Hello everyone. I'm gonna try and wrap everything up in this last chapter, so read on and enjoy.

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor does she own specific details belonging to Dexter. Don't sue her.

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Chapter Eleven: Forever Unsolved

Shawn had woken up in Psych at an odd time at night when he received the call from Juliet that Carlton was in the hospital. He had been a bit surprised by how much time had passed while he slept, only really planning on taking a short nap, but he shrugged it off as left-over fatigue from his cold and headed over to the hospital to see Carlton. He was thankfully okay, but he wasn't accepting visitors and the story the doctor fed him and Juliet, who had also come to check on him, seemed a little fishy. As far as Shawn knew, Carlton hadn't had any relatives come visit him. Things just didn't add up considering that they'd gotten groceries several times in the time that they'd been dating and living together.

Carlton was hiding something, but for the life of him, Shawn just couldn't figure out what that might be. Juliet had gone back to work, reassured that her partner was okay, and Shawn hung out in the hospital until Carlton was released. Shawn drove them both back to the detective's home around noon, and during the unexplainably uncomfortable ride, he tried to figure out what really happened. Carlton kept giving him the same story the doctor told him though and he was remaining strangely tight-lipped about any other detail.

When they got back to the detective's house, Carlton went straight to the kitchen and threw away pretty much all the food they had and dumped the drinks into sink after finishing up the remaining dishes. After telling Shawn that he'd get more food later, he left for work for the remainder of the day with the excuse that he had to catch up on paperwork, leaving Shawn standing in an empty house feeling as if he had missed an important episode of one of his favorite TV shows.

At the time, Shawn had hoped that Carlton was just feeling grumpy after eating some bad food, but as the days passed on, the detective remained just as cold and distant as he had been after being released from the hospital. Not only that, but his attitude was also a bit condescending, as if Shawn was an oblivious child. He was trying to be subtle about it all, Shawn could tell, but it was easy enough for the psychic to pick up on.

Shawn sat lazily on top of the desk in the main office of Psych while Gus moved around their small agency making sure everything was locked up and shut down. Because they had no clients and Gus had specific pharmaceutical work he needed to take care of, they were closing down for the day. Usually Shawn would argue that he would be fine keeping the place open for the full day on his own, but he just didn't have the energy for it. Carlton's bad mood was effecting him too.

Watching Gus pull on his jacket, Shawn wished he could talk to his friend about his relationship troubles and get some extra insight from a third party, but at the start of his and Carlton's dating experiments, they had both decided to keep the whole thing a secret. Somehow Shawn didn't think that he could spring the whole thing on his best friend now and then expect good relationship advice in return.

"You coming?" Gus asked, pausing halfway to the front door.

"You go ahead," Shawn said, waving Gus away. "I just need to get a few things taken care of before I go."

"Okay, just don't forget to lock the front door," Gus said, repeating what he always told the psychic before he left for the day.

"Yeah, yeah," Shawn said, rolling his eyes.

As soon as he was sure that he friend was gone, Shawn slid off of the desk and headed over to the filing cabinet. Pulling open one of the drawers, Shawn went straight to the 'B' section where he had hidden the CD. It was the only memento he had left of the Butcher. He had already destroyed almost every other clue the killer left behind for him in his apartment. The only thing he kept was the list of buyers. The people sold needed to be saved and he wasn't selfish enough to destroy the only thing that could aid in their rescue.

'I can't wait until this is all over with,' Shawn thought as he stared at the seemingly innocent CD before snapping it in half and then snapping it into fourths.

Usually a difficult case would thrill him, but this case had gotten too personal and had gone on for far too long. He had never had this much trouble solving something before. It almost seemed insulting, as if the Butcher was really just mocking him with all the clues, the threat, and the brief kidnapping.

The kidnapping..

There had to be clues at that house, clues that the police missed. He could interview the people in the surrounding buildings too because someone had to have seen or heard something. Gus didn't want him going back there, but what Gus didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, there was really no harm in checking, was there? He'd be quick about it and nobody would be the wiser.

Hopping on his bike, he headed to the old house he and Carlton had been taken to.

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The whole thing had been a dead end. The house had been completely locked up and the kidnapping had taken place late into the night, so none of the neighbors had seen anything. He couldn't say that he was too disappointed. After all, it had been a long shot and Carlton did previously tell him that there hadn't been any evidence found. Parking his bike in the empty driveway of Carlton's house, he trudged up to the front door and let himself in with the key the detective had given him several weeks back.

"He must still be at work," he said out loud as he dropped his coat on the floor by the front door and headed into the kitchen to grab a snack. He wouldn't even bother making dinner because Carlton always came home with takeout on the days he worked late and when he wasn't working, he would insist on cooking for Shawn.

Opening the fridge, he gaze was immediately drawn to the pineapple and the note that was pinned to it. For a moment, his heart stopped, but then he read the message.

Shawn,
Meet me at Psych.
(heart) Carlton

Smiling, Shawn pulled off the small note and took the pineapple with him as he left the house for Psych. Just as Carlton had given him a house key a few weeks back, he had given the detective a key to Psych since that had become more of a second home to him than his actual apartment was, so it wasn't surprising when he parked in front of Psych and saw the lights on. He couldn't see Carlton's car, but then again, there wasn't exactly a plethora of parking spaces on the street.

Pulling off his helmet and grabbing the pineapple from the compartment in the back, Shawn headed into the small psychic detective agency. Setting his helmet on a small stand by the front door, a pleasantly surprised smile spread across his face as he took in the scene before him. What had once been a small waiting room was now a romantic dinner setting. In the center of the room was a small round table equipped with table cloth, candle, silverware, plates full of delicious food that looked as if they just came out of the oven, glasses and two chairs positioned on either side of the table.

"Carlton?" he called out, not seeing the detective.

Exiting Psych's main office with a bottle of wine in hand, Carlton smiled at Shawn and said, "Hey, Shawn."

"Not that I don't love this random romantic gesture, but you could've picked a better way to inform me than a fruit message. I nearly had a heart attack thinking it was you-know-who," Shawn said with a good-naturedly smile showing that he wasn't mad.

"Let's not talk about him tonight," Carlton said as he walked over to the table and set down the bottle of wine. "We've both been so stressed and distracted by that whole case that we haven't really had any time for ourselves to be together like this."

"I would love nothing more than to spend tonight with you," Shawn said as he walked over to the detective and wrapped his arms around his lower back. "I brought pineapple for dessert."

Reaching over to the table with one arm, he set the pineapple down next to the wine before turning back to Carlton and pulling him in for a kiss.

Pulling away after a moment, Shawn said, "The food looks great."

"I didn't have time to cook today, so I stopped by a restaurant before I came here," Carlton admitted a bit sheepishly.

"That's fine," Shawn said with a shrug. "It still looks great and you were the one to set this all up, Mr. Romantic."

"I just wanted to apologize," Carlton sighed. "I haven't been treating you as well as I should be."

"Don't worry about it. Tonight, this all makes up for it," Shawn said, gesturing at the candle-lit dinner. "Now let's eat before the food gets cold."

The two pulled away and as Shawn took his seat, Carlton pulled down the shades to the front window to block out any prying eyes. After pouring them both a glass of wine, Carlton took a seat across from Shawn and the two began eating. Neither wanted to spoil the moment with small talk about work because most of the work they did involved the bane of their existence, the Santa Barbara Butcher. Instead, they talked about happier events in their lives.

"The first time I met Gus, I was throwing something at him in the middle of his picture-day picture," Shawn said, laughing a bit as he finished off the last few bites of his meal.

"Why would you do that?" Carlton asked, amused.

"I just thought it would be funny for his picture to be of him smiling and completely unaware of the object flying towards his head," Shawn explained. "He got me back for the same thing though, so it was cool. We sort of made it a tradition for a couple years and.."

He trailed off, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Shawn?"

"We've been best... best friends," setting his fork down, he shook his head slightly to clear away the quickly growing fog consuming his mind. "Since then..."

"Shawn? ...okay?"

"Huh?" Lifting his heavy head, he stared at the detective through half-lidded eyes, wanting to assure him, "Just feeling drowsy." His gaze drifted down to his empty plate and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to wake himself up. "Did I have turkey?"

Carlton said nothing.

"Tryptophan?" Shawn wondered out loud, slumping down in his seat. "...No."

He couldn't fight the claws of sleep any longer. Closing his eyes, he drifted off and let the shadows rise up and swallow him whole.

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Carlton wasn't sure if he could go through with it.

He thought long and hard over the very few options he had. None of the options ended positively. Do nothing and let Spence get caught, because he would eventually get caught, tell Shawn the horrible truth and hope the psychic doesn't do something stupid and destructive, or...

Of course, he would have to have gone with the most difficult option, and if he couldn't even say it, couldn't think it, how the hell was he supposed to go through with it?

After he had made his decision, he followed Spence one night and was led right to a storage unit that contained all of his supplies and tools of trade. Thankfully, Shawn's psycho little alter hadn't noticed him, so he was able to escape with the information unscathed. He made sure to call up Henry and tell him the location of the place and what number the storage unit was. He came back to the storage unit yesterday though, after swiping the key to the place off an unsuspecting Shawn, making copies, and he grabbed a few things, being careful to wear rubber gloves when handling everything.

It had all been tucked safely in a newly bought and DNA free duffle bag in the trunk of his car while he made his rounds to get the romantic dinner together. He felt that he at least owed Shawn a nice dinner. The psychic deserved that and so much more... so much more that he couldn't give him.

So while Shawn slept off the drugged wine, Carlton hauled the duffle bag in through the back door where his car had also been parked out back and out of sight. He forced his mind into a numb, emotionless state as he cleared off the biggest desk in the agency with extra long, rubber gloves covering his hands. He pulled the desk away from the wall and centered it in the middle of the room before kneeling down next to the duffle bag and unzipping it.

He paused as he stared at its contents for a moment before closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. Emotions threatened to spill through the front gates of his mind, but he pushed them back and forced that monotonous feeling to return. Opening his eyes, he pulled the plastic sheet out of the bag. He had read enough reports to know exactly how everything needed to be set up.

As he got the room set up, his hands began shaking because he really couldn't do this, could he? So why was he even trying? Now would be the time to turn back, like a coward, and get out of the situation as if it never happened. He wanted to, he wanted to stop what he was doing, he wanted to escape the situation. Somehow though, his body kept going, completely set on his decision.

He taped up the last finishing touch to the scene, a piece of paper with a computer-printed message. Two words only: Too close.

Then it was done and the room was ready to go. All it needed was its guest of honor.

'I don't think I can do this,' he thought for what felt like the hundredth time that night as his feet dragged him back into the waiting room where the romantic dinner once was. He had taken it apart and put it all back into his car, leaving the waiting room just as he found it, and resting peacefully on the waiting room couch was Shawn.

Carlton stood before the sleeping psychic, just watching him. Admiring him and how completely innocent he looked. Exhaling deeply, he leaned down, his plastic poncho resembling a jacket crinkled as he did. Slipping one arm under Shawn's knees and the other under his back, he picked the psychic up bridal style and carried him into the office. He felt like his throat was closing up as he gently rested the younger man down on the desk and in the open, carefully placed body bag.

Even though his hands shook, he still found himself slipping off Shawn's shirt and shoes, he left his pants alone, wanting to leave him some dignity, and even though he repeatedly told himself that he couldn't possibly do it, he bound the psychic's feet together with clear tape and wound plastic wrap around the desk and Shawn, pinning him down by his shoulders and waist.

His heart beat rapidly in his chest, ready to explode as he grabbed the handle of the sharp, double-edged knife.

'I can't do this.'

"You can't do this," confirmed a confident voice.

Carlton's gaze snapped over to where Shawn lay, staring up at him with a smirk.

"You just don't have it in you, Detective," Spence continued. "Though I must admit, I'm impressed. You got a lot further than my dear father ever did."

"Spence," Carlton breathed, not really knowing what to say.

"Put the knife down, Lassiter," Spence said. "You're wasting both of our times with this little act of yours."

"I have to," Carlton said more to himself than to Spence as his gaze traveled back to the knife.

"But you won't," Spence said. "You love Shawn too much. You could never hurt him."

"By doing nothing, I'm hurting him," Carlton said.

"No, Shawn was doing just fine years before you entered the picture," Spence said. "If you, by some miracle, manage to go though with this, you'll be hurting him in the worse possible way. You'll be betraying him."

"I'm betraying him now by staying silent," Carlton countered.

"Go ahead and delude yourself for as long as you want, but both you and I know that you can't do this," Spence said. "Your emotions for my other half make you physically unable to."

It would be difficult, nearly impossible, and he'd probably never forgive himself, but he would never forgive himself no matter what option he chose. At least this way, he would be freeing Shawn from the madness and preserving the person that he is, that he's known as. Nobody, not even Shawn himself would ever know of his dark secret.

So Carlton tightened his grip on the knife as best as he could with a shaking hand, and he walked over to Spence, standing by his side. His heart beat faster as he slowly brought down the knife and made a quick small cut. He pulled the blade back, as if the action burned him. Spence's confident look quickly transformed into a poorly concealed look of shock.

He stared down at the small cut on his chest for a moment before looking back up at Carlton and saying with forced confidence, "A hesitant incision. They'll notice that. You may have set up my work space fairly well, but you don't have what it takes to do the actual work correctly. They'll know it's not my work and then they'll wonder why a copycat killer chose Shawn Spencer to kill."

Carlton could tell that Spence was beginning to panic, he was beginning to doubt his ability to talk himself out of the situation and he was grasping at straws. Even if the task force believed that it was a copycat killer, they would never figure out what actually happened. If anything, they'll suspect one of the many criminals Shawn had exposed in the past.

Bringing the knife down again and forcing his hand to stay steady, Carlton dragged the blade across tanned flesh until he formed a large circle on Spence's chest.

The number zero.

Pain shone though along with the shock in Spence's eyes as he slowly looked down at the new cut on his chest. Seeing the number zero, he choked out a laugh, "I think you're a little off on your calculations, Detective. The number is much higher than that."

Staring at the zero, Carlton wished that Spence would just stop talking. To hear Shawn's voice like that, with that mocking tone, just sounded so wrong.

"I could give you something for the pain," Carlton murmured.

Spence silently stared up at him for a moment, as if trying to read him. Apparently seeing what he'd been looking for, he seemed to wilt on the table, and said with a defeated tone, "No... It will be even more suspicious if the Butcher took mercy on his victim. Besides, I always wondered... what it felt like. To be at the other end of the knife with all those emotions rushing through you and a desperate need to live. Would it feel the same for something like me?"

Spence lay on the table, silent again, staring off into space, and then finally he closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened his eyes, but they were different, they were groggy and confused.

"Wha..?"

He winced suddenly, as if just feeling the cut on his chest. Carlton watched with a feeling of dread as the younger man on the table seemed to take in everything around him as if for the first time. Eyes shining with pain and fear finally came to rest on the wary detective, eyes that could only belong to Shawn. Carlton mentally cursed Spence. It was either one last attempt at getting out of the situation of Spence's way of flipping Carlton the bird.

"Carlton, what the hell's going on?" Shawn asked incredulously. His eyes darted around the room once more, taking in the plastic, the message taped to the wall, and finally the knife held in the older man's hand. Brokenly, he asked, "You're the Santa Barbara Butcher? All this time?"

"I didn't want you to see this," Carlton said, neither confirming nor denying Shawn's realization.

"But," Shawn paused, as if trying to process the information. "That doesn't add up. It can't be true."

"Were you ever around me while one of the murders took place?" Carlton asked in a low tone.

"Yes!" Shawn cried. "You slept next to me... but..."

"You were asleep," Carlton said, finishing the psychic's train of thought.

"But.. I don't understand," Shawn said with watery eyes. "Why are you doing this? I had no idea it was you."

"You would have found out eventually," Carlton said, feeling his own eyes begin to burn with suppressed tears.

"So, what? You're just going to.. kill me?" Shawn asked, tears breaking free and sliding down his cheeks. "I thought you loved me."

"I do love you. More than anything," Carlton said adamantly. "But... I have to do this."

Choking back a sob, Shawn asked, "Do I at least get one last kiss?"

With the knife in his right hand, Carlton leaned down and kissed Shawn more passionately than he ever kissed the psychic before, pretending all the while that they were safely back home and in bed, that Shawn wasn't crying into the kiss and that this wouldn't be the last kiss they ever shared. Then, with a steady and strong grip, he plunged the knife into Shawn's heart. He kissed away the psychic's pained cry and ignored the warm blood bubbling up around his gloved hand.

Shawn went still beneath him and Carlton pulled away, leaving the knife that was void of all fingerprints behind in the psychic. Shawn's eyes were closed with an eternally neutral expression on his face as his last breaths escaped him. His skin grew pale as the blood poured out.

Pulling out another knife, smaller than the first, Carlton cut away the plastic wrap and rolled it up into a ball to throw away later. Then, grabbing the zipper at the bottom of the body bag, he slowly zipped it up around Shawn, pausing only when he reached the psychic's face.

Holding back condemning tears, he thought sorrowfully, 'I'm sorry.'

He zipped the body bag the rest of the way up, leaving Shawn in peace.

'I can't believe I did it..'

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Henry Spencer sat outside Psych in a dark blue car he borrowed from a friend. He had been borrowing a lot of vehicles lately so that he could tail Shawn and keep an eye on him.

Carlton's connection to his son had been made clear when he saw the dinner set-up through the window before the shades had been drawn. Sexuality had never really been a concern to him when he had Spence to worry about, and he had always kind of figured that Shawn didn't walk a completely straight path.

He knew what Carlton planned on doing that night and... he wasn't going to stop him. If Carlton could find the strength to go through with what he himself could never bring himself to do, he would be grateful that Shawn would finally be freed from the insanity.

Sighing, he pulled away from the curb and headed toward the storage units Carlton told him about so that he could dispose of Spence's things.

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It was a partly cloudy day when the funeral was held, and the cemetery was packed with people. Up in the front row of chairs sat Shawn's parents, his mother had flown in from Florida, as well as Gus, Juliet, and several close relatives. The rest of the rows behind them was filled with people from the station along with people Shawn had met during those years he traveled the country on his motorcycle and people from previous jobs he had. Carlton sat in the very back row, feeling as if he had no right to be at the funeral to begin with. However, it would have been even more insulting to Shawn's memory not to come.

They had all just come back from the wake and were sitting in silence that was only broken by crying, waiting for the priest to come and deliver the final blessing. The wake had been nice with lots of colorful flowers, pineapples and even balloons. Of course Shawn would have wanted balloons at his wake to try and cheer everyone up. The building the wake had been held in had been even more packed than the cemetery was now. It had been open casket with Shawn all cleaned up and looking presentable, if not a little unnatural in the tux.

During the wake, Carlton had given brief condolences to Gus, Henry and Shawn's mother before escaping to the back of the crowd and staying out of the way. He just wasn't very good at offering comfort, especially when the guilt was practically eating him alive. One thing he was grateful for was that Gus and Juliet had each other to lean on so he didn't have to worry about them too much.

Gus especially. He had been the one to find Shawn the next day. Seeing his best friend in such a state had damaged something in Gus that would probably never be fixed again, but Juliet had been right by his side and together they made sure that neither one of them lost it completely.

The priest came and gave his last blessings. It rained off and on, but nobody seemed to mind getting a little wet. Vaguely, Carlton remembered hearing somewhere that rain during a funeral means that the deceased is happy. He hoped that was true. He wanted Shawn to be happy and free of burden.

When the priest finished his speech, people moved forward, forming a line, to say their last silent goodbyes to the now closed casket. Carlton moved to leave when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Carlton," Henry said.

He turn back around to face the retired officer, not really knowing what reaction to expect.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Henry said quietly. "You did a good thing. He's free to be himself, completely himself. I know you cared about him, so... why don't you go remind him of that?"

Henry stepped to the side, giving Carlton a clear path to the thinning line of people. Feeling like he had a knot in his throat, Carlton stepped forward to the line and it wasn't long before he reached the casket. He stood there for a moment before resting his hand on the casket's smooth surface.

'I love you and I'm sorry. I hope you can one day forgive me,' he thought, pushing back emotions that threatened to explode and keeping a stoic expression on his face.

Sighing, his hand slipped from the casket's surface. He slowly made his way through the disbursing crowd and left.

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Everything seemed to fall into place after that. There were no more murders by the Santa Barbara Butcher and there never would be. The task force had come to the conclusion that Shawn had been killed because he figured out who the Butcher actually was. This was further confirmed when the long sought after Rattlesnake Tavern list had been found hidden in the psychic's apartment. It was believed that he either figured out who the Butcher was based on the list or had found the list after finding out who the Butcher was.

As weeks turned into months with no more evidence and no more activity from the Butcher, the case went cold and FBI Agent Vardez was forced to return home. The morgue out behind the station had been dismantled and things were slowly returning to normal, or as normal as can be without the presence of everyone's favorite psychic. Gus still visited the station to see Juliet, but he closed down Psych and went back to working full time in the pharmaceutical business.

The Butcher case was still something that was reviewed and looked at, and because the 'Butcher's last victim' was such a personal attack on the station, the case would probably never be put to rest, but it wasn't top priority anymore. Carlton had turned much of the station's attention and manpower into finding all of the victims sold at Rattlesnake Tavern. He knew that Shawn would have wanted them to save all those people, or at least save as many as they could.

The buyers were brought to justice and the families of the victims they were too late to save were given peace. The victims they could save were given the best care and a support group had been organized for them.

A little over a year had passed when Carlton stopped at a small grocery store on the way to his destination. Heading to the registers with a pineapple in hand, his eyes caught the title of a book and he stopped in front of a magazine rack.

The Santa Barbara Butcher:
The Twenty-First Century's Biggest Unsolved Murder Mystery

Carlton wondered how the book could be so thick when there was so much people didn't know about the case. He wasn't too surprised by the book though. Hollywood producers who were low on material had recently been swooping in on the case like vultures, grabbing up as much information as they could. They couldn't get too much though because many people at the station refused to comment on the subject. Henry also refused to sign any paperwork, so Shawn wouldn't be a starring character in any upcoming movies anytime soon. Glaring at the book, Carlton paid for his pineapple and left.

Pulling up in front of the cemetery almost twenty minutes later, Carlton stepped out of his car and made his way across the nice green grass. It was a beautiful day out with a clear blue sky stretching out above him. Carlton knew his way around the cemetery by heart and was standing before Shawn's polished granite headstone in no time.

Not caring about grass stains or getting his work clothes dirty, he plopped down in front of the headstone.

"Hey Shawn, I brought you something," he murmured, setting the pineapple down next to the headstone. "You know, just in case they don't have pineapple wherever you are." he sighed. "We recently caught another one of the buyers, I thought you'd like to know. The girl was alive too, she's at the hospital now recovering."

He fell silent and listened to the light breeze rustling the leaves on the nearby trees.

For the longest time, he had been so consumed by guilt that he couldn't even bring himself to come back to the cemetery. No amount of therapy could really help either considering he couldn't reveal the whole truth.

He had been plagued by nightmares that kept him up for days on end. In every nightmare, Shawn had been there; crying, yelling at him, blaming him for everything and killing him in return. He felt he deserved the blame and he deserved whatever punishment the psychic doled out.

Then one night, right in the middle of another torture session, the dream just stopped and Shawn was there holding him in his arms, assuring him that he was okay, that he understood now and that Carlton needed to stop worrying so much about it. They stayed like that for the rest of the dream, holding each other and enjoying a comfortable silence.

Carlton knew it was probably his guilty conscience giving him a break, but still, it helped. The day after he had that dream, he headed over to the cemetery for the first time since the funeral. Since then, he made sure to at least visit once a week and talk to the psychic.

"You know, I still wonder how you did all that psychic stuff," Carlton commented to the headstone. "I guess that'll just remain another elusive mystery about you."

His cell phone cheerfully called out from his pocket.

"Detective Carlton Lassiter speaking."

"Carlton," Juliet greeted, sounding excited. "We just got a lead on another buyer. How soon can you come in?"

"I'll head over there now," he said. "See you in a bit."

After slipping his cell phone back into his pocket, he stood up and brushed his pants off. Resting one hand on the headstone, he said, "I'll see you later, Shawn."

With one last glance at the gravesite, he turned and left the cemetery, leaving the pineapple behind to bask in the warm sun in the company of other mementoes people left behind. Flowers, a few pineapple themed trinkets, and one small inconspicuous strawberry.

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This is the end my friends and it was fairly difficult to write. Endings are never easy. I would have liked to give you a happier ending than that, but I just couldn't come up with one. It had closure though, right? Hopefully. (u.u;) Credit on the idea of finding the victims sold at the Rattlesnake Tavern goes to id0n'tkn0wwh0iam. I would also like to thank all my wonderful reviewers.

As for the strawberry, well, you can't honestly expect Spence to be around that long and not make friends, or at least, acquaintances.

Comments are always appreciated!