Shawn's plan had been flawless. He'd make sure he and Gus had a good day, and he'd be sure to enjoy every minute of it. Life with Gus was the best he was ever going to get; he refused to be ungrateful.

And it hadn't been a complete failure. It had been a lot of work, but they'd both seemed to enjoy the day. Except for the times when Gus hadn't been happy. Which really wasn't fair; Shawn was doing everything right and it still wasn't good enough.

Shawn immediately pushed back against the thought. Any other master would have held his attempt at freedom over his head indefinitely. They would have used it as a reason to punish him whenever they wanted. He deserved much worse than Gus not being as happy as he wanted.

But a day off was supposed to be fun, not sitting in the dorm room while Gus did 'research', whatever that meant.

It was what Gus had wanted, and the day was for him. It was fine. And they had had an interesting trip right before it… Except Shawn didn't even know what he was researching. Just that Gus had thought of something at the aquarium and now apparently couldn't do anything else before he looked it up. And took notes. And sat in an annoying position that kept Shawn from being able to see the screen…

Shawn sighed under his breath and went back to working on his picture. Gus would tell him what was going on when he was ready, and at least he seemed to be enjoying himself. In Gus' words, 'Research is fun for people like me.'

The dancing silhouette was almost fully shaded when Gus turned his chair. "Ok. I think I've got something."

Oh thank goodness, he wouldn't have to snoop through the notebook to know what was going on. "What's up?"

Gus took a deep breath and steeled himself before asking, "You were happy when we were helping the cops, right?"

Why was he asking that? "Yes…?"

"Well… I think I found a way for you to keep helping them."

Gus held out his notebook, and Shawn just stared as he tried to comprehend what he'd just heard. "Wh-What?"

Gus wasn't happy with him; why would he do something like that?

Gus hesitated, looking between Shawn and his offered notebook several times before realizing Shawn wasn't going to take it. He pointed to the first set of notes and explained, "In New York, an art thief got too well known. He was arrested and collared, then the feds bought him to use his expertise to solve other crimes." He pointed to the next set of notes. "Small town in Minnesota, someone realized their slave had some talent with drawing faces. They now hire her out to do police sketch work." His finger traveled down the page. "There's not many, but Miami, San Francisco, even the Hamptons… All slaves that have helped law enforcement in some way."

Too many emotions tried to exist in Shawn at once, creating a cacophony that drowned out any thought that tried to form. Gratitude, fear, confusion, excitement… hope. It was too much to take in all at once. He focused on the smaller picture and pointed to the bottom of the page. "Wh-What are those for?"

Gus glanced at the notes with a small 'p' in the margins. He looked like he was debating with himself before reluctantly answering, "Those are, uh, instances I could find where cops worked with psychics…" He shrugged and indicated the rest of the list. "Nearly all of the slaves were collared later in life and had skills and stuff from beforehand. You've got skills, but –no offense– you're a lot younger and it's nothing we can prove. And the cops already have a video of you pretending to be a psychic."

He'd really thought this through. But, why? Shawn had tried to run; Gus wasn't supposed to do nice things for him. Not until he'd earned it. Not until he'd proven he could be good again. Not until…

"I'm sorry… that it's like this."

"Yeah. Me too."

Shawn reached out and took the notebook with a shaking hand. He'd been working hard all day to make Gus happy. To prove that he could be happy with Gus. But it hadn't been because he was a slave; it had been because he was a friend. Just like Gus was doing this because he was a friend, not a master.

It was such a simple thing, just ink on a page, but it had a weight to it as Shawn scanned the words. It was a promise and a wish and something that pulled on his heart all at once. The warmth in his chest exploded as he struggled to keep all of the feelings under control. "What if they don't call?"

"Then we call them. If it's what you want."

It was. It really really was. Shawn nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

"Ok…" Gus said in a shaky voice. He took a deep breath and sounded more sure of himself as he repeated, "Ok. We can do this. We'll give them a week to see if they call about the tip you gave them. If they don't, then we'll go there and talk to them ourselves."

It was too much; Gus was too much. He deserved everything in the world and more, and nothing Shawn did would ever be able to repay him. "My dad was a cop. A detective. Though, you probably already looked that up… You said that I have skills; he's the one that taught me. Trained me. I could tell when someone was lying by the time I was seven, I knew all of the exits in a room when I was five, I could beat a lie detector, I could tell where someone had been just by a glance at their shoes, I knew all of the tricks in an interrogation room, I–"

"Shawn."

"We'd play games," Shawn continued stubbornly. Gus was giving everything he could, it was only fair that he did the same. "Go to a diner and no pie unless you can remember how many hats are in the room, walk down a street then list all of the license plates, wait in line and say where everyone had been before the store. He didn't–"

"Shawn, you don't have to–"

"It's all I have." He needed Gus to understand what this meant to him. "Dad didn't like that I learned poker; he said the house always won so you always have to lose. Problem is he taught me to read people too well, so I never lost. Even when I played against his cop buddies. Though I guess they won in the end; no one wanted to take in the hyper smartass kid after his dad–"

"I didn't look you up."

That one caught Shawn's attention. His head snapped up as he stared. Gus looked everything up; he always wanted to know more. It was why Shawn had told him his full name in the first place… "What, why not?"

"Because it's all you have." The chair creaked as Gus sat forward and said earnestly, "I want to know it, but only when you want to tell me. Not because you feel like you owe me something. And definitely not from an internet search."

"I already owe you. For my life, for… this." Shawn waved his hand around to indicate the whole dorm room. "A-And then you do even more…" Something that scared Gus. Something he wouldn't ever have done on his own. "I can't just… say 'thank you'."

Gus sighed, and Shawn braced himself to hear about how friends made each other happy and he shouldn't worry about repaying things and all of the people-thoughts that Gus thought he should have. But as usual, Gus surprised him. "The things you've shared… Were they things you wanted to share or things you thought you had to share?"

A small rush of shame ran through Shawn as he realized, "Things I wanted to share."

Did it count if it was things he wanted to share? If he was actually paying Gus back, then he should tell him the hard things. The things that actually cost him…

"Good. What about this: I won't complain about you paying me back in memories, but you don't tell me anything that you wouldn't want to tell me anyway." Gus held his hand out with an expectant look.

Shawn hesitated before reaching out to shake his hand and seal the deal. His friend was so weird… But it was a compromise he could live with, and it let him express the things that he couldn't explain.

Gus sat back in his chair and said conversationally, "You know, for a while I thought your dad was a gangster."

A laugh burst from Shawn's lips as he imagined his dad's horrified look at the thought. He was probably rolling in his grave right now… "How did you come up with that?"

"Poker, lie detector, always breaking the rules, always snooping, always… doing the things you do." Gus shrugged with a grin. "The pieces fit."

"Fair." Really there wasn't any good reason for a cop to teach his son to beat a lie detector. Unless he thought that son would have one attached around his neck someday… Shawn shook the thought away and retreated to a happier memory. "I tried to get Dad to dress like a gangster for Halloween once… He wouldn't have it, and I wouldn't take no for an answer. I woke up that morning to Mr. Potato head in my bed with red jello coming out of all of his holes."

"So the movie reference thing is hereditary."

"Yeah… I didn't see it that way at the time. He'd taken away my Evel Knievel costume and made me dress up as a cop so I could solve the crime." Shawn smirked; at the time he'd been so angry, but looking back it had been pretty funny. "If I could solve it, he'd put on the tux."

"He totally had to put on the tux," Gus said confidently.

His faith made the warmth in Shawn's chest grow even hotter. "Dad could set up a good crime scene… But yeah, he handed out candy in the tux. Even had a mustache." His dad had rolled his eyes and grumbled the whole time, but it had been obvious that he'd loved it. Even if he'd had to get the upper hand and point out that there was still a clue that Shawn had missed.

"He sounds like a neat guy."

He had his moments." It was complicated, with the good and bad moments all melding together when he tried to think about it. "But he did the best he could."

"I guess that's all any of us can do." Gus stood up and stretched as he checked the clock. "You good for dinner here?"

Shawn's stomach rumbled its answer. "Yeah, I'm good."

He glanced at the notebook one last time before placing it carefully on his sleeping bag. It would still be there with its terrifying and wonderful possibilities when they got back. He tried to push it out of his mind as he stood up and pulled his shoes on. The food hall was overwhelming enough without something like that hanging over him.

"I really hope it's not fish tonight," Gus said as he clipped on the leash.

"Poor Flipper. Going from the star of the show to the main meal in only a few hours…" What if the cops did call? Gus had mentioned reward money.

"Dolphins aren't fish. And before you say you've heard it both…" Gus kept talking as Shawn followed the thought. It'd be nice to pay Gus back for all of the food and clothes and…

And Gus had stopped talking. Shawn answered automatically, "I've heard it both ways."

Comprehension came a split second too late as he remembered what Gus had said. His master has said not to say that. He rushed to fix the mistake. "And three ways. Many ways. In lots of directions." Way too obvious. It was best to cut his losses. "It's not fish tonight."

"Uh-huh…" Gus said skeptically. "I'm glad we got that figured out."

Shawn winced as Gus opened the door to the hallway. He'd been damn lucky that Gus hadn't asked a question or said something the collar could enforce. He had to pay attention; slaves didn't have the luxury of zoning out. He had to stay present, he had to focus, he had to…

What sort of cases would they give him?

Shawn gave his head a miniscule shake as the door closed behind him. It didn't help. Would he get to see actual crime scenes? How big could he make his visions? Wouldn't it be cool if he actually got to arrest someone?

They walked down the hall, and Shawn's mind stayed firmly locked on the notepad in the room.

Shawn was no stranger to waiting. Waiting to be useful, waiting to be remembered, waiting for the pain to stop. It was a normal part of a slave's life. He'd learned how to manage it over the years, by retreating to his memories, or observing the area around him, or dozing on his knees.

But none of those strategies were working now.

His brain felt like it was on fire, jumping from one idea to the next before even completing a single thought. Imaginations of him solving a case would be overwritten by the memory of being pinned down and cuffed which would jump to Gus' new distrust which would circle back to the phone on his desk that wasn't ringing. Even when he tried to think of safer things, like how delicious dinner had been, the cellphone still pulled him in like a black hole of possibility. Why wouldn't it ring already?

It was taking forever…

"It's only been a few hours," Gus said over his shoulder. "They're not going to call tonight."

Shawn groaned, feeling like a little kid again as he whined, "This is going to be the longest week ever…"

His memory took the opportunity to point out several weeks that had been worse. Times he'd been in the dark, or out in the cold, or bleeding on the floor. Shawn promptly ignored it, throwing the memories at the cellphone blackhole and telling them to suck it. That was then; this was now.

"Sorry. But I figure we'll have more bargaining power if they call us and acknowledge you've already been helpful." Gus shrugged, annoyingly unconcerned about how their future could be changing right at that second. "Want a distraction?"

What he wanted was for the phone to ring… "Sure."

"Let me know if this looks good?" Gus held out the laptop with an email draft on the screen.

Shawn took it immediately. It wasn't the phone ringing, but it was Abigail.

[Hey Rowan,

Sorry it took so long to answer back; some stuff happened with me and Shawn. We're fine now, but it was a rough few weeks.

In brighter news though, you were right about the dance rooms! We just checked those out today, and it was perfect. It felt good to tap again; it really had been too long. I'll definitely be checking them out again. And I even got to show Shawn a few steps, which was fun.

How have you been? Congrats on the new job! I'm guessing you've already had your first day, so hopefully it's going well? How are you guys settling into your new normal?

So, here's an idea for you to think about. I don't know about you, but I feel sort of bad that Shawn and Abigail can only talk through us emailing each other. It was my own stuff that made me take two weeks to get back to you, and that was two weeks he couldn't hear how she was doing. I don't know how well Abigail can read, but maybe we could set up emails for them so they can talk on their own?

If that doesn't work, just let me know. We can try to figure something else out. In the meantime, Shawn says]

Shawn stared at the abrupt ending of the email as he wrapped his mind around what he'd just read. Gus would never stop surprising him. "Email addresses?"

He'd thought the computer was off limits to him now…

"Surprise." Gus answered with jazz hands. "I thought of it a few hours ago, but hadn't really figured out all of the details yet. What do you think?"

"Is it allowed?" It seemed ludicrous for it to be legal for slaves to communicate with each other unsupervised. It was why they always hid their signs.

"People make burner emails all of the time. If anyone actually looks into it, then… I don't know. I can say we're training both of you to be better companion slaves or something." Gus shrugged. "But seriously, who's going to ask?"

"We are thinking about working for the cops…"

"Which is all the more reason for you to be as literate as possible."

Shawn nodded in agreement; he couldn't argue with that logic. "I don't know if she can write, but it sounds good to me."

"Sweet." Gus nodded towards the laptop. "Your part is the last bit of the email; I can write it, or you."

Shawn studied the cursor that was blinking right after 'Shawn says'. What did he want to say?

He wanted to ask how Abigail was doing. The last he'd heard, she was starting to help the cousin with chores around the house. Did she like it? Did it give her enough things to do through the day? Was the cousin nice to her? But they could be dangerous questions to ask in front of her master.

He wanted to tell her about helping the cops. It was all he could think about; it'd be nice to be able to share it. But it could all go south, or she might disapprove. Or Rowan would think it was wrong and try to convince Gus to change his mind.

He wanted to tell her the little things. How a turtle had gotten stuck in the coral at the aquarium, how a kid in class had farted loud enough for the whole lecture hall to hear, how he'd tried a new type of japadog and it had nearly burned his mouth off. But they were only things he wanted to share with her, not everyone.

"Tell her… both of them that I'm good and I think your idea is good. And that War Games would be a good movie night choice."

Gus huffed a laugh as he took the offered laptop. "I don't think telling Rowan how AI is going to take over the world right after they started a job with computers is a great idea."

"You never know. They might get the chance to stop world war three." Shawn shook his head with a dramatic sad face. "Besides, imagine working with computers and not seeing that movie. They're going to miss so many reference opportunities…"

"I'm sure they'd survive." Gus typed a few more lines and sent the email. "There, that's done. Need anything else tonight?"

He needed that phone to ring. "I'm good."

It was going to be a long week…

The call came five days later. And, of course, it happened when Shawn wasn't there.

The Thursday started like usual, with Gus double and triple checking everything was good before leaving Shawn in the dorm. It was one of the longer days of classes, including chem lab with Missy.

Logically, Shawn knew he didn't have to call her that anymore. She wasn't his mistress; he didn't have to follow the old order. But calling her Jessica still felt dangerous, like a briar thatch in his mind. Luckily, Gus never used her name, which made it easy for Shawn to follow his example.

She still scared him though. A constant reminder of what was waiting for him whenever things went bad again. Though, he had to admit, he did look forward to Gus' rants after he had to deal with her. It wasn't every time, but hearing about her struggling with the class and her failed attempts to befriend Gus were always entertaining.

And Gus' anger on his behalf always made the warmth in his chest grow.

But today, Shawn could tell something was different as soon as Gus walked through the door. He looked spooked, and he didn't immediately take the remote out of his pocket like usual.

"What's up?"

"Uh…" Gus swallowed heavily before making a show of putting his backpack down and smoothing out his shirt. "So… They called."

Shawn sat straight in excitement. He really hadn't thought they would. "And…?"

"And they want to give us money for the tip you gave them."

Gus looked terrified as he carefully avoided making eye contact. Was he having second thoughts? Had he decided to back out of the deal? Was this how he was finally punishing Shawn for running away? "What did you say?"

"I said…" Gus let out a loud sigh. "I said we'd be by to pick up the check, and that we'd like to meet with the chief, and this feels like a terrible idea."

"It's not," Shawn rushed to assure him. "Was it a terrible idea when Josh Baskin wished to be big, or Ferris took Cameron's dad's car? Or when Akyroyd and Murray crossed the streams?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Those were all terrible decisions."

"And they all ended great." Shawn studied Gus; he trusted him, and it wasn't like him to back out of something after he'd set his mind to it. But there was a first time for everything… "Why are you freaking out?"

"Oh, I don't know," Gus said sarcastically. "Maybe because I just set things in motion that involves you lying to the police? This could end very badly."

Everything could end badly… "It was your idea."

"I know! It's insane. I'm insane. You made me insane."

"You were already insane," Shawn answered before he could stop himself. "Look, the only way they'll know we're lying is if they hear one of us say I'm not psychic. I'm never going to say that. Will you?"

"No, of course not." Gus crossed his arms and stared sullenly at the ground. "Can we at least just take a second to acknowledge that this plan could get you killed?"

Shawn thought for a second; this plan could get him killed. "Done. Can we go now?"

A surprised laugh huffed out of Gus' mouth. "Fair enough. Yeah, I guess we can go now."

Shawn jumped to his feet and had to stop himself from immediately running out of the door. It was finally time!

"Alright, alright…" Gus shook his head, still looking like he was regretting ever having any idea ever as he dug out his briefcase. "I've got all of the articles about slaves working with the cops printed out. Hopefully it's enough…"

"It'll be enough," Shawn said with a confidence he didn't have. It didn't matter; they'd never know if they stayed in the room, and why was Gus moving so slow?

Gus infuriatingly stopped just half a foot from the leash and let out a shaky sigh. "This is a terrible idea…"

Shawn just bounced on his toes, unable to keep still as he was forced to wait even longer. Gus was wrong; he was just scared. He'd come around soon.

It was a great idea.

Shawn had been in the bullpen of the precinct quite a lot as a kid. After all of this time, he still had no idea why the walls to the chief's office were completely made out of glass.

His dad has said something once about transparency, but that seemed too on the nose. At one point, Shawn had decided that it was so it'd look really cool if something was thrown through the glass. An explosion would be neat too.

His dad hadn't liked that answer, but it still seemed the most likely.

But he wasn't sure what to think of it now as he stood behind Gus, completely exposed to the whole precinct. A part of him delighted at the idea of an audience if he was asked to demonstrate his psychic abilities. Another louder part clamored that it wasn't safe to be noticed and he had to be quiet and small.

He didn't like the second part. It was the reason he'd survived, but now it was a shackle. Energy hummed in his bones as he listened to it, keeping his head down and his body still.

Gus was already nervous and having to do all of the talking; he couldn't be a distraction.

But right now, Gus wasn't doing any talking as he stood in front of the desk, waiting for the chief to finish a phone call. Shawn took the extra moment to quickly glance around. The chief wasn't anyone he recognized, and with his handlebar mustache he looked like he belonged on the set of a western.

He was older, close to retirement age, but Santa Barbara wasn't known for being an easy post. Definitely not one someone would take to coast through the last of their working years. Which meant the man had either pissed off his superiors, or he was a local wanting to help his community.

Maybe both.

There was a picture of a small girl that had been taken at a familiar lotus lake. A granddaughter perhaps? Nothing else stood out besides the antique colt pistol displayed over a filing cabinet and the usual mess of a well used desk.

"Yup, that's everything I woulda done," the chief drawled over the phone with a southern accent. Not a local then. Or he just really liked cowboys. "Keep handlin' things like you are and keep in touch."

He hung up and Shawn kept his eyes firmly on the floor. He couldn't forget how much power the man in front of him had. He could take Shawn away in an instant if he wanted to.

"Sorry for keepin' you waiting," the chief said, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm a busy man, y'know."

"I do know," Gus answered in a smooth, respectful voice. "And we want to thank you for taking the time to see us."

"I normally wouldn't have. But your tip sent us in the right direction. And I saw the tape in the interrogation room; color me intrigued."

"I'm glad to hear that. It's what we're here to talk to you about." It was definitely calculated to keep using 'we'. Hopefully it wouldn't make Gus look weak. "My name is Burton Guster, this is Shawn. As you know, Shawn has certain abilities that could be a real asset for your department."

"Since we're doing introductions, I'm Chief Bill Swanson. And before you get too far into your pitch, you should be aware that it's our precinct's policy to not buy slaves. If it's a quick buck you want, then I suggest you look elsewhere."

Shawn's heart beat faster at the talk of buying even as Gus smoothly answered, "Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm not selling. I have several documents in my bag. May I?"

The chief sounded more interested as he answered, "Go ahead."

The small adrenaline rush added itself to the energy rushing underneath Shawn's skin. The conversation was too cautious for him to risk doing anything and tipping the balance in the wrong direction. He clenched his hands to keep them still and started to count the tiles under his feet. He had to trust Gus; he had to show that he could be good.

There was a rustling of paper and Gus started talking again. "As you can see, it's not unprecedented for a slave to help law enforcement. And while you're correct that many of them involve the government agency buying the slave, there's also several instances of a slave being hired through their owner."

"Hiring a slave…" the chief muttered under his breath. "Now I've hearda everything."

"Technically, you'd be hiring me, and I'd bring Shawn with."

"Are you even old enough to vote, son?"

"I'm eighteen," Gus defended himself. "Almost nineteen."

"The people we hire don't usually have to quantify their age with 'almost'."

It wasn't going to work; this was all going to be for nothing. Shawn suddenly regretted ever agreeing with Gus' idea. It would have been better to not build up the hope. Hope was dangerous.

"We both know Santa Barbara isn't your typical quiet seaside town," Gus said coolly. "The way I see it, you don't have the freedom of turning down someone who can help you. Regardless of their age. You had a case that your detectives couldn't figure out for days. Shawn looked at the file for less than five minutes and found you a lead. Judging by the fact that we were paid reward money, I'm guessing said lead helped break open that case."

"Broke open the case with… psychics."

There was the sound of more papers rustling and Shawn glanced up just long enough to see Gus place down several more pieces of evidence on the desk. The chief leaned forward curiously, the expression on his face not nearly as hard as his words.

Gus let him read them for a second before placing his last piece of paper on top of the whole stack. "If psychics are good enough for the feds, then why aren't they good enough for you?"

The Chief chuckled. "You plannin' on being a lawyer?"

"Salesman."

"Same thing."

Shawn held his breath as he heard the pages tap against the table. He hadn't heard Gus be this convincing since he'd haggled with the vendor. Even back then he'd been impressed with it. His back itched as he imagined everyone watching him, waiting for something to go wrong.

"I don't go into deals lightly," the chief finally said. "I like to know exactly what I'm paying for and I always make sure it works as promised." He paused for a second as a drawer was opened and closed. "Consider this a test drive; show me what it can do."

"Of… Of course," Gus answered, sounding like he'd lost his footing for a moment. "You won't be disappointed. Shawn?"

Shawn looked up, seeing a file being held out to him. He was being given a chance to prove himself. Gus gave him a small smirk, like he already knew they'd won.

His trust broke the the slave thoughts' hold, and Shawn reached out to take the file. He flipped through it quickly and the energy rushed forward, making him fight to keep his grin unseen. He knew the answer.

This was going to work.