- paper clips -

"Gus, I'm shocked. You actually think I'd do something like that?"

"Yes, Shawn, I happen to think you're perfectly capable of chaining all my paper clips together and stringing them across the ceiling like banners." Gus's hand shot up to point at the ceiling, emphasizing his accusation.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, casually staring up at the ceiling of the Psych office, which was adorned with crisscrossing threads of large and small silver paper clips.

"Dude, you have a LOT of paper clips."

Shooting Shawn a quick glare, Gus turned and headed into the storage room to hunt down a ladder.

"Aw, don't be mad, Gus. Paper clips are like little socialites. They like being chained together. If you insist on tearing them apart they're going to get very depressed."

"Paper clips don't get depressed, Shawn!" Gus called back, his voice muffled.

"Of course they do." Shawn picked up a rubber ball that had been laying on his desk and started tossing it up in the air. "Like in that movie where the kids collected paper clips and put 'em in a train."

"You mean Paper Clips?"

"That's what I said. They collected paper clips and–"

"No, I mean the movie, it was called Paper Clips."

"Oh, yeah, that one. Those paper clips were pretty depressed if you asked me. Would you like to be shipped around the world and then stuffed in a rail car? I wouldn't."

There was a loud crash from the storage room, followed by a smaller thud and then a nice colouring of swear words. Soon after, Gus appeared in the doorway, struggling to maneuver the seven-foot ladder through the six-and-a-half-foot door frame. After a couple minutes of twisting and turning, Gus finally got the ladder through the opening. He half-carried, half-dragged it over to the middle of the office, then opened it up. Leaning against it to catch his breath, Gus said, "I'm pretty sure…..the kids were more…..depressed than…..the paper clips. Seeing as the kids were the ones learning about the Holocaust."

Shawn threw the rubber ball into the air again, nodding in agreement with Gus, but missed the ball coming down and it bounced across the floor. Not bothering to retrieve it, Shawn stood up and walked over to Gus, who was already halfway up the ladder.

"Gus, let me do that."

"No," Gus said, climbing further until he reached the top.

"You don't trust me."

"Why should I trust you, Shawn? What have you ever done to earn my trust?" Gus stretched upwards, trying to grasp onto a string of paper clips.

Shawn was taken aback. "Well, umm….let's see, I…..there was that time when…..with the dinosaur and the….."

"Exactly." Gus stretched again. "Ah-ha!" Gus cried as his fingers folded around a shiny chain. He tugged, hoping to pull the chain free from its attachment to the walls on either end.

"I wouldn't do that." Shawn stepped back as Gus continued tugging.

"Why not? Afraid I'll ruin the mood? Well, guess what, Shawn, I don't care. I'm taking my paper clips and I'm going back to my real job where people respect me and don't hang my personal property from the ceiling!" He gave one final tug and the entire web of paper clips detached from the ceiling, and somehow from themselves. They rained down like little silver hail, pelting desks and lockers and the occasional pharmaceutical rep.

When the storm finally ceased, Gus looked up to see Shawn standing at the back of the room, trying not to smirk. Gus started forward across the paper clip-covered floor, a murderous look on his face, when a familiar female voice cut through the room.

"Is this a bad time?"

Gus's head whipped around to the main entrance. Shawn took a few steps forward, dusting a couple errant paper clips off his head. "Jules?"