“Okay, Benjistein,” Shawn said seriously, taking a seat across from Ty, who was sitting at Lassiter’s desk waiting for the detective to get done. “I’m going to stop you from making a big mistake.”
“What?” Ty sighed, rolling his eyes at the dork. He spun around once in the chair, letting it slow as it faced Shawn again.

Shawn reached into his back pocket, pulling out a copy of that day’s paper. He flipped through it, finally pointing at a small announcement that declared Benjamin Tyson had applied for a legal name change.

Ty recognized it immediately, of course. Posting the announcement in the paper a few weeks before the court date was part of the requirements for legally changing his name.

“What about it?” he asked, glancing up from the paper, curious.

“You can’t change your name to Lassiter,” Shawn told him. “That would mean I’d have to start calling you Lassie, and I can’t have two Lassies running around here. Do you have any idea what that would do to my psychic mojo?”

“You wouldn’t have to call me Lassie,” Ty retorted. “You could just call me Benji like everyone else. Not Benjistein. Not Lassie. Not Buddy. Just Benji.”

“Just Benji?” Shawn snorted, clearing not seeing this ever happening. “Anyone can call you Benji. It takes a true master of verbal wit to call you Benjistein. But, seriously dude? Benjistein Lassie? It just doesn’t roll of the tongue. There are way too many possibilities…too many jokes…my psychic sensors are going into overdrive, here!”

Ty sighed, leaning across the desk. “What would you recommend, then?” he asked dryly, not in the least bit interested, but he knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation until the dork had said his piece.

Shawn grinned, pulling up a chair, turning it around so he was sitting in it backwards as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a piece of white-lined paper. “I’m glad you asked,” he cleared his throat formally. “I happen to have a few ideas. What about…Benji MacGyver? An awesome name, not to mention a fitting tribute to some of the best hair known to man. Plus, I could call you Benji-Mac. How sweet would that be?”

Ty groaned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “No, way.”

“Okay,” Shawn quickly grabbed a pencil, crossing that one off the list. “No Benji-Mac. Got it. What about Benji Coraopolis? You could be Benjiopolis.”

“Eh!” Ty sounded a fake buzzer, gesturing his hand lazily though the air, bringing on the next suggestion.

Shawn turned the paper over.

“Uh…Benji Graham? I could call you Cracker.”

“Hell no!”

Shawn lowered the paper, raising an eyebrow at Ty. “Does Lassie let you say hell?” he asked.

Ty crossed his arms over his chest, grinning proudly. “I’m eighteen. I can swear if I want, damn it.”

Shawn laughed, nodding in agreement. “Hell no it is, then,” he murmured, looking over the rest of his rapidly shrinking list. “Any chance there’s any leeway on Benji as a first name?” he asked hopefully. “Could we go with Benny? Because if you were Benny Hill—”

Ty shook his head. “Benji stays,” he told him firmly. “It’s what my mom called me.”

Shawn nodded understandingly. “My mom still calls me Goose,” he told him. “I don’t think she realizes I’m not six anymore.”

He crossed off a few more names, presumably those that somehow involved changing his name to Benny.

“So, Benny Andthejets is out,” he mumbled. “And probably Jack Benny, too…”

“Jack Benny?” Ty laughed. “How old are you?”

“It’s still a relevant reference!” Shawn insisted. “And I’m twenty-eight, for your information.”

“Yeah, right,” Ty snorted.

Shawn moved on quickly before they could spend too much time discussing that. “You’re really limiting my creative process here, Benjistein,” he complained.

“Oh, well,” Ty shrugged, spinning the chair around again. “I guess I’ll just have to be Benji Lassiter, then.”

“You won’t even consider Benjamin Franklin?”

“No.”

 “But my mojo!”

Ty stopped spinning, gazing thoughtfully across the desk at Shawn. “My dad didn’t come back to town for my graduation,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t even send him an invitation. I don’t know where he is. But Carl came. And the Hendersons. I love my dad, and I miss him, but he’s not coming back. He’s never going to be here. And I don’t really even want him to be here anymore. I want Carl to be here.”

Shawn nodded slowly, grinning as Ty continued.

“I ran away from the Hendersons a few times,” he pressed on. “When I got pissed off. I always went back, but they still tried to put me in a new foster home just outside Santa Barbara after a couple of them, one with more supervision. Carl wouldn’t let them. He spent hours on the phone keeping me here, just because he knew it’s what I needed. I don’t know what he threatened to do to the social worker if she moved me, but it worked. I got to stay here.”

“He doesn’t have to actually threaten anything specific,” Shawn told him, knowing this from personal experience. “It’s the Lassie Snarl that sells it.”

Ty nodded, leaning back in his chair. “He never gave up on me,” he concluded. “Even when I did my best to make him.”

“Yeah, I have a guy like that,” Shawn grinned knowingly. “They’re called dads.”