Disclaimer: There would be way more of this kind of thing if I was in charge. I can guarantee that.

Lu gives me more prompts. You get a story. YAYZ!

Uhhh . . . if you haven't seen the fourth Indy yet 1. what are you waiting for? and 2. this will be a tidge spoilery.

But, srsly, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

She sighed and pulled into the parking lot just as a low rumble of thunder echoed through the dark clouds above.

"Great. Rain. Just what I needed to make today perfect." She sent a silent plea to the grumbling sky to hold off on the precipitation until after she'd finished her task and was safely home again, but after her luck so far today she wasn't holding her breath that her wish would be granted.

She climbed out and wrestled her big basket out of the back seat, muttering about why exactly had she chosen this car again? She could have had a nice sensible four door car that didn't require gymnastics to retrieve things from the back seat.

But then she didn't normally need to transport her laundry. In fact, her back seat didn't see a lot of things that were difficult to get in and out.

However, when the washer in one's house decided to—for no reason that she could discern—stop working, and the repair place was booked up until next Wednesday, and she had been so busy with her cases this past week that she hadn't done laundry as she usually did . . . well, it sort of necessitated finding a new way to do things.

So here she was in the cleanest clothes she had that she was willing to wear in public—sweats and a t-shirt that had seen better days, but had no embarrassing holes—hair pulled back with a scarf since her last hair-tie had snapped on her this morning, laundry basket on one hip, several rolls of quarters from the bank in her purse, big bottle of detergent in her other hand, about to enter the Soap-and-Tumble Coin Operated Laundry.

She hadn't done this since her college days when the sorority's washer and dryer broke.

But really, how hard could it be, right? Like riding a bike, surely.

It wasn't rocket science or anything.

Then again, she was having trouble opening the door.

Seriously, who put a push/pull door on a place where people were bound to be going one direction or the other with their hands full?

She had managed to secure the basket of clothes with her wrist and gotten the now-freed hand on the door, but the only way to balance the basket required she brace it with her leg.

Which made walking sort of difficult.

She hopped back one step, regained her balance after a moment of wobbling, and then was ready to try for a second step.

She very nearly went down, but a little—somewhat violent—realignment of her center of gravity and she was still upright.

Also, the door was open.

"Hooray!" she muttered softly.

Now she just had to . . . Uh . . .

Dammit.

There was no good way to get through the door. She squinted at the opening now mocking her with its welcoming rush of warm, clean laundry scented air.

Dammit.

Maybe if she . . . sort of twisted? And propped the door with one foot?

Only, she was going to need the other foot and that would require some incredible reflexes.

Yeah, she could probably do it.

She took in a deep breath, mentally psyched herself up, and moved.

Only to have the door slam in her face because, turns out, a large, heavy laundry basket affects both your speed and coordination.

She glared at the clear glass bouncer barring her way.

Fuck that. She wasn't letting some damn door get the best of her.

But before she could figure out another plan of attack an arm reached past her and a voice rather close to her ear said, "Here, let me get that for you."

She jerked and twisted to see who the creep was—and recognized his face just about the same time she realized she knew his voice.

"Shawn?"

He smiled and pulled the door open. "Hi, Jules." He nodded. "After you."

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks and stammered a thanks, then accepted his invitation and ducked inside.

Why was she embarrassed? She had a perfectly legitimate reason to be doing her laundry here and it wasn't like there was anything wrong with doing one's laundry at a coin op anyway.

Yeah, that little cynical voice in her head said, which is why you drove halfway across town to use one not near your own home.

Oh hell. She was a laundry snob.

Her cheeks flamed brighter, if that was somehow possible.

Shawn had followed her in and she couldn't help sneaking a glance at him, wondering if his psychic skills were always on and if he could ever control who he heard.

And then she frowned because she realized something odd.

"Shawn, where's your laundry?"

A bright sign had distracted him and he blinked and turned back, eyebrows rising. "Sorry, what?"

She set her basket down in front of several empty machines and said, "Your laundry? Don't people who come here normally bring things to wash?"

He tilted his head toward her. "They do when they come here to do their laundry. But I'm not here to do my laundry."

"Well then what are you here for?" she asked as she began sorting the clothes into piles, darks to the right, colors to the left . . . delicates behind the basket where Shawn couldn't see them . . .

"I see London, I see France, I see someone's underpants," he sang and with a devilish grin dipped a finger into her basket, coming up with a pair of panties dangling from the extended digit.

She glared and grabbed the embarrassingly lacy item, stuffing it in the pile with the rest.

"Shawn," she said. "What are you doing here?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I don't know. The spirits mentioned that if I came to this location I'd find a very beautiful woman who needed my help."

He looked pointedly around at the otherwise empty room, then back at her and grinned.

"Found you."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, mentally noting that his standards were even lower than Carlton thought they were if she fit into his idea of a beautiful woman at the moment. She looked like the lead role in one of those down south chick flicks about the single mom just trying to keep things together until her knight in shining armor showed up.

"Well thank you. I certainly appreciated your assistance with the door." She hoped he'd take that for the subtle hint that it was and leave. After all, getting out she could certainly handle.

He hopped up on the table, crooked one leg in front of himself, the other dangling over the side, and reached into her basket, grabbing a handful of clothes and sorting them from his lap.

She made a sound of protest, but he was quick and accurate and he actually managed to sort several more of her delicates without comment, so she gave in and let him work.

Well, okay, she didn't physically stop him.

"Shawn, really, I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine."

He glanced up, then back down as he took another handful. "I know."

She sighed and kept sorting.

"So did you hear the guy in Marketing at Gus' work was caught stealing office supplies?"

"No," she said, wary. She couldn't help but feel that Shawn wanted something from her, but was just building up to it with small talk. "Gus said he thought something was going on, but no one was quite sure what."

"Oh yeah. And not just a few things, like a box of staples or some company pens. We're talking, like, reams of paper and an entire case of dry erase markers."

She frowned. "Why?"

Shawn shrugged. "Dunno. The spirits are unclear on that part."

"Wait, you're looking into it? It's that big?"

"Well, it's not exactly something you'd call the papers about. They don't think." He shrugged again. "They're doing an inventory to see if they can figure out just how much he's taken. But I'm pretty sure that we stopped him before he took any office chairs." He grinned again and finished with his pile, bringing the sorting portion of the exercise to an end.

Shawn lifted his other leg and spun around so he could slide across the table and drop down on the side she was on where the washers were located.

He scooped up her darks in one hand and moved to an empty washer to load them while she was doing the same with her whites.

"Don't use that one."

She blinked and then looked at him. "What?"

"That one's broken. You won't get any agitation from it."

"Oh." She looked warily at the machine, but didn't see anything wrong with it. "How-"

He grinned and turned to grab her colors, further splitting them between two washers one for warm colors and one for cool.

"You really need to ask?" he said.

She shook her head then pointed to the one above it. "How about that one?"

He gave it an intense look, then closed his eyes, hand rising in usual theatric fasion.

"Yep," he said, eyes popping open. "That one's fine."

She shook her head again, but this time in amusement.

Within moments the laundry was all loaded up—including her delicates which he graciously allowed her to take care of as he dug into her purse for the change.

"Ooooh, shiny!" he said and cracked a roll on the edge of the counter.

He quickly doled out the exact change she'd need for her washers, then set about feeding his own.

Once they were all running, he jumped back up on the table, legs swinging back and forth to bounce his feet together.

Juliet leaned back against the washers, trying to think of either conversation or a way to hint again that he could leave, but he spoke first.

"You really are beautiful," he said.

She blinked.

"I know you think that's not true at the moment," he said waving his hand. "But Natalie Portman has nothing on you."

She frowned. "Natalie Portman?"

"Yeah, in that one movie . . ." He snapped his fingers for a moment, then pointed at her. "Where the Heart Is!"

Juliet blinked.

"The one about the Walmart baby?"

"Yeah."

"You've seen that?"

Shawn shrugged. "I've seen a lot of things."

Then her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, you're saying that dressed like this I remind you of a pregnant homeless woman stealing from Walmart? And that you find that attractive?"

His mouth fell open, jaw working for a moment.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Well, no," he said finally. "I mean, I find you attractive, but not . . . uh . . ."

"Uh huh." She reached for her purse, intending to dig out some gum to chew, when he continued.

"But when you do have kids one day you're gonna be one of those moms that just glows when she's pregnant."

Juliet froze.

Her eyes came up and met Shawn's.

Now it was her turn to gape like a beached fish.

"I-" What the hell was she supposed to say to that? Was that a psychic thing? Or was he just trying to flatter her?

A rumble of thunder saved her from having to answer and she looked to the wall of windows comprising the front of the store to see her car getting pounded on by a downpour.

"Ah, crap," she said, shoulders drooping, the hand with her purse falling to smack into her thigh. "Now I'm either stuck here until it stops or my laundry's going to get wet again. Dammit!"

Shawn leaned back, bracing his hands behind him on the table and bringing one foot up to rest on the other knee. The dangling leg continued swinging.

"Neither," he said.

She glanced at him, then back at the pouring rain.

"It'll stop before your laundry's done," he added, obviously seeing or sensing her doubts.

"You're sure?"

He scratched at his chin and glanced out the window himself. "Pretty sure, yeah."

Then he leaned forward and clapped his hands. "So, we were talking about movies. Seen the new Indiana Jones yet?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"You didn't like it?" he asked in surprise.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I liked everything up to the last fifteen minutes or so."

"Aw come on! That was the best part!"

She snorted in derision. "No, it wasn't. It was an insult to the rest of the series."

"Jules!" Shawn protested. "But it's Indy. How can you not like Indy?"

"I do like Indy," she said. "That's the problem. I don't think that aliens are true to the story and the characters."

Shawn's finger came up. "Okay, first of all, they weren't aliens. They were transdimensional beings."

Her eyebrow went up again. "Who traveled in a flying saucer. That makes them aliens in my book."

"Nonononono! You're missing the point, Jules!"

Her head tilted. "And that would be?"

"It's Indy."

Her snort was amused this time. "That attitude right there is why the movie sucked. They got complacent. They figured all they needed was Harrison Ford for the hardcore fans and Shia LeBeouf for the younger crowd and the story wouldn't matter. And because of that we got aliens."

A louder crack of thunder split the air and the building shook slightly.

Juliet looked at the still pouring rain.

"Are you sure that it's going to stop?"

Shawn shrugged. "Yeah. Pretty sure."

She sighed. She really hoped he was right, but knowing her luck today, she was going to be here until midnight. Yippee.

Review, plz&thx.