Forty-five minutes. Unbelievable. Shawn Spencer was rarely wrong. Years of intense training under the tutelage of his father had honed his observational and deductive reasoning skills to a level far beyond his years. To be wrong was to dishonor the Spencer name. To be wrong was to announce to the world that Henry Spencer had failed. After all, he wasn’t allowed to fail on his own merits. No – failure meant that all the Spencers before him and all the little Spencers to follow would be blacklisted because of him and him alone. Anything worth doing, in the Spencer Book of Good Citizenship, was worth doing right. It didn’t matter if the task at hand was as insignificant as making a decision between paper or plastic, or as earth-moving as weighing the consequences of using live bait rather than a lure. Every last detail had to be absorbed in a single glance and all possible ramifications of a decision considered, weighed, and measured before forming a conclusion. Above all – you had better be right.

But – in the Spencer Book of Good Citizenship – a person (other than Henry Spencer who was perfect) also had to step up and admit to one’s mistake if (after taking all possible precautions) you happened to get it wrong. Well, Shawn could man up and admit that this time he had it wrong. For years he had told everyone who would listen, namely his best friend and constant companion Burton Guster, that his parents couldn’t spend two whole minutes in each other’s company without the gnashing of teeth, heated arguments or, at minimum, the slamming of doors.

Forty-five actual minutes; on a real clock that hadn’t been tinkered with no less. No, That clock was still upstairs in his old room, his mind’s eye rapidly replaying back to the big box, sealed haphazardly with duct tape, shoved in the darkest corner of his closet. Not that any of that mattered, but it was a nice mental exercise to distract his thoughts from the fact that his two parents were sitting across from one another at the kitchen table and no utensils had as yet been harmed. It was almost a dream come true. Except, all the fantasy family dinners in his head hadn’t been this…awkward.

Their dinner had eaten up, no pun intended, a good fifteen minutes. Since it was impolite to talk with your mouth full, Shawn had happily obliged strict concentration on the meal at hand and grunted off any attempts at conversation. Dad had whisked, pun fully intended, dinner out of nowhere. How that man could pull a pot roast out of his ear, Shawn didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that he had tried to take a graceful bow out of the house almost an hour ago. Mom had magically appeared out of the blue on Dad’s doorstep; a sure sign that hell had, indeed, frozen over. A pot roast and all the trimmings magically materialized not ten minutes later. Overly polite and meaningless chatter followed; which brought them to this present time, post mental nut-shelling, of complete and awkward silence.

There weren’t any clues he could discern when he opened the door to discover her waiting outside. She had changed little over the last few years. She had always been petite and finely featured, although her eyes seemed more tired than he remembered. The gray peeking out from her roots just suggested that she hadn’t been near her hairdresser long enough to have them hidden. Probably jet-setting around the world again and stopped off for a courtesy, feel-good, visit. Doubtful, as that precedent had not been set. Even in his shock, he managed to bring in her heavy bags. Amazed that a woman that little could carry luggage three times her body weight.

"So Mom, what brings you back to Santa Barbara?" Shawn once again interjected the question back into circulation for the third time. His inquiry had been met previously with deflection and a well timed dish placed between them which had signaled the end of conversation and a focus on the dinner. After all, the Spencer Book of Good Citizenship had an entire chapter focused on how those who set a meal before guests that is not intended for immediate consumption should be incarcerated to the maximum extent of the law.

"I just wanted to drop in and visit with my family, honey." The delivery was good. He had to give her that. Still, there was just something off about his mom’s actions. The fact that his dad appeared to be playing along with the charade set off his hinky-o-meter, complete with flashing lights and clanging symbols.

"Shawn – don’t bother your mother before dessert."

Ok, that right there was just wrong and downright spooky. He found his heart racing unexpectedly. Still, dessert called to him. Who was he to deny Henry Spencer when he’s in dessert mode?

The uncomfortable silence resumed. Once again, Shawn’s thoughts drifted inwards. Without the distraction of even attempted conversation, awareness niggled in the back of his brain that his eyelids surely had grown hotter in the last five minutes. That same niggle also kicked him in the back of his throat, causing it to feel much tighter. Is it getting stuffy in here or is that just dad’s laser-eye glare directed at my incredibly handsome person? As much as he loved to give his dad full credit for his personal shortcomings, it really wouldn’t be fair to blame the old man for the tightness even now growing exponentially in his chest.

Mom gingerly placed her spoon back on her plate, the light chink grating in his head. "Sweetie, are you feeling alright? You look a little tired."

Henry interrupted brusquely, turning his attention to Shawn at his right. "Don’t even think of playing sick so you have an excuse to cut out early to meet up with that Assistant Curator."

"Curator? Oh, that sounds interesting! Tell me more, Shawn." His mom sounded truly surprised to hear that he was interested in an Assistant Curator. Ok, if he had to be entirely truthful with himself, he was a bit surprised as well. Still, there was something about Sophie that he found interesting. She wasn’t necessarily flashy; somewhat ordinary actually. But, she was smart, interesting, and-did he mention- all the folks at the museum really loved him. That was a good start, right?

"Are you sure you’re feeling ok?"

Team Baldy added his opinion with a harrumph. It was actually pretty disgusting, what with the mashed potatoes punctuating the grumbled offering.

If Shawn had felt better, he might have had the energy to offer up dramatic indignation. Really, what was the use of having a dad like Henry if you couldn’t poke him every now and then just to see his color flare in glowy spectacularness. The redness actually starts at the neck and travels up the throbbing veins, not far from what one sees in the cartoons before the mushroom cloud explodes from the top of their heads. He’s never managed a mushroom cloud, but he’s pretty sure he’s seen steam rising from the old man’s balding noggin at least once.

Shawn didn’t have the energy for indignation, dramatic or otherwise. "I think I’m gonna lay down on the couch for a minute." He sighed as he pushed himself away from the table, leaning heavily on his arms to do so. He startled as he turned around and came face to face with his mother.

Never mind. Too tired to figure it out, he tried unsuccessfully to sidestep around her.

"Shawn you’re burning up. How long have you been feeling sick?"

"I don’t know. Ummm, sometime between the salad and the pot roast? I’m not sure, but a side dish may have been involved."

"Shawn!"

"Seriously, Mom. It just came on and I’m fine. I just wanna lay down for a minute."

"Alright. You go relax. I’ll help your dad with the dishes." Shawn nodded as he grunted a quick thanks.

"See. I told you the kid just wanted to get out of work."

Nevertheless, Carmen was obviously concerned as Shawn stumbled his way towards the couch and then proceeded to crash into the cushions, face first.

"He’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just the shock. You know he’s not happy unless he’s the center of attention."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Carmen had promised herself not to fall into the comfort of old arguments during this visit. That was too easy – Henry made it too easy. This was a time to start anew; with new arguments, if nothing else. Grabbing another plate she put all of her focus on wiping off the streaks of moisture. It helped her center herself for the conversation to come.

"Henry, why didn’t you tell him I was coming? It was obvious to the entire neighborhood that Shawn didn’t expect me."

A raised brow was his only response for almost a full minute. She patiently waited; after all, the ball was clearly in his court. Keeping him in her peripheral sight, she grabbed another plate and set about the task of drying as she waited for him to cave. It didn’t take nearly as long as expected as he gruffly shook sheets of water off of a glass before placing it in the drainer.

"The kid didn’t give me a chance." Carmen didn’t even try to stop her display of amusement.

"If you even expect me to believe that," she chuckled as she shook her head in disbelief; the movement loosened her brunette tresses. Bringing her wet forearm to push them back, she reached for the next glass.

"The kid’s bull-headed and…" Henry didn’t get a chance to finish the thought as Carmen immediately jumped into the familiar dance of point/counterpoint that they had honed so well over the years.

"Where does he get that from, I wonder?"

"Alright. Fine. You win. I should have handcuffed him to a chair and forced him to listen. Funny how this is my fault considering I did give you the number to the kid’s office."

Any rebuff on Carmen’s part was immediately cut off as a long unused portion of her mind registered the sounds coming from the living room. The glass she had been so intent on drying slipped from her hands as she hurried into the adjoining room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Oh for crying out loud!" Henry groused as the glass shattered upon impact with the tile of the kitchen floor. "I just cleaned this floor," he exclaimed directing his escalating volume towards Carmen’s exiting form. "That glass was part of a set!"

Not even an hour had passed and Henry felt the old tug of under-appreciation settling in. Did no one consider that he had spent the last three days cleaning the house to perfection before preparing a full meal, with dessert? He had just crouched to pick up the larger shards of glass when he froze. Henry found himself compelled to stiffly rise from his current position and make his way to the doorway.

Deep wracking coughs had Shawn doubled over, nearly gagging from their intensity. Henry wordlessly located a wastebasket and strategically placed in next to the couch. A good cop, after all, never enters a situation unprepared. After a minute, the cough had played itself out. Shawn weakly rolled to his back and forced himself to catch his breath. His efforts seemed in vain as every inhalation had to be dragged past his increasingly narrowed airways. His next breath caught and he was once again left gagging and coughing for air.

Carmen rubbed circles on his back in a regular rhythm, Henry noticed wryly, almost as if the action was pushing the air into her son’s lungs. He couldn’t fault her for wanting to do something. He himself was at a loss of what to do. He did grab the trashcan – what else did he have to offer? Hugs and cuddles were Carmen’s department.

Spent from another battle of coughing and fighting for air, Shawn again collapsed against the cushions – eyes closed in fatigue. Henry studied him carefully, there was something…

His son was many things, his resume’ being submitted into evidence as Exhibit A, but he was no actor. His recent stint on the Spanish telenovela certainly proved that. Shawn learned at a tender age that his innate charm and silver tongue could fool just about everyone he met; everyone, except for his old man. Shawn was especially pathetic at faking sick. He only tried it a few times when Henry was around before realizing that Dad was not to be messed with. Those who tried suddenly found themselves facing extra schoolwork and chores. Carmen, on the other hand, constantly fell victim to her son’s inner thespian. Many times when working an unannounced afternoon beat, Henry had witnessed Shawn being miraculously cured of exotic strains of some foreign flu. It’s amazing, the healing power of padding downstairs and discovering your father waiting for you at the breakfast table in full uniform.

Forcing himself back to the present, Henry once again took note of his son’s condition. During the worst of the coughing spells, Shawn’s color flared to scarlet – covering his face and down his neck before disappearing under his collar. Now that the latest attack was over, the scarlet faded to pink. Even now, however, was being replaced with a gray pallor which was rapidly leaning towards the blue end of the spectrum.

"I’m calling an ambulance." He said as he abruptly turned and started for the phone.