Author's Note: Hi all! Hope everything is going well, and that this chapter finds you in good spirits. We are coming close now, about four more chapters to go. Sorry it turned into such a long project, but the story kind of had a mind of its own. And of course, it's off canon now, but I still would like to see Henry and Shawn have this conversation someday.

Disclaimer: The characters of Psych are not mine.

Shawn's POV

It seemed to take Connie forever to get here; the whole time I was on edge. Raven might have been a powerful player, but even she couldn't be everywhere at once. I knew we'd be safe as long as she kept Connie's dad alive for hostage use, but that didn't stop her from making a call to a friend asking them to take out Brandon. Brandon seemed to be the most useless part of this triangle; and as my father once said, "Son, in a hostage situation, if you cannot give someone a reason not to kill you, you might as well dig your own grave." I felt as if I were in a glass house, just waiting for someone to drive by and take a shot.

After an hour, even I began to loose my cool. Which is saying a lot! I'm sure I didn't show it, though I blandly asked how far away this friend of Brandon's lived.

"Bout an hour outside the city, in the country. You don't think I'd let her stay in the city, do you?"

"No," I muttered. This changed things a little; it was getting to be around eight at night. For even Chief Vick to be there at this hour was pushing things; in fact, Reed Brown probably shut her office down every night to make sure she wouldn't "tamper" with any prospective evidence. And my plan wouldn't work nearly so well if Brandon and Connie went into the station with just anybody; someone else could get the credit.

"At this rate," I said quietly, "Chief Vick will be gone for the evening. Though I have not doubt she'd come in once she heard the reason, there are certain people who I'd rather you not encounter first, if that makes sense."

"Dirty cops?" asked Brandon.

"The dirtiest," I confirmed. "We need a place to wait out the evening; a place where you are safe. In the morning, you can turn yourselves in. Raven would be expecting you to try and break cover in the night, anyway, so she might have an assassin waiting by the station. If you go in broad daylight, though, we might catch her of guard."

"Sounds safer, I guess. But where will we go?"

I frowned. "The Psych office is out of the question; Raven delivered a pizza there; she knows where it is. Gus wouldn't take us to his place in a million years; I'm his best friend and I haven't seen the inside of his apartment for like, six years... But hey, not to worry, I know of the perfect place!"

Suddenly, outside, there was a screech of tires. Brandon ran to the door, and before I could warn him, he threw it open. I expected a shower of bullets, but when none came I peeked out the door. Brandon was running towards a beat up Honda civic that had paused only long enough for a slight figure carrying four bulky bags to leap out. The car picked up speed and flew down the rest of the street out of sight, and the girl that had gotten out jumped into Brandon's arms.

"Okay," I said, running up behind them. "Sorry to break this moment, but we need to get out of the open."

I looked across the street over to where Gus had been parked... and stared. Gus was driving the Blueberry in circles! Tight circles, like a fish would make in a fish bowl. He actually had a crowd gathered; several had brought out chairs and were watching the spectacle with amusement.

Brandon groaned. "Is that our ride? Man, that is way conspicuous; we're gonna get burned before we even get outta here!"

I heard a whimper from the shadow beside him, and he whispered, "Don't worry baby, I'll make sure nobody gets to you."

I sighed, whipped out my phone, and called Gus. I fully did not expect him to answer, for it's against the law in California to talk on the phone while driving (if you could call what Gus was doing driving). However, I knew he'd hear my ring and (hopefully) could come over. The Blueberry turned a couple more circles, then straightened out and rolled across the street to us.

"Get in," I said, and Connie and Brandon threw the bags in and jumped in the back before I even finished speaking the two words. I jumped in the passenger seat, and off we shot (well, Gus's version of shooting).

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Shut up Shawn! I didn't know it would take you so long; people kept trying to get at my tires; it was like the zombie apocalypse! I finally had to keep moving, so I drove in circles till you showed up."

"Dude, when did you start driving in circles?"

"Like, ten minutes after you went in. Shawn, you owe me a tank of gas. And who are these people? Are we getting carjacked?!"

Brandon's gruff voice broke in, laced with amusement. "No moron, if this was a carjacking, you'd already be out of the car. Shawn's taking us to a safe house tonight, and tomorrow we are turning ourselves in for plea bargaining."

"Safe house? Where are we going Shawn?'

I grinned. "To the safest place I know; home sweet home."

oOo

Gus had severe doubts that my dad would entertain these two guests, but I thought up a story that would top any story I yet had. We stopped in front of my dad's house at around eight thirty, and I briefed them on what to say (or not say). Brandon looked skeptical the entire time, but I just figured he was jealous that he couldn't come up with a story such as mine.

We entered the house at around eight forty-five. Or knocked on the door rather. My dad opened the door with an irritated look. "Oh, so now you're knocking," my dad growled.

"May I come in?" I asked while pushing past him.

He rolled his eyes. "Shawn, I don't mind you breaking in once in a while, but can you at least clean up your Cheeto mess and crush your soda cans before you go? I mean seriously, you're like forty now."

"I'm thirty-five, dad, and not about to discuss age with you, as you're like a hundred."

My dad looked suspiciously at Brandon and Connie, still standing on the threshold looking confused. "Who are these people?"

"Friends of Gus's," I replied. Gus nodded helpfully and smiled the fakest smile ever. "Gus met Brandon through one of his Jamaican scrabble friends; Brandon is new in from Jamaica and still doesn't know how to speak English. This is his wife, Rosa, new in from Italy. They met escaping Cuba together."

My dad smiled and said, "Have a seat. Not on my sofa, over at the table."

Brandon, Connie, and Gus walked over to the table and sat down, looking stiff and uncomfortable. My dad pulled me over to the table, shoved me down, then stood there glaring at the four of us.

"Shawn, that is the worst story I believe you ever told."

"Why?" I said, feeling put-out. If anything, I was a great story-teller.

"Shawn, seriously, this Brandon guy is not from Jamaica. He's not even black!"

"There can be white Jamaicans," I said defensively.

"Sure there can, but the probability of a white Jamaican meeting an Italian immigrant and then proceeding to flee from Cuba is so low I don't know why you even bothered. This has something to do with your case, doesn't it?"

I blinked. "What case, I don't have a case."

"I spoke to the Chief today, which was why I went out fishing. I needed some time to process what you did, and some time to be away from the five thousand reporters that have called! Seriously, Shawn, I don't even know why you bother trying to clean up this mess. You gave me all this talk about coming clean, then you pull a stunt like this. Your stupid news article did the trick; everything came down to you tricking the police. You couldn't just quit and go quietly, no, you had to go out with a bang! But that's how it is with you; it's always about you you YOU!"

I felt like my father was pushing a knife into me. Repeatedly. Gus shot me a sympathetic stare, and Brandon and Connie looked around, probably wishing to be anywhere else but here. Then, something in me snapped.

"Dad," I said firmly, standing up. I looked straight into his eyes. "I know I can't go back and make things right... but I can try my hardest to fix the mess I made. And by golly, even if it kills me, I will make things right!"

My dad stared at me, eyes as wide as an owls. Everyone else was looking at me too; I wondered what they were seeing.

"Now," I said, taking charge. "Brandon and Connie need a place to spend the night. Dad, I know you want out of this, but I promise they will be out an in the police department by ten tomorrow. If you want, I can pay you standard hotel rates for their stay."

Gus's eyes widened at that, and Brandon and Connie looked at me with new respect. My dad shook his head. "That won't be necessary," he said gruffly.

I nodded. "Alright," I said quietly. Then, I looked over at Brandon. "I'm going to head out to find a pay phone now to make your call, Brandon. I need her number. I'll be back soon; don't set one foot out of this house. Don't let those four bags out of your sight. And don't talk to anyone who calls; better yet, the two of you, don't talk at all."

oOo

Brandon gave me his cell phone, and I wrote down Raven's number on a post-it. I then pocketed the post-it, made sure he and Connie were situated up in the guest room, got Gus situated in my old bedroom, and promptly left for a convenience store. It's quite difficult to trace pay phones (at least, that's what movies would have us believe), and I planned on using one to make my call to Raven. However, I was worried that she'd be able to look up area codes with the payphone, so I took a couple of buses to get to a completely different part of the city before I made the call. By the time I finally found a pay phone (they are kind of hard to find now that the cell phone has taken over the world), it was pushing eleven-thirty at night.

I picked up the post-it and dialed the number. It took me three tries because my hands were so shaky. I took a deep breath and steadied myself; I was going to make this call.

The phone rang. One... two... three... four... "Hello?"Raven answered. At least, I sure hoped it was Raven.

"Raven?"I asked in a raspy, whispery voice. Not at all a voice like mine; I scared myself with how creepy and distorted I was able to make myself sound.

"Yes," she replied.

"I have something you want," I said in a sing-songy tone, my voice rasping all the while.

There was a pause, during which I was afraid she was going to hang up. "What could I possibly want?" she asked finally with a growl.

"Four bags, filled with the stuff dreams are made of," I replied.

There was another pause. "Who are you?"Raven asked.

"That's no fair telling," I said with a dry chuckle. "Let's just say I'm an old friend of Connie's, helping her climb out of... a pit so to speak. Tell me, how is Mr. Romano's health?"

Another pause. This woman was the queen of dramatic pauses. "He's alive," she replied at last.

"Give me proof," I said.

"No."

"Put him on the phone, or you'll have nothing! I can sell these bags just as well as you can; maybe even get a better price. If you want your merchandise, you have to prove the old man is alive."

Another pause. This was getting tedious! "Fine," she spat, and a moment later I heard Mr. Romano on the phone.

"Is Connie okay?"he asked; his voice trembled. He sounded weary but unhurt; I was sure it was Mr. Romano; I'd heard his voice when ordering pizza before.

"For now she's okay,"Raven spat, her voice back on the phone. "Proof enough for you?"

"Proof enough," I responded lightly. "Now, let's get down to business. I have a trade to make... these four bags for Connie's father, alive. No bargaining, no other deals. You will meet me at Romano's pizza shack tomorrow evening at ten o'clock sharp. Bring Connie's father with you, and no one else. If you come alone, I will kill you. If you come with someone else other than Mr. Romano, I will kill you. I'm experienced in these things; believe me, you don't want to try and cross me."

There was another long pause, in which I hoped I'd said the right thing.

"This man must be worth a lot to you, if you truly know the value of the merchandise you are holding," Raven answered slyly. "How can it be that Connie, who'd never done a damn thing wrong in her life, suddenly has such a powerful friend?"

I grinned, that was the opening I was waiting for. "Well," I answered back, "since you asked so nicely, let me just say that any friend of Brandon's is a friend of mine."

Raven let out a curse; she was trapped! She knew Brandon had lived his whole life (or nearly all of it) in the gang scene; of course he'd have friends.

"I'll do as you ask, exactly to the letter," she replied when her temper finally receded.

"You'd better," I said, the rasp in my voice beginning to hurt. "You don't want to know what I do to people who double cross me." Then, I hung up the phone. We were set!

oOo

I was up before sunrise; actually, I had never really gone to bed. I got back to my dad's house at around one-ish (I didn't know that buses actually stop running at specific times!). When I got back, my dad was drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. I nodded to him stiffly and climbed up the stairs to my old bedroom. I stepped over the futon where Gus was sleeping and laid down in bed. I didn't bother to change out of my clothes; the effort wasn't worth it. Once I was comfortable, though, I couldn't get to sleep. I just stared at the ceiling wondering what was happening to me. The hours ticked away; it was three, then four, then five. Finally, I could not take it anymore, and I climbed out of bed. I headed quietly downstairs... and froze. My father was sitting in an armchair facing the door, a baseball bat in his hands.

"You're up early," he commented gruffly. "Probably for the first time in your life."

"What are you doing down here?" I asked. "It's cold; have you been here all night?"

"I've been guarding," he replied. "Shawn, you're in way over your head here."

I nodded and looked out the living room window; the first rays of dawn were streaking the sky. They were blood colored.

"Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning," my dad murmured. "Not a good sign."

I shook my head, then tried to smile lightly. "I don't believe in signs," I said. "That's why I always get parking tickets."

To my immense surprise, my dad began to laugh. "You know what I like about you Shawn; you always have a great sense of humor," my dad said softly.

I stared at him. There was no trace of sarcasm there, no ill-disguised contempt. "You're serious," I whispered.

He snorted. "Of course I'm serious, I'm always serious. That is my main trait. Son, I'm a hard man. I know it's been hard for you... it's been hard for me too... and I know you hate these conversations, so I'll get to the point. Son, last night I saw conviction in your face. You were contrite; you were sorry about what you did, and you were aiming to fix it. I've never seen that in you before. Son, last night, you became a man."

I blinked, feeling immensely uncomfortable and yet... loved at the same time. "Okay, dad, I have no idea how to answer to that!"

"Don't," my dad said. "Just take it like a man."

There was silence as I stood with my back to my dad, looking out the window, while he continued to stare at the front door. We both knew what this day might bring... even though my dad had no idea what I was planning, he had lived through the quiet before a storm too many times not to recognize when something was about to break. And as for me... I was planning to do something so dangerous, it was impossible not to feel like I had swallowed a leaden weight.

"Dad!" I said, my voice coming out in a panicked squeak. I cursed myself inwardly, then said again in a much calmer voice, "Dad, if... if I don't get a chance to say this again... I... well... I love you, okay?"

My dad was silent for quite some time, and I waited for the barrage of insults to come my way. None came. Finally, as I was wondering if he had drifted off to sleep or something, I heard him whisper back, "I love you too, son."