"Dad!" Shawn called up the stairs, leaving the backdoor hanging wide open and tossing his helmet on the couch.

There was no answer.

"Dad?" He tried again, quieter this time.

When Henry once again didn't respond, Shawn grinned.

Maybe he's not home…

"I'm taking your metal detector!" He yelled. "If you don't care, don't say anything!"

After a brief pause, barely long enough for his father to respond if he wanted to, Shawn headed towards the garage.

"Thanks!"

As he passed by the front door, he heard Henry's voice from the porch.

"You're not touching my metal detector, Shawn!"

Damn…Shawn groaned.

He is here…

He sighed and stepped out onto the porch.

His father was sitting in one of the chairs, sipping at a beer as he tended the coals in the grill.

"Why not?" Shawn demanded.

"Because last time you and Gus went treasure hunting, it took me three hours to clean the sand out of it."

Shawn opened his mouth to rebut, but a sharp voice from behind him cut him off.

"Aww, what's the matter, Spencer? Dad take away your toys?"

Shawn spun around, all the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Sitting in a chair in the other corner of the porch was Detective Lassiter.

"Lassie? What the--"

"We were having dinner, Shawn." Henry interjected.

"Dinner?" Shawn's eyes were wide in horror. "Oh, God! Don't tell me I interrupted a date!"

He turned back to Lassiter.

"You're not my real mommy!"

Lassiter scowled.

"Cute, Spencer."

"Shawn, stop being an ass," Henry ordered, putting his beer on the table and walking to the door.

Shawn followed him into the kitchen.

"Dad! What are you doing?" He demanded, keeping his voice low so Lassiter wouldn't hear from the porch.

Henry opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of marinating steaks.

"I told you. Having dinner." He answered simply, putting the bowl on the counter and grabbing another beer.

"With Lassie?"

"Why not?"

"Because!" Shawn huffed indignantly. "You can't!"

Henry rolled his eyes and started back to the porch with the steaks.

"Last time I checked, Shawn, it was still a free country."

Shawn grabbed his shoulder, dragging him back into the kitchen.

"But it's Lassie!" He hissed emphatically, as if that fact alone should be more than enough reason for his father to listen to him.

Henry just blinked uncomprehendingly.

"So?"

"So, he hates me! He called me a smart-ass punk today!"

"That just means he's perceptive."

"Shut up."

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Henry demanded. "Since when do you care who I have dinner with?"

"What if you blow my cover?" Shawn shot back. "You know he's spent the last three months trying to prove I'm a fake! What if he's just here to get you to admit I'm not really a psychic?"

Henry was genuinely insulted.

"You really think I'm going to crack after two beers and a steak, Shawn?"

"You might," Shawn insisted stubbornly.

"I know something about police interrogation methods, Kid. Trust me. There's usually more yelling and less eating involved."

He shook his son's hand off his shoulder and walked back onto the porch, tossing the steaks onto the grill.

Shawn was right behind him. He plopped down into a chair, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at his father.

"Are you staying?" Henry asked flatly, returning the glare.

"I'm sure as hell not leaving!"

"Then get the other steak."

"Fine."

Shawn stomped back into the house.

Lassiter glanced at Henry quizzically.

Henry just raised his shoulders.

"Don't ask me. He gets it from his mother…"

Shawn returned a moment later, steak in hand, still shooting daggers at his father with his eyes as he plopped it on the grill alongside the others.

If Henry noticed his son's ire, however, he certainly didn't let it show.

Lassiter cleared his throat as an awkward silence ensued, his eyes darting between Henry and Shawn.

"Well, this is going to be fun…" he muttered.