EPILOGUE

Ten days later, Shawn was stalling, and his favorite way to do so, as usual, was to bug Lassie.

"I know! It was a mob of clowns who were angry that you pulled them over for a traffic violation because they all had to pile out of their tiny car to get to the registration in the glove compartment. So they stole your pants and jumped back in the car in the world's slowest fast getaway, and you couldn't chase them down again because your keys were in your pants. Right? And also because they'd thrown a pie in your face. I'm right that time, right? So now you keep a key inside your car! And a shammy!" Shawn exclaimed with a triumphant grin.

He had discovered, with some quiet digging and a bribe of Nutter Butters for McNab, that Lassiter had lost his car keys when chasing a suspect years earlier. A pit bull in the suspect's yard had ripped a hole in his pants pocket. The guy had been able to reach his own car and drive off, and Lassiter hadn't been able to follow. The suspect had gone on to commit several more muggings before they'd been able to track him down again. Shawn knew it was a sore spot for Lassiter, so he didn't want to tease him about it too much, but he figured some light-hearted ribbing wouldn't hurt. It could even take some of the sting away. Or at the very least it would keep him from dying of boredom, which also tended to sting.

Lassiter gave him his signature glare-out-of-the-corner-of-his-eyes look before moving his eyes back to the report on his desk. "Spencer, please just shut up and go away. I have a lot of work to do," growled Lassiter. He was sitting at his desk with a pile of reports which were taking him twice as long to complete since only his left hand was working. His right arm was going to be in a cast for a few more weeks. He wasn't supposed to use his right hand for anything at all, so he was going crazy trying to fill out forms left-handed.

"Why are you such a crankhole today?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed. "Crankhole?"

"Yes, crankhole. It's a new word. I've just discovered it. I will be submitting a patent for it this afternoon."

Lassiter just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Spencer. But you can't seriously be asking why I'm angry. You got me a reprimand from the chief and a month's worth of O'Hara's paperwork to do, not to mention a broken arm and a concussion that'll have me stuck on desk duty for weeks!"

"Mild concussion," said Shawn, meeting Lassiter's glare. "And the chief wasn't nearly as hard on you as she was on me, man. I mean, you did get credit for nabbing Colombian jewel thieves."

Lassiter's face softened into a quick, proud smile for a moment. "That's true," he said quietly. Then he frowned again, dredging up what seemed to Shawn a half-hearted look of reproach. "But you really think the chief was hard on you? You have to help your father fix the roof on his house before you can work any more cases. I'm amazed you're still breathing."

Shawn stifled a smile. Needling Lassiter was fun, but sometimes trading good-natured jabs was fun too. "Dude, you have no idea."

Juliet walked over to Lassiter's desk. "Lunchtime, Shawn," she said with a sly grin.

Gus came walking up as well, nodding at Juliet. "Sorry I'm a little late. Meeting went over."

"No problem, Gus," said Juliet smiling, then she looked at Shawn again with eyebrows raised.

"Aw man," said Shawn. "Is it that time again already?"

"Yes, Shawn, it is," said Gus haughtily.

Shawn stood up and dug several bills out of his pocket, handing them to Juliet.

"Thanks, Shawn! Now where do you want to go today, Gus?"

"There's a new Ethiopian place I heard about. Do you want to give it a try?" asked Gus eagerly.

"Sounds great! Carlton, do you want that too?"

Lassiter considered for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't know if that stuff travels well. Just bring me back some tacos, please."

"Sure thing, partner," said Juliet.

Shawn groaned and mumbled, "So not fair."

"See you guys later," said Juliet with a jaunty wave.

Shawn glared at their retreating forms before looking back to catch the smirk on Lassiter's face. "This blows," said Shawn. Then he looked at his watch. "Time to go, I guess. I don't want dad calling the chief again looking for me."

Lassiter kept smiling as he worked on another form. Shawn turned to go, but then he swung back to Lassiter's desk. "Oh, I almost forgot," he began, giving Lassiter a mischievous look and wiggling his eyebrows.

Lassiter's smile faded and he sighed. "What is it now?"

Shawn walked over to a file cabinet and pulled a rectangular box off of it, then returned. "I got you something," he said as he put the box down on top of Lassiter's paperwork.

Lassiter regarded the box suspiciously. "If anything jumps out of that at me, Spencer, so help me god."

"Just open it, crankhole."

Lassiter lifted the lid and his face fell into a look of puzzled surprise for a moment. His eyebrows drew together and he looked up at Shawn. "Is this a cake?"

Shawn smiled. "Indeed it is! And it's all yours. You can have it, and you can eat it too," said Shawn with a wry grin. "You just might want to wait until after lunch, otherwise you'll get indigestion. Believe me." He turned to leave, raising his hand in a wave as he walked out of the station to go serve his time.

Lassiter shook his head for a moment in disbelief. Then a slow grin lit up his face as he stared at the handgun-shaped cake.

THE END