"Nearly killed by a miniature helicopter, Shawn. A miniature helicopter!" Gus ranted, as he had been doing for the last two hours. Shawn sat on the exam table on the far side of the room in just his jeans and tennis shoes with an older male doctor bent over his left arm, needle and thread in hand as Gus stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes deliberately averted. "I swear, these things only happen around you."

Shawn let his best friend’s voice wash over him like white noise. After the first five minutes, Gus’ rant had proceeded into a loop that had yet to be interrupted and right now, the eerie feeling of the needle sliding painlessly in and out of his skin was a lot more interesting. And "nearly killed" wasn’t a wholly accurate description of what had happened. The little helicopter had certainly done a number on him, rotor blades leaving at least half a dozen thin lacerations across his face, which moved and stung with every wince and flinch. One slice fell across the bridge of his nose, right where the band of his sunglasses would rest were he wearing them.

Continuing on down the left side of his neck, shoulder, arm and back, the wounds became more erratic, crisscrossing and in varying lengths and depths as though he'd gone several rounds with a rabid lawnmower. But the majority of the slash marks were fairly shallow and superficial. There was a minorly burnt and bruised spot along the side of his face from where the overheated body of the helicopter had slammed into his head, nearly giving him a concussion, but only five or six of the gouges were deep enough to require stitching. Already the doctor had neatly stitched up the wounds on his cheek bone and on his neck, just across his collarbone, and was currently working on the deepest of the cuts, right across his upper shoulder.

In spite of the bleeding cuts, however, what troubled him most was the slightly burnt crinkle to the tips of his hair and eyebrows. Almost with childlike bewilderment, he patted at the mussed coif, actually gasping when an ash-like fall came as a result of his tampering. "Gus, do you think they'll need to amputate?" he asked, shooting huge, glassy doe-eyes in his friend’s direction.

"Well, you would look more like your dad if they did," Gus commented, inspecting the top of his friend’s head critically.

Shawn froze, aiming a dirty look at him. "Dude, that’s so not even funny."

Before Gus could open his mouth to respond, the door to the exam room swung open, a candy striper holding the knob and flashing a shy smile in the pharmaceutical salesman’s direction. Two people in crisp suits moved in past her.

"Oh my god, Shawn!" Juliet exclaimed, the exam room door closing behind them. "What on earth…?"

"Spencer, do you have a death wish? Because if that’s the case, I’d be happy to help you out," Lassiter said, his eyes sweeping over the psychic. "You don't seem capable of getting the job done on your own."

"Dude!" Shawn exclaimed, arms flying up to cover his bare chest, "Do you mi—owww…!" The exclamation dissolved into a hiss of pain.

"What did you do?" Juliet demanded, aghast.

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Spencer—"

"Shawn," the psychic gritted.

"Shawn," the doctor echoed, tone faintly exasperated. "No sudden movements, remember?" Shawn made a face as the doctor began dabbing at the fresh blood leaking down his arm with a square of gauze.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, still grimacing in pain. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the main attraction of this peep show."

"Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer," Lassiter retorted.

"You don’t have anything we haven’t seen before," Juliet said, easing back into her collected professional demeanor.

"You don’t know that," Shawn muttered, hands still spread protectively over his chest. "What are you doing here anyway? Is it legal for you to barge in here like this? What if I wasn’t wearing any—"

"God, please don’t finish that sentence. I don’t need any more scarring mental images," Lassiter said, holding up a hand sharply to stop him.

"Shawn, you spent a week in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks when you worked at the water park last year. You’re less naked now," Juliet pointed out.

"Jules, at the water park everybody was half-naked. Personally I don’t think a doctor’s office is the appropriate place for ogling." His arms remained stubbornly crossed over his chest.

Juliet flushed and Lassiter cut in, saying loudly, "Nobody is ogling anything."

Latching onto this declaration, Juliet pulled a pad of paper out of her purse, saying, "We just came to get your statement about the accident, okay?" Glancing over his figure again out of the corner of her eye she shook her head. "Really, Shawn. You’ve got to be more careful. This is the second time you’ve been in the hospital in a week. I can talk to the Chief if you need to talk to someone about this habit you have of placing yourself in danger."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I didn’t ‘place myself in danger’, Jules. And it wasn’t an accident." He shifted on the table, tilting his chin up. "Someone tried to kill me."

His declaration was met with silence, broken only by the snip of the doctor’s scissors.

Finally, voice laced with derision, Lassiter said, "Riiight. And I’m a yellow-crested cockatoo. Spencer, are you even capable of seeing reality as-is?"

"I always see reality as-is," Shawn said and Lassiter shook his head in disgust. "It's a gift."

"Are you telling me you think the helicopter operator, who just started working on set today, is the saboteur/killer we’re looking for?" Juliet asked, disbelief etched into her features.

"No, of course not," Shawn said, flapping his hand. "That makes no sense."

"Then how could someone have tried to kill you with the helicopter, Shawn? I got statements from a dozen different people who all said Mr. Randall was the only one who handled it."

"And I’m sure he was," Shawn said agreeably.

"You’re not making any sense," Juliet told him.

"He never makes any sense!" Lassiter grumbled, arms crossed peevishly over his chest.

"All right, look," Shawn said. "Right before the helic—" He hissed suddenly, jerking slightly away from the doctor, who carefully pulled a needle back from where it had been inserted into his arm. "Dude, a little warning would be nice!"

The doctor glanced up, flashing a mild smile. "Sorry. You’ll feel it a few more times."

Shawn’s face twisted into a grimace, but he turned back to Juliet. "Anyway. As I was saying, right before the helicopter crashed, I heard someone run into the guy with the controller. I’m not saying it’s the most brilliant plan ever—it’s a miracle the thing even hit me, but whoever we’re dealing with hasn’t exactly proved themselves to be Mastermind of the Year either."

Juliet didn’t exactly look convinced. "Mr. Randall did say the reason the helicopter crashed was because someone fell on top of him. He never got a good look at who it was—just said it was ‘one of the idiotic PAs’. A few of the witnesses mentioned seeing someone run into him but none of them could tell us who it was because they were all too busy watching the helicopter. But Shawn…"

Lassiter rubbed a hand over his face. "Let me get this straight. You’re saying the killer bumped into the helicopter controller with the intention of crashing it into you. He did this despite the fact that the odds of it actually falling and hitting you specifically were astronomically small."

Shawn thought for a moment and nodded. "Yep. That’s pretty much it."

"Even if that is true," Lassiter said, "and I’m not saying it is, because the idea is absolutely ludicrous, there’s no way to prove whoever it was acted deliberately."

Shawn’s head wavered. "Well…yeah. But it’s still important."

Lassiter’s eyebrows rose skeptically. "How exactly?"

"Dude, if someone’s trying to kill me then that means they think I’m onto them! I’m making headway!" he exclaimed, arms moving out excitedly.

"Mr. Spencer," the doctor protested.

"Shawn! Having someone try to kill you is not a good thing!" Juliet said sharply. Heaving a put-upon sigh, the doctor dabbed at another trickle of blood and shook his head before setting back to work.

"This is all assuming you were actually the target," Lassiter said. "It could have been anyone. Carlisle was there, wasn’t she? It could just as easily have been another attempt on her life that went wrong, since this plan is completely idiotic in the first place."

Shawn bit his lip. "It is possible," he finally admitted.

The doctor straightened, reaching for his shears once again and snipping the thread between his fingers. "There you are, Mr.—Shawn. Sixty-eight stitches even. We’ll get some bandages put over these and you’ll be good to go."

"Sweet." He looked in Gus’ direction and said, "What time is it? Shooting starts at six, right?"

"Shawn, you just got stitches, I really don’t think going right back to the set is the best idea," Juliet protested.

"Whoever the helicopter was meant for, it still means someone is trying to off people down there, Jules. I have to go," Shawn said. "I can’t get psychic vibes about the case from my apartment."

Juliet put her hands up. "I understand that, but I really think you should just take a few days off, Shawn. That’s a lot of stitches and you’re going to be sore and you really can’t seem to avoid getting into trouble while you’re on that movie set. Carlton and I will figure out who’s trying to kill Eliza."

"But I already have a suspect!" Shawn protested. "Follow-through and all of that, Jules!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You have a suspect? Who?"

Shawn paused, lips pursing. "Well…"

Juliet crossed her arms over her chest. "It’s Gabe, the director, isn’t it?"

Shawn’s eyes jumped up to her face, his mouth falling open. "You suspect him, too?!"

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Juliet said, "No. But it would explain that little pow-wow you called us in for last night. You expected him to confess, didn’t you?"

The psychic’s head wavered. "…I was hoping."

"Great. So we’re back to one of his little spiritual hunches," Lassiter said. "Remind me why we pay you again?"

"You don’t," Gus said. "The city does."

Lassiter leveled a glare in Gus’ direction and he shrugged as though to say, You asked.

"All right, Mr. Spencer," the doctor said, patting one last piece of tape into place. "You’re all set. Try to keep the stitches dry for at least twenty-four hours and then you can start washing them, carefully." He scribbled something on a pad on the counter and tore off the top sheet before holding it out. Gus batted Shawn’s hand away, accepting the sheet and his friend’s dirty look. "This is for antibiotic ointment. Apply it to your stitches after you wash them to help prevent scarring and infection. Come back in seven days and we’ll take the stitches out. Other than that, just take it easy. The scarring will be significantly worse if you pull them out repeatedly." Jotting down something else on the pad, he signed it with a flourish and then tore the sheet off, holding it out to Gus. "This is for Lortab, a painkiller." Looking to Shawn he said, "Take one or two every four hours, depending on your pain. Make sure you eat something and don’t drink alcohol. All right?"

"Aye, aye," Shawn said, lifting his hand in a lazy salute and then wincing. That was going to take some getting used to.

"Thank you," Gus said, dipping his head in a formal nod at the doctor.

"My pleasure." He pointed a finger at a small plastic cup on the counter and looked significantly at Shawn. "You’ll probably want to take that." Then with a polite nod, "Have a good night, gentlemen; detectives."

Juliet smiled as he exited, Lassiter muttering under his breath, "Should have stitched up his mouth, too."

"If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go finish dealing with the paperwork," Gus said, slipping past them as well.

"That candy striper was totally checking out your calves, Gus!" Shawn called after him. "Give her the Jordan flex on your way out! I bet she’s already got her number ready!" Gus didn’t respond, but nonetheless a silly grin broke across Shawn’s face. Lassiter continued to grumble under his breath, Juliet shaking her head in exasperation.

On the examining table, Shawn began gathering up the t-shirt lying next to his thigh. He straightened it out with a flap and began threading his arms into it, moving the shirt gingerly over his left arm. Despite the care he took, a moment later he was biting back a curse, the shirt sliding free of his grip onto the floor after dragging a little too firmly over the bandages.

Juliet sighed. "Let me help."

"I’ll be in the car," Lassiter grumbled and then they were alone.

"Jules—"

"Don’t even say it," she said, moving toward him and bending to pick up the shirt. Shawn’s mouth curled into a small smile. Juliet bunched the shirt up until her fingers were poking out through the arm holes and then held it out. "Arms." Wincing and hissing softly under his breath, Shawn lifted his arms, sliding them in through the holes. Juliet did her best to avoid the bandages, sliding the collar over his bent head and then carefully pulling the shirt straight over his chest. As soon as his individual appendages were through the correct holes, Shawn dropped his arms, breathing sharply through his nose.

"That…hurts like nobody’s freaking business," he muttered breathlessly.

"Stitches are wont to be that way," Juliet said dryly. "Is Gus going to be there to help you tonight?"

"Probably if I whine enough. He has work in the morning. If you see me still wearing this t-shirt in three days, you’ll know he never showed up." He looked up through his lashes at her. "Unless you want to—"

Juliet let out a bark of laughter and he pouted.

"That’s so insensitive, Jules. I’m in pain here."

"Promise me you won’t go back to the movie set and I’ll come help you out tonight," she said, chin tilting upward.

Shawn’s mouth opened, halted, and then closed, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "No fair."

Juliet’s mouth fell open in mock-offense. "You won’t even take a break for little old me?"

Shawn’s face creased unhappily. "You wouldn’t come anyway. You’d just get Gus and then show up for five minutes to make fun of me," he said.

Her grin turned wicked. "Probably true."

"Knew it," he muttered and a grimace flickered across his face as he got to his feet, gingerly favoring his arm.

Juliet shook her head. "I can’t believe you plan to go back to the set."

"I’m a featured extra, Jules. The show must go on!" He winced as an automatic gesture sent a ripple of pain up his arm and added in a taut voice, "After I get some drugs."

"You’re utterly absurd sometimes, Shawn," she said, marveling at him. Putting a hand to his arm, she lifted an open hand into his view. A fat white pill sat against the curve of her palm. "I think it’s time to take this."

"Ooh, yes, drugs," he murmured, taking the pill and swallowing it down with a grimace. Juliet offered up her water bottle, watching him patiently as he took a long pull. He really did look terrible. The left side of his body made it look like he’d been in a paper factory in the middle of a hurricane, a bruise on his cheekbone faintly creeping in a crescent shape around his eye. They were faint circles beneath his eyes too; obviously he hadn’t been getting as much sleep as he should have. His right arm still bore the healing scab from the first major mishap on the set and she suspected that despite his lack of coughing, his chest wasn’t feeling 100% just yet.

Pain was obviously something he didn't cope well with--the ginger way he was favoring his arm and his eagerness to get the painkiller into his system made that obvious enough--but he was still stubbornly insisting on going back. It was hard to reconcile the two opposing traits.

She pressed her lips together, a frown knitting across her brow. "Shawn, you don’t really plan to go back to the set tonight, do you?"

He blinked at her, cocking his head slightly to the side and then hissing. His hand pressed tentatively against the bandage there.

Juliet put a hand on his arm, regarding him seriously. "Go home and rest, Shawn. Once those drugs kick in you won’t want to do anything but sleep anyway. You’re pushing yourself too hard."

He looked at her for a long moment. "You’re right, Jules."

She blinked at him, surprise opening up her features. "I am?"

"Yep. I’ll get Gus to take me home right now." Juliet followed him out into the E.R. waiting area bewildered by how easily the psychic had been swayed. Maybe those traits weren't as hard to reconcile as she thought...

Gus stood at the counter near one of the nurses, intently filling out paperwork, his forehead pinched in concentration. "Gus! We’re going home," Shawn announced as they approached.

The pharmaceuticals salesman looked up, surprise and then suspicion flitting across his features. "We are?" he asked, disbelief evident in his tone. Juliet was glad she wasn’t the only one who found Shawn’s sudden willingness to go home suspicious.

Shawn nodded decisively. "Absolutely."

Gus glanced at her. "What did you do to him?"

She shrugged shaking her head, clueless. "I have no idea."

Glancing back to Shawn, obviously still dubious, Gus said, "I have to finish this paperwork." Looking back at Juliet, he added, "You don’t have to stay, Juliet."

She glanced between the pair, watching as Shawn eased himself down into a nearby chair. "All right. Take care of yourself," she told Shawn sternly.

He flashed a smile at her. "I always do."

At the counter, Gus snorted which told her exactly what he thought of that statement. She just gave Shawn another pointed look and then said goodbye to Gus and headed out into the night. Shawn sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing.

"So are we really going home?" Gus asked, initialing several small spaces.

"Of course not," Shawn said. "We’re going back to the set. Honestly, Gus. Sometimes I wonder if you even know me at all."

Gus rolled his eyes and put the last necessary signature on the final page of paperwork with a determined gesture. "I know you. I just keep hoping one of these days some sense will leak in through your thick skull."

A smart retort popped to mind but the throb from Shawn’s stitches was softening, relaxation seeping through his muscles and he mumbled it half-heartedly, finding it not really worth the trouble to make sure Gus heard him. He cracked an eye when Gus stopped next to the chair.

"Do you think you’re going to want these painkillers tonight, or do you want to wait until tomorrow to get them?"

"Nah, we can get them tomorrow," Shawn said, getting lazily to his feet. He was surprised and pleased by how little it hurt. "Let’s get back for the last few hours of filming."

They headed for the car, Shawn taking a deep breath as the cool night air washed over him. Man, he hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Much as he wanted to get back to the set and try to puzzle out what was going on, right now finding a soft surface to lie down on sounded—aw, crap.

He blinked twice, deliberately and tried to fight back against the soft edges creeping up around everything. Dammit. Lortab. He’d forgotten that particular painkiller had the unfortunate side effects of slowed mental processes and extreme drowsiness. As if to confirm this thought, he broke into a yawn that had him wincing as it tugged at the stitching on the side of his face. He wanted to be annoyed at himself for being so eager to take the pills but it just took too much effort.

They reached the car and he pulled open his door with another yawn, slouching bonelessly into the passenger’s seat. Gus glanced at him as he pulled his own door shut. "Are you all right?"

"M’fine," Shawn mumbled, blinking again consciously. "Just th’ Lortab."

Gus tried and failed to mask a pleased expression. "Tired?" he said with a poor attempt at sympathy.

Shawn scowled at him, but the annoyance quickly ebbed away under the influence of the drugs. His eyelids drooped, feeling heavier with every passing second. It was too strong to fight. Maaan… Tomorrow he was taking Tylenol, and nothing else. "Shuddup," he mumbled at Gus and felt himself slipping away as the car came to life, vibrating soothingly beneath him.

~*~

When Shawn’s eyes slid closed and it became obvious he was succumbing to the effects of the painkillers, Gus was pleased. He hadn’t really planned on taking Shawn back to the set tonight no matter what he wanted, but he had anticipated having to fight him on it the whole way. Having him passed out made reaching his objective much easier.

The drive back to Shawn’s apartment was quiet aside from Shawn’s soft, steady breathing. At the complex he pulled smoothly into the parking space reserved for Shawn’s guests and turned the car off, nudging Shawn with his elbow. "Come on, Shawn. Time to go upstairs."

Shawn’s eyes fluttered slightly and he breathed in with a small snuffling noise, but he didn’t budge. Gus sighed and prodded him a little more firmly. "Shawn, come on. Just a flight of stairs and one hallway and you can go to bed." Shawn snuffled softly again but this time his eyelids didn’t even twitch. Gus heaved a sigh. Of course it wasn’t going to be as easy as all that. It never was.

He tried to rouse Shawn a few more times, vainly, before finally giving up and pulling out his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Juliet," he said wearily. "Can I ask you a favor?"

~*~

Ten minutes later the blonde detective pulled into the space beside his Toyota and he stepped out of the car to greet her. "Thanks again."

She smiled and he couldn’t help noting that she looked pretty and put together even in the t-shirt and sweats that were obviously meant for in-home use. "No problem. I’m just glad he’s going to be getting some rest."

"So how do you want to do this?"

She moved around to the side of his car where Shawn sat, sleeping soundly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, we need him to come out of it enough to give us a little bit of help. There’s no way we’re going to be able to carry him. Let me see if I can get any response out of him." She pulled open Shawn’s door and crouched, putting a hand on Shawn’s knee. "Shawn?"

Nothing.

She reached up, patting one scratchy cheek. "Shawn, wake up."

He grimaced slightly and one hand twitched. Juliet stifled a smile.

"Come on, Shawn. Wake up. Just for a few minutes." She patted his cheek with a little more force. His eyes fluttered, a noise of annoyance catching in his throat. She rolled her eyes and straightened up a little so that she could reach into the car. Taking him by the arm, she gently maneuvered him out of his comfortable slouch.

"Nn…whaaat?" he protested grumpily. "Lemme alone."

"Uh uh," Juliet said, tapping the side of his face as his cracked open eyes began to droop again. "You want to sleep, you need to get upstairs into a bed."

Shawn grimaced, his forehead creasing. A second later the creases smoothed slightly and he echoed drowsily, "Bed?"

Juliet smiled and glanced over her shoulder, gesturing Gus forward. He moved in, taking Shawn’s right arm. "Yep, bed. Sounds good doesn’t it?" she said, helping him swing his feet out of the car.

"Mmm," Shawn murmured.

"All right, let’s get you up there," Juliet said encouragingly. Shawn blinked a few times, obviously still nowhere near awake, but his body seemed willing enough to relocate and he pushed to his feet with their support. Once he was out of the way, Juliet pushed the door closed with her foot.

As they started across the parking lot, Shawn mumbled, "J’les gave me painkillers. Lortab," he told them, as though it were somehow morally reprehensible.

Gus looked at her around Shawn’s profile and she had to struggle not to laugh out loud.

"Lortab makes me fuzzy," Shawn sighed and started to sag. Juliet squeezed him around the waist.

"Hey, no sleeping yet. We’ve still got to get upstairs."

He managed to infuse a bit more strength into his legs again but he mumbled, "I hate not being able to think. ‘s all hazy."

Juliet said nothing as they started up the stairs.

At the door to Shawn’s apartment, Gus pulled a face and reached into Shawn’s pocket, tugging out his keys. Shawn took no notice, his head lolling to the side, hair brushing at Juliet’s temple. Gus fumbled with the lock for a moment before finally sliding the key home and unlocking the door with a soft clack. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

"Come on, Shawn. We’re almost there," Juliet said, nudging him forward. Shawn straightened, moving into the apartment with them. Navigating down the hallway to his bedroom was a little more difficult since the hallway wasn’t really built to allow three people to walk down it side by side, but Shawn had come out of it far enough that Gus’ help was all he needed.

In his bedroom, pale orange light slid in through the slats in the blinds across a queen-sized bed sporting a wadded up green plaid comforter. Clothes were scattered around the floor in all colors of the rainbow and an empty wooden bedside table sat on the left side of the bed. She shook her head, eyes turning back toward Shawn and Gus as the former was assisted into a controlled face-plant onto the mattress.

Shawn groaned softly, arms wrapping around a pillow and stuffing it up under his head. Juliet smothered a smile and moved to get his shoes off. The painkillers were obviously doing their job because not so much as a flinch crossed his features.

His eyes cracked open as Juliet pulled off one of his shoes and he blinked slowly at Gus’ chest, the other man reaching over to pull the comforter over him. "Gus," he mumbled. His eyelids slid downward as his other shoe came free and he sighed as his socks were peeled off.

Gus was settling the blanket over him when he pried his eyes open again. He reached out, catching hold of Gus’ sleeve. "You’re not gonna leave me, right?" he asked, clutching his arm.

Gus stared at him for a second and then shook his head, eyes moving to the covers again. "Don’t be stupid, Shawn. I’m not going anywhere with you this out of it."

A lazy smile crossed Shawn’s face and his eyes closed. A moment later his features were slack and he was asleep.

Gus met Juliet’s gaze and the pair crept quietly out of the bedroom.

~*~

The next morning Gus’ head popped up at the sound of a loud curse. "Would you mind if I called you back?" he asked the cell phone pressed to his ear. "Yes. Uh huh. Thanks, bye." He flipped the phone shut and set the spoon in his other hand in his cereal bowl. "Shawn?" he called.

"Gus?" he called back. His voice was taut with pain.

"You okay?"

"Do I sound okay?" Shawn snapped back at him. He let out another string of epithets. When he spoke again his voice was more subdued. "Do you have any Tylenol?"

"I always have Tylenol when I’m with you, Shawn," Gus said, swiping the bottle of pills off the counter. He moved down the hallway and paused in the doorway to Shawn’s bedroom. Shawn had sagged against the door frame to his bathroom and despite having gotten some well-needed rest, he looked, if possible, worse than he had the night before. It probably had something to do with the pain.

He popped open the bottle and poured three capsules into his palm. "Here."

Shawn took them eagerly, tipping his head back and popping them all into his mouth at once. He turned back into the bathroom to swallow a mouthful of water from the tap.

"You could just take one of the Lortab," Gus told him, exasperated. "Those might take the edge off but it's still going to hurt."

Shawn straightened up again with a wince and turned a glare on him. "I am not taking any more of those things while I still have a case to solve."

"I should have just switched them," Gus muttered, moving back out to the front room.

"I would have noticed!" Shawn yelled after him.

"Yeah, because you took a real good look before cramming them down your throat."

Shawn chucked a pillow down the hall at him and then cursed as the stitches on his shoulder protested angrily.

"Serves you right," Gus said smugly, returning to his cereal.

~*~

"There’s nothing wrong with Eggos, Shawn," Gus said, voice flat with annoyance. Shawn shot him a dubious look as they strode across the dunes toward the teeming mass that was the set for It Came From Space to Conquer Rome later that afternoon. It looked even more ridiculous from the outside than it did from the inside, with the exposed backs of set pieces and lights littering the beach side and, most bizarrely of all, a hundred foot tall crane suspending a what looked like a gigantic mutant disco ball with protruding "wings" that looked a lot more like enormous bananas.

"Gus. Everyone knows real waffles come in square form. Eggos are too round to be true waffles. Therefore they must be inferior."

"So what? What Eggos lack in shapeliness they make up for in speed!"

"That's just wrong. Convenience culture has gone a step too far. It's taken away the sanctity of the home-made waffle!" Shawn stopped, turning toward Gus. "Dude, don't you remember my mom's homemade pineapple waffles? Don't you remember how unbelievable they were?"

Gus sighed, eyes unfocusing dreamily, and nodded his head as he recalled the perfect blend of tastes that had made up Mrs. Spencer’s pineapple waffles. They were unbelievable.

"Well think of it this way," Shawn dropped his voice and leaned forward ominously. "No one else in the Eggo generation will ever know the joy of pineapple waffles."

Gus shuddered and then, with a forlorn expression said, "Now I want waffles."

Shawn grimaced in response. "I know, right?"

Ahead they saw Gabe slip past the barriers surrounding the set and take off at a rapid clip toward the beach parking lot. Shawn’s eyebrows rose like a dog’s ears perking up and Gus opened his mouth. "Oh no, Shawn. Don’t even think about it. I’m serious. Don’t." He heaved a sigh as Shawn completely ignored him and took off across the beach, crouched low to keep out of sight.

He stood for a moment, staring after Shawn with pursed lips before finally giving in and chasing after him. Curse his weak will. "Wait up, Shawn!" he hissed in a stage-whisper.

They tailed Gabe through the parking lot to the end farthest away from the set where he found one of the trash cans sitting crookedly in the sand just past the end of the pavement and stopped, fidgeting and scanning the area. He was waiting for something.

"I knew it!" Shawn exclaimed sotto voce and then made a face. "This is like dè já vu."

"It’s shifty is what it is," Gus muttered.

Shawn shot him an incredulous look. "Shady for this guy, but not my dad?"

"You don’t suspect your dad of murder, Shawn," Gus pointed out.

"You don’t know that."

Gus turned to him with a skeptical expression. "Shawn."

Shawn kept his gaze deliberately on Gabe. "All I’m saying is I always thought he led a double life…"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Your dad is not a secret agent, Shawn. How many times do we have to have this conversation?"

"Gus, the point of a secret is that nobody knows, so we can’t ever be sure."

Instead of responding, Gus made a fierce shushing noise at him and they ducked behind a nearby Prius in tandem as Gabe’s gaze swept in their direction. Shawn breathed out a few choice swear words, letting his face drop to the pavement. The stitches were Not Happy.

"Your dad is not a secret agent, Shawn," Gus hissed at him from beneath the car.

"Agree to disagree," Shawn grit between his teeth and then screwed up his eyes and pushed up a little to check if the coast was clear. Gabe was tugging at the ends of his shirt and staring down the parking lot in the opposite direction. "C’mon. We’ve gotta get closer."

Gus made a grunting noise of annoyance and exasperation both, but followed after him nonetheless. Ducking behind an old black Chevy, they couldn’t see Gabe’s face anymore, but they could hear him, which turned out to be even better.

"…don’t have all day," Gabe was muttering to himself.

After a few long minutes spent pressed to the gritty asphalt, a second pair of feet finally joined Gabe’s orange-sneaker clad ones on the other side of the muscle car.

"Dude," Shawn whispered, "is that guy wearing Kangaroos?"

"Shawn!" Gus hissed. "Focus!"

"Right," Shawn muttered. He tuned back into the conversation.

"…this is what you asked for. She’ll be at the Villa de la Guerra at seven." Shawn leaned forward, peeking out from around the car's shiny silver grill. Gabe was handing someone—the hand was pretty mannish looking—a fat, white envelope. A fat, white envelope the contents of which looked a lot like a considerably sized stack of cash.

Shawn slid back behind the car.

"Make sure you’re there on time. I don’t want her seeing you and getting suspicious."

"No problem." Definitely a man.

There was a pause as, Shawn guessed, the two men shook hands and then Kangaroo guy headed back across the parking lot. Gabe turned and headed back toward the set at a brisk walk. Shawn thought he looked awfully pleased with himself.

"Dude," he said as soon as Gabe was out of hearing range, "what is with all these film noir envelope exchanges? Our lives have become weirdly themed ever since you got us into this." He dusted off the pants of his jeans, ignored a stab of pain from his shoulder and flashed a smile at two surly looking men headed their way.

"Since I got us into this?" Gus echoed incredulously. "You got us these parts!"

"Because I was sucking up to you!" he exclaimed and, in deference to the scary men, gave Gus a few good pushes and got him storming off toward the set again.

Gus huffed. "Would you stop pushing me already?"

Shawn shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but the two men were sliding into the car, safely preoccupied. He changed the subject. "That's the clincher, Gus. Gabe's definitely our man."

"Well, shouldn't we tell someone?" Gus said, eyeing the small figure ahead of them that was Gabe Owens.

Shawn paused, his head bobbing in a small nod. "Good point."

"And we need to get on set, now," Gus added, with a pointed look. "Gabe threw a fit last night because of the delay. I think the only reason you’re still an extra is because of Eliza’s creepy crush on you. She won’t let him replace you."

"Well at least it’s doing some good," Shawn said as they moved past the guards onto the set.

Gus eyebrows rose. "A crush probably won't save you if he flies into a murderous rage."

"Touche."

~*~

Filming wrapped early at six-thirty and Shawn and Gus took off for Villa de la Guerra the second they had stripped out of their togas and thrown on slightly less conspicuous clothing. Shawn had no intention of missing out on the action.

They actually weren't able to locate the building in question, but there was a whole lot full of police vehicles of various makes and models in the parking for the Old Mission so they figured had to be close. They pulled in and wove through the clustered cars to where all the people were gathered, Lassiter and Juliet in the middle of the crowd decked out in tac-gear.

"Marconi, your team is on the front entrance. Weston, your team will be at the rear entrance with me. Guest list is between one-fifty and two hundred. Exercise caution, people. We don't want anyone getting shot who doesn't deserve it," Lassiter was barking. "Move out!"

Half of the people in the crowd broke off and went toward the street to circle around to the front, the other half forming up into their designated positions at their team leader's direction.

Lassiter began conferring with several of the officers being left behind while Juliet monitored the radio.

Shawn didn't have one of the nifty earpieces, but he saw Juliet perk up and assumed that she'd gotten word from the other team, a fact confirmed moments later.

"We're ready, Carlton."

He nodded and started to face the right direction when he spotted Shawn and Gus. Annoyance washed over his face. "Stay here," he ordered, but his tone said that he didn't expect to be listened to.

Well, at least he wouldn't be disappointed.

"Dude, this is awesome!" Shawn hissed as they barreled after the S.W.A.T. team. He was grateful now that he had thrown down those extra Tylenol with the last round. Running like this would be hell otherwise.

Gus shot his friend a look for that remark, but he was right there too so he could hardly chew him out for his poor taste.

They were at the back of the train, however, so long before they could see what was going on they heard screams of terror and shouts of, "POLICE! EVERYBODY DOWN!"

More orders to, "GET DOWN! GET DOWN! GET DOWN!" followed and then they were past the back gate and into the gardens where they could see a rainbow of jeweled silks and sleek black and white combinations all moving down toward the ground.

Murmurs of annoyance and panic and fear interspersed with the occasional sob filled the air as the grounds were secured.

"Clear!" was repeated from several locations and then Lassiter stopped and looked around.

He keyed his mic and asked, "Has anyone located the target?"

"Here!" came the response as a woman was escorted out of the house by two of the S.W.A.T. guys. She was quickly shuffled down the walk and out the back gate, looking very confused.

"Shawn?" she asked as she walked past and he nodded gravely at her.

"Everything's going to be okay, Eliza. The nightmare is over."

"Where is—" Lassiter started to ask.

"Get your hands off of me!" another voice interrupted as a second person was escorted out. It was Gabe and he did not look happy.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, shaking free of the S.W.A.T. member at his elbow. "Are you in charge here?" he asked, striding towards Lassiter.

Lassiter employed his 'talking to civilians in a nice—if somewhat annoyed' tone and explained, "We have reason to believe that there was going to be an attempt on Miss Carlisle's life tonight. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you Mister..."

But Gabe wasn't looking at Lassiter anymore.

His eyes were locked on the two people not wearing tac-vests by the back gate.

"Spencer?" he said incredulously. "What the hell?"

Shawn responded with a hand raised to his temple and a hiss of pain as his face scrunched up briefly. When his eyes opened again they flicked between Gabe and Eliza, both flanked by two curious S.W.A.T. members. "Your hatred for Eliza has finally gone too far, Gabe," Shawn announced, pushing his shoulders back.

"Excuse me?" Gabe demanded, eyes widening sharply.

"Most of the time you were pretty good at controlling your temper, your hatred for your contracted leading lady. You’re a patient man after all."

 //Shawn could see the director clenching his fists on the sides of his chair before calmly asking, "Eliza, honey? What’s wrong?"//

Eliza's eyes went to Gabe and her confusion turned into a scowl.

"You're not exactly a peach to work for yourself, Mr. I-Can't-Choose-A-Script-To-Save-My-Life."

Gabe briefly glanced away from Shawn to sneer, but Shawn wasn't nearly done with his vision.

"Eliza knew just how to get under your skin and she’s been driving you insane from day one."

//Gabe's cheeks suddenly turned a deep shade of purple (and Shawn could only imagine what his blood pressure was like at the moment). "Well, that's the way it's written here and that's the way we're going to perform the scene." Gabe slammed his hand on the arm of his chair, causing the person sitting next to him to jump from the noise. "This is how it's going to be done!"//

"See?" Gabe said, "even Spencer can see you're a bitch. You're not fooling anyone, sweetiepie."

Eliza's cheeks flamed red and she started toward the pudgy little director, but the S.W.A.T. guy next to her held her back with a soft, "Whoa there."

"She finally pushed you too far. You snapped and that was when the ‘accidents’ started."

//"Not while I'm around!" With a swish of her long locks, Eliza Carlisle turned her nose up and stomped off in the direction of her trailer, voices calling out and a young man with a headset running after her as he yelled her name.

 And while Shawn hadn't brushed up on his lip reading skills since the high school winter formal debacle of 1994, he was pretty sure the director had just mouthed, "Oh, that can be arranged."//

"What?" Gabe exclaimed, eyes bulging in shock. "Are you completely insane?"

"Ha!" Eliza crowed. "I knew they weren't accidents! You were trying to get rid of me so that talentless hack you're banging can get the part, aren't you? Well, I have news for you, sweetiepie, even if I did leave for some reason, she'd never be approved to take my place."

If Gabe really wanted to kill her, the look in his eyes right then probably could have done the job.

"Why you, whore!" he snarled and leapt for Eliza. "That's my wife you're talking about!"

It took two S.W.A.T. guys to hold him back and the one in front of Eliza stepped so he was between her and the enraged man still fighting to get free.

She was smiling smugly, but Lassiter's shout of, "EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP!" wiped it away. He was leveling a potent glare at all parties involved, ending with Shawn. "Do you think that maybe the spirits," he said with his usual disdain, "could hurry this up, Spencer?"

Shawn blinked and then jumped right back into the vision.

"Shortly after that first threat, the C-Stand toppled over, nearly killing Eliza in the process. Unfortunately for you, I was there and Eliza was rescued from a terrible fate. But you weren’t finished. Oh no." He shook his head, a solemn expression on his face.

"I can’t believe this!" Gabe snarled. "That helicopter must have knocked your brain loose!"

 //As soon as Gus finished his sentence, Gabe, the director, came storming up between them, breaking through Gus and Samantha's handshake.

"...thinks she can talk to me like that," he grumbled, then turned sharply on his heels, "WELL I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU, YOU SNOT NOSED DIVA, YOU'RE NOT REALLY THAT GOOD OF AN ACTRESS ANYWAY!"//

"Your hatred for Eliza only got worse. You tried to quit to get away from her, but you were thwarted by the contract you had signed. You were trapped."

Gabe smiled smugly. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"CAN WE FOCUS HERE?" Lassiter demanded.

Shawn nodded at him and continued on, "It was only moments after you stormed past, ranting about that ‘snot nosed diva’ when a second attempt was taken on Eliza’s life."

//But Shawn was no longer paying attention to the adorable producer standing before him. Instead, his focus shifted to one of the props set up behind the leading lady. One of the big, fat, wretchedly "aged" pillars was swaying precariously, the sandbags meant to be holding it steady no longer piled up at the base. Shawn knew they had been there when they passed by a few moments ago, he remembered seeing them. But now they were gone and the rope holding the pillar back pulled taut—Eliza and her PA entourage standing directly beneath it.

The rope began to fray around the middle, rapidly shredding apart under the strain.//

"Once again I jumped in to save the day and Eliza slipped through your fingers. Your next attempt was even less subtle than the first two. You purposely requested that Eliza be driven to the set on one of the golf carts, having previously cut the brake lines. But you couldn’t have anticipated Eliza refusing to ride along. She never refuses a ride."

//"Miss Carlisle?" Eliza stopped, the arm she had hooked through Shawn’s dragging him to a screeching halt beside her as she fixed him with a look. "We need to get you down to set, the next scene is coming up soon and Gabe wanted a word with you," Drew said, unfazed.//

//Drew paused as the little machine sprang to life. "I was just told to get you. And we gotta go, now. Vern is also needed, and he’s needed pronto. Gabe is being very insistent."//

//"I’d rather walk with Shawn," Eliza said, stroking his shoulder.

"You’d rather what?" Drew said, sounding incredulous. The expressions that flitted across his face were a mixture of outrage, horror, and outright terror. Shawn could practically see the man’s career flashing before his eyes.//

"Isn’t that the truth," Gabe snorted derisively, earning a nasty glare from Eliza.

Gus leaned over to Shawn, suddenly uncertain. "Is it just me, or is Gabe not acting very nervous for a guy who got caught red-handed plotting a murder?" he whispered.

Shawn gave him a look. "Gus, come on!" he whispered back, "The bad guys always do this! Well, the confident ones. He doesn't realize how iron-clad our case is!"

Gus didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't offer up any more doubts.

Shawn raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the argument, knowing that his next revelation would be the one that would break the whole thing right open.

"Everything fell into place two days ago though, when I heard you on the phone, confirming plans with a hitman."

//"Gabe, the chopper guy is ready. He's just doing a few final tests and then he'll be ready for filming. That means we've got five minutes to get everybody together."

"You're sure everything is in place?"

"Gabe—" Shawn’s curiosity was piqued when the AD’s reply seemed to indicate that Gabe wasn’t speaking to him.

"No, I've got a way to get rid of her, don't worry."//

The only sounds after that were the few evening birds and bugs that were making noise and the water moving through the garden's fountains and ponds.

Juliet's eyebrows went up and Lassiter's gaze was glued on Shawn, along with most everyone else's.

Gabe sputtered for a moment, then said, "Confirming plans with the what?!"

Eliza came to life next. "You bastard! You really tried to kill me?! You son of a bitch! You'll never direct another piece of shit film ever again! You're going to jail, you lousy murdering—"

"Of course," Shawn said, almost yelling over the rising din of the reinvigorated shouting match, as well as the murmuring from the surrounding crowd, "I couldn’t let you get away with it. The vision that hit me as Gus and I were making our way to the set was the clincher. I saw you paying off the hitman in the parking lot this very afternoon!"

//"…this is what you asked for. She’ll be at the Villa de la Guerra at seven." Shawn leaned forward, peeking out from under the car. Gabe was handing someone—the hand was pretty mannish looking—a fat, white envelope. A fat, white envelope that’s contents looked quite a lot like a stack of cash.

"Make sure you’re there on time. I don’t want her seeing you and getting suspicious."//

Gabe stared at Shawn while Eliza continued to rage, then suddenly he began laughing.

That was...unexpected.

It even shut Eliza up.

Looks were being exchanged all over the place as everyone tried to figure out what was going on.

"Shawn?" Gus whispered.

Shawn shrugged. "That...wasn't really supposed to be a punchline."

"You--" Gabe had to suck in a breath, which whooshed out on another riff of laughter. "You think I...I was paying off...a hitman?" he finally managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter. His face was turning an alarming shade of red as he bent over at the waist, clutching his stomach.

Shawn looked around, as if the question had been directed to someone else. "Yes?" he said in confusion.

Just then there was a commotion from the gate and all eyes turned as a new voice rapidly grew in volume.

"No, I don't know what's going on here. I was just brought here by my chauffeur and now there are police everywhere and I just want an explanation as to what the hell is going on!"

This last was said as a new begowned and stylishly coiffed woman entered the garden, an officer trying valiantly to herd her back just barely ahead of her.

She was ignoring him as her eyes took in the scene and when they landed on Gabe she exclaimed, horrified, "Honey? What is going on here?"

Gabe sighed, his laughter apparently cured by her arrival. He waved a hand and said with a great deal of sarcasm lacing his tone, "Happy birthday, baby. Surprise!"

There was a beat in which Shawn's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise, his eyebrows rising, and then all the attention landed squarely on him.

Lassiter's brows were drawing down into a familiar scowl which did not bode well for Shawn's eardrums later. Juliet didn't look pleased either, though she'd probably just ignore him for a while instead of actively ripping him up one side and down the other. Most of the S.W.A.T. guys looked mildly to very amused and Shawn had no doubt he'd be the butt of many a joke for the next little while in their circle.

The one that hurt was the glare Gus was giving him from under lowered eyebrows.

"Wait, I can explain," he said. The protest was feeble at best, which was understandable considering he wasn’t sure he could explain. How exactly had something this huge slipped past him?

"Oh you will be," Lassiter said. "But we're going to let these people get back to their party first. You can explain down at the station."

Lassiter turned away then, making apologies to Gabe and then directing the S.W.A.T. to stand down and reconvene in the Old Mission's parking lot for a debrief.

"But..." Shawn said. "He... This doesn't mean he's not the killer!"

But no one was listening.

~*~

It took a great deal of effort for Shawn to keep from sighing aloud.

"…IF YOU EVER PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, MR. SPENCER, YOU WILL NOT HAVE WORK TO COME BACK TO, ARE WE UNDERSTOOD?"

Gus kept glancing up from his laptop, a disapproving, "You deserve this," look on his face. Karen was yelling loudly enough that Shawn was pretty sure he could hear every word. Traitor.

"Yes, Chief. Sometimes the spirits get their signals crossed. Won’t happen again."

"Good," she said coldly. "I expect you do everything you can to smooth this over. And you had better not come to me with a single accusation unless you have solid, concrete proof."

"Yes, Chief. No accusations without proof. Got it."

"Good day, Mr. Spencer," she said, tone fierce. Shawn winced as the phone slammed in his ear. He pursed his lips and delicately put the receiver back on the base.

"Well, that went well."

"Uh huh," Gus said, dismissive and unimpressed.

Shawn took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay. So maybe. Maybe I was wrong. It isn’t Gabe. But somebody killed Vern. And somebody is causing these 'accidents'."

"I don’t know, Shawn. Maybe it really is just a bunch of really bad accidents. You've never been quite this wrong before."

"Don’t be a soggy saltine, Gus," Shawn muttered, pushing slowly to his feet. His heart wasn’t in the rebuke though, being wrong about Gabe had really thrown him for a loop. He moved to the back of the office, tugging the glass board out into the middle of the office before pulling out a marker. He popped the cap off, jamming it on to the butt of the marker and began tapping it against his chin. "All right. Let’s go over what we do know."

He plowed on despite Gus’ lack of a response, squashing down a throb of hurt.

The pen slid across the glass.

He stared at the list, frustrated. He was missing something. He had to be. But Gabe fit so well. "Maybe it was someone close to Gabe," he said aloud. "Someone who knew he hated her, hated her, too. Who knew he wanted to see her on set, knew where she was going to be during the C-Stand scene…"

He turned, snapping his fingers. "What about the 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd—"

"I get it, Shawn," Gus said, cutting him off irritably. "Do you think you can prove she did it?"

Shawn sagged a little, looking back at the board. "No."

"Then we’ve got nothing to talk about," Gus said primly, snapping his laptop shut. Out front, the office door opened with a loud bang. Gus met Shawn’s eyes, standing, and said, "I’m going to get coffee."

"SHAWN!"

Shawn flinched, fixing Gus’ rapidly retreating figure with a dirty glare. "Great, thanks Gus. Really appreciate the moral support!"

Gus waved as he breezed through the doorway and a moment later Henry stormed through to replace him, face an incredulous thundercloud. Shawn sighed and dropped into his chair in an attempt to look bored. The wince and hiss as the movement pulled his stitches sort of ruined the effect.

Henry slapped a newspaper down on the center of Shawn’s desk, glaring. "Shawn," he said, voice cool and calm now. The headline on the top page read PSYCHIC SAVES STARLET FROM FIERY FATE.

"Dad," Shawn said, mimicking his tone.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, the calm of his voice trembling with the strain of keeping it that way.

"Oh, so now you care?" Shawn said without bothering to conceal the disdain in his voice.

"Don’t give me that, Shawn! It says a burning tent nearly fell on you—it says you had smoke inhalation! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Gee, Dad, I don’t know, maybe I was thinking, ‘That tent is going to fall on that innocent woman, maybe I should do something.’" He shoved to his feet again and bit back a cry at the lines of fire it set searing up his arm into his chest and neck. Ow. He needed Tylenol, ASAP.

"Dammit, Shawn! You’re not a superhero! You can’t just run into burning tents or—or—" The words faltered as Shawn disappeared into the small bathroom at the back of the office. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

Shawn ignored him, easily distracted by the hot pain along the seams of his stitches and he pulled open the medicine cabinet, pushing aside a dozen other bottles before finding the red and white one he was looking for. He popped it open, spilling three of the pills into his palm. Why did he always forget to do this until the pain was almost unbearable?

Exasperation crept up over the pain when he felt his father move into the bathroom behind him. "Dad, seriously, this bathroom is not big enough for the both of us. Get out," he said and tipped the pills out of his hand into his mouth. He leaned down to the faucet, swallowing the pills down with a mouthful of water.

He wasn’t surprised when Henry was still in the doorway when he turned around, but the widening of his eyes and the hands grabbing carefully a hold of his shoulder and jaw were a little bit of a shock.

"What the hell, Dad?" he demanded as his father turned his head, fierce gaze on his neck. It wasn’t until the hand on his shoulder moved to pull the collar of his shirt to the side that he realized what Henry was doing. He sighed and resigned himself to the manhandling.

"Is this from that set, too?" Henry asked, eyes now raking over the bruising on the side of Shawn’s face.

"Yeah, Dad. A few days ago a chopper cam got out of control and crashed. It was an accident," he said, poorly concealing his impatience. It really wasn’t worth it to get into the possibility that it hadn’t been an accident right now. "Are you done gawking yet?"

"I don’t like this, Shawn," Henry said quietly. "First a fire and now this? Whatever’s going on at that set is dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved."

Shawn sighed. "Maybe not, Dad, but I am. The producer hired me and Gus to figure out who killed Vern and Gus and I are featured extras. We can’t exactly pull out now." He also kept it to himself that he and Gus might very well be fired the next time they saw the producer.

Henry let out his own sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. "Look, Shawn. I know the last few months have been rough between you and Gus, but you can make up for your idiocy some other way. Some way that doesn’t involve risking your lives. What if Gus gets hurt while you two are running around trying to solve this case? What then?"

Shawn shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the tiles on the floor. "Gus won’t get hurt. Gus isn’t an idiot." Like me. He shook his head. "Dad, I’m not just sticking with this because I wanna suck up to Gus. I mean, yeah, that’s a big part of it, but I’m not going to quit in the middle of a case just because it might be a little bit dangerous. I can’t."

He tilted his chin up ever-so-slightly meeting his dad’s gaze as he scrutinized his face. Finally, Henry huffed out a small noise, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Shawn stiffened, his jaw clenching. "What?"

Henry turned, still shaking his head and Shawn’s building anger faltered when he caught the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his dad’s mouth.

"Dad?" he called as Henry moved back out into the office. "What was that? What do you mean ‘unbelievable’?" He followed after him, forehead wrinkled with confusion.

Henry scooped the paper up off of Shawn’s desk, folding it in half and tucking it under one arm and starting for the door. "If you have to go back, Shawn, do me a favor and try to be a little more careful, will you? Next time you tell me if you get hurt."

Shawn shot him a resentful glare. "I did try to tell you. You were too busy with your new girlfriend to bother listening to me."

Henry glanced back over his shoulder, surprise written on his face. "Girlfriend? Shawn, I’m not dating anyone. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m single, thank you very much. Way to check your facts, kid."

Shawn narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Then who’s this mysterious ‘guest’ you keep blowing me off for?"

He pointed the paper at Shawn’s face. "Once again, none of your business."

"Oh, so you’ll tell me you’re not dating someone, but not who you are seeing so much of?"

A self-satisfied smile flashed onto Henry’s face. "Pretty much."

"Is it a boyfriend?" Shawn called, his voice rising sharply in alarm. It was mostly contrived, but...

"NO, Shawn!" Henry snapped, glowering. "It's none of your business who it is or what I'm doing with my time, so just let it drop."

Shawn followed as he started toward the door again. "I’m going to figure it out, Dad. If I have to set up surveillance at your house and hire myself to shoot lurid photos of you through the living room windows, I’m going to figure it out!"

Henry chuckled darkly. "Good luck with that. Seems like you’ve already got quite enough on your plate already."

"All this secrecy is bad for our relationship, Dad! Secrecy breeds resentment, you know!"

Henry waved the paper at him over his shoulder and climbed into his truck, driving away with a smirk still on his face.

Shawn’s twisted into a scowl. Well, that had been…annoying.