Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading everyone! Here is the next chapter in the story. This one is another flash back, folks. They will be at random intervals through the story so that the present and the past are being explained at the same time. I hope this works for you all! Anyways, I hope you enjoy and please REVIEW! P.S.-this chapter is a little sappy and may be a bit PG-13…just a forewarning.

Six Years Earlier…Chicago, Illinois

Shawn had never been one to use terms like "picture perfect" or "living the dream". He had spent far too much time with Henry Spencer to believe that life was anything other than disappointing. Of course, that was before he'd fallen hopelessly in love. That was before he met Amy Coronado.

Being with Amy was like celebrating Christmas everyday of his life except there were never any disappointing presents, ugly knit sweaters, or fathers who made you deduce what he'd gotten you before he'd hand over the gift. She was constantly surprising him and for Shawn, who was rarely surprised by anyone or anything, was thrilled. Amy was an unpredictable force in Shawn's all too predictable world.

When he looked at her he didn't see her past, although she was always open about it if he asked. He didn't see her secrets, didn't see the hundred and one microscopic details his father had taught him to look for. Amy was immune to the power Shawn possessed but didn't entirely want. She was a mystery to him and he liked nothing more than to play Sherlock Holmes to her Hound of the Baskervilles. Every conversation they had was one he wanted to play over and over again in his mind. Every quirk he discovered was a treasure.

There were so many things Shawn loved about her that just trying to think of them all made his head spin. Her favorite snack was a large pickle and Shawn often suspected she would smell like dill, but she never did. She smelled like the strawberry shampoo she used. Sometimes she would buy peach or mango scented hair products just to watch him pout. He loved the fact that her favorite movie was Lord of the Rings, even though they had an intense discussion on what constituted as a single movie or a movie series. And the character she loved most? No pointy ears, no hairy feet, or giant beards, rightful kings or wizard hats. No, her favorite character was the sneaky bastard Gollum and she could imitate his voice with such perfection that Shawn didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified. Of course, considering he'd been sleeping on her couch when she'd snuck up behind him and whispered "my precious" into his ear for the first time it was probably a little of both.

On top of her dazzling beauty, winning smile, and incredible sense of adventure, Amy was wickedly smart. Despite her young age, she was one of the top reporters of the Chicago Tribune. Her rapier like wit and gift with words was something to behold. Shawn had seen her turn more than one hoity toity public official or snake tongued politician into quivering fools with a few strokes of her pen.

Amy had grown up in California, same as Shawn, but while he'd been living in the suburbs of Santa Barbara she had been trying to survive on the gang-infested streets of Compton. She had witnessed more than her fair share of violence and crime, had experienced enough loss and bitter disappointment to last her a lifetime. She dreamed of forcing people to look beyond their lives and see the harsh truth of existence that was so easily forgotten. She dreamed of seeing the world and painting a picture of words that allowed the world to see it with her. And so, defying all odds, she worked her fingers to the bone to make her dream come true. She was never afraid of her past. Never ashamed of who she had been, where she had come from, or what she'd done to survive. Shawn was mesmerized by her attitude towards life. She was the only person he'd ever seen who actually took the "life gives you lemons, make lemonade" mentality to heart. She was, for lack of a better term, picture perfect. And for some strange reason she loved him.

Shawn wasn't exactly arrogant, but he certainly wasn't the most humble man in the world. He'd gone through numerous relationships with the idea that whoever it was he was dating was lucky to be with him. With Amy it was the exact opposite. He counted every day he spent with her as something precious as if she were the last drop of water in a barren desert and could disappear at any moment. Every night when she kissed him goodbye from the doorway of her apartment, every moment when he held her in her arms, every time her face lit up when she saw him smile, was better than all the golden pineapples in the world. And every night, lying next to her, he wondered when she would wake up and their whirlwind relationship would end.

Except…it hadn't ended. A month went by. Three months. Six. She still laughed at his antics, still kissed him in a way that almost stole his breath away, and she was still fascinated by his peculiar talents. She loved going out to public places just so she could watch Shawn work his magic. The first time she had asked him Shawn had expected to feel the annoyance and anger he was so familiar with, but it never came. He didn't mind when she asked him. Perhaps it was because he knew that Amy never looked at his ability as something to be exploited or that she never expected more from him than what Shawn was willing to give. Perhaps it was simply because she wasn't Henry.

As the months continued to fly by Shawn found himself considering a path he'd never even glanced at before. Marriage, kids, the white picket fence. Everything. The Whole Nine Yards. The first time he realized how deeply in love he was with this woman was when they had gone shopping together to find a cocktail dress for a charity banquet she would be writing a column on that evening. They had found a dress that looked so incredible on her lithe frame that all Shawn wanted to do was take it off of her. He told her so and that was apparently enough to seal the deal. As they walked back to Amy's car they passed through the jewelry department and before Shawn had even realized what happened he found himself staring down at a simple silver wedding band with a small diamond in the center.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Pooh Bear?" Amy had asked, coming up to stand beside him.

"Why do you call me that?" Shawn asked absently.

"You know why."

"Refresh my memory."

"Cause your head is full of stuffin'," Amy laughed, kissing his head. "Why are you staring at that ring like it's the one ring to rule them all?"

"Do you like it?"

"What?" Amy asked shrugging her shopping bags to her other shoulder. "The one ring?"

"No," Shawn sighed. "This ring."

"Sure," Amy chirped. "Its pretty. Why do you ask?"

"Our one year anniversary is coming up in a month," Shawn answered, as if that explained everything.

"And?"

"And I want it to be special."

"Then I'm sure it will be."

Shawn frowned, staring down at the slender band with more concentration than he ever remembered giving anything in his life. Could he do it? Could he ask her to marry him? The answer was instantaneous. Yes, he could ask it. He wanted to ask it. He didn't think he'd ever wanted to ask anything more than he did in that moment. But, would she say yes? The thought of being rejected by Amy Coronado brought a bitter taste to his mouth and Shawn's frown deepened.

"Hey," Amy was saying. "Earth to Cyclops. You better put your battle visor back on or you're going to burn a hole right through that display case with your laser vision."

"Sorry," Shawn said with a small smile, shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts. "You know I'm addicted to shiny things."

"Right," Amy cooed, ruffling his hair. "My boyfriend the bird man."

That should have been that. Crisis averted. No harm, no foul. But Shawn couldn't get the idea out of his head. He kept imagining himself slipping the ring on her finger, watching her face as she quirked her lips in the winning smile he loved so much. The thought surprised him. He'd never been much of a commitment guy, but this wouldn't be the first thing Amy had changed in him. And it was always for the better. Maybe his ability to commit was part of the change. Part of what made Amy perfect for him.

He knew he was going to make their year anniversary special. He just wasn't sure if they were ready to make the day THAT special. Besides, he knew next to nothing on proposing. How long were they supposed to be together before it was appropriate to ask? Or the opposite side of that…how long was TOO long? Should he be traditional and get down on one knee in a crowded, sophisticated restaurant so that everyone and their mother could witness his humiliation if she rejected him? Or should he come up with something more original and worthy of a woman being courted by Shawn Spencer? And if she said no? Where would that leave them?

In the end, Shawn decided to wait. He knew there was no chance he would change his mind on whether or not he wanted to marry her, but Amy could have a different idea. Besides, wasn't marriage something they should discuss? It seemed like that would be the responsible thing to do and he would much rather talk about any reservations Amy may have than face the consequences of going off half-cocked and ruining everything. He just wasn't sure how to bring the subject up. Having a staring contest with a diamond ring at a department store seemed too subtle. Not to mention a little creepy. But walking in the door with a cheery "Hi, honey! I'm home. Let's talk about marriage!" seemed over the top.

Shawn sighed, glancing up at the ridiculous cat clock Amy had talked him into buying at a garage sale in Highland Park. A quarter to seven. Amy would be walking through the door any second and Shawn still had to finish the final touches on their evening.

One year. It seemed strange to him that so much time had passed since he'd met Amy on the pier. A year with her was like a day to him, but the memories they had made spoke of their time together. Pictures, ticket stubs, souvenirs. Each of them held laughter and love. Each of them was a reminder of how Shawn felt about her.

They had talked about dinner out and dancing, but Amy opted for a night in. She was flying back from New York after interviewing some kid genius that had graduated from college at thirteen and planned on devoting his time and energy in finding a clean and renewable energy source. Unlike many of his girlfriends, or as Amy called them, his easy squeezes, Shawn was actually interested in what Amy did for a living. He loved listening to her talk about whatever column or article she was writing. He loved the passion in her voice and the determination in her eyes to tell it exactly like it was.

Shawn knew she would be tired after her flight from JFK to O'Hare, but he still wanted the night to be perfect. He looked around him to make sure everything was in place. All three Lord of the Rings movies were stacked on their coffee table in chronological order. Frodo Baggins and his unlikely fellowship would be their entertainment for the evening and Shawn had hired a friend of Crazy Jimmy to help him transform their balcony into a landscape worthy of the Shire. It had made one hell of a mess, but Shawn couldn't deny that it looked damn good.

He ran through the checklist in his head to make sure he'd done everything perfectly. It was one of the things his gift actually came in handy for. He could close his eyes and visualize exactly where every item was. The giant Gollum sock-puppet he'd made for her was sitting in the corner of the couch, the table on the balcony was decorated to perfection and the expensive bottle of wine he'd bought for the occasion was chilling in the ice bucket, the speakers he'd set out to serenade them with a playlist he'd created for the evening was plugged in to the tiny outlet behind the portable George Foreman grill, the main course was sitting in the oven and the salad, freshly tossed, was covered in the fridge, Amy's favorite blanket was folded neatly on the armchair, the Aragorn and Arwen capes he'd had made by a thirty something nerd in his mother's basement was draped across the balcony railing, and the cat—

Shawn hissed in a breath. The damn cat. He had to let the little devil out of the back room before Amy got home or she'd skin him alive. For reasons Shawn did not understand Amy had picked the ugliest, meanest, most spiteful cat in the animal shelter, but she loved the feline and it adored the very ground Amy walked on. He saw himself as the only man in Amy Coronado's life. Which meant he hated Shawn. With a vengeance.

Shawn didn't normally put Sampson in the back room, but lately the cat had decided that peeing on his shoes was a proper punishment for encroaching on the feline's perceived territory. Perhaps if Shawn had more shoes this wouldn't have been a big deal, but all he had was a pair of sneakers, a pair of snow boots, and a horrific pair of bright yellow cowboy boots with spurs that Amy and he had bought in a fit of drunken stupidity.

"Sampson," Shawn hissed, opening the back room door and watching the darkness for any sign of movement. "Sampson, where are you? Come on out."

Sampson yowled at him from underneath the bed and shot out like a rocket, tail held high and hair on end like he'd stuck his paw in the light socket. Shawn jumped backwards as the monster cat sunk its claws in his pant leg and tried to climb his way to Shawn's face using his calf and thigh as leverage.

"Ach," Shawn yelled, tripping over his own feet and hitting the wall in a heap. "Stupid, mangy, good for nothing—"

"I hope you aren't talking about me," Amy called from the front hallway.

Shawn heard her drop her bags to the floor and the unmistakable tinkle of Sampson's cat collar as he knocked his head against her legs.

"Hey, Sampson. Hey pretty kitty. Mommy missed you."

Shawn rolled his eyes and got to his feet. His leg burned slightly where Sampson's claws had gouged him, but the cat was out and Amy would never know he'd been shut in the room for the better part of the weekend.

"You always greet the cat first," Shawn grumbled with a smile. "Where's my hello?"

"He gets a chin rub," Amy said, wrapping her arms around him then kissing the breath right out of his lungs. "You get that. You decide who gets the better deal."

"Happy Anniversary," he whispered to her. "I'm glad your home."

"I'm glad to be home. Happy Anniversary, Pooh Bear."

"Ready to see your surprise?"

"Shawn, please tell me you didn't mess with Play-Doh."

"It was one time, Amy."

"Shawn, I had to try and keep a straight face as a fireman explained to me that my boyfriend started a fire by using the microwave as a kiln."

"I promise no Play-Doh was harmed in the making of this evening," Shawn said, raising a hand in scout's honor.

"What do you think Sampson?" Amy asked, staring down at the cat's squashed face. "Should we trust him?" Sampson yowled.

"He hurts me when he says things like that," Shawn said.

"He's just jealous," she whispered. "He wishes he had an amazing boyfriend like I do."

"Hmmm," Shawn murmured. "Don't overestimate me. You haven't even tasted dinner yet."

"You made me dinner?" Amy said, pulling her head back to look at him appraisingly. "Should I be worried?"

"Nobody has keeled over yet," Shawn said with a shrug. "That's promising, right?"

"I'm a glutton for adventure, Mr. Spencer. Lead the way."

"Rivendale awaits you," Shawn called out, bowing low and almost falling over when Sampson swiped his paw at him. "And the toilet awaits the feline."

Amy laughed and took his hand, pulling him into the living room where Shawn had set up the evening events. Her mouth opened up in a little 'o' of delight and she looked around her in wonder.

"Shawn," she said. "Its amazing. Its like…like I'm in the Shire."

"I hoped you would like it," Shawn whispered.

"Like it? I love it! This is so cute!"

"Cute?" Shawn asked with a small frown. He wasn't sure cute was what he wanted.

"Yes," Amy cried. "Cute! Look! You even made me a Gollum sock puppet!"

"Cute," Shawn repeated, annoyed.

"What?"

"You think it's cute."

"Yes," Amy said, turning her head to frown at him in confusion. "What's wrong with that?"

"I wasn't going for cute, Corona."

"Shawn," Amy said, narrowing her eyes. "I know you think its funny, but a sure way to make sure that a woman never EVER has sex with you is giving her a nickname that doubles as a beer."

"What?" Shawn yelped. "A beer? No, its from the song!"

"What song?"

"You know…da da duh da da…My Corona!"

"It's my Sharona, Shawn."

"I've heard it both ways."

"Why do I even bother arguing with you?" Amy snapped, rolling her eyes.

"You started it," Shawn told her. He wasn't sure how they had ended up fighting. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

"How the hell did I start this?" Amy growled.

"You called me cute!"

"And that's a problem?"

"Cute is for Teddy Bears with fluffy paws," Shawn grumbled. "Cute is for bunnies and kittens not named Sampson. Cute is for children."

"Then it fits you perfectly."

"Ouch," Shawn winced. "That was below the belt, Amy."

"I'm sorry," Amy said, throwing her hands up. "I'm sorry I called you cute, Shawn. What should I have said? I didn't really think sexy applied to Lord of the Rings. So…what? What should I have called you?"

"Romantic," Shawn said lamely.

"What?"

"I was hoping for romantic."

"Oh, Shawn," Amy relented. "This is romantic. I mean, as romantic as Mordor and Ring Wraiths can be."

"I was going for Arwen and Aragorn."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"I had capes," Shawn told her. "Cloaks, I mean."

"You have cloaks?" Amy smiled.

"Yeah. With the little leaves on them and everything."

"Can I see them?"

Shawn motioned for her to follow him out on the balcony, but when he got there the cloaks were gone. He stared at the spot they had been in dumbfounded amazement.

"They were just here," he croaked. "Where the hell did they go?"

"Maybe you only thought you bought regular cloaks," Amy grinned. "Maybe you accidentally bought Invisibility Cloaks instead. It's an easy mistake to make. I just hope you kept your receipt."

"This isn't funny, Amy."

"I'm not laughing."

"You are poking fun. It's the same thing."

"Shawn," Amy sighed. "I'm playing with you. It's adorable."

"Adorable is the same thing as cute," Shawn pouted.

"Fine! Romantic! Jesus Shawn."

"Damn right I'm romantic. I'm a regular Casanova."

"Oh, Shawn," Amy snorted.

"What?"

"I love you, but Casanova? Really?"

"Yes!"

"Shawn…baby…you are funny and smart and sweet and incredibly original—"

"And sexy?"

"That to."

"But?"

"But to get to all of that there are a lot of childish layers you've got to go through first."

"Layers?"

"Yes," Amy said. "Layers. Like an onion."

"Are you calling me Shrek?" Shawn frowned, moving over to stand by the balcony railing.

"What?"

"You know," Shawn said with a shrug. "Layers…onions…have you never seen Shrek?"

"No."

Shawn turned to stare at her incredulously. "You should wear a sign that says 'lives under rock'."

"You aren't helping your case, Shawn."

"Onions," Shawn grimaced. "Why can't I be like a cake? Or a parfait? Or an ice cream sundae?"

"Does an ice cream sundae have layers?"

"Yes," Shawn said. "You start with your ice cream. Three scoops."

"You eat three scoops?"

"I really like ice cream."

"I can tell."

"I am trying to explain this," Shawn told her. "So you have your three scoops of ice cream…"

"What flavors are they?"

"What does that matter?"

"It doesn't. I'm just curious."

"Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry," Shawn replied impatiently. "Then you have your caramel sauce."

"I don't like caramel," Amy told him stubbornly.

"Well, I do and this is my metaphorical sundae so it's going to have caramel."

"That sounds like ice cream fascism."

"What?"

"You know, forcing others to believe in your ice cream ideals against their will."

"Its ice cream, Amy."

"I know. I'm just pointing it out. Please continue."

"So," Shawn sighed. "Then you have your chocolate sauce. Then your whip cream. Then your nuts."

"Your what?"

"Nuts."

"Huh?"

"Nuts," Shawn snapped. "Did you stand too close to the plane engine at the airport and blow out your ears?"

"No," Amy said with a wicked grin. "I just like making you say nuts."

"You're ridiculous," Shawn told her with an amused shake of his head. This was how it was with Amy Coronado. Their fights always turned into something like this and Shawn could never really remember what they had even started fighting about.

"Says the man trying to justify an ice cream sundae with layers," Amy smirked.

"It does have layers," Shawn exclaimed. "Did I not just explain this?"

"You did," Amy said slowly, tapping her upper lip. "But, I have a hypothetical situation to pose to you about your…what should we call it…your Sundae Hypothesis."

"Really? The Sundae Hypothesis? That is the best you can come up with, Miss Paid to Write?"

"You have something better?"

"No," Shawn admitted.

"Then shhh," Amy told him. "Now, just for shits and giggles, lets say that somebody wanted to eat this sundae. Rare, I know, but plausible."

"Your point?"

"My point is that all they have to do to ruin your layer theory is stick their spoon in and mix it around a bit. Voila! No more layers."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Amy said with small nod. "And, since we're on the subject, here's another wrench to throw in the Sundae Hypothesis. You are sitting at your table, enjoying your Sundae's creamy goodness and—"

"It's what?"

"Creamy goodness."

"Huh?"

"Shawn," Amy said sternly. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're trying to get me to say creamy goodness one more time."

"Say what again?" Shawn grinned.

"Shawn," Amy said, trying not to laugh. "I am a firm believer that violence is, in fact, the answer."

"Psssshhh," Shawn scoffed, waving her off with a hand. "You ain't got no skills. I'd throw you over my shoulder like a Continental Soldier so fast you wouldn't know what hit you."

"Oh," Amy said, raising an eyebrow. "You think?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Well," Amy whispered, her lips quirking up into a seductive smile. "Come on then, onion boy. Show me what you've got."

They never did get around to watching Lord of the Rings that night, but Shawn didn't mind in the slightest. He was more than happy to spend their evening recreationally and he was pretty sure Amy was to. Afterward, with Amy snuggled up against his chest, Shawn stared at the ceiling for a long time, basking in the feeling of complete contentment she brought him.

"Shawn," Amy said hesitantly. "I have something I wanted to ask you."

"Ask away," Shawn said absently.

"You know that murderer they've been trying to catch? The one who strangles his victims then carves the number in their skin?"

"Babe," Shawn said with a frown. He didn't want to think about murderers. His dad thought about murderers. "You're ruining my post coital glow."

There was a long silence and then, "I'm fairly certain that is the creepiest thing a man has said to me after sex."

"Hmmm," Shawn sighed, closing his eyes. "Because bringing up a serial killer is such great pillow talk."

"Shawn," Amy said quietly. "This is serious."

There was something in her voice that gave him pause. Excitement. And terror. Shawn opened his eyes and sat up.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You know that expose I wrote for Newsweek when we first started dating?" Amy asked him, playing with his fingers. "The one about gang violence?"

"Yeah," Shawn said slowly. "I remember you had to get pretty up close and personal with some of the cases."

"How did you feel about that?" Amy asked him, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I remember not liking it much," Shawn told her. "Amy, what is this all about?"

"Newsweek has asked me to write another feature article, Shawn. It would mean big things for my career."

"Ok. What's it about?" Shawn asked, even though he already knew.

"That's the thing," Amy said. "Its about this guy, Shawn. The sick bastard that's killing people. They want me to figure out what makes this guy tick…what makes anybody like that tick."

"Oh," Shawn said, swallowing hard. "Umm…that's great, I guess."

"Shawn," Amy said softly. "I'm asking you if it's okay."

"If what's okay?"

"Me taking the job," Amy sighed, exasperated.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because that's what couples do," Amy whispered. "Because that's what people who love each other do. They talk about major life decisions like this. Jobs, marriage, all of that sort of—"

"Marriage?" Shawn asked, lifting his head up. "You…you want to talk about marriage?"

"I didn't mean right this second," Amy said quickly.

"Right," Shawn coughed, awkwardly. "Of course, I didn't meant that…I mean I wouldn't want to…not that I wouldn't want to marry you because…or that I would if you don't want to…" Stop. Stop, Shawn. Stop opening your mouth. This had never happened to him before. He was a master at verbal sparring and now he sound like Porky the Pig. "I just mean that if you want to talk about it then—"

Amy pressed her lips to his silencing him more effectively than a piece of duct tape. When she finally pulled back from him he couldn't think of anything else to say, but that had probably been her plan all along.

"Shawn," she told him. "I love you and one day, very soon, you and I are going to have a long discussion about our future. Just not today. Today I'm asking you about a job because what you think matters to me. This isn't just my life, anymore. Its yours to."

"Is it important to you?" Shawn asked her quietly.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Shawn. I jumped at the chance to write this piece, but I told Makowski at Newsweek that I had to talk it over with you."

"Would you be safe?"

"As safe as I would be writing any other high profile piece," Amy said.

Shawn didn't believe that for a second, but he doubted Amy believed it either. He'd seen some of the case files his father had brought home with him when he was a kid and the thought of anything happening to Amy made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want her anywhere near this guy, didn't want her anywhere near any of his crime scenes either. It would draw too much attention to her and if anything happened to Amy, anybody hurt her…well, Shawn didn't want to know what he would become without her.

"Shawn," Amy whispered in his ear. "I'm a big girl, you know. I can handle myself."

"I know you think you can, Amy. But…this guy…I just…I get a bad feeling about this."

"A bad feeling?" Amy smiled. "Like a psychic vibe?"

"That," Shawn allowed. "Or maybe its just good old common sense finally knocking on my door."

"Common sense is my job," Amy laughed. "Your job is to be silly and free of worry, Shawn."

"That's not true. I worry about you."

"I know, but I can do this. I've got to do this."

"It sounds like you already made up your mind," Shawn said.

"I've made up MY mind," Amy said. "But I haven't made up yours. If you don't want me to do this, Shawn, then tell me. I'll turn down the job. I'll be disappointed, but I'll turn it down because I love you."

Shawn looked at her for a long time. He wanted nothing more than to please her, nothing more than to see her happy. But, this guy, this creep who took people off the streets and killed them with his bare hands, terrified him. He didn't know what it was about the man that sent Shawn's heart beating a panicked rhythm against his chest, but it was there and it was big and it was real. But, her smile. He didn't want her to be disappointed. Didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. So, against his better judgment, against every instinct he had, he nodded.

"You mean it?" Amy asked, studying his face closely.

"Yeah," Shawn said softly. "Take the job, babe."

"Thank you," she whispered, kissing him again. She smiled at him before rolling out of the bed and over to her carry on bag she'd brought with her to New York. "I got you something…for our anniversary."

"Amy," he said. "You didn't have to—"

"Hush," she told him excitedly. "Its for both of us. Hold out your hands and close your eyes."

Shawn grinned and did as he was told. He felt something small and cool drop into his hand. A key. It had to be a key. He opened his eyes and held the tiny piece of metal up.

"What's this to?" Shawn asked.

"Its to a house," Amy told him shyly. "Just a small place over in Highland Park. It's a bit of a fixer upper, but I figured that together you and I can make it into a home. Our home."

"Amy," Shawn breathed, unsure of what to say. "Its…"

"Of course," Amy said suddenly. "If you think its too soon or—"

"No," Shawn said quickly. "This is perfect. I—thank you. And, you know, I got you something to."

"Another invisibility cloak?"

"No," Shawn laughed, pulling a box from his bedside table drawer and handing it to her. "Better."

Amy opened the box and Shawn closed his eyes. God, he hoped he wasn't about to make a fool of himself. He wasn't a sappy man, but—

"Shawn," Amy breathed and Shawn opened his eyes. "Shawn, its beautiful."

Amy held the locket he'd given her in between her fingers and stared down at the picture of the two of them on the ferris wheel at the county fair. There were tears in her eyes and Shawn gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done.

"It was my grandmother's," he told her softly. "My grandfather gave it to her before he went off to war so she could look at his face everyday and never forget the man she married. She gave it to me before she died and told me that I should give it to the girl I planned to marry. That's you, Corona."

"Shawn," Amy said, wiping tears from her eyes before slapping him. "You sure know how to ruin a moment."

"My specialty," he teased.

"I love you," she told him. "Forever and always."

"That's a mighty big statement," Shawn told her.

"It isn't if its true," she whispered.

"Then I love you to," Shawn said, kissing her hair. "Forever and always."

Amy put the locket around her neck then snuggled up against him once more. She was on the verge of sleep, but she turned to him one last time, her eyes unreadable in the dim light of the their bedside lamp.

"Promise you won't leave me," she told him. "Promise you won't go off to war or anything else."

"I promise," Shawn whispered. "Do you promise to be safe on this job?"

"Don't worry," she told him with a sleepy smile. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

Shawn did trust her. It was everyone else that was the problem.