"Well, you survived your first week, Mr. Psychic Man." Jessie smiled, taking a sip of the beer Shawn put down in front of her.

Her voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the restaurant around them. Shawn had to lean forward to really hear her, but he didn't mind.

"Yeah," he sighed, absently spinning the bottle cap from his own beer on the table. "But next week, I have to start with the obstacle course. I hear it's a killer."

"It's not so bad," Jessie shrugged. "I've done it a few times. You'll be fine."

"No, really." Shawn insisted casually, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he spoke the next few words. "Hasn't it killed, like, two people this month?"

Jessie looked slightly surprised at the mention of the deaths, but she didn't hesitate before answering.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Shawn. Heart attacks can happen anywhere."

"Yeah…" Shawn agreed. "But you have to admit, it's kind of weird. Two heart attacks in a month?"

"I don't know," she murmured, seemingly disinterested in the whole conversation. "Not if they had bad hearts. Darren sure wasn't healthy. I know that much."

"Really?" Shawn took a slow sip of his beer before pressing on. "What makes you say that? The paper said they both passed their physicals."

Jessie looked at him curiously, her keen eyes trying to penetrate his skull and read his mind.

"Why are we talking about this?" She asked with just an edge of suspicion.

"I don't know," Shawn shrugged. "You brought it up. Did you want to talk about something else?"

"I don't care. I had some classes with Darren. He always looked stressed out and tired, and he even fell asleep a few times. I think he worked two jobs or something. That's probably what killed him, not the obstacle course."

"Oh."

"So, I don't think you have to worry about, Mr. Psychic Man."

She smiled and leaned forward, her hand somehow finding its way to Shawn's arm.

"I think you'll survive," she whispered, slowly blinking her pale hazel eyes.

"Did you know your shoe's untied?"

Shawn glanced down at his sneakers, which had, indeed, somehow come untied over the last few laps around the track.

"Yeah," he lied breezily, not slowing his pace as he looked back up at Jessie. "I told you. I know everything."

"Then why don't you tie them?"

"I'm going for the rebel look…" he grinned roguishly. "…Is it working?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"No. You look more like an idiot who doesn't know how to tie his shoes."

"Okay…" he conceded begrudgingly. "But to get the full rebel effect, you have to imagine I'm wearing a leather jacket…"

"Then you'd look like an idiot in a leather jacket who doesn't know how to tie his shoes."

He sighed, looking somewhat defeated.

"So, basically, you're saying I should tie my shoes?" He concluded disappointedly.

"Yeah…." she nodded with a small smile, her eyebrows arching slightly. "…But I do like the leather jacket idea."

She pulled ahead of him again as they rounded the edge of the track and began the long jog back to the other end.

This time, she wasn't too far ahead. Shawn could have easily caught up with her again, but at that moment his left foot stepped on his still untied right shoelace.

Oh, crap…he groaned as his right foot buckled underneath him, sending him pitching forward in what felt like slow-motion.

I hope no one's watching…

He knew couldn't stop it…

Not now…

He couldn't get his balance back…

All he could do was pray no one was watching.

Oh, God…what if my dad is watching…?

It was the last thought that flashed through his mind before the track suddenly came rushing up at his face.

"You really tripped over your own shoelace?" The nurse asked, putting a band-aid on Shawn's bleeding forehead.

He could hear the laughter in her voice, though her face remained professional and impassive.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

She said it flatly, but he knew she was laughing on the inside.

"Well, I was being shot at…" he muttered defensively. "You know…by bad guys…lots of them…with guns…big ones…"

"Right."

"I was!"

"Don't worry, Mr. Spencer." She smiled gently as she tossed the band-aid wrapper in the trash can. "Most recruits end up down here at some point, usually for dehydration or fatigue or some accident on the obstacle course. I've seen just about everything…"

She paused thoughtfully, searching the air as if for an answer to a question she hadn't asked.

"This is my first shoelace-related injury, though." She murmured. "Ever. And I worked at a high school before this."

"Great," Shawn sighed. "Glad I could be your first."

She laughed and snapped off her sterile gloves.

"Well, you don't have a concussion or anything. Just a little scrape. I think you'll survive."

"Yeah…" he groaned, having absolutely no desire to ever leave that room again. "…Everything except the humiliation."

"What'd you do to your head?" Henry asked as Shawn tried to slip out of class before his father saw him or the band-aid.

"Nothing." He lied, pausing in the doorway but not turning around.

There was no way in hell he was going to tell his father he tripped over his own shoelaces.

Of course, Henry Spencer wasn't going to accept "Nothing" as an answer, either.

"Shawn." He growled threateningly.

"Fine," Shawn sighed, spinning around and glaring at his father. "I got shot, okay?"

"In the head?" Henry raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Yeah. I got shot in the head."

"And they patched up a bullet wound with a Bugs Bunny band-aid?"

"It doesn't have Bugs Bunny on it!"

"How the hell did you manage to get shot in the head, anyway?"

"I don't know. Just lucky, I guess."

"Who shot you?"

"I don't know!" Shawn snapped, rapidly losing patience with this interrogation. "Some guy with a gun!"

"Really? Some guy with a gun shot you in the head?"

"Yes!"

Henry grinned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Then, you didn't trip over your own shoelace and take a face plant on the track?" He demanded, his eyes laughing as his son's ears turned red.