This is a bit of a weird chapter. Sorry, I just don't seem to be as motivated for this story at the moment as i should be.


After Lassie's snide comment about the stripper, everyone stared. For precisely twelve seconds, there was absolute silence, save the meows and growls from the kitten still valiantly attacking Lassiter's feet. Then a barrage of questions assaulted Shawn from every quarter.

"What?"

"When did-?"

"Why didn't I-?"

"QUIET!" Francine shouted. She perched beside Shawn on the couch and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You leave poor Shawnie alone." She glared. "Here sweetie, have a cookie." She pulled a Tupperware container from nowhere and removed the lid, offering it to Shawn. He took one unashamedly.

"Thanks, Francie." He chewed happily. She waited until the cookie had vanished entirely and then smiled a saccharine smile.

"Now, Shawnie, I'm sure you're tired. I know I am. How about a bedtime story about your adventures? Maybe from when you were in Vegas...?"

Shawn grinned, knowing that she was trying to manipulate him.

"Well..." He said, and they all leaned in. He was a good story teller, and he knew it. He also had a seemingly unending supply of true stories from his world travels. "If I'm going to be telling a story, I'll need some coffee, and another cookie." Immediately Lassiter went to the kitchen, to set a pot to boil. He was desperately curious about what had happened in Vegas.


Gus got himself settled on the floor, hugging a pillow to his chest. Shawn couldn't suppress a smile, as Buzz joined the other man on the carpet. He felt like a primary school teacher at story time. This was reinforced by Francine handing out one cookie the each of them and warning them they'd rot their teeth. LGC jumped up into Shawn's lap and curled into a warm purring ball.

"Looks like a Tribble." Gus observed.

"A what?" Shawn asked, head tilted.

"A ball of fluff that doesn't like Klingons." Buzz explained, and he and Gus exchanged Geek-Love.

"Tribble." Francine said, looking at the kitten. "I like it. I think it suits her."

"Better than LGC?" Shawn pouted.

"LGC is a wonderful name." She reassured and petted his arm. "But it's a bit formal, maybe. It would be like calling you Big Man Shawn. Tribble can be her nickname, maybe?" She held out another cookie, and Shawn reached for it. She drew it back with a twinkle in her eye, waiting for his answer.

"Tribble? I think it's a wonderful nickname." He rolled his eyes.

Lassiter soon came and joined them, sitting in the armchair, and handing out coffee to everyone. It was getting quite late, already pitch black outside.

"So?" Gus asked, after they'd all stared at Shawn for awhile, waiting for him to start.

"You really want to hear about that?" Shawn asked, teasingly, running a hand through Tribble's fur.

Before... well everything, Lassiter would have made a sarcastic remark. He would have suggested that Shawn get on with the story, or he'd introduce him to his gun. But now? Shawn was so breakable, and threats from a cop, even Lassie, had a deeper resonance. So, instead he just waited, and when Shawn met his gaze, he raised an eyebrow. Shawn smiled.

"I was maybe twenty? And I had been all over the place. I'd just got back from Thailand, and I wanted to go somewhere decadent. Vegas, it felt right. So I rode there on my bike, and I went to a casino. The Montecito. It was beautiful." He grinned. "I played some poker, some black jack, and then they decided I had to be cheating. They dragged me off to some kind of interrogation room."

"You're kidding!" Francine gasped.

"Nope, I swear it looked just like the ones at the station."

"In a casino?" Gus raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Yeah." Lassiter said, surprising them all. "Casino security are cops in everything but the name. They often have forensics departments too."

"Yeah. They couldn't prove anything though. I convinced them I was just on a really good streak."

"and were you?" Buzz asked. "Cheating I mean."

"No. Well, I can't help it if I psychically read the cards. The visions rule me, I do not rule the visions."

Lassiter translated this to 'I counted cards'.

"What happened then?" Gus asked, through a mouthful of cookie. He'd sneaked one from the box while the attention was elsewhere.

"Well, they comp-ed my dinner, and the scary guy in charge, Ed, he chatted with me for a while, and I pointed out some holes in their system. He was quite grateful, I saved him a great deal of trouble. He gave me free tickets to this show. It was at one of the better clubs and I thought it would be fun, you know? I went with one of the security guys, Mitch. He was good fun. There was this one stripper who was coming on to me shamelessly, and we got to talking. She was a real nice lady, and she was telling me all about the law degree she was working on. We got on well, and she suggested we get together after her shift for a drink."

"And did you?" Lassiter asked.

"Oh, yeah. We had more than one drink, and we flirted a bit. She walked back with me to the motel I was staying at, and I kissed her. She kissed me back, and we went into my room. We were starting to get into it, when she says 'Stop!' I stop, of course. I didn't know what was wrong. I was worried I'd hurt her or something."

"What happened?" Francine asked.

"She explained. She was a pre-op transsexual. I never would have guessed. She was beautiful. In fact, I didn't believe, I started ranting that if she didn't want to have sex with me, just to say so. I called her a couple of names and she slapped me across the face." Gus laughed a little at that. "She grabbed my hand and put it on... um... the evidence that proved what she said."

The group of listeners laughed at that. Shawn blushed a little.

"She's had the operation now. Changed her name, and is a practicing Public Defender." He smiled. "And I'm still in touch with most of the security staff at the Montecito, too."

"You never cease to amaze me." Lassiter said quietly, with a smile. Shawn smiled back, a little shy.

Lassie couldn't help wondering if Shawn was skipping over something though. The way he went from the stripper putting Shawn's hand on her... his... package, to saying they were still in touch.

"Oh gosh, Buzz! It's late! We should really be going." Francine said. She kissed Shawn's cheek. "You take care of yourself, you hear? We love you, Shawnie." She handed him the cookies. "But you're getting far too skinny. Feed that little butt back up, I don't want to be seeing your ribs. And come by for a nice fattening dinner soon, alright?"

"Francie, I've been eating." Shawn protested.

"Not enough. And I wouldn't be surprised if you'd thrown some of it back up." She ruffled his hair. "You two, take care of him. Make sure he eats." She pulled Buzz to his feet and the two of them left.

"You really think Shawn's been puking up his food?" Buzz asked his wife as they got in their car.

"I'm afraid so, sweetie. It's not uncommon. You know that we had a foster child at the school who had been badly abused?"

"Yeah." The case had really affected his sensitive wife. She had come home in tears over her poor student more than once.

"I did some research when I found him throwing up the few mouthfuls of food he'd managed to choke down. Victims often exhibit self destructive behaviours. I hope he isn't doing anything worse."

Buzz made a silent oath that he'd keep a better eye on Shawn and do all he could to protect his friend.


Inside Lassiter and Gus were both trying to covertly study Shawn. Neither had noticed the weight loss, but now that they really looked at Shawn, they saw that he was, indeed, skinnier. And Shawn hadn't had much weight to lose. He'd always been closer to thin than plump.

"Yes, I've lost weight. But not much, and not for lack of eating." Shawn said, rolling his eyes at their obviousness.

"Shawn..."They both started and trailed off at once, and then exchanged startled looks.

"The antibiotics make me nauseous." Shawn shrugged. "And the pain pills make me dopey. And the mix of both of them with my immunosuppressants is having some side effects too. Plus, I hardly ate anything in hospital, 'cos yuck. It's understandable that I'd lose a little weight."

Lassiter and Gus both spent a minute weighing up the truthfulness of that statement.

"Fine." Gus said eventually, knowing that the drug interactions were possible and would probably effect his drug sensitive friend worse than they would others. "But I took the liberty of calling and making you an appointment with the psychiatrist for tomorrow. You're going to go, and you're going to behave."

"Fine." Shawn pouted, and pulled a cookie from the Tupperware. "No cookies for you!"

"And you're going to make an appointment with Dr Foster to see about changing your meds." Lassiter said, in a no nonsense tone.

"Alright." Shawn rolled his eyes. He'd do it, but only because it would take his mind off of the upcoming trial. "I'm going to bed." He stood up, and as he did an ache in his belly reminded him that he'd had his stomach pumped that afternoon. God, he hated taking medication. He always had, from when he was a little kid. His mom used to hide them in food to make sure he took them. His dad just explained that if he didn't take them, first off, he'd be grounded, and secondly, he'd probably die a slow and horrible death. Way to get the five year old to take his pills!


He went through to the bathroom and got changed slowly, giving himself a long sponge bath. He wasn't allowed a shower until the stitches came out, and they weren't out yet. He brushed his teeth, and washed his face. Shaved. Used the toilet. And then, finally he faced his reflection. He'd never been overly bothered by the scar. Chicks dig scars, and it made him look cool. He traced the fine, pinkish-white line down his sternum. He'd only been ashamed of it once or twice.

The scar on his shoulder from where he'd binshot was darker, more vivid. It was a deep purple-y colour, and the skin around it was still slightly puckered.

He had a faint scar on his temple too, this one barely visible, although it had bled so much at the time, he'd been terrified. He had other scars on his head, but they were covered by his elabourate hair style.

There was the scar on his leg, where the bone had poked through after his motorbike accident. He remembered driving in the dark, and then headlights rushing towards him. A warning shouted too late by the passenger to the driver (both drunk, and high on a shared spliff). Brakes squealing, glass breaking, then pain. He remembered lying there, twisted at the side of the road and watching the green of the grass slowly become red in the light of the headlamps. The next thing he knew it was three weeks later and his Dad was by his hospital bed. Which was annoying because he'd been up in Vermont, avoiding his father at all costs. He'd never bothered to change his next of kin notification (he had since then, they were supposed to call Gus).

There were other scars. Some from accidents, some not. He'd never realised how many he had. More than many active cops, or soldiers.

The ones on his back, they were reminders he didn't need or want. He had a picture perfect memory, and the sight of the hamburger his back had been made into just brought the images back into stark focus. He didn't need that.

And it was strange, because none of his other scars made him feel like that. Not even the one from being shot. Well, except for the thin white line on his throat. The line that you wouldn't even notice if you didn't know to look for it.

He sighed. He couldn't stop looking at them. Examining the marks on his body. Each one had a story, and each one had changed him. He couldn't stop thinking that Truman had left his mark on him, and wondering how he'd ever feel clean again.

"Stop it." He muttered. "You have a mark from... from before... and you didn't let it do this to you. And that was worse than this."

Although, the mark from before was nearly invisible. He didn't have to think about it. These new scars, they were too... too... they were visible, in a way that made Shawn uncomfortable. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to stand there in his bathroom twisting so he could see the brands on his skin. He didn't want to feel sick at the sight of his naked body.

But he did. And that was that.


Anyone who gets the Montecito reference gets one of Francine's virtual cookies. Sorry about the bleak turn towards the end. I hope that I didn't make anyone who has scars and is self concious about them uncomfortable. And I hope I didn't make anyone feel self concious about their scars when they weren't before. I'm not trying to imply scars are gross or a bad thing, Shawn's issues stem not from the scars, but from the rape and molestation he's suffered.

Scars are cool. They're badges of honour and we should wear them proudly.