A/N: Thank you so much for your overwhelmingly positive reviews! I'm grateful. :)
"Are you detective Sherman?" Detective Lassiter greeted. Shawn and Gus lagged behind, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs. When they finally caught up, they were greeted with, "Bad news, boys; the body's disappeared."
Shawn sighed.
"So much for your dinner with Juliet," Gus declared.
"Maybe not," Shawn whispered after giving the crime scene a cursory glance. "Somebody stole this body and I know where he—or she—went next."
...
Shawn and Gus were sitting in the back of Lassiter's car on their way to a new crime scene when Shawn's phone rang. He hesitated.
"What?" Gus probed.
"It's Jules," Shawn whispered.
"So?"
"It could be awkward." He leaned his head toward Lassiter.
"Answer it, Shawn," Gus hissed.
"Hello?" he answered in a low tone.
"Not the usual 'Hi, Jules'?" she questioned, sounding a tad disappointed.
"Well . . . I'm in the car," he stated.
"Are you going to be home tonight?"
"I . . . don't think so."
"Oh. Well, be careful, Shawn. We need you."
He smiled broadly. "I will."
"I just called to say that I felt the baby move for the first time about ten minutes ago."
"Aw . . . Aw, I'm sad I'm not there."
"So are we. But you're out saving the world."
"Or at least San Diego."
She laughed—a bright, tinkling sound that thrilled him to his core.
"Sleep well."
"I love you, Shawn."
"You too."
"How are Juliet and the baby?" Carlton inquired as soon as Shawn slipped his phone back in his pocket.
Shawn obviously paled. "She's feeling better. Still has a bit of a sore throat. The baby's good."
"Wait, Lassiter knows?" Gus interjected.
"When are you two planning on telling the chief?" Carlton continued. "I can't keep silent forever."
Shawn sighed with relief. It had been a constant source of stress knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that Lassie snitching his and Juliet's secret was a very real possibility. "That's up to Jules," Shawn asked honestly. "I'm playing entirely by her rules."
Lassiter scoffed. "We've been trying to get you to do that for years."
...
Twelve hours later, they were back on their way up to Santa Barbara. Not only had they identified the body as that of a murderer that had mysteriously disappeared six years earlier, but Shawn had helped close the SDPD's case of disappearing corpses.
He smiled to himself. He still hadn't explained to Gus how he'd figured it all out. It wasn't a serial killer or a necrophiliac. It was simply a crazy old man with an obsession with shirt buttons. Somehow, the man managed to be in the right place at the right time and find the bodies. He'd take them, pull the buttons off the shirts, and bury the bodies in a nearby cemetery—complete with headstones.
Yanking him out of his reverie, his phone vibrated.
'Chinese or pizza?' the text read.
He responded back, 'Do we have any napkins?'
'Chinese it is.'
He couldn't stifle a satisfied grin as he slipped his phone back in his pocket.
"I hope there's nothing inappropriate going on back there, Spencer," Lassie warned.
"Dinner plans, Lassie Face. My baby mama wanted my opinion."
"You ever call my partner that again and I'll shoot you."
"Noted."
"Juliet's far too classy a lady to be assigned that title," Gus interjected.
"What about my significant other and other?"
"Shawn, that's ridiculous."
"My personal incubator?"
The sound of Lassiter's gun being cocked silenced any and all discussion of what Juliet's title should be as he stated, "How about Detective Lassiter's partner?"
"I'll stick with Jules," Shawn assured, putting the detective's ire at ease—for the time being, anyway.
...
Shawn found himself immediately enveloped in a hug when he walked through the door.
"We missed you," she whispered, kissing his cheek and trailing her hand across his chest as she led him into the kitchen. She handed him a plate and began dishing the food she'd bought.
"Jules, wait," he whispered.
She turned to him.
"Put the plate down."
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I'm starving. But this is more important."
Caught off guard by his seriousness, she quickly did as he asked.
"I thought of you every single moment I was gone, Jules. I don't want to spend any of my life away from you. I love you and I know you love me."
"Shawn . . ." she warned, having a good idea of where the conversation was going.
"I want to marry you, Juliet," he whispered, setting the jewelry box on the counter between them.
She briefly brushed her hand across the jewelry box before pushing it back toward him. "We talked about this, Shawn."
"I know. I know!" he stated frustratedly. Calming down ever so slightly, he took both of her hands in his. "One step at a time, Jules. That's what we agreed. But I want you to know . . . the question stands. And as long as we're raising a child together, it will stand."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek before whispering, "I love you, Shawn Spencer."
He held her close to him, relishing her touch. Pressing his own lips to her temple, he whispered tenderly, "I'll be waiting."
...
Shawn sat at his desk in the Psych office, trying to sort his Fruity Puffs by color. He couldn't help but smile when her face came up on his iPhone. He set his spoon in his cereal bowl and answered, "Hey, Jules. What's up?"
"Shawn, we have a problem."
His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong—with . . . with . . ."
"No, nothing's wrong. We're fine. But . . ." She lowered her voice substantially. "I'm due for my routine physical."
"Ohhhhh . . ." His face paled. "So that means . . ."
"We have to tell the chief," she finished. "Sooner, rather than later. I don't want her to find out from some paperwork from the hospital."
"Noooo, no, no. That would not be in our best interest. When's the physical?"
"Mid-February."
"So, can we put it off a while then? Wait until early February?"
"Why not now, Shawn?"
"What if she puts you on desk duty . . . or doesn't let us work cases together anymore?"
Juliet sighed. "The second week of February, Shawn. That's all the longer I'm waiting."
"Jules?"
"What, Shawn?" she prompted, snapping more than she intended to.
"Do I have to be there? Jules? Jules?"
...
Every bone in his face hurt and his severely bruised ribs didn't feel all that great either.
"It's bad enough when I get hurt for solving my own cases . . . but getting mistaken for Lassie? Talk about kicking a man when he's down."
He winced as Juliet put an icepack to a particularly bad bruise along the right side of his jawline. "You know she just attacked whoever came through the door first. It had nothing to do with you looking at all like Carlton."
"Still. I feel violated."
After she felt he'd been sufficiently doctored, she sent him to bed, following as soon as she'd finished her nightly routine.
Nearly an hour later, she rolled over for what must have been the trillionth time.
"Jules!" Shawn groaned. "What is your problem? Do I have to remind you what my body's been through in the last six hours?"
"I'm sorry. The baby won't stop kicking me."
He switched on the light. "Bring it here," he sighed resolutely.
"Bring what?"
"The belly. Bring it over."
She rolled over onto her back. Shawn placed both hands on her stomach and leaned down close.
"Hello? Little SpenceHara baby?" He briefly looked up at Juliet. "Or should it be 'O'Hencer'?"
"Shawn!"
He returned his attention to the baby. "This is your dad speaking. Now, I know you may not understand this, seeing as how everything in your world is like a perfect field of daisies covered in light moss surrounded by a warm Jacuzzi with a never-empty bag of Doritos . . ."
"That's disgusting, Shawn."
"Shhhh!" he commanded. "But I've had a very difficult day. I have many bruises—including my pride—and all I really need is a good night's sleep. So, do you think you could settle down long enough to let Mommy and I fall asleep?" He placed his ear against her stomach and waited several seconds.
"Shawn, the baby's not going to answer you."
"Shhhh!" he repeated.
She rolled her eyes and lay back.
"Did you hear that?" he finally stated.
"No, Shawn."
"Exactly." He leaned back against his pillow and curled up. "Silence. We have a very obedient child."
She smiled at him and reached across to turn out the light. "It certainly doesn't come from your side."
After only a few seconds of silence, she heard Shawn mutter, "Jules?"
"What?" she grunted, slightly sharper than she intended.
"Is the baby a Spencer or an O'Hara?" he asked timidly.
"Both, Shawn. Isn't that part of the definition of reproduction?"
"No, I mean . . ." He sighed, slightly afraid of the gravity of the conversation. "Once the baby's here, is it going to have your last name or mine?"
"One step at a time, Shawn," she groaned, rolling away from him.
He frowned discontentedly. "We have to put something on the baby's birth certificate. He or she has to have a last name. Is it going to be yours or mine?"
All Juliet wanted was to sleep. She grouchily attempted to close the conversation with, "We're not married, Shawn. It's my baby until I say otherwise."
"You're the mom," he whispered defeatedly, rolling to his side with a sigh.
...
Shawn had gone back to the Psych office to work a private case with Gus while Juliet and Carlton took advantage of a slow day to catch up on paperwork. Henry and Chief Vick were booked up with meetings cleaning up from the disaster that had been Shawn's last few cases.
She didn't even realize anyone was behind her until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly.
"You look tired, Juliet," Henry stated kindly.
She rubbed her temples. "I'm going cross-eyed from all this fine print."
"You should go home early tonight—take a bath, rest your eyes . . . make Shawn give you a solid back massage."
"That would be nice," she sighed. "But I can't just leave all of this for Carlton. As long as he's here working, I'll be working."
"Well, as long as Shawn's not here to make sure you're taking care of yourself, I'm looking out for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Spencer," she stated gratefully.
"Henry." He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.
Not ten minutes later, Carlton approached her desk. "Spencer's right; you should go home early."
"Carlton, I'm fully capable of doing paperwork."
"Don't get defensive on me, O'Hara. I'm just trying to give you a break."
"I appreciate that, Carlton, but I don't need to be babied. I'll let you know when I can't handle my job anymore."
"Have it your way."
As Carlton shrugged and walked away, Juliet's phone vibrated. She flipped it open to read a text from Shawn.
'Something came up. Won't be home tonight.'
'Something with the case?'
She waited for almost ten minutes without a response and then tried again.
'Are you all right?'
'Just busy.'
She bit her lip. It didn't sound like Shawn, but she didn't want to keep bothering him in the middle of working a case. 'Call me when you get a chance.'
Her phone buzzed again. She expected a response, but found a call from the doctor instead.
"Juliet?"
"This is she."
"This is Sherri from Dr. Ambrose's office, confirming your appointment for tomorrow morning at seven am."
"I'll be there."
"All right, we'll see you then."
She thought of texting Shawn again to remind him of the appointment, but thought it better to wait until he called her.
...
Juliet woke up, rolled over, and sighed gloomily. She gently ran her hand across the sheet where Shawn's body should have been. In only a few weeks she'd gotten so used to having him next to her as she slept that she'd had to turn the heater up in her room just to fall asleep. Waking up without him there made her feel insecure and lonely. She immediately reached for her phone, only to be disappointed. No texts, no messages. Why hadn't he called? She had barely an hour to get ready and go to her appointment.
"You're gonna be sorry you missed this one, Shawn," she growled out loud as she threw the covers off and headed to the bathroom.
...
He was tied to a tree. As if the bitter cold weren't enough, the rope was cutting off circulation to his hands and his vision was blurred from the blow that had rendered him unconscious the day before.
"You're awake."
"Prescott," Shawn spat bitterly. Suddenly, he felt his ropes loosen and he tried to stand up, slightly confused. He stood to find a gun pointed between his eyes.
"Run."
"You think I'm going to play your sick little game?" Shawn whispered confidently. He was answered by the side of a pistol crashing into his right temple. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees.
"I will shoot you."
"Then what's the point of dragging me all the way out here?"
"Well, until you came along, Detective O'Hara's family was the most important thing to her. Unfortunately, no one was hurt in the fire, so I knew I needed to up the ante. You joined the act just in time, Mr. Spencer. Now I get the pleasure of forcing Juliet to understand the pain of watching the person you'd give your life for die right in front of your eyes."
"So, why play the game? Why not just call her out here and shoot me right away?"
"What would be the fun in that? Now run!"
Shawn stood to his feet again, ready to take the opportunity to try and escape when he heard his phone. He checked his pockets.
"Did you really think I'd be dumb enough to leave you with this?" Prescott inquired, dangling the phone in front of Shawn. "Looks as though you're missing an OB appointment with the lovely Lady O'Hara."
"Damn it," Shawn swore. "She's not going to forgive me for that."
"Unresolved feelings inflict so much emotional damage—I'm sure you'll receive your forgiveness—posthumously, of course."
Prescott cocked the pistol and Shawn took off running, utilizing all the skills he'd learned at such a young age in hopes of finding some way out before Juliet became involved.