I think it's a good thing that I'm constantly surprised by the way this story is unfolding. Either that, or I need an outline. :)

Shawn had pulled Gus out of the fifth most boring meeting of the month in order to ask his chauffeuring favor, and Gus gladly accepted. He cited a family emergency and left the quarterly departmental expense review meeting so quickly that he expected a cloud of smoke to follow him, cartoon-style.

Now, however, Gus was beginning to wish he'd stayed in the meeting.

Dr. Nyland had been running twenty-five minutes late, and poor Juliet had spent that time either running to the bathroom or looking like she could run to the bathroom. She also seemed to get frustrated every time Gus offered her the small bucket he'd brought from the car.

Honestly. You try to help people and they just get angry.

Gus had already flipped through all of the four months of Parenting magazines and even last Halloween's issue of Highlights; Juliet had been in there a long time.

The woman two seats down coughed, belatedly putting a hand up as she hacked away.

Gus cringed.

He couldn't afford to get sick. He'd already broken his quarantine against the Spencers by driving Juliet, and although he would never tell her this to her face, he planned on disinfecting the car as soon as he dropped her off.

The gods must have taken pity on him because, just as Coughy McHack started up again he saw Juliet walk up to the receptionist counter on the other side of the door.

Juliet looked awful.

She started conversing with the redheaded receptionist, a few prescriptions in one hand while the other pointed to days on a desk calendar.

It must not just be the flu if she needed a follow up appointment.

Something was going on. He hoped she was okay.

Gus got to his feet and retrieved her coat from its spot near the door. He then made his way to the check-in desk, striking a casual pose as he waited for Juliet and tried his hardest not to spy.

But you couldn't spend any kind of time with Shawn without picking up a few of his observational habits. Though he was nowhere near the level of a fake psychic, Gus saw the receptionist hand Juliet a packet of pamphlets, informational sheets, and an appointment reminder card with Dr. Westwood's name circled.

Gus's eyes grew wide as he turned away from the window and leaned on the wall.

His fear that Juliet had some kind of serious, possibly lethal disease now abated, he smiled.

Dr. Westwood was an OB-GYN.

Juliet was pregnant.

Gus's smile turned mischievous. Juliet was pregnant and he knew it before Shawn did.

He could have some fun with this.

When Juliet walked through the door clutching her packet and prescriptions, she wasn't glowing or beaming, or even smiling. She looked a little shell-shocked.

Gus helped her into her coat and out to the car. She hadn't said anything, and had only made a sound when she had lurched from his supportive grasp and towards the lobby bathroom.

The car doors closed and they were silent. Gus put the keys in the ignition but didn't turn them.

"Everything okay, Jules?" he asked in his coyest voice.

Juliet looked over at him, surprised to see him there.

"Y-yeah. Dr. Nyland said I have a stomach bug."

Gus started the car, hiding his grin. "That's a nasty bug. You've been pretty sick."

"Yeah," she agreed absently.

"Especially in the mornings," he added not-very-subtley.

"Excuse me?"

"Congratulations!"

Juliet gasped. "You know!?" she exclaimed.

"I may have picked up on it."

"Gus, that's against HIPAA regulations. I'm surprised at you," she joked.

Gus grinned widely. "Why aren't you calling Shawn?"

"Why would I tell him over the phone when we'll be home in a few minutes?"

"Why tell him at all?"

Juliet's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me I should hide my pregnancy from my husband?"

Gus laughed. "No, of course not. All I'm saying is, well, wouldn't it be nice to have some fun with him?"

Juliet didn't say anything, possibly because she was wondering where the emergency bucket was.

"I mean," Gus continued. "Last time, Shawn knew you were pregnant before you did. You have the upper hand now. I just think it'd be fun to see how long he takes to figure out this time around."

Having located the bucket, Juliet glanced at Gus. "What are you suggesting?"

"A friendly wager."

Her stomach settled slightly. "Okay."

"Do you really think you can keep it from him?"

It was Juliet's turn to grin. "How much do you want to bet?"

~*~*~*

Henry could have sworn he had only just closed his eyes when Liam bounced next to him on the bed.

"Time to get up, Grandpa," he sang.

Henry shifted his head and opened one bleary eye to read the alarm clock display.

"Liam, it's three thirteen in the morning."

He was excited to take the kid for his first fishing trip, but three AM was pushing it even for a registered early bird.

Liam, still bouncing, started to poke Henry's shoulder. "Come on, Grandpa! You said we had to wake up early."

Henry groaned. "It's still dark out, kiddo. The fish are sleeping."

"Fish don't sleep. They rest with their eyes open," Liam corrected. "Uncle Gus told me when we went to the aquarium."

"That's nice," Henry murmured, eyes still closed.

"Come on, Grandpa!" Liam pouted, stopping his bouncing long enough to cross his arms over his chest. "Breakfast is getting cold."

Henry's eyes snapped open. He looked over at Liam, who smiled despite his pouting stance.

Henry sniffed the air. No smoke, but it did smell faintly of…

"You made pancakes?" Incredulous couldn't even begin to describe the tone in Henry's voice.

Liam, however, missed it and nodded enthusiastically. "I'm not allowed to cut the pineapple so I made chocolate chip."

Henry sighed, sitting up. He was definitely awake now. He contemplated the mess in the kitchen.

"Liam," he warned, climbing out of bed. His grandson clambered after him. "You know you can't use the stove without a grown-up. That's very dangerous! You could have burned down the-"

"But I didn't use the stove," Liam defended, half-skipping as he followed Henry down the stairs.

"Then how did you make them?" he asked curiously.

He took two steps into the kitchen and stopped.

"The microwave," Liam explained, striding across the room to open the microwave door. "See?"

Henry surveyed the batter-like substance now decorating almost every surface of his previously spotless kitchen, focusing on the decidedly chocolatey lumps coating the microwave, table, and refrigerator.

Henry sighed, but was surprised at his lack of anger and frustration.

Either it was true that grandkids mellow you, or it was just too early in the morning, because Henry found himself almost smiling down at Liam. "Why don't you go get dressed and let me clean up here?"

Liam's face fell. "Aren't you going to eat? Mommy says breakfast is the most important meal."

Henry assessed the semi-gelatinous mounds on the plate in the microwave and gulped.

"What if I make us pineapple pancakes?" he bargained hopefully.

Liam lit up. "Okay," he raced towards the stairs but turned back before he reached them. "We'll eat those after the chocolate chip."

Liam ran off and Henry made a beeline for the coffee pot. If he got sick from those pancakes, Shawn was going to owe him big time.

*~*~*~*

Henry cut the engine.

The first rays of sunshine were just peeking through the trees and hitting the water.

He loved this little nook. They'd found it by accident one day several years ago, after letting Shawn drive the boat for fifteen minutes longer than he should have, but it was a pleasant discovery.

The water lapped against the sides of the boat, the sound surprisingly loud in the sudden quiet.

Liam fidgeted in his seat, adjusting the too-large hat as it yet again slid over his eyes.

"Grandpa?"

Henry handed him a pole. "Yes?"

Liam examined the pole in his hands, temporarily distracted. "How many fish can I catch?"

Henry eyed the tackle box. "It depends. We might catch one or two. Sometimes we catch a lot of them, but sometimes they aren't biting."

"Do we have enough room for all of them?"

Henry chuckled. "We have plenty of room."

"But where do you keep them til we get home?"

Henry showed him the cooler.

"There's no water," Liam said flatly.

"Why should there be water?"

"Fish need water, Grandpa," Liam said, his voice a tad indignant. He raised the hat again to look at Henry. "Otherwise they die."

"That's the point. You can't eat them if they're still alive. They have to be dead so you have to cook them. I mean, some people eat their fish raw, but I've never been a big fan of sushi. If I'm paying that much for fish, they're going to cook the damn thing."

Liam blinked slowly. "We're not keeping the fish?"

"No. Who gave you that idea?"

"Daddy."

Henry rubbed a hand across his face. He couldn't believe Shawn had said that.

Except he could.

He could completely believe it.

"We don't keep the fish, Liam. If they're too small, we throw them back. And if they're big enough, we take them home to make lunch."

Liam cocked his head to the side, his young brain processing this information. "You mean my fish sticks are fish?!"

Henry wanted to laugh at the expression on his face, but he knew he couldn't. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Eww."

Liam put down the pole and leaned up against the edge of the boat, his life vest hitting the edge as he peered into the murky water.

"Can't I just keep one as a pet?" he asked miserably, turning to face Henry.

Henry shook his head. "No pets. But you don't have to fish if you don't want to. We can go home."

Liam sat back down. He contemplated the pole. He didn't want to disappoint Grandpa. "I can try it,"

"Are you sure?" Henry took the pole from him. He opened the container of bait.

Liam's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

Henry stopped, the nightcrawler dangling mid-air.

"Using the bait," he told him, his stomach sinking. Something told him they weren't going to be eating fish for lunch.

Liam's eyes flickered between the wiggling worm and the point of the fishhook, glittering in the morning sun. His face took on a decidedly green hue.

"Grandpa," he said weakly, doubling over. "I don't feel so good."

Henry recognized that look; it was the look Shawn'd had right before he'd been sick the first time Henry took him fishing.

Liam launched himself toward the edge of the boat as he emptied his stomach.

Unfortunately, the hat went overboard alongside breakfast.

Although he'd denied it, Henry wondered if Liam had had any of the microwave pancakes. Or, he supposed, the kid just could be getting the same bug his parents had.

He rubbed Liam's back until he was done, watching the fishing hat bob in the noticeably murkier water.

When Liam was done, Henry smiled sadly. "Let's get you home, huh?"

Liam nodded, rubbing his stomach.

Henry started the engine. As he drove, he periodically checked over his shoulder to make sure Liam was okay.

"GRANDPA!"

Henry's heart lurched as he eased up on the throttle. "What?" he shouted over the roar of the motor.

Liam staggered over to him. "What about my hat?"

"I'll get you another one."

"But I want that one!"

"Liam, it's all dirty."

"Mommy can wash it."

"Liam-"

"Grandpa, I need my hat! We need to go back!"

Henry studied the determined look in the kid's eyes. "We'll go get your hat," he said gently, turning the boat around.

Liam sat back down. He didn't look nauseated anymore, but he was still on edge.

Henry easily spotted the hat floating a few feet from where Liam had… from where they'd been. Stifling his disgust, Henry leaned over the side to grab the soiled object.

"There," he said, holding out the dripping hat as he turned around. "Now don't you dare touch this until we get home."

Liam nodded solemnly. Henry got back in the driver's seat, but before he could go anywhere there was a tap on his shoulder.

Liam stood next to him, holding out his notebook.

It was open.

And the drawing looked exactly like the view of the coast behind them.

The breeze was chilly. That was why Henry shivered. Not because…

"What's that?"

Liam pointed to the coast. "It's my drawing."

Henry tensed. "I can see that."

"I want to help them, Grandpa. I want to be a hero like you and Mommy and Daddy. I think I know where they are."

"Where who are?" Henry asked cautiously, eyeing the wooded beach in his periphery.

"The Johannsens."

Henry glanced at his watch. Sick or not, Shawn wouldn't be up until it hit double digits.

He wondered if Juliet was feeling better.

Slipping the phone out of his pocket, Henry dialed the familiar number. He reached out his arm and draped it over Liam's shoulders. He ruffled his hair as the phone rang.

"You've done good, kid."

*~*~*~