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FIC: A Father's Pride (Psych!)
Title: A Father’s Pride
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Fandom: Psych!
Pairing/Characters: Henry Spencer, Shawn Spencer, mentions of others
Rating/Category: PG
Prompt: Shawn and Henry, Henry's proud of his son
Spoilers: All of Season One and Through Psy v. Psy in Season 2
Summary: Four Times that Henry Didn’t Tell His Son He Was Proud of Him… And One Time He Did
Notes/Warnings: Unbetaed. Some mild language. The poem I used for inspiration, couplets of which appear in the fic, is If by Rudyard Kipling. The full text can be found here. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated! Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smallfandomfest.
(i)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
******************
The slamming of the door had a ring of finality that left Henry shaking in the kitchen. For a long moment, he stared at the door, willing it to open again, willing the last hour’s fight to rewind and the words spoken in anger to be unsaid. He didn’t move until the sweat on his forehead rolled into his eyes.
When they watered after that, he told himself that it was because the sweat stung them. Blinking rapidly, Henry crossed over to the table. It was empty, which had started the fight. The stupid fight that Henry would give anything to have prevented. Although, he was a realist enough to know that it would have only delayed the inevitable. How long ago had it become destined that he would be sitting here in the kitchen, with the echo of a slammed door still resounding in his ears?
Even as he was staring at the door in numb disbelief, it opened and Shawn bounced through. “Hey!” Full of his usual boisterous energy, the teenager didn’t even pause as he dropped his back pack on the floor in the front hallway. “You’re home early?” He snagged an apple as he passed the table and gave his father a funny look. “What you’d do to earn a day off? Save the president?” He took a bite of the apple and spoke around it. “Or maybe you got sent home for bad conduct? Mismatched socks or something?”
The teen snickered, tossing his apple to the other hand as he eyed his father. “Not the socks then? Did the stick up your butt…” He never got to finish his sentence. Henry stood up and slammed his hand down on the table hard enough that the bowl of apples fell to the floor. Glass shattered, and apples rolled everywhere.
“What’s wrong?” Shawn’s voice was no longer teasing. He backed away from his father, eyes wary and frightened. “What’s going on? Where’s mom?”
“Gone.” Henry’s voice was harsh, and the anger that he was struggling to hold in place suddenly found an outlet. “How many times have I told you not to leave your crap in the hallway?”
Shawn blinked at him, confusion etched deep into his face. “What do you mean gone?”
“Gone. Left. Not returning.” Henry turned away from Shawn before he gave his rage free reign. “Pick up your stuff and go to your room.”
“Dad…?”
“NOW!!” The bellow that escaped Henry’s mouth made Shawn jump and then flee for the safety of his room. Alone again, Henry cleaned up the glass and the apples from the floor, glad that no one could see the way his hands shook.
For a week, Shawn avoided his father as if he carried the plague and Henry let him do it, glad for the solitude. For a week, the house became increasingly filthy, the refrigerator increasingly empty, and the silences increasingly longer.
Then, on Friday afternoon when Henry returned home from his shift, he saw Gus in the kitchen with Shawn. The two of them were busy unpacking groceries from several plastic bags, spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove, and someone had taken the time to at least half heartedly run the vacuum through the living room. Hearing his father come inside, Shawn looked up, his eyes still wary, but a hopeful smile on his mouth.
“Gus is staying for dinner. We made spaghetti. Hopefully, it’ll be alright…”
Henry nodded, unable to speak for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “I think it will be alright. Thanks.”
********************
(ii)
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
*********************
“You are making a fool of yourself!” Henry’s voice was strident, his face red as he stood shouting at his now grown up son.
“That’s what you said when I drove the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile,” Shawn retorted, irrepressible as always. “But those were some good hot dogs, eh? Eh?” He grinned, totally unphased by his father’s growing irritation.
“You should see him when he has a vision…” Gus muttered, his head stuck in the refrigerator, searching for a snack until Henry slammed the door shut, barely missing Gus’s hand.
“What does he mean a ‘vision’?” Henry demanded, dangerously.
“Well I can hardly say, “Chief, it’s simple. You just have to open your eyes and look at the evidence, can I?”
“Of course you can!” Henry answered desperately.
“Dad, pay attention!” Shawn pulled a kitchen chair out and sat down on it, straddling the seat, his arms folded over the back. “I’m a psychic. I have to have… visions and intuitions… FEELINGS!”
Henry stared at his son blankly, wondering, not for the first time, how on earth he had ever produced a son like Shawn.
“You know… feelings?” Shawn waved a hand in front of his father’s face. “Love, anger, happiness, joy… hunger? Anything? Ringing a bell?” When Henry continued to stare at him in disbelief, Shawn sighed. Then he stood up and broke in to a rendition of Feelings that had both Henry and Gus clapping their hands over their ears.
“Stop singing, Shawn! I know what feelings are. I just don’t see what that has to do with you having visions….”
“Well, it goes a bit like this…” Shawn began contorting, flailing his arms about and taking exaggerated lunging steps.
“Show him how your hand gets possessed,” Gus suggested helpfully, leaving Henry even more flabbergasted as Shawn began waiving his right hand around like it was being jerked by an invisible dog on an invisible leash.
“You are not doing this in front of the Chief of Police!”
“She’s just the interim chief, pops. Don’t worry.”
“You’re lying to them, Shawn!”
“I’m just… taking creative license.” Shawn had the gall to look affronted and he stopped to glare at his father. “I’m not telling them anything that isn’t true.”
“You’re still lying. I raised you better than that!”
Shawn threw his hands up in the air, surrendering. “It’s not like they really believe that I’m a psychic.”
“They’d better, or the Chief said she’d have you thrown in jail.” Gus supplied, earning a frustrated glare from Shawn and a gasp of incredulous disbelief from Henry.
“What?!”
“Look, it’s not a big deal. The Chief was a little… uncertain about me at first.” Shawn shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine how anyone could doubt that he was a psychic. “But she calmed down a lot once I…”
“We!” Gus interrupted.
”We…” Shawn made the allowance automatically, “helped solve the McCallum kidnapping.”
“It was more of a murder,” Gus piped in.
“You’re right, Gus. It was more of a murder.” Shawn corrected himself graciously, then turned to his father and continued. “The McCallum murder.”
“You solved a murder?” Henry frowned, his earlier anger dissipating.
“Yes, we did.” Gus came and stood next to Shawn and the two of them stared at him waiting for his reaction.
“Oh.” Henry shook his head. “Sounds like a lucky break to me,” but he was smiling when he said it.
*********************
(iii)
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
*********************
Henry parked outside the newly rented office space and stared at the green lettering on the window, proudly proclaiming that he had, indeed, located the headquarters for Psych! Leaving the car in idle, he shook his head.
He had to give it to Shawn, he’d thought that the entire idea to play psychic detective would have lost its appeal, but the boy seemed to be determined to make a go of this. It was the first job that Henry had ever seen Shawn take semi-seriously.
Despite himself, he was a bit impressed. The office looked nice from the outside. He saw Gus’s car parked to the side, next to Shawn’s motorcycle and debated whether or not he should go in.
Shawn had been so busy getting the office up and running over the past few weeks that Henry had barely seen him. He’d even quit coming by to steal food from the refrigerator when Henry wasn’t home. The first time that Henry had seen his boy after Shawn and Gus had leased the office space, Shawn had been distracted and asked him questions about dry wall and painting. The second time, Shawn had been in Home Depot, busy piling things into a cart. Henry had taken a second to look over Shawn’s purchases and seen that the boy had obviously been paying attention when he’d picked his brain.
Plucking out a roller skeptically, Henry had held it up and eyed Shawn. “And who do you think is going to paint the office with this?”
Shawn had grabbed the roller back. “Gus and me.”
“Gus and I,” Henry corrected, eying the rest of the painting equipment, before walking away. “You forgot a tarp. You’ll ruin your carpet.”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Shawn yelled at his retreating back. “I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“It was on aisle three,” Henry called back over his shoulder. “You forgot. Don’t make such foolish mistakes.”
The word that followed Henry down the aisle made him chuckle, but he had seen Shawn go back to aisle three and pick out a tarp.
Now, outside the office, Henry drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He wanted to see what the office was all about, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that Shawn would be all warm smiles and open welcome. There were too many buttons that each of them knew how to push… and would push. It was the nature of their relationship.
While he was still debating, he saw a woman walk into the office, pausing to shake her head at the sign on the door. Henry didn’t know her name, but he knew she was a cop. It was obvious in the way she walked and the way she dressed. Putting the car into drive, he pulled away from Psych! and ran his intended errands.
A stop at the grocery store, the pharmacy, the gas station, and the hardward store later, Henry told himself that he was avoiding traffic and pulled down the street that would take him by Shawn’s office again.
This time, Gus’s car was gone. Henry pulled into the empty parking space and approached the door warily, feeling more like an intruder than an ex-cop. The lights were off, but it was still bright enough that he could see through the door.
The office looked nice. The walls were freshly painted, the décor was tasteful, except for the miniature basketball hoop he could see tucked into the corner. Henry grinned, knowing whose touch that was. As bad as Shawn had always been at basketball, the boy had never given up hope.
Still, as Henry looked through the window, he couldn’t help being impressed. Shawn was giving all appearances of being serious. And he had done a nice job painting, too.
********************
(iv)
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
********************
Henry leaned back, enjoying the sunshine. He was watching in mild amusement as Shawn and Gus took turns trying to woo the pretty daughter of his long time friend. Looking over at Brett Conners, Henry felt a stab of... something, not pity, but regret perhaps, run through his belly.
“You did a good job, Captain.”
“Of course I did,” Brett grinned at him, and for a moment the years fell away, the curtain of Alzheimer’s receded, and Henry saw his friend as he remembered him. “I knew it was too much of a coincidence for a mountain lion to attack.”
Henry chuckled. “Twice is an awfully big coincidence.” He ignored the twinge of conscience that reminded him that he’d told Shawn earlier that day that he should learn that sometimes in life, things were merely coincidental.
Seeing the pride in his friend’s face, Henry was glad that Shawn hadn’t listened to him, as usual. He looked over to where Shawn was sitting, leaning back in a ridiculous pose that Henry supposed was Shawn’s way of trying to tempt Trish to be interested in him and he shook his head.
His boy never listened to him if he could help it. Worse, he delighted in proving his old man wrong. Henry was already sure that he’d never hear the end of this one, but seeing Brett glance down at the certificate that the Santa Barbara Police Department had given him for his help in solving the mountain lion murders and sigh in contentment, Henry knew he couldn’t begrudge Shawn his victory.
Besides, by the way that Trish was now glaring at the boy, Shawn wasn’t going to feel up to bragging about much. Laughing again, Henry took a sip of his coffee. “It’s not like it used to be, is it, Captain? In our day, mountain lions weren’t murderers and good old fashioned police work brought the killers in. None of this psychic mumbo jumbo.”
Brett blinked at him, his eyes dull once again, his memories ravaged by the hands of time and the cruelty of disease. “What are you talking about, Henry?” he barked. “It still is our day. And speaking of police work, shouldn’t you be doing some?”
“Come on, dad.” Trish had seen the change come back over her father and she had hurried to his side. “Mr. Spencer has been really helpful. After all, he’s the one who told us that we should see Shawn.” The dirty glance she threw over her shoulder belied the gratitude in her voice, but the thanks in her eyes as she looked at Henry was genuine. “Thanks to him, the whole world knows you were right.”
Brett blinked again and shook his head. “I was right?”
“Yes, Captain.” Shawn’s voice was respectful. “You were right. You usually were.”
“That’s true,” Brett smiled again, the disease retreating once more in the face of his triumph. Henry forced a smile back on his face and turned to see Shawn watching him, his expression unreadable.
“Yes, Captain. You usually were right. Coincidences don’t just happen and lucky breaks are far to rare to account for your streak. You’re just that damn good.” He raised his coffee, ostensibly offering a toast to the Captain, but his eyes lingered on Shawn for just a second too long.
********************
(v)
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
********************
“All I said was that you don’t have to do this to impress me, Shawn.” Henry defended himself. “Forgive me if your past record leads me to believe that it’s only a matter of time before you quit doing this whole psychic detective thing. I just wanted you to know that I accept you anyway.” Henry glared at his son. “I accept you as you are. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“If you accept me, then you should accept the fact that I’m a psychic detective!”
“You’re not psychic, Shawn! You confided in me, remember?”
“Yeah! And look where that got me! You ruined my big reveal with the dinosaur!”
“I was afraid you were going to get shot!” Henry threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry if my showing up to make sure that you didn’t get your head blown off interrupted whatever dramatic demonstration of otherworldly powers you had planned.”
“You didn’t need to worry about me,” Shawn sulked, crossing his arms and leaning against the newly finished wet bar. “I can take care of myself.”
Henry stared at him in complete disbelief, then threw his head back and laughed. “Do you think that I wouldn’t worry about you ever? You could be Superman and I’d worry about you. That’s what father’s do.” He shook his head. “And your idea of ‘taking care of yourself’ leaves a lot of room for worry. Especially when you go traipsing around some lunatic’s farm and dig up bones in the middle of the night.”
”That was just the one time,” Shawn replied, sounding somewhat mollified. He stared at his father for a long minute, before reaching for another box to unpack. Pausing long enough to polish the glasses before he put them into the bar, Shawn studiously avoided Henry’s gaze.
Henry shook his head, his voice gruff. “Then you turn around and get held hostage.”
“Only for a minute. The stenographer saved me pretty quickly.”
Henry shut his eyes and released his breath slowly. “That was one minute too long, Shawn,” he replied quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all I’m saying.”
“That’s rich coming from you, dad. You were a cop remember? Throwing yourself into dangerous situations was in your job description.”
“It’s not in yours.”
“Is that what this is about?” Shawn slammed down a glass hard enough that he almost broke it. “Are you still disappointed that I didn’t follow your footsteps and become a police officer? You aren’t willing to look at the good I’ve done and let it cover up the fact that I don’t have a badge?”
“Shawn…”
“That’s so typical of you…” Shawn stalked over to the door, grabbing his jacket and turning to glare at his father. “Can’t you, just for one minute, be proud of what I’ve done?”
Henry crossed the room quickly, blocking Shawn’s exit. “Move. I want to storm out of here in high dander and you are ruining my exit.” Shawn ordered.
“I’ll move in a second,” Henry answered calmly. “But first I need to correct a misunderstanding.”
“What’s that?”
“I am so proud of you that I could burst.”
That proclamation fell into silence that was deep enough that Henry wondered if Shawn was ignoring him, but then Shawn turned astonished eyes to his. “You are?”
“Every damn day. And don’t you forget it.” Henry stepped aside. “Now, you can finish your dander storming.”
Automatically, Shawn reached for the door knob, but he didn’t turn the handle. Father and son met each other’s eyes for another long moment, then Shawn smiled. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
~Fin~
Author:
wizeficsFandom: Psych!
Pairing/Characters: Henry Spencer, Shawn Spencer, mentions of others
Rating/Category: PG
Prompt: Shawn and Henry, Henry's proud of his son
Spoilers: All of Season One and Through Psy v. Psy in Season 2
Summary: Four Times that Henry Didn’t Tell His Son He Was Proud of Him… And One Time He Did
Notes/Warnings: Unbetaed. Some mild language. The poem I used for inspiration, couplets of which appear in the fic, is If by Rudyard Kipling. The full text can be found here. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated! Written for
smallfandomfest.(i)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
******************
The slamming of the door had a ring of finality that left Henry shaking in the kitchen. For a long moment, he stared at the door, willing it to open again, willing the last hour’s fight to rewind and the words spoken in anger to be unsaid. He didn’t move until the sweat on his forehead rolled into his eyes.
When they watered after that, he told himself that it was because the sweat stung them. Blinking rapidly, Henry crossed over to the table. It was empty, which had started the fight. The stupid fight that Henry would give anything to have prevented. Although, he was a realist enough to know that it would have only delayed the inevitable. How long ago had it become destined that he would be sitting here in the kitchen, with the echo of a slammed door still resounding in his ears?
Even as he was staring at the door in numb disbelief, it opened and Shawn bounced through. “Hey!” Full of his usual boisterous energy, the teenager didn’t even pause as he dropped his back pack on the floor in the front hallway. “You’re home early?” He snagged an apple as he passed the table and gave his father a funny look. “What you’d do to earn a day off? Save the president?” He took a bite of the apple and spoke around it. “Or maybe you got sent home for bad conduct? Mismatched socks or something?”
The teen snickered, tossing his apple to the other hand as he eyed his father. “Not the socks then? Did the stick up your butt…” He never got to finish his sentence. Henry stood up and slammed his hand down on the table hard enough that the bowl of apples fell to the floor. Glass shattered, and apples rolled everywhere.
“What’s wrong?” Shawn’s voice was no longer teasing. He backed away from his father, eyes wary and frightened. “What’s going on? Where’s mom?”
“Gone.” Henry’s voice was harsh, and the anger that he was struggling to hold in place suddenly found an outlet. “How many times have I told you not to leave your crap in the hallway?”
Shawn blinked at him, confusion etched deep into his face. “What do you mean gone?”
“Gone. Left. Not returning.” Henry turned away from Shawn before he gave his rage free reign. “Pick up your stuff and go to your room.”
“Dad…?”
“NOW!!” The bellow that escaped Henry’s mouth made Shawn jump and then flee for the safety of his room. Alone again, Henry cleaned up the glass and the apples from the floor, glad that no one could see the way his hands shook.
For a week, Shawn avoided his father as if he carried the plague and Henry let him do it, glad for the solitude. For a week, the house became increasingly filthy, the refrigerator increasingly empty, and the silences increasingly longer.
Then, on Friday afternoon when Henry returned home from his shift, he saw Gus in the kitchen with Shawn. The two of them were busy unpacking groceries from several plastic bags, spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove, and someone had taken the time to at least half heartedly run the vacuum through the living room. Hearing his father come inside, Shawn looked up, his eyes still wary, but a hopeful smile on his mouth.
“Gus is staying for dinner. We made spaghetti. Hopefully, it’ll be alright…”
Henry nodded, unable to speak for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “I think it will be alright. Thanks.”
********************
(ii)
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
*********************
“You are making a fool of yourself!” Henry’s voice was strident, his face red as he stood shouting at his now grown up son.
“That’s what you said when I drove the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile,” Shawn retorted, irrepressible as always. “But those were some good hot dogs, eh? Eh?” He grinned, totally unphased by his father’s growing irritation.
“You should see him when he has a vision…” Gus muttered, his head stuck in the refrigerator, searching for a snack until Henry slammed the door shut, barely missing Gus’s hand.
“What does he mean a ‘vision’?” Henry demanded, dangerously.
“Well I can hardly say, “Chief, it’s simple. You just have to open your eyes and look at the evidence, can I?”
“Of course you can!” Henry answered desperately.
“Dad, pay attention!” Shawn pulled a kitchen chair out and sat down on it, straddling the seat, his arms folded over the back. “I’m a psychic. I have to have… visions and intuitions… FEELINGS!”
Henry stared at his son blankly, wondering, not for the first time, how on earth he had ever produced a son like Shawn.
“You know… feelings?” Shawn waved a hand in front of his father’s face. “Love, anger, happiness, joy… hunger? Anything? Ringing a bell?” When Henry continued to stare at him in disbelief, Shawn sighed. Then he stood up and broke in to a rendition of Feelings that had both Henry and Gus clapping their hands over their ears.
“Stop singing, Shawn! I know what feelings are. I just don’t see what that has to do with you having visions….”
“Well, it goes a bit like this…” Shawn began contorting, flailing his arms about and taking exaggerated lunging steps.
“Show him how your hand gets possessed,” Gus suggested helpfully, leaving Henry even more flabbergasted as Shawn began waiving his right hand around like it was being jerked by an invisible dog on an invisible leash.
“You are not doing this in front of the Chief of Police!”
“She’s just the interim chief, pops. Don’t worry.”
“You’re lying to them, Shawn!”
“I’m just… taking creative license.” Shawn had the gall to look affronted and he stopped to glare at his father. “I’m not telling them anything that isn’t true.”
“You’re still lying. I raised you better than that!”
Shawn threw his hands up in the air, surrendering. “It’s not like they really believe that I’m a psychic.”
“They’d better, or the Chief said she’d have you thrown in jail.” Gus supplied, earning a frustrated glare from Shawn and a gasp of incredulous disbelief from Henry.
“What?!”
“Look, it’s not a big deal. The Chief was a little… uncertain about me at first.” Shawn shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine how anyone could doubt that he was a psychic. “But she calmed down a lot once I…”
“We!” Gus interrupted.
”We…” Shawn made the allowance automatically, “helped solve the McCallum kidnapping.”
“It was more of a murder,” Gus piped in.
“You’re right, Gus. It was more of a murder.” Shawn corrected himself graciously, then turned to his father and continued. “The McCallum murder.”
“You solved a murder?” Henry frowned, his earlier anger dissipating.
“Yes, we did.” Gus came and stood next to Shawn and the two of them stared at him waiting for his reaction.
“Oh.” Henry shook his head. “Sounds like a lucky break to me,” but he was smiling when he said it.
*********************
(iii)
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
*********************
Henry parked outside the newly rented office space and stared at the green lettering on the window, proudly proclaiming that he had, indeed, located the headquarters for Psych! Leaving the car in idle, he shook his head.
He had to give it to Shawn, he’d thought that the entire idea to play psychic detective would have lost its appeal, but the boy seemed to be determined to make a go of this. It was the first job that Henry had ever seen Shawn take semi-seriously.
Despite himself, he was a bit impressed. The office looked nice from the outside. He saw Gus’s car parked to the side, next to Shawn’s motorcycle and debated whether or not he should go in.
Shawn had been so busy getting the office up and running over the past few weeks that Henry had barely seen him. He’d even quit coming by to steal food from the refrigerator when Henry wasn’t home. The first time that Henry had seen his boy after Shawn and Gus had leased the office space, Shawn had been distracted and asked him questions about dry wall and painting. The second time, Shawn had been in Home Depot, busy piling things into a cart. Henry had taken a second to look over Shawn’s purchases and seen that the boy had obviously been paying attention when he’d picked his brain.
Plucking out a roller skeptically, Henry had held it up and eyed Shawn. “And who do you think is going to paint the office with this?”
Shawn had grabbed the roller back. “Gus and me.”
“Gus and I,” Henry corrected, eying the rest of the painting equipment, before walking away. “You forgot a tarp. You’ll ruin your carpet.”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Shawn yelled at his retreating back. “I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“It was on aisle three,” Henry called back over his shoulder. “You forgot. Don’t make such foolish mistakes.”
The word that followed Henry down the aisle made him chuckle, but he had seen Shawn go back to aisle three and pick out a tarp.
Now, outside the office, Henry drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He wanted to see what the office was all about, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that Shawn would be all warm smiles and open welcome. There were too many buttons that each of them knew how to push… and would push. It was the nature of their relationship.
While he was still debating, he saw a woman walk into the office, pausing to shake her head at the sign on the door. Henry didn’t know her name, but he knew she was a cop. It was obvious in the way she walked and the way she dressed. Putting the car into drive, he pulled away from Psych! and ran his intended errands.
A stop at the grocery store, the pharmacy, the gas station, and the hardward store later, Henry told himself that he was avoiding traffic and pulled down the street that would take him by Shawn’s office again.
This time, Gus’s car was gone. Henry pulled into the empty parking space and approached the door warily, feeling more like an intruder than an ex-cop. The lights were off, but it was still bright enough that he could see through the door.
The office looked nice. The walls were freshly painted, the décor was tasteful, except for the miniature basketball hoop he could see tucked into the corner. Henry grinned, knowing whose touch that was. As bad as Shawn had always been at basketball, the boy had never given up hope.
Still, as Henry looked through the window, he couldn’t help being impressed. Shawn was giving all appearances of being serious. And he had done a nice job painting, too.
********************
(iv)
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
********************
Henry leaned back, enjoying the sunshine. He was watching in mild amusement as Shawn and Gus took turns trying to woo the pretty daughter of his long time friend. Looking over at Brett Conners, Henry felt a stab of... something, not pity, but regret perhaps, run through his belly.
“You did a good job, Captain.”
“Of course I did,” Brett grinned at him, and for a moment the years fell away, the curtain of Alzheimer’s receded, and Henry saw his friend as he remembered him. “I knew it was too much of a coincidence for a mountain lion to attack.”
Henry chuckled. “Twice is an awfully big coincidence.” He ignored the twinge of conscience that reminded him that he’d told Shawn earlier that day that he should learn that sometimes in life, things were merely coincidental.
Seeing the pride in his friend’s face, Henry was glad that Shawn hadn’t listened to him, as usual. He looked over to where Shawn was sitting, leaning back in a ridiculous pose that Henry supposed was Shawn’s way of trying to tempt Trish to be interested in him and he shook his head.
His boy never listened to him if he could help it. Worse, he delighted in proving his old man wrong. Henry was already sure that he’d never hear the end of this one, but seeing Brett glance down at the certificate that the Santa Barbara Police Department had given him for his help in solving the mountain lion murders and sigh in contentment, Henry knew he couldn’t begrudge Shawn his victory.
Besides, by the way that Trish was now glaring at the boy, Shawn wasn’t going to feel up to bragging about much. Laughing again, Henry took a sip of his coffee. “It’s not like it used to be, is it, Captain? In our day, mountain lions weren’t murderers and good old fashioned police work brought the killers in. None of this psychic mumbo jumbo.”
Brett blinked at him, his eyes dull once again, his memories ravaged by the hands of time and the cruelty of disease. “What are you talking about, Henry?” he barked. “It still is our day. And speaking of police work, shouldn’t you be doing some?”
“Come on, dad.” Trish had seen the change come back over her father and she had hurried to his side. “Mr. Spencer has been really helpful. After all, he’s the one who told us that we should see Shawn.” The dirty glance she threw over her shoulder belied the gratitude in her voice, but the thanks in her eyes as she looked at Henry was genuine. “Thanks to him, the whole world knows you were right.”
Brett blinked again and shook his head. “I was right?”
“Yes, Captain.” Shawn’s voice was respectful. “You were right. You usually were.”
“That’s true,” Brett smiled again, the disease retreating once more in the face of his triumph. Henry forced a smile back on his face and turned to see Shawn watching him, his expression unreadable.
“Yes, Captain. You usually were right. Coincidences don’t just happen and lucky breaks are far to rare to account for your streak. You’re just that damn good.” He raised his coffee, ostensibly offering a toast to the Captain, but his eyes lingered on Shawn for just a second too long.
********************
(v)
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
********************
“All I said was that you don’t have to do this to impress me, Shawn.” Henry defended himself. “Forgive me if your past record leads me to believe that it’s only a matter of time before you quit doing this whole psychic detective thing. I just wanted you to know that I accept you anyway.” Henry glared at his son. “I accept you as you are. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“If you accept me, then you should accept the fact that I’m a psychic detective!”
“You’re not psychic, Shawn! You confided in me, remember?”
“Yeah! And look where that got me! You ruined my big reveal with the dinosaur!”
“I was afraid you were going to get shot!” Henry threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry if my showing up to make sure that you didn’t get your head blown off interrupted whatever dramatic demonstration of otherworldly powers you had planned.”
“You didn’t need to worry about me,” Shawn sulked, crossing his arms and leaning against the newly finished wet bar. “I can take care of myself.”
Henry stared at him in complete disbelief, then threw his head back and laughed. “Do you think that I wouldn’t worry about you ever? You could be Superman and I’d worry about you. That’s what father’s do.” He shook his head. “And your idea of ‘taking care of yourself’ leaves a lot of room for worry. Especially when you go traipsing around some lunatic’s farm and dig up bones in the middle of the night.”
”That was just the one time,” Shawn replied, sounding somewhat mollified. He stared at his father for a long minute, before reaching for another box to unpack. Pausing long enough to polish the glasses before he put them into the bar, Shawn studiously avoided Henry’s gaze.
Henry shook his head, his voice gruff. “Then you turn around and get held hostage.”
“Only for a minute. The stenographer saved me pretty quickly.”
Henry shut his eyes and released his breath slowly. “That was one minute too long, Shawn,” he replied quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all I’m saying.”
“That’s rich coming from you, dad. You were a cop remember? Throwing yourself into dangerous situations was in your job description.”
“It’s not in yours.”
“Is that what this is about?” Shawn slammed down a glass hard enough that he almost broke it. “Are you still disappointed that I didn’t follow your footsteps and become a police officer? You aren’t willing to look at the good I’ve done and let it cover up the fact that I don’t have a badge?”
“Shawn…”
“That’s so typical of you…” Shawn stalked over to the door, grabbing his jacket and turning to glare at his father. “Can’t you, just for one minute, be proud of what I’ve done?”
Henry crossed the room quickly, blocking Shawn’s exit. “Move. I want to storm out of here in high dander and you are ruining my exit.” Shawn ordered.
“I’ll move in a second,” Henry answered calmly. “But first I need to correct a misunderstanding.”
“What’s that?”
“I am so proud of you that I could burst.”
That proclamation fell into silence that was deep enough that Henry wondered if Shawn was ignoring him, but then Shawn turned astonished eyes to his. “You are?”
“Every damn day. And don’t you forget it.” Henry stepped aside. “Now, you can finish your dander storming.”
Automatically, Shawn reached for the door knob, but he didn’t turn the handle. Father and son met each other’s eyes for another long moment, then Shawn smiled. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
~Fin~