"Here Gus." I toss a Kevlar vest at him.

"What's this for?!" Gus questions, holding up the cammo vest.

"To protect you from these." I loosely explain, throwing two K-Bar knives at his feet, sheaths still over the blades.

"Shawn, what the Hell?!" He's sure in for a rude awakening.

"You're going to fight me." I tell him, putting on my own vest over my Dri-Fit performance t-shirt. "Leave the sheaths on so we don't cut each other up. Throw these on too." I toss him another bit of equipment. "Kevlar forearm guards. They'll stop a blade from cutting your hand off. Unless it's a large ax or claymore. Then you're fucked." I say honestly.

Gus stands up, geared and ready to go. Without another word, I jump at him, chopping high and coming down. Gus jumps to the side, dodging my attack. I side swipe this time, he tries to jump to the side again, but I catch him with a solid jab.

"Damn it, Shawn!" Gus yells at me, pissed that I got him.

"You can't just use the same weak evasion tactics. Step up the game, buddy. I gave you those K-Bars to fight, not to bust a move to 'Jump Around'." I shake my head. "Let's go again, and this time fight back."

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"Good job today, buddy. You still suck, but you're getting there." I praise him.

"How long am I going to have these bruises, Shawn?" Gus asks me with a pissed off voice.

"You'll get over it. Besides, once you get better, you won't get so many bruises." I jump up from my spot next to him on the floor, sticking a sweaty hand to help him up. A knock on my door(why am I so popular lately?) causes me and Gus to go into defense mode.

I go to the door, feeling like maybe I should leave the armor in case of trouble. But maybe take it off in case it's Terrance, my landlord. I'll leave it on...

"Jules!" I say surprised(why am I still surprised by her visits?), happy I have my knife tucked and hidden behind my forearm. "What brings you over?"

"I came by for lunch. I wanted to see if you were interested, but apparently, you and Gus are... what are you guys doing?" Jules asked with a scrutinizing yet interested face.

"Uh... nothing Jules. Nothing." I said awkwardly, taking off my gear quickly and throwing it at Gus, closing the door behind me. "Lunch sounds great." I beam at her, always happy for her company. This is going to sound really wussy... but I feel... special, appreciated when she seeks me out.

"Your going to lunch in shorts and a t-..." Why did Jules stop... I look down first at my legs to see what the problem is, then back to her face. I follow where her eyes are trained. Then it hits me what she's looking at. I look down at my arms. There's no point in running or hiding. She sees them. She'll probably run and hide.

"Shawn... what... what happened to you?" Her voice is barely a whisper. My breathe catches when she does something I don't expect. She reaches out slowly, her eyes trained on mine. I knew her eyes were blue, but damn...

Her fingers barely, just by a hair come in contact with one of the many scars that trace up and down the length of my arms, from my forearms to my shoulders. "War is Hell Jules. They just decided to send me home with some souvenirs." I tell her, just above a whisper myself. "This is why I always wear over shirts."

Her gaze left my eyes and went to my arms, scanning every inch, my skin on fire as her fingers trailed. "How much of you is like this?"

I close my eyes, almost unable to think, her fingers massaging my rough skin. Her hands go from my shoulder down to my sweat soaked, tight shirt. She found more scratchy skin under her. "Does that answer your question?"

"Shawn..." I put my finger to her lips before she can speak. A little bit at a time. A very little bit at a time. Her seeing my scars, already too much. "I'll go change." As I pull my finger away, I feel the slightest movement from her lips. Did she just ever so subtly kiss my finger tip? And if so, why does that tingly feeling actually happen? I always thought that was a myth.

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Me and Jules said nothing to each other until we ordered and got our meals.

"How much longer till she runs away after seeing your arms, knowing how many scars you have? There's no way her view of you hasn't changed. Welcome back, Sphinx. It's been a while.

"Man, sure she saw how fucked up your scars are. Hell, she even touched them. And she's still next to you, man. Sarge, everything's fine." Since when do they show up at the same time?

"Shawn? Shawn, are you okay?" Juliet asks me softly, her hand gently rubbing my back.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's it." I rub a hand through my hair, not wanting to talk about my two memories that interact every day with me. I want to lean into Jules' hand, her touch, but if I do I know she'll feel the small raises and cuts on my back from agonizing beatings and whippings.

"Shawn?" Her voice is still soft. Either because she's about to ask something I don't want to think about, or for discretion. Which one... I have no fucking clue.

"Yes Jules?" I ask her pleasantly, letting her know I'm okay.

"That was serious, military grade equipment."

"Sure was." I say plainly, not making a big deal of it.

"When you said you meant to fight, you literally meant fight, didn't you?" Her eyes are trained on me hard, trying to pierce right through.

"Until I win or die. These people don't want me involved in this coming storm. It means if they think I'm going to be a problem to the point of foggy threats, it's something I'm going to want to fight." I pause a moment to wet my whistle with coffee. That's just fun to say.

My finger slowly goes to temple. The Spirits tell me you're worried. Whether it's for my safety or that you may have to try to bring me down, I can't say."

She looks at me a moment, her jaw slightly slacked. "If you're as serious as I think you are,"

"Oh trust me Jules, I am."

"You're not going to be acting completely within the law. And that always leads to trouble, Shawn." How long has her hand been covering mine? "I won't be able to stop you either."

"No, you can't." I won't lie to her about it. A man is dead and a government official had a chance on losing his life. I kicked the door open and stood in the middle of it.

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Gus and I left Central Coast after a dreadfully boring day. I went to my bike but Gus hollered at me. "Shawn, get on and follow me. I have something to show you!" He seemed oddly excited.

I did as told, being the good little boy I was. Downtown and through the traffic to Gus's grandmother's house we go. Where the fuck are we going?

My question was answered when we pulled up to an office space that just two days ago said it was for rent. "Gus buddy, why would we care about this?" I ask suspiciously. I have my worries.

"Because we rent it now. If we both chip in with money from Central Coast, plus pick up some extra cases, we can have a cool place here!" Gus explains, as if that explained WHY WE NEEDED IT!

"What the fuck do we need it for?"

"We can use it as our office for the whole Psychic Detective thing. If we get enough shout outs in the news, we can start private cases!" Gus walks over to a wall at the other end of the office.

"You found a light switch that's not even by a doorway, good job!" I say in mock glee.

"Just you wait Shawn, watch this!" Gus flips the switch up and... Holy fuck that's cool! The wall just opened up to another room! Who the Hell does that?! I thought that was a TV thing! "Suck it, Shawn."

"Usually I would say 'no Gus, you suck it'. In this situation, I think I have to accept," I walk into the hidden room, seeing how spacious it is. This room is huge! "Is this room for..."

"Yup. Training, our gear, our entire vigilante set up. We have our own safe room, Shawn!" Gus dropped to his knees and began air pumping. I wasn't gonna do no damn air pumps! I'm not above dope scissor kicks though, adding in a "WHAAPAA!" at the end of the kicks for good measure.

After a quick celebration, we made a business plan and how we wanted to utilize this place. This beautiful sea front office to soon be called 'Psych'.

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"Hey buddy. Wanna talk?" I feel rough hands shaking me awake. The voice all too familiar.

"You're not real, leave me alone," I bury my face into my pillow.

"Oh come on Sarge. Don't be like that," Sphinx chuckles lowly in my ear. I could feel his breath. "I thought we were friends."

Laying and playing dead wasn't working tonight, it never did. I stand up and go to my kitchen, not giving a shit if he followed me or not. He always does. It's because of situations like these that I keep a bottle of Jack under my sink. It's my only cupboard Gus doesn't dig in.

"What can I do for you tonight, Martin?" I ask the man who stands in front of me only.

"I see you've been hanging out with Roman. Hope you didn't forget about poor little Sphinxie," Sphinx pouted, causing me to chuckle drily and hit the bottle again, cups be damned.

"Nah, I just like Roman better. He doesn't tell me to FUCKING KILL MYSELF!" I shout, wishing it was Roman instead.

"Roman always did like you better, Spencer. You were always his little pet," Sphinx spat.

"I'm sorry you're pissed at me for your death, but Roman was right," I throw my arms out, almost challenging the non-existing man. "It's war. People die, I made a mistake. Roman's PET even fucks up."

"THAT LEAD ME TO DIE!" he shouts louder than I've ever heard.

"THEN STAY FUCKING GONE! I'M SORRY BUT I CAN'T BRING YOU BACK!"

"THEN COME MEET ME!" Sphinx screams, charging forward, plowing himself into my gut shoulder first.

I lose my breath and the hold on my bottle, causing it to crash on the floor. "That was my last bottle," I tell the entity through gritted teeth before catching him with a right hook, sending him back.

"There's the Sarge I know. You've been working out lately," Sphinx rolls his neck and earns a crack. He tries to sweep my leg but I jump over it and come down with a fist to his temple. He kicks in my knee, causing me to cry out and send me to the ground, hitting me again. I roll over on top of him, strangling him as I get to my feet. He kicks me in the ribs with both feet, sending me through my coffee table.

I groan loudly, picking up a piece of shattered glass, holding it tight. He takes hold of my head and slams it into the floor and debris. I take my glass and bury it in his shoulder, causing him to let go and stand up.

"You're getting scrappy, aren't you Sarge?" Sphinx smiles wickedly at me before coming at me, my head still swimming and my body aching. He presses the glass to my neck. "Beg me to do it! You fucking want this! If you didn't this wouldn't be happening!"

I dig my knees into him and roll him over, the shard still to my neck. "DO IT, COME ON FUCKER!" I challenge, before I'm distracted by my front door being kicked open.

"Juliet?" I ask, my eyes narrowing, a sudden throbbing headache kicking in.

"Shawn!" she shouts, running and skidding through the debris to get me. "Shawn, no no no no no!" she repeats over and over. Her hands go to my hand, and I wonder what she's doing. I look down and see the glass is in my own hand.

"Juliet, I'm tired," I slur, being able to hear it myself. Exhaustion is bringing me down hard and fast.

"It's okay Shawn, it's okay. Please just put it down," Juliet begs me.

I open my hand to drop the glass, but my own blood keeps it stuck yo my hand a moment before Juliet slowly plucks it off my damaged hand.

"What happened?" I ask, looking around my apartment for Sphinx. Of course the fucker left when Jules showed up. "Why are you here?" I ask out of worry and interest.

"I had a call about a disturbance of the peace, possible domestic dispute. When I got your address I got here as soon as I could," Juliet explains as she analyzes my condition.

"I'm glad you're here Jules. Just in the nick of time," I slur, getting dizzier by the moment. I fall forward, my head resting on her shoulder.

"Shawn, Shawn come on. We need to get you cleaned up," Juliet tells me as if I could get up.

"I can't, I can't get up, Jules. I just can't," I say less than a whisper.

"Come on, Spencer," Juliet throws my bare arm over her shoulder and pulls me up, allowing me to use her as a 105 pound crutch. She brings me to my room and clumsily lays me on the bed. She can't help that, I'm 185 pounds of lean muscle and scar tissue.

"I'll be right back. Don't. Fall. Asleep," Jules tells me in a very serious voice.

"I give it about fifteen seconds," I tell her honestly.

She comes back in seven seconds with a warm wash cloth and a glass of water. "Shawn, please tell me what happened. Please don't tell me that was what I thought it was," she begged as she cleaned my hand which by the appearance of the clothe, had bled quite a bit.

"I'm sorry, Jules," was all I could muster before I dosed off.

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I've got nothing to say on this one.