Shawn turned off the lawn mower when he saw the truck pull into the driveway.

As his father made his way across the lawn towards him, Shawn tried not to notice that he'd lost at least ten pounds and that he had a nasty-looking gash above his right eye. He tried not to notice that every step he took was laboriously slow, as if he'd aged twenty years in the last week.

Shawn tried not to notice, but of course he noticed, anyway.

Henry stopped about ten yards away, glancing down at his watch and then back up at his son.

"It's Sunday, Shawn." He said in the dissatisfied tone Shawn knew all too well.

"Yeah," he agreed, for once undaunted by his father's impending disappointment. "It is."

"You were supposed to mow the lawn on Saturday. That was the deal."

"I was kind of busy," Shawn retorted. "You know, with the whole getting you off Death Row thing."

"Don't be dramatic. I wasn't on Death Row."

"You were damn close!"

"You still could have mowed the lawn."

"Fine," Shawn huffed. "I'll remember that the next time you're charged with murder."

Henry just grunted, looking down at his feet.

For a moment, it almost seemed like he wanted to say something. His lips parted, the words poised to spring out…but he quickly snapped his jaw shut again and jammed his hands in his pockets, pushing past Shawn and heading to the house.

"The Chief told me what you said, you know." Shawn called after him.

Henry paused, slowly turning around again.

"What did she tell you?" He asked in a low, almost concerned, voice.

"That you kept your mouth shut because of some damn misguided cop loyalty."

Henry nodded thoughtfully, relief settling over his face.

"Yeah."

"But I don't buy it," Shawn added, crossing his arms skeptically.

"You don't buy what?"

"I don't buy you going to jail to spare some cop's feelings."

"Really." Henry replied flatly, seemingly unperturbed by his son's lack of faith.

"You got played, Dad. By a kid! He set you up, and you walked right into it."

"So?"

"So, I think your silence had more to do with your wounded cop pride than some altruistic sense of cop loyalty."

"Shawn," Henry sighed. "You can think whatever the hell you want."

"I will!"

"I know."

Their eyes locked, and once again Shawn tried not to notice the dark circles under his father's eyes or the deep creases in his forehead that hadn't been there a week ago.

"Finish the lawn, Kid." Henry ordered finally, breaking eye-contact as he tried to actually get inside the house this time.

But Shawn's voice once again stopped him in his tracks before he could take three steps.

"Would you have done it, Dad?"

Henry paused, refusing to turn around this time.

"Would I have done what?" He asked dully, as if didn't already know what Shawn was after.

Shawn silently stepped between him and the house, searching his face for the answer Henry didn't want to give.

"Would you have killed Kitchel if Brad Forrest hadn't gotten to him first?" Shawn pressed, needing to hear the answer…needing to know the truth.

But Henry didn't answer. For a long minute, he didn't say anything at all. He just stared vacantly at the freshly-cut grass, refusing to even meet his son's gaze.

"I don't know." He mumbled.

"Yes, you do."

"I don't!" Henry insisted, finally looking up at Shawn. "I can't tell you I wouldn't have, Kid. If he killed you…I don't know what I would have done."

"But you might have?"

"Shawn," Henry groaned wearily. "I don't know. And I sure as hell didn't want to find out."

"Is that why you retired early?" Shawn asked quietly, his eyes growing wide. "Did you get out because of me?"

"It was close, Kid…" Henry murmured. "You don't know how close it was that time. If Brad Forrest hadn't killed him first…it was a phone call away. A phone call, Shawn. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it."

Shawn blinked, suddenly seeing his father in a different light.

"You walked away because of me?" He repeated, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

Henry shrugged, finally managing to step around Shawn and get to the front door.

"If I say yes, will you just mow the damn lawn already?" He muttered, slamming the screen door behind him.

Shawn shook his head, smiling quietly to himself as he started the lawn mower up again.

"Are you sure about this?" Juliet asked, stepping out of the car and joining her partner on the sidewalk.

"Of course I am!" Lassiter growled, tying the paper to the brick with a piece of string. "You know Spencer isn't going to let this go that easily! You know he's investigating right now with whatever psychic voodoo-mumbo-jumbo crap he does in there…it's just a matter of time before he starts harassing me with his damn visions…"

"But the Chief pulled him off all cases."

"Please!" Lassiter snorted. "Since when has that ever stopped him before?"

"Never…" Juliet admitted.

"There you go."

He raised the brick over his shoulder, ready to heave it at the Psych window.

"What did you write on the paper?" Juliet asked.

He lowered it again.

"Tyson Forrest." He answered.

"Who's Tyson Forrest?"

"Former cop. He was on IAB's suspect list ten years ago, when Kitchel first disappeared. His son had some drug arrest or something…but he was cleared. It's a dead end. But it should keep Spencer occupied and out of my hair for a few days while I close the case. Without him or his visions."

"But he's a psychic." Juliet reminded him. "Won't he know it's a fake lead?"

"It'll work, O'Hara." Lassiter insisted stubbornly, once again raising the brick over his shoulder.

"You can't break their window!" Juliet gasped. "That's vandalism!"

Lassiter sighed shortly.

"I'm not going to break their window. It's bullet-proof glass. The brick is just going to bounce off, but it'll make a loud enough noise to get them out here."

"It's not bullet-proof." Juliet told him.

"Of course it is! After all the people who have tried to kill them? What kind of morons would they have to be to have a front window that's not bullet-proof?"

"I'm telling you. It's not bullet-proof." Juliet insisted, shaking her head.

"We'll see."

Lassiter hurled the brick.

A moment later, the window exploded in a hail of glass.

"Crap." Lassiter groaned. "I forgot. They're morons."