“Why aww we eatig' thish?” Shawn asked around a mouthful of sickly sweet gooeyness.

Less encumbered by taking delicate, petite bites, Gus wiped unblemished lips with the napkin tucked in his collar. “Cause your dad cooked it.”

Stuffing another bite in his cheeks while still chewing the first, Shawn shook his head while carelessly waving around a crust spackled fork. “No... no thah ishin't ih't.”

Dodging spit crumbs, Gus moved exactly one foot left to escape the spattering commentary. Still working his tongue around his latest sampling of the pastry, he fought to nail down the specific components. Not often his prized olfactory senses were put that much to the test to identify an odor, he found himself flummoxed by this particular aroma.

It was pure curiosity that got that third bite past his lips. Henry might be a culinary genius with deceased mammals but his pie baking skills were undernourished. Not that it was stopping his son from devouring the large slice set before him no matter how many faces Shawn made as he forced down the painfully sweet dessert.

“Guhh...” Teeth mashing through yet another enormous bite, Shawn looked a step away from upchucking across the table. Gus moved an additional five inches just to be safe while Shawn tilted his body to stare out the back door.

“Daaaaaad! Whah ish thish!?” Why he couldn't have swallowed first...

Giving up on analysis in exchange for keeping his guts intact, Gus slid his plate away and hugged his stomach. Meanwhile, Mr. Spencer returned inside after pitching the garbage to the curb. Gus realized, then, that the older man had made no move to grab a slice of dessert for himself. Shawn, of course, noticed as well and suspicion dropped the fork from his fingers where the taste of overcooked death had failed to do so.

“Okay, what are you pulling, old man?” The accusation only brought an innocent glance before guilt turned the gaze towards the refrigerator.

“What are you talking about, Shawn? Simple dinner invite. You don't like the food, then next time you can cook. If you can get everything prepared before the new year.”

The subtle jab at his Easy Bake Oven wasn't sitting well with Shawn given the sour crimp to his somewhat greenish features. But rather that leap to an argument, he flicked his attention towards the decimated pie before returning a look back towards his father that involved a slightly tilted head and a squint of eyes. He just couldn't help the “clue face” no matter how often Gus teased him about it.

“This is a test, right? Oh my God!” He shouted, dropping his newly reclaimed fork again to shove to his feet. Gus watched with interest as Shawn got in front of his father, in his face. “We're just guinea hens to some sick, twisted game! Did you poison us? Is this where you offer the antidote in exchange for sanding the floors? Or maybe you're after something else...” His expression firmed. “You can't have Gus's soul.”

Henry waved his arms at him – pushing Shawn out of his personal space as he moved past him towards the sink. “Shawn, the last thing I'd want is Gus's soul.”

Snapping his lips in indignation, Gus stood, then, too. Henry barely glanced back as he flipped the water on to wash his hands. “No offense, Gus.”

No offense? His soul had just been maligned! And once more he'd been dragged to the center of a Spencer spat. Not only that, but whatever ill deed Henry was practicing with his mystery pie, he'd roped Gus into it as well. Rather, Shawn had done the roping with his insistence on dinner with his father just to avoid eating alone with the old man. So much for a quiet night with leftover carne asada and Myth Busters on DVR.

Shawn trailed after his father after hooking a chunk of crust from the pie pan and cramming it in his mouth – coughing a spray of partly chewed bits seconds later. While the battle heated up again Gus chose to save his buddy's gut from further ruin by grabbing the remainder of the pie and heading for the door. He knew Henry had a garbage can out by the garage and with Shawn flying on munchy autopilot he didn't want to risk tossing it within reach of his friend's self destructive appetite.

Of course, where Shawn's belly would someday doom him to explosive gastritis, it was Gus's nose that would be his own undoing. Never one to leave a mysterious scent unexplored and finally away from Shawn's distractive chatter, he lifted the pie to his face and inhaled. Hint of chocolate notes and... onion? He sniffed more deeply, catching the sharp whiff of grass clippings from the lawn and the sour rot from the nearby garbage can. The heady sweet/savory pie odor was barely familiar – something he might have encountered maybe once before...

Flash back on the smell in the kitchen when he and Shawn had first arrived. The lingering stink of boat cleaner and dirty laundry. A memory of that same smell, only stronger, when he'd stumbled after his karate chopping friend through an asian market. Not a case he liked to revisit at the best of times, the swelling in his lip from being kicked in the face had taken two weeks to subside. But within the chilling reflection of homicidal Triads and kidnapping lovers, he finally hit upon the identity of that elusive stench.

Pie still in hand, he slapped back into the house just as Shawn was misquoting Magna Carta.

“You baked us a pie with durian?” Gus lifted the offensive dessert towards the two men, his reveal stopping the fight cold as they turned his way. Shawn wrinkled his forehead.

“Since when are John Taylor and Nick Rhodes pastry chefs to do your evil bidding?”

“Durian, Shawn, not Duran Duran. It's a kind of asian fruit that...”

“I wanted to try something different, okay? Sorry it didn't pan out but I was trying to expand your horizons a little.” Snatching the pie from Gus, Henry topped it with foil before shoving it in the fridge.

Shawn snorted. “Excuse me, but I don't need my horizons expanded. Especially not with stinky fruit pie!” Reaching past his father, he snatched the pie from the fridge once more and peeled back the foil. Moth to flame, he fingered out a chunk and stared at it as though he could spot the offending flavor buried in the mushy core. Henry grabbed the pie back as Shawn stuck his fingers in his mouth to suck at the morsel – his face collapsing in disgust.

Gus shook his head. “You're an idiot.”

Ignoring both his father and best friend, Shawn snatched something from the fridge door – sending the magnet holding it there flying. Not speaking, he held the fold creased paper, a flyer of some kind, under his father's nose with a smug and vindicated lift of his eyebrows.

Henry rolled his eyes. “What's your point, Shawn?”

“A contest? Really? Dude, I was right! This is a test! You're using me and Gus for some twisted experiment!”

“I told you, Shawn, I'm not your dude. And in spite of your complaints, you didn't stop eating, did you.”

Gus would have agreed with Henry except he'd seen Shawn put away a whole plate of brain meltingly hot chicken and rice, tears and sweat running down his face and whimpering the entire time. One of a number of compulsions his friend seemed to have no control over. It was a little sad actually.

“So you're admitting that you're a mad scientist and you're trying to turn Gus and me into super powered mutants?” He coughed into his fist as his voice strangled – hacking until his father thumped him on the back.

“That's exactly it. Appears you're feeling the effects already. Gus, any tingling in your fingers? Has your vision gone blurry yet?” A sarcastic Mr. Spencer was rarely a pretty sight. Not that Gus ever considered Mr. Spencer a pretty sight regardless of his mood.

“Just a little Duran Duran stuck in my throat.” Shawn coughed again and then paused, frowning. “That came out wrong.”

And the night was officially over. “Look, I have a meeting tomorrow at seven in the morning. I'm going to head out. Goodnight Mr. Spencer. It was a wonderful meal.”

“Wait, Gus...!” Of course Shawn would pitch a fit. Though he had his own transportation, it wasn't raining, and Henry wasn't bending his arm to remain behind, the guy still succumbed to abandonment issues if the two of them didn't leave together.

“See you tomorrow, Shawn.”

“But!”

But nothing – the stink of that pie and the matching flavor still clung to Gus's palette and he craved a hot shower and the medicinal scald of peppermint Scope to set things right. The road was calling and his keys were already in hand as he slipped out the door, leaving behind two generations of Spencers in his wake.