It's Your Party, You Can Die If You Want To

Written by: Oni-Baka

Santa Barbara—1987

Nearly a dozen children were gathered around the table, all of them screaming something that was more or less like "Happy Birthday." At the head of the table, Shawn wiggled impatiently, the paper hat on his head flopped nearly to his left ear. Just behind him, Henry Spencer stood, placing a cake lit with candles in front of Shawn.

Shawn barely waited for the last strains of the pseudo-music to fade before he was moving out of his chair, heading for the pile of presents gathered on the floor nearby. He nearly made it all the way out of the chair before Henry's hand descended on his shoulder, rocking him back into place. Henry looked down at him incredulously, gaze flicking to the group of children now shifting in their seats, waiting for birthday cake.

"Shawn, where are you going?" Henry asked, his tone cautionary, a tone Shawn knew very well but chose, as he often did, to ignore.

"I'm going to go open my presents" Shawn replied in an 'of course' tone of his own. Henry's eyebrows clicked together, and down the table Gus slunk down slightly in his seat, knowing that expression as well. The fork clutched in one fist was lowered to the table; he didn't foresee getting that cake anytime soon.

"Shawn, don't you think that's just a little inappropriate? Your guests haven't even gotten their cake yet." Shawn let out a long-suffering sigh, hands thrown up.

"It's my birthday! And I'm already full of pizza." Henry leaned down slightly so that he could look his son full in the face, and Shawn's expression closed obstinately.

"I know I didn't raise you to be like this, Shawn. You're being rude. Your friends have been looking forward to this; surely you can wait a few minutes."

"But it's my birthday! Who cares what they want?" Children began to shift uncomfortably. One kid with two party hats making horns on his head started shredding his napkin, slowly feeding the strips into his paper cup. Henry moved even further down until he was kneeling beside Shawn's chair, and one hand came up to point into Shawn's face.

"Gratitude, Shawn. That is what you are showing a distinct lack of. These people" he indicated the uncomfortable group

"came to celebrate your life. They brought you gifts, and they are here because they like you—"

"Michael Colmes is here because Gus told him there would be chocolate cake!" Shawn interrupted, arms crossing obstinately over his chest.

Henry sighed, looking across the table briefly before re-capturing his son's eyes.

"Then Michael Colmes can go without cake, but it doesn't change your bad behavior. Now what do you have to say to your friends?" Shawn's eyes went wide with horror.

"Dad—"

"Shawn." Henry's stance brooked no argument. Shawn turned back to the table, body stiff with humiliation.

"I'm sorry I was ungrateful and wanted to open my presents…" Henry nodded approval.

"—even though it's my birthday and I should get to do whatever I want."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The look of satisfaction on Shawn's face eclipsed all adjectives that might have been used to describe it, from gleeful onward to tickled pink. It eclipsed all other expressions in the area, spreading from his body into the general populace of the Santa Barbara police department.

"Need help there?" Officer Mcnab asked, beaming back at Shawn. Shawn inclined his head slightly, all teeth, hands completely full.

"I got it. Bringing it to the bullpen; come by for a piece later, yeah?"

"Will do. Oh, and Happy Birthday." Shawn's grin grew impossibly larger, and he shifted to bring one hand into a fist, still holding the enormous pineapple upside down cake balanced on his forearms and gripped tightly. McNab hurried forward after a brief awkward pause, knocking his own fist lightly against Shawn's own and almost knocking the both of them over. After several hurried apologies and assurances that it was fine, Shawn kept moving. He stopped by the break room, then veered toward Chief Vick's office instead, cake still in tow. Was he fishing for well-wishings? Well, maybe. The cake did have 'Happy Birthday Shawn!!" (complete with two exclamation points) drawn on in gigantic lime-green letters.

"Jules!" he called, seeing a flash of blonde passing around the corner. Juliet's face peeked cutely from around the corner, smiling slightly in recognition.

"Shawn." Eyes automatically traveled to the cake, and the letters blaring off of it.

"Oh!" The smile widened, and she came toward him, clutching a thick manilla folder. Shawn automatically looked down at it, catching on all the minute details offered: a name, Millicent Bargussi, and a sliver of snapshot that showed a hand with a hole clean through the middle. Purple glittery nail polish with a silver moon on the thumb.

"Shawn, I didn't know it was your birthday!" Shawn dragged his gaze away, shifting the cake slightly.

"Yes, well, I don't like to telegraph the fact—" A look of fake modesty.

"—but yes, in fact, I seem to remember it is my birthday." A shift of the eyebrows, and the cake lifted further, right under his chin.

"I brought cake for everyone. Where's Lassy? It's his favorite." Juliet appeared to have no ready response to this except "really?" but was saved from directing Shawn by the sound of a cleared throat coming from behind Shawn.

"Detective O'Hara, I assume that is the file I was asking for?"

"Lassy-face!" Shawn exclaimed, turning quickly with his cake.

"Not now, Spencer, I don't have the time" Lassiter gritted out, barely glancing at the cake. He blinked, looked again more closely, but seemed not at all inclined to comment, holding out his hand for Juliet's file. It was handed over, Juliet slightly chagrined and embarrassed as their positions meant handing it right over Shawn's head.

Lassiter inclined his head, and made to leave, but Shawn moved, with cake, to intercept him, scooting around to block the head detective's path. Perhaps out of respect for his suit and the dry cleaning bill should he get frosting on his jacket, Lassiter stopped, the look in his eyes one of impatience and surprisingly little tolerance; far less than usual.

Shawn immediately reacted to it, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin slightly, a posture that usually categorized his interactions with his father and little else.

"Don't you have something to say to me, Lassy?"

"Out of my way, Spencer. Unlike you, I am very busy." Shawn's head tilted, eyes glancing off tiny cues in Lassiter's appearance; rumpled shirt, grease stain, light bruising under the eyes, stubble, chapped lips. Not just brushing Shawn off then, maybe. Lassiter looked tired; tired and worried.

"Two words, Lassy. That's all I want."

A hiss of air spilling from between Lassiter's clenched lips, and for a second it looked as if the other man might attack him. Shawn flinched automatically, eyes widening in surprise, clutching his cake more tightly like a shield. He vaguely wondered if the pleasant springiness of the pineapple would cushion a blow more effectively, and Lassiter closed his eyes slowly, appearing to regain control of himself.

"Not now, Spencer" Lassiter repeated, and this time Shawn let him pass, crowding against the wall with his cake. He looked back to Juliet, eyes still wide, demanding an explanation.

"Owch; I'm getting shivers" he murmured, and Juliet winced in sympathy. She'd made the mistake of coming into work too cheerfully that morning, and had paid for it similarly.

"Don't take it too hard, Shawn. He's—just really stressed right now. The case he's working on, it's—bad news. On all counts. We really need to wrap it up, as quick as possible."

Interest piqued, Shawn moved to set his cake on the nearest desk (Lassiter's, as it turned out).

"Yeah? What's going on, maybe I could come in and help—"

"No!" Juliet cut in, a hair too early for Shawn's sensibilities. His interest level grew, and he mentally rubbed his hands together. Hmm. Happy birthday to him.

"Don't hold out on me, Jules—this is something big, has to be. What's going on? Come on, it's my birthday, you have to tell me." A pained look that really did look adorable on her, and Juliet shook her head, backing away.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, but I really can't. Lassiter gave explicit instructions to everyone in the station, and Chief Vick is in agreement; we aren't to let you anywhere near this one. Sorry." She backed up another step.

"Happy Birthday. Really. Your cake is amazing, looks delicious. Sorry. I have to go." And she turned on one fashionably sturdy heel, clicking away and leaving Shawn incredulous and determined to follow or give up. He veered back for Chief Vick, letting himself in and shutting the door behind him, leaving the cake on Lassiter's desk. Chief Vick, who had been on the phone, paused in mid-word, then covered the receiver and leaned toward him.

"How dare you come in here without knocking, Spencer, what do I have to keep telling you?"

Spencer held hands up to his forehead in classic psychic pose, spasming his body slightly, one foot twitching more violently than the other. Chief Vick looked on for a moment, before clearing her throat.

"Excuse me, I'll have to call you back" she muttered into the phone, resigned to the fact that Spencer was apparently about to have yet another psychic 'episode' in her office.

"I'm seeing something" he whispered dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut

"Something, seeing…purple. Everything's purple and—oh!" He screamed, an earsplitting yell, and Chief Vick jumped, looking concerned as he brought his right hand up, fingers writhing.

"Oh, it hurts! Ah, it feels like my hand—my hand, it's—being pierced. Blood everywhere. Silver moons. Ah…" He fell to the floor, still clutching his hand, and behind him he heard the door opening. Sensing a larger audience, he rolled onto his back, hand held up before him, to glance up, mouth open for another dramatic moan, to hold gazes with—Lassiter. Lassiter, looking incensed. Lassiter, again looking about to throttle him. Dangerous. And somehow his moan caught in his teeth, and he trailed off, left lying awkwardly sprawled by Chief Vick's chair.

Feeling the tension in the air, Chief Vick's lips pursed, and she leaned forward to regard Shawn, who was in any case still caught looking at Lassiter.

"I don't know how you heard about this, Spencer—"

"Permission to have this man taken from the building until further notice?" Lassiter interrupted, voice hard, and Shawn flinched in confusion, drawing himself halfway up from his sprawl.

Chief Vick seemed to actively deliberate over this, and Shawn's curiosity grew further. What the hell was going on here?

"No, I don't think that will be necessary, Detective." The two nodded gravely at each other, a nod meant as a dismissal on Chief Vick's part. Lassiter made no move to leave, however, and Chief Vick turned her attention back to Shawn, who was now sitting cross-legged and sharp on her floor.

"Go home, Spencer. The force will be in touch when we're in need of your services." Shawn moved to argue, and Lassiter stepped forward, one hand under Shawn's arm, propelling him upward.

"You heard the Chief, Spencer." Shawn had no choice but to allow himself to be lead out of the office, but outside it he dragged his arm away, feeling it for bruising.

"I have to go get my cake" he hissed in explanation as Lassiter moved forward threateningly, as if ready to bodily throw him from the building. The head detective paused, crumpled slightly, as if remembering something. He paused, licked his lips, then turned away.

"Fine. Go get your cake. But then you're leaving." Shawn nodded, not really ready to tangle with a Lassiter seemingly intent on destroying him. He'd never felt unsafe in Lassiter's presence before; the head detective liked to pretend to loathe him, but Shawn had thought there had been a comfortable sort of professional relationship growing between them. Now…

He turned his back to the other only hesitantly, making his way back to Lassiter's desk where he'd left his cake, good spirits somewhat deflated by the toes of Lassiter's boots, which kept catching the back of his sneakers the other was walking so close.

He stopped suddenly as he reached the other's desk, causing the other to crash into him. Lassiter made to yell something at him, but Shawn beat him to it, rounding on the other. Something was conspicuously absent.

"My cake! It's gone." Furrowed brow, and he turned back, looking under the desk as if expecting it to have hidden from him deliberately.

"What the hell? Who even does that?"

End Chapter 1

What is going on at the precinct? Why is Lassiter being so creepy? Where is Shawn's cake? All these questions and more answered—soon. I'm writing this story for my girlfriend's birthday, which is October 21st, so I predict this will be completed at a fairly steady pace.