about to give up.

Although, he had to admit it a was a blow to his ego how badly he was doing. What had made her so very strong? She was tiny for heaven's sake.

"I'm trying to get rid of your fingertips. It'll delay identification for a little while, I hope. At least it does on Law and Order."

His jaw worked up and down in surprise as he considered the possibility that she was truly and completely insane.

Scratch that. Not a possibility, a certainty.

"What about my teeth? They'll still be able to ID me. And you're supposed to wait until AFTER I'm dead." He realized that he wasn't helping himself and shook his head. "Not that you'll get a chance to finish. I've got backup outside. They'll be in here any minute."

"I have an olive-wood lobster mallet and stainless steel crab picks for your teeth. Not the intended use by a long shot, but they'll do well enough for my purposes." She grinned again. "And we're having a sale so we have plenty in stock!" She snarled and jerked at his arm. "Stop twitching! If you hadn't poked your nose where it didn't belong I wouldn't be doing this at all. But before you go I'm going to make you regret your mistake. And it's already been ten minutes. Any backup you might have is not coming for you."

A good point, he decided. And as embarrassing as it was going to be to admit, he was going to need help.

So he did the only thing he could think of in a situation this desperate.

He screamed like a little girl.

o.o

When he hadn't heard from Shawn in a good fifteen minutes, Gus was more relived than alarmed.

It was entirely likely that he was sulking and Gus would have to pay for it later—in the form of Kool-aid in his shampoo probably—but at the moment it meant blessed silence and that was good enough for him.

Until of course the scream of terror shattered that into little tiny shards.

It worried him, in the back of his mind where it wouldn't impede the thoughts necessary to stay alive right now, that since starting this job with his best friend he'd gained the ability to identify Shawn's scream so easily.

He was up and running towards the building and Shawn's hiding spot, his finger already pressing the speed dial for Juliet on his cell phone.

He came to a stop next to the dumpster and stared at the empty ground where Shawn was supposed to be crouching.

As Juliet picked up and he began to explain the situation he noticed that something had been left behind.

Crouching down, he frowned at the item.

What did a reversible meat tenderizer have to do with a woman's disappearance three days ago and Shawn's disappearance now?

A bad feeling took root in Gus' stomach as he gazed at the little food prep device.

"Juliet?" Gus said, interrupting a question she was asking.

"Yeah?"

"Bring backup. And use the sirens."

On the other end of the phone, the junior detective paled.

"We're on our way," she promised.

"What is it?" Lassiter asked as he glanced over at his partner.

"Drive faster," was all she said, but the look on her face and the tone of her voice was enough.

The lights and sirens went on as the pedal hit the floor.

o.o

Gus wasn't keen on running into a room with an armed psychopath that was making Shawn scream in fear, but he was even less keen on waiting for the cavalry only to find that in the meantime Shawn had been killed in some horrible manner.

So he figured that he could be a useful distraction for a few minutes.

Hopefully it would be enough.

But he wasn't completely stupid.

A length of abandoned pipe by the dumpster now providing him with a semblance of protection, he edged towards the door and slowly inched it open.

There was nothing immediately visible besides a lot of boxes with an adorable, grinning, anime-style cat in a chef's hat and apron, wielding a skillet and rolling pin, adorning the sides.

There was a path between the boxes though, and somewhere further in was a light.

Gus resettled his grip on the pipe and made his way inside as stealthily as he knew how.

He could hear the low murmur of someone talking and a quiet hissing sound that made him frown.

It ended abruptly with a crash as something heavy hit the ground, taking several metal things with it.

He paused for a moment, then kept going, his heart rate and blood pressure rising with every step.

He never should have let Shawn talk him into this.

Why had he let Shawn talk him into this?

Just because Shawn threatened to go alone . . .

He wouldn't next time, he lied to himself. Never again.

"You stupid idiot!" a vaguely familiar voice snapped, followed by a thump and a grunt of pain. "Why did you do that?"

The sounds of a struggle followed, then there was a moment of silence. A muffled sort of murmuring, almost like someone trying to talk with their mouth full, followed and then there was another thump and grunt.

"You've bent it! Now I can't use it and I'm going to lose my Careful Caregiver award this month!"

A third thump and grunt sounded. Gus had a suspicion that it was a foot connecting with some ribs and/or abdomen and the expression of pain that naturally followed such an event.

He was almost there. Hopefully Juliet and Lassiter were, too.

Pausing at the last stack of boxes he looked around to get a feel for the area.

Unless he was mistaken, this was the kitchen area where they filmed their instructional videos for the tools and gadgets they sold to happy homemakers across the globe.

Shawn had been right about it being someone on the inside.

But who?

A frustrated sigh, and then the voice said, "Well, we'll just have to do this the messy way. But you've left me no choice."

He was about to find out.

Gripping the pipe, he lifted it batter-style and made his run, yelling at the top of his lungs as he rounded the boxes—and stopped cold.

Shawn was on the floor on the far side of the central island surrounded by several pots and pans, a panicked expression on his face, a dishcloth with little rubber duckies embroidered on it sticking out of his mouth, his hands bound with some sort of twine—oh and a petite red-headed woman straddling his waist, a very sharp chef's knife raised high over her head in a two-handed grip, poised to plunge it into Shawn's heart.

He wasn't sure which was more surprising, the fact that he'd been right about not waiting or the apron that the homemaker/killer wore that said 'Baked with Love' written in silk-screened steam rising from heart-shaped loaves of bread.

Both eyes had come around to him when he yelled and now all three of them sat frozen in expectation.

Shawn was the first to recover, taking the opportunity presented to twist his body and throw his would-be murderer off.

She hit the island's base and cracked her head, sending her to the ground in a loose-limbed slump, obviously dazed if the soft moan meant anything.

Scrambling to his knees and hands he crawled away as quickly as he could from her, pausing to remove the gag only when he was well out of her reach.

"Shawn?" Gus asked, lowering the pipe—but only slightly. "What the heck happened here?"

"She's insane!" Shawn said as he pushed to his feet. "First she tried to burn my fingertips off with a blow torch and then she was talking about using a lobster mallet and crab picks on my Colgate smile WHILE I'M STILL ALIVE-"

"WHAT?" Gus demanded, eying the still incoherent woman.

"I'm not kidding, She is NUTS. Grab one of those knives and cut me free, will you?"

Gus did as asked, but he only let go of the pipe with one hand and his eyes stayed mostly on Shawn's attacker.

"So she's the one that is behind the disappearance of Brenda Yarborough?"

"Oh yeah. I think that's a safe guess," Shawn said darkly as he massaged his wrists where the twine had cut into them.

"Why?" Gus asked.

"I didn't get that far," Shawn said dryly. "I was still working on the part where she was trying to kill me."

The sound of sirens drew the attention of both men towards the open back door and the parking lot.

"You called Jules and Lassie?" Shawn asked. "Sweet. We can wrap this case up tonight and go get something to eat. How does Outback sound?"

"Sounds delicious, especially if you're paying."

"Sure," Shawn said, feeling generous in his new lease on life. "I just solved a case. I'm good for it."

"I know you are. That and rent."

"Yeah, let's talk about that later, shall we?" Shawn said. "You want to go fetch the good detectives while I prepare for my big show?"

"You sure you're okay?" Gus asked. "I mean, she did take you down once. And you only have what? Eight inches and forty pounds on her?"

Shawn glared and snagged the pipe from Gus.

"She had the element of surprise. Her size makes her an ideal ninja. It's very easy to be quiet when you're tiny."

"Uh huh," Gus said in patent doubt. "Try not to get hurt any more while I'm gone?"

A last glare and Gus left to go show the cops the way in.

Shawn looked around for something that might hint at motive in the mean time.

A stack of papers on the counter looked promising and he circled around his downed attacker and made his way there.

Setting the pipe down, though still within easy reach, he gave Salazar one last look, then picked up the papers and began shuffling through them.

"Bingo," he said softly as he found the letter of complaint from one Brenda Yarborough, Cute Caterer, to one Cassandra Salazar, Charming Coordinator.

It seemed that money was going missing and Brenda believed Cassandra should investigate.

Shawn grimaced. Brenda had paid the price for her attention to detail.

The only mystery he hadn't solved was where Brenda was now, but he'd leave that to Lassie to wrestle out of her.

Speaking of which, he thought and started to turn—only to be blinded once again by a blow to the head.

This one didn't knock him out, though it did send him to the ground and make him whimper at the way it reawakened the previous headache.

He rolled over instinctively and just missed being brained by a marble rolling pin that cracked into the floor next to his head and sent ceramic chips from the tiles to pepper his skin.

"Cassandra, stop!" Shawn yelled, rolling over again as the marble bludgeon made another attempt at crushing his skull.

"I have to shut you up!" she hissed. "I can't have you telling them it was me. I'd lose my chance at the Congeniality Certificate this year and I. Won't. Let. That. HAPPEN!" she screamed, punctuating each word with another swing at Shawn as he dodged and ducked, trying to regain his feet and/or the upper hand.

Neither of them heard the footsteps or saw the arrival of the armed police officers, led by one psychic assistant and two detectives, until Lassiter made his presence unmistakably known.

"FREEZE!"

Shawn did as ordered without even thinking about it, but Cassandra was so surprised that she spun around to see what was happening—and just managed a lucky glancing blow that caught Shawn at the temple and sent him back down and out for the count once again.

o.o

"Okay, was there some part of OW that you didn't understand?"

"Sorry, Shawn," the EMT said without an ounce of sincerity. He was far too used to dealing with the psychic to think anything of the constant whining and complaining. Everyone dealt with stress and shock in different ways and this was just Shawn's way.

"Yeah, you sound it," Shawn said with a glare.

"Shawn?"

He looked up from contemplating his shoes while stoically enduring the tender mercies—snort, yeah right—of the EMT and couldn't help a small smile at the sight of Juliet approaching.

"Jules! Come! Save me from this heartless son of a-OW!"

"This is gonna sting," the EMT said blandly—and belatedly—as he swabbed an alcohol pad over the small split caused by that final felling blow.

Shawn shot him one last sidelong look as the butterfly bandage was patted into place, then stood as soon as his tormentor turned to dispose of the plastic trappings.

"You need my statement, right?" he asked, his eyes quite clearly begging her to say yes.

Juliet cast a look at the EMT who waved dismissively. Shawn would survive, especially since he'd managed to avoid a concussion despite the repeated attempts to give him one this night.

"Yes," she said with a nod as she refocused on Shawn. "We will. But first, Lassiter would like to have a word with you."

Shawn gave a sound that was dismayed yet resigned and bore a close resemblance to a whimper.

"Please can we not go with that idea? My head hurts already and I don't think yelling at me is going to help."

"No yelling. Gus was gracious enough to take that for you. He just needs a few details cleared up."

Shawn sighed. "Okay." He followed her lead as they headed over to the red sedan where Lassiter and Gus were talking.

"So Gus and I were going to go celebrate solving the case—and surviving the night—at Outback. Wanna come?"

Juliet replied with, "I think I'm going to be a little busy here. Not all of us get to solve a case and hand off the clean up and paperwork to someone else." But she was smiling when she said it so Shawn knew she wasn't bitter.

"Raincheck? Gus is going out of town next week for some grand meeting of the pharmaceutical geek minds in his company."

"Yeah, I don't know about that."

Shawn employed his patented pout, but wasn't at all surprised when it failed to get an immediate concession. Juliet had long ago proven to be immune to that normally foolproof tactic.

"We'll see," she said and he resisted the urge to grin.

It wasn't a no and he was going to take that as the victory it was.

Don't ask where this came from. Just . . . don't ask.

"It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice." - Unknown

With that in mind, please be nice and review! :D