It should have been a quiet day.
It should have been a quiet week.
It should have been…but the moment Gus saw the website title flash across his computer screen, he somehow knew it was going to be anything but quiet.
"Shawn," he asked, genuinely confused as he looked up from his computer. "Why were you doing an internet search about how to sell your blood?"
"I think the better question is why are you doing an internet search about my internet searches," Shawn shot back, linking his fingers behind his head as he propped his feet up on the desk, grinning in that annoying way he always grinned when he had a secret he thought he wasn't going to share with Gus.
Of course, Burton Guster was not a man who gave up easily.
"You know I always check my history," Gus reminded him, his eyes narrowing skeptically. "If I don't, I might end up with a thousand dollars worth of tuna. Again."
"I told you that was a shipping mistake," Shawn argued. "I thought I was taking an internet poll. I was voting for gross, not ordering one."
"You voted ten times!"
"I really don't like tuna!"
"Whatever," Gus waved his hand through the air in a slicing motion, ending the pointless debate before it got out of hand. "The point is, if I don't check my internet history my credit score will be as bad as…well, as bad as yours. And you still haven't answered my question. Why are you trying to sell your blood?"
"Who said I was trying to sell my blood?" Shawn grinned, dropping his feet to the floor. "You know how I feel about pointy objects."
"Then, whose blood-?" Gus started to ask, his stomach already clenching as the familiar feeling began to wash over him.
Once again, his best friend was about to throw him under the bus.
"No one in particular," Shawn answered cagily. "I'm just a curious person. What can I say? I thirst for knowledge."
"No, you don't," Gus snorted, finding the very idea of Shawn doing research just for fun laughable. At least, it would have been laughable if it wasn't so utterly terrifying. "You're not selling my blood, Shawn."
Shawn gasped in poorly-feigned shock, as if the thought of such an awful thing had never crossed his mind. "Gus! I would never-!"
"Yes, you would."
"Okay, I would," Shawn admitted. "But I haven't."
"Yes, you have," Gus reminded him.
"Not this week," Shawn amended, rolling his eyes, clearing unconcerned with the semantics.
"You're not selling my blood!"
"I don't need to sell much!" Shawn assured him. "I'm almost there."
"Almost where?" Gus wanted to know, his indignation fading once again into curiosity.
Shawn looked both directions to make sure they were really alone, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out.
It was a piece of poster board with a large drawing of a police badge on it. Upon closer examination, Gus realized the badge was only half colored in.
"What is it?" he asked.
Shawn sighed. "It's the latest in a long line of torture devices devised by my father, the greatest torturerer since Sir. Martin Van Torture."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means I made the mistake of going to him for some advice, man-to-man."
"Why would you do that?" Gus scoffed. "You know that never ends well."
"Because I'm an idiot," Shawn grumbled. "I asked him how I'd know when I was ready to pop the question to Jules."
Gus's eyebrows shot up with sudden interest. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," Shawn nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck. "It's no big deal."
"Are you kidding?" Gus scoffed. "This is huge!"
"No," Shawn corrected him sullenly. "It's almost huge."
"Almost?"
Shawn groaned, gesturing helplessly at the poster board police badge. "According to my dad, I'm not ready to propose until I can pay cash for her ring."
"Who pays cash for an engagement ring?" Gus asked.
"I don't know. Something about avoiding interest and credit…you know I zone out when people start talking about numbers."
"That makes sense," Gus agreed thoughtfully, still somewhat confused. "But, come on. What could he possibly do-?"
"Skin me alive and personally see to it that no judge will sign the license," Shawn answered without so much as blinking or pausing to think about it.
Gus stared at him in disbelief. "He said that?"
"Twice."
"That's messed up."
"Try living with him," Shawn groaned. "This is nothing."
"I still don't get the poster board badge."
"It's my saving chart," Shawn explained without much enthusiasm. "He used to make them when I was a kid, too, to force me to save. Leave it to my dad to turn money into a chore. Every time I put some money away, I get to color part of the badge. When the badge is all colored in, I get to propose."
Gus stared at his best friend for a long moment, completely dumbfounded. "Since when have you ever listened to your dad before?" he demanded finally. "Why bother starting now? You're a grown man, Shawn. He can't tell you not to get married."
"Are we talking about the same man?" Shawn snorted. "You have met Henry Spencer, right? The guilt hurricane?"
"He's not that bad."
"The man is making me color through blackmail! I mean, what kind of psycho does that to his own son?"
Gus didn't have an immediate response.
What the heck was could he possibly say?
"I guess he's trying to look out for you," he answered slowly, though he honestly didn't know why he was bothering to try to see the other side of the issue.
"He's just trying to inflict his will on me again," Shawn grumbled. "He doesn't change, Gus. He'll never change. That's why I have to sell your blood."
"You're not selling my blood!"
"Well, I have to do something!" Shawn insisted, standing up. "I can't take it anymore! I have to come up with the money fast!"
"Did someone say fast money?" a voice from behind them spoke up.
Both Shawn and Gus whirled around to see who had managed to sneak into the office unnoticed.
Standing in the doorway, grinning the same grin he'd been grinning the last time they saw him, was Jack Spencer.
Before Shawn or Gus could say anything, he took a step into the room, dusting his hat off on his jeans. "It just so happens," he grinned, his eyes sparkling at his nephew. "That I'm an expert in fast money."