Chapter Text
Shawn knew three things immediately upon entering the Santa Barbara Police Department—okay, he knew a lot more than three things, but those three things seemed the most significant. One, Lassiter was furious. This wasn't uncommon, but it did tend to bring down the mood a little. He didn't tolerate nearly as many jokes when he was angry. Two, whatever crime had been committed, it was serious. Officers bustled around the station or typed furiously at their desks. McNab whispered something to Lassiter, who responded by looking even more infuriated. Three, and perhaps most importantly, Juliet had cut her own hair.
“Jules!” he called out, making his way to her desk.
She looked up from the files she’d been frantically flipping through, and offered a half-smile. “Hi, Shawn.” Not in the mood for jokes either, then. He'd have to tone it down.
He couldn't pass the opportunity by, however. “Did you use those colorful safety scissors from sixth grade, or did you get mad at your stylist and take matters into your own hands?”
“Sixth?” Gus asked. “Shawn, we haven't used those scissors since first grade.”
“Really? I distinctly remember them handing some out to me in middle school.”
“That's probably because you're a hazard.”
“Am not!”
“I used adult scissors, thank you for asking,” Juliet said before they could start arguing. “Look, guys, this isn't a good time, and unless you've been invited to the case I need to get back to my work.”
Shawn frowned. “That's not very friendly. Is this because I joked about your haircut?”
“No.” She paused. “A little. But this case might be international, and everyone's a little on edge. We can't mess this up, and that means no messing around.”
“I didn't say your haircut was bad. It's nice, actually. Kind of badass, like the cool best friend of a female protagonist that everyone likes way more than the main character because they're hotter and way more awesome.” This got a small smile. “And as for the case, I’m sensing you already have a suspect in mind, but they're not giving you anything. Not because they don't speak English, even if they're from another country. I’m getting Canada? England? And since I know so much about this already, I’ll go help with the interrogation.”
Juliet stared, clearly conflicted between feeling flattered by his compliment, impressed by his deduction, and irritated that he was still talking to her about all of this when she had work to do.
The mix of emotions unsettled Gus. “Good luck with that work, Juliet,” he said before pulling Shawn away.
“Dude! Interrogation’s that way!”
“We’re not going to the interrogation, Shawn. You’re going to talk to the Chief, and if she doesn't invite us to the case, I’m going home. The Spelling Bee pre show is on, and I’m missing it for this.”
“Spelling Bee pre show? Gus, that’s the saddest thing I've ever heard. You need to go outside more.” Still, it would make things much easier to gain Vick’s approval before joining rather than after, so he followed his friend’s advice and entered her office.
“Chief, is the suspect British or Canadian? Or Australian. Or is it Austrian? I’m always getting those two mixed up.”
“Mr. Spencer, did I call you in today?” she asked, not even making eye contact as she dialed a number on the phone.
“Yes. Mentally. I felt strong energies coming from your mind, saying ‘Please, Shawn! Help us! We can't do this without you!’”
“No, you didn't,” Gus supplied helpfully. “So we’ll be leaving now, if that's alright.”
“Gus!” Shawn complained.
The Chief sighed. “I can't believe I’m saying this, but since you're here, I'm going to bring you on the case.”
“Yes! Thank you, Chief. Suck it, Gus.”
“You suck it.”
“This is a big case, and a serious one,” Chief Vick said. “We don't need drama today, just some calm, precise visions. Can you handle that?”
“I’m insulted by the implication that I couldn't,” Shawn said.
“That's because you can't,” Gus said.
“Gus, we’re supposed to be a team!”
“You stopped me from watching my pre show,” he retorted.
“Teamwork aside,” the Chief redirected, holding out a file, “the case is a homicide. More specifically, four homicides. The bodies were found on the beach this morning wearing some kind of protective suits. They have ID, but they’re not in English. We haven't identified the language, so it might be some kind of code. Our suspects were found standing over the bodies, and they clearly know something, but they’re not very open. See if you can get anything from them.”
Shawn saluted. “Your wish is my command.” He still didn’t know if they were Canadian, Australian, Austrian, Britainian, New Zealandian, or something else he hadn’t thought of yet, and that was really bugging him. He supposed the murder investigation was a tad more important, however. He'd find out where they were from anyway when he reached the interrogation room.
Like usual, he made no attempts to ask permission, knock, or otherwise show any kind of respect before barging in. Had he been the kind of person to care more about tradition, Lassiter’s glare might have frozen him in his tracks. But that only affected Gus, so he confidently approached the table.
He knew right away the suspects hadn't done it. They all appeared to be dressed in costumes, and no one who wasn't truly stupid would commit murder while looking like they'd just walked out of a convention. Unless they were at a convention, in which case it would be a little less stupid. But they weren't, and they were far too calm about the ordeal to have just committed four murders. In a group of four killers, one was bound to panic and confess or give something away. Instead, the purple flight attendant leaned back in her chair irritatedly, the fancy princess-looking lady sat still with no expression, a tall man with celery pinned to his coat practically exuded sarcasm, and a short teenager with a star-shaped pin attached to his shirt only crossed his arms. They weren't guilty, or even particularly concerned. They were annoyed.
“I am sensing,” he announced loudly, finger to his temple, “that you’re feeling bothered. You're being held against your will by this grumpy, though attractive, detective here because he believes you've committed these murders. But you haven't, have you?”
“Finally, a voice of reason,” Purple remarked. Austrian, then. Australian? One of those.
“Indeed we haven't,” said Celery. British. English, probably, though accents weren't Shawn’s strong suit. “I was just telling the good detective here that-”
“Spencer, what are you doing here?” Lassiter growled. Celery rolled his eyes and sighed.
Shawn flashed what he hoped was an award-winning smile. “The Chief welcomed me to this case with open arms. And I gladly accepted, because what better way is there to spend my time than with my dearly beloved Lassie?” He placed his hands on the detective’s shoulders. They were immediately flung off aggressively.
“I almost had him before you interrupted!” Lassiter said.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Purple said.
“Come now, Tegan, let's not aggravate him,” Celery told Purple, now known to be Tegan.
“Doctor! What happened to not using our real names?”
Celery thought for a moment. “Yes, well, sorry. Though you didn’t hesitate to use my name either.”
“Please,” she huffed. “It’s not like anyone’ll believe you’re just called ‘The Doctor.’”
“Your name is the Doctor?” Shawn said. “I’m so jealous. That’s like a superhero title.”
“Someone believes it,” said Princess. Another British accent. English? He really had to get better at this.
“There’s a first for everything,” said Star Boy. He sounded British/English/whatever too.
“What kind of doctor?” Gus asked, shifting to his salesman voice and reaching in his pocket for a business card.
“Gus, you can’t advertise pharmaceuticals to the suspects,” Shawn scolded.
“You just said they didn’t do it!”
“They didn’t. But we need to prove that before we start selling to them.”
“Quiet!” Lassiter yelled. Everyone turned to him. “This is a murder investigation. This is serious. You’re-” he pointed at the suspects “-in serious trouble, and you-” he pointed at Shawn and Gus “-are knocking this interrogation off the rails! Either focus, or get out.”
Shawn pretended to be unphased, though his feet itched to run out the door, as tended to happen when an angry man had immediate access to a firearm. “C’mon, Lassie, don’t be a buzzkill. We’re just having a little conversation.”
“Have your conversations later!” Lassiter said.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Grumpface. Now, I’m Shawn Spencer, lead psychic for the SBPD—that’s Sandwich Bread Personality Disorder, for you uncultured non-Americans—”
“No, it’s not,” Gus said.
“—and this is my partner, Criss Cross Apple Sauce. That’s four words: Criss, Cross, Apple, and Sauce.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Criss Cross Apple Sauce.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Princess said.
“Pleasure, is that what we’re calling it?” said Tegan, not sounding particularly pleased.
“Are you really psychic?” Star Boy questioned.
Princess turned to him. “I don’t think so. Psychic energy isn’t very prominent on Earth.”
“I’m a very real psychic, thank you very much, and I’m sensing you all have much to tell me, so please, explain away. And introduce yourselves, so I don’t have to keep calling you Princess and Star Boy.”
“Star Boy?! I was given this star for mathematical excellence, you know,” grumbled Star Boy, who evidently disliked his nickname. Shawn decided then he should use it at every moment possible.
“And I’m Nyssa, not Princess,” Nyssa said.
Tegan said, “My name’s Tegan Jovanka, but thanks to someone here you already knew that.”
“I’m the Doctor, and this is Adric,” said Celery a.k.a. the Doctor, gesturing to Star Boy. “We were simply passing through when we discovered the bodies.”
“We meant to contact the authorities,” Adric said. “We were just looking, to see if there was anything we could do!”
The Doctor placed his hand on Adric’s shoulder. “I’ll do the talking, Adric, just sit tight. I checked for signs of life, but-”
“But they were already dead,” Tegan finished.
“I did say I would do the talking,” the Doctor said.
“Then talk, dammit!” prompted an exasperated Lassiter. “You’re as bad as Spencer and Guster.”
“Take that as a compliment,” Shawn told them.
“You know that’s right,” Gus said.
“Doctor, I think we found someone stranger than you,” Tegan said.
“As I was saying,” the Doctor continued, ignoring Tegan’s slight, “I checked for signs of life, realized they were already dead, and looked for identification. The suits, you’ll find, come from a forty-eighth century Peladonian exploration ship. They must have fallen through the crack in time we were following and crash-landed here. So really, we’ve nothing to do with it at all.”
“Forty-eighth century?” Gus repeated.
“Peladonian? Like the biking thing?” Shawn said.
“That’s a peloton, Shawn. How do you even know that?”
“See what I have to deal with?” Lassiter complained, crossing his arms. He could easily have been referring to either group.
“Clearly, they’re aliens and/or time travelers,” Shawn said.
“I don’t need your jokes right now, Spencer. He’s obviously insane or lying, or both. Hey, he’s just like you!”
Shawn had said it impulsively, more as a joke than anything else, but either it was true, this guy was completely off his rocker, or the whole group was messing with them, and it would be totally phenomenal if it was true, so he rolled with it. “Think about it, Lassie. Would normal people from the planet Earth dress like that?”
“Yes, they would!” Tegan protested angrily. “I’m wearing my work uniform!”
“This is ridiculous,” Lassiter grumbled. He stormed out of the room.
“Suit yourself!” Shawn called after him.
The Doctor looked at Shawn curiously. “Do you really think that?”
“Of course. The spirits are telling me so.” He raised his finger to be convincing. “They also say that celery is the weakest of the vegetables, and you should choose something that leaves a better impression. Like pineapple.”
“That’s a fruit,” Gus corrected.
“Do they, now?” the Doctor said. “And what do they say about our involvement in those deaths?”
“You didn’t do it. It’s more like wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe right place, wrong time. Or maybe-”
“I thought you told me not to believe in Earth psychics,” Adric said to the Doctor.
“Most Earth psychics. This one included. But he’s a great deal more accurate than the armed fellow in here a moment ago, so I suggest we stay on his good side.”
“I’m insulted, Celery. And you, Star Boy. I thought we had a good thing going,” Shawn lamented. Adric looked ready to jump out of his seat.
“At least they haven’t called you crazy yet,” Gus pointed out. “Which, by the way, you are. They can’t be aliens; they look just like us.”
“How do you know what aliens look like? Maybe all intelligent life looks the same.”
“Then how do you explain them speaking perfect English?”
“Maybe they come from a parallel universe Earth.”
“Actually, it’s the TARDIS translation matrix,” Nyssa explained. “I hear the language of Traken when you speak, and you hear English.
“See? It’s perfectly possible,” Shawn said smugly. More and more, he thought they were probably insane, but if he was good at one thing, it was committing to the bit. Now was not the time to back down.
The Doctor cleared his throat. “If I may interrupt, we are still under arrest and I’d rather like out of these restraints. If you’ve no doubts about our honesty, would you kindly let us go?”
“I would, but sadly the SBPD has yet to give me that kind of responsibility. If I can convince Lassie or Jules…”
“Oh, great. We’ll be stuck here until the end of time,” Tegan said.
“The way the time fractures are going, we very well may be,” the Doctor said.
Gus stepped forward. “If you’re really aliens, prove it.”
“I would, but we’re not allowed to leave.”
“Don't you have alien abilities or something? Like eyeball lasers or psychokinesis.” Gus frowned skeptically.
“Really, Gus? Eyeball lasers?” Shawn raised his eyebrows.
“I read about it in a magazine!”
“Eyeball lasers are scientifically impossible,” Adric said eagerly, seeming happy just to contribute something to the conversation.
“And how would you know that?” Gus argued.
“Because if you calculate the value of-”
“Please, no more, or my head’ll explode,” Tegan groaned.
“Is anyone watching us at the moment?” the Doctor asked as if he hadn't even noticed the other people in the room.
“Let’s find out,” Shawn said. He walked over to the “one-way” glass and put on his creepiest grin, just in case. Sure enough, Lassiter stood there, probably about to explode with rage. Shawn waved for good measure. “Everyone’s favorite gun-wielding detective! Hiya, Lassie.”
“There goes our escape plan,” Tegan said.
“Perhaps you shouldn't talk about escaping in front of the people holding you captive,” Nyssa said.
Tegan put her face in her hands. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I don’t think these two mind anyway. It’s the detectives we have to worry about.” Nyssa patted her on the shoulder.
“If we could only convince Detective Lassiter to phone UNIT, this would smooth over rather quickly” the Doctor mused. “I wonder who’s running it now.”
“UNIT?” Shawn questioned.
“Unified Intelligence Taskforce,” Gus said. “They’re part of the UN.”
“Why do you know that? And don't say you read it somewhere, it makes you sound lame.”
“I did read it somewhere, Shawn.”
“That's really lame- Wait, you work with the UN?” He turned to the Doctor.
“Yes, in a sort of way… They know who I am, at least. They can verify my identity, and that verifies my story.” He stared at the ceiling boredly.
“Doctor, haven't you got something?” Adric asked.
“There's no point with the detective watching,” he answered.
Shawn attempted to tune out their talking so he could think. What was stranger, an Australian and three Brits in costume coming across four dead bodies at random and claiming to be time-traveling aliens to clear their names, or them actually being time-traveling aliens? As badly as he wanted to believe in life outside Earth, Henry Spencer didn't, and it was Henry Spencer who taught him to value uncool things like “proof” and “logic” over objectively cooler things like “having fun” and “enjoying life.” That's what he needed, then: proof.
He began an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen—are aliens male and female?”
“Some are,” Nyssa said unhelpfully.
“Aliens of unspecified gender, I need to collect more evidence. I promise I’ll be back to clear your names.” He strode out, and Gus followed right behind.
“He knows I’m human, right?” he heard Tegan say as the door shut. Which, actually, kind of explained a lot.