For the next week, Shawn was insufferable.

"Gus, tie my shoes, I can't do it."

"You don't have shoelaces, Shawn."

"Juliet, my lip itches. Can you scratch it?"

"Ask Lassiter."

"Lassie-face! I—"

"Get away from me, Spencer, or I will not hesitate to shoot you where you stand."

"The spirits are very tactile, Chief, there's nothing I can do."

"Then will you please go home?"

It was a long week.

Finally on the twelfth, the doctor declared the stitches stable enough for light activity and physical therapy stretches, which rapidly turned the tables.

"Lassie, this paperweight is totally ridiculous. You need something much more—"

"O'Hara, I think it's time for Spencer's exercises," Lassiter interrupted without looking up from his paperwork.

Juliet took a rather dramatic look at her watch. "Why yes, I believe you're right."

"Aw, guys, not again. Come on," Shawn whined.

"You don't want your skin to lose it's elasticity do you?" Juliet said patiently. Lassiter's smile was smug and faintly nasty as she drew the pouting psychic into the chair beside her desk and began gently working his hands with the exercises Gus had provided courtesy of Shawn's doctor.

He hissed as she slowly pushed his fingers back, stretching the skin beneath the bandage on his palm. "You guys are so overdoing this whole stretching thing—ow!"

"Sorry," she said kindly. "And we are not. Gus told us to make sure you did these at least once every hour and a half. So far we have not gone over that."

He grumbled under his breath, wincing again. "I think I know what I'm going to be for Halloween."

"Oh this should be good," came Gus' voice and Juliet looked up, smiling.

"Hi Gus."

"Hello. Has he been making trouble for you?"

"Oh, not too much."

"What am I, in daycare? I'm still here guys. Sitting right here," Shawn said, glaring petulantly at the pair of them.

"Trust me, if they accepted twenty-nine-year-olds, you would be in daycare," Gus said.

"I love you, too, Gus. Anyway. As I was saying, I think I know what I'm going to be for Halloween."

"Oh, really?" Juliet said, sounding appropriately interested.

"See, look," he said and pulled back the bandage on his hand to reveal a Vaseline slathered line of stitches spanning the part of his hand that usually would have shown his heart line. "I could be Frankenstein for Halloween."

"Frankenstein's monster, Shawn. Frankenstein was the doctor," Gus said, rolling his eyes at his friend's embarrassing lack of knowledge.

"No one cares, honestly, Gus. I've already got the stitches. And I think I still have that make-up kit from that time in Hollywood..."

Juliet smoothed the bandage back into place and said, "If that's what you want to be, Shawn, then I think that's great."

Lassiter snorted into his coffee.

The fake psychic's eyes narrowed at the pretty blonde trying not to laugh at him and said, "Oh, I see how it is. Let's all make fun of the gimp. Nice. Very classy guys. You know what, Jules? That moment? Yeah, that moment at the waterpark? It meant nothing to me. Nothing." Here it was Gus' turn to snort.

"Really?" Juliet replied brightly. "Well, that's great. You've moved past denial. Good for you." She patted his knee and flashed an encouraging smile before rising and scooping up a pile of papers. "Now we can move on."

Shawn's mouth dropped open. "What? No! There will be no moving on! I was kidding Jules! Wait! JULIET!"

Gus and Lassiter's laughter echoed down the hall after them.