Henry stared into the playroom, a concerned frown pulling at his features. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's perfectly normal."

Henry scoffed. Yeah right.

With Madeleine out of town, and the Gusters helping with a church fundraiser, the duty of picking up the boys from preschool today had fallen on him. What he hadn't expected to find was his usually exuberant son playing alone, completely absorbed in his own little world.

"He prefers playing by himself."

Henry's frown deepened. Shawn was so outgoing and social; this couldn't be normal.

The teacher hesitated. "He sometimes has trouble connecting with other children. I think he's starting to realize he's different from them, and it's taking some time to adjust to that idea. Trust me, this is normal for gifted children. He'll figure out how to fit in when he's ready."

Henry almost laughed at the term. This "gift" seemed to cause more problems every day.

"Besides, he's not completely alone."

Well, she was right about that. Henry smiled, watching Gus's futile efforts to bring order to Shawn's playdoh chaos. Shawn would figure out this social issue someday, he was sure; and, until then, Gus would never let him feel truly isolated.

The door banged open as Morrissey charged outside, barreling through Carlton's legs on the way. Carlton barely managed to avoid face-planting while balancing the tray of food in his hands. Stepping out onto the porch, he paused to reorient as the silence of the house's interior was replaced with the chaotic scene before him.

Laughter and screeches pierced the air from Lily, Iris, and their "Uncle" Shawn playing tag in the yard -- Morrissey's barking now being added to the cacophony.

At one end of the porch, Gus was chatting happily with his fiance over the phone.

On the opposite end, the Vicks were listening to the radio.

Conversation floated over from the picnic table -- Marlowe's delicate laughter blending with Juliet's own raspy-but-still-sweet voice; the gruff rumble from Henry an odd overlay to their smoother tones.

Carlton couldn't help remembering how much he used to crave the solitude of his apartment when he got home each night. Now, he couldn't imagine anything better than a summer evening filled with talking, laughter, children yelling, and dogs barking. Maybe not as peaceful as his old life, but he'd take this gentle chaos over the sound of silence any day.

"So who are you?" Shawn asked, moving his knight.

His opponent studied the pieces. "What do you mean?"

Shawn frowned as a pawn edged over to block his next move. "First you're an art thief, but not really. Then a murderer, but not actually. Then dead, until you weren't. Then you may or may not be a spy? Dude, you have more identities than Jason Bourne." He leaned over the chessboard, considering carefully. A rook slid left. "Check."

The aristocrat smiled and slid his king to safety. "You're good at reading people. Who do you see?"

"A dude with great hair and awesome skill set." Shawn moved his queen closer. "Gus and Lassie think that's not enough. Check."

"And you?"

"I also see a good friend, who saved my life."

Another smile as the black bishop joined the fray. "Then, does the answer really matter? Checkmate."

The office door banged open, Gus's voice drifting in.

"Sounds as if you have company. Until next time." The call ended, the screen going dark.

Shawn continued to stare at the chessboard, wondering how he'd been outmaneuvered again.

"Video-calling again? With who?" Gus asked, entering the room.

Shawn smiled. "Turns out, it doesn't matter."

"Do you want grape or raspberry?" Juliet asked.

The toddler wriggled in her father's arms, trying to get a better look at the treats in the cooler. "Pineapple!" she exclaimed at last.

Juliet laughed and shook her head. She shot an accusatory look at her husband. "You're such a bad influence on her. I'll never get her to eat anything else."

Shawn shrugged innocently, passing the popsicle to their daughter as he set her down. "Not my fault you can't appreciate the awesomeness of the international greeting fruit, Jules." He watched the little girl take off across the sand, her snack already melting in the hot sun. "She's gonna drop that any second."

"Probably." Juliet leaned back on her towel, adjusting her sunglasses. The heat would have been unbearable if she were working today, but spending the morning at the beach with her family made it much less unpleasant. She sighed contentedly. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

He glanced at her curiously. "I thought you hated heatwaves."

Her gaze followed the toddler happily running through the sand, then scanned over her husband stretched out on the towel beside her. Her smiled widened. "I think I'm learning to enjoy them."

Henry had his son figured out. He knew how to predict his behavior patterns well enough to prevent the most elaborate of his childhood schemes. He was disappointed, but seldom surprised, by Shawn's teenage antics. And, after their relationship turned antagonistic, he knew exactly which words had the most effect.

Which is why he didn't get his hopes up when Shawn appeared on his doorstep after so many years apart. He saved the article on the McCallum case, but always knowing it would be both the first and last time Shawn caught a murderer. And every time he shut the door on his son's sudden visiting spree, it was with the knowledge that letting him through that door would only make the inevitable abandonment hurt even more. Shawn wasn't here to stay.

That afternoon, it finally happened. An argument over the stupid doghouse, of all things. And Shawn gave up, like always. He knew it would happen.

So when Henry glanced out his window to see Shawn hard at work again, knee brace and all, he didn't have to think before grabbing his own hammer and heading outside. Henry was never more glad to have his son prove him wrong.