Title: Four Times Henry Never Asked Questions and the One Time He Did
Author: Wolfscythe
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Lassiter/Shawn
Special thanks to ericidlerules and ptolemyrekhyt for the beta-ing.
The first suggestion:
It started out simply enough: Shawn went over to his father's house, as he usually did. He argued and fought and borrowed some stuff, as he usually did. He stayed for some food and tried to leave in an awkward huff after some pointless argument, as he usually did. But it was his last comment that threw Henry through a loop.
"Your decisions are not always the best for me, you know. You can't choose what I wear, how I act, who I sleep with—"
Henry's paternal instincts jumped at the mention of sex. "You're sleeping with someone?" Concerned, as any parent of a renegade child should.
Shawn's insulting look of 'Duh' was a little stressed. "Of course I'm sleeping with someone. When am I ever not?"
"I know you always cat around, but we weren't arguing over your uninhibited partner infested lifestyle," Henry clarified. "You brought it up out of nowhere, which means you've been thinking about this for a while." He watched as his son's jaw clenched and folded his arms in a definite rebellious gesture. He'd hit a sore spot.
"So?"
"So, it's not a one night stand. You're actually seeing someone. Frequently. Possibly exclusively." He waited for Shawn to give some kind of explanation or accusation, but he stayed stoically silent. Henry looked his son up and down. Shawn was tense, a little angry, and very obstinate. He was daring him to ask. Daring. "Go home," Henry ordered, shooing his boy out of his kitchen. "I really don't want to know who would be willing to sleep with you more than once," he lied. He wanted nothing more than to ask who, but that was a little too much ground to lose at once. His son wanted distance, than that was what he was going to get.
"And don't park that deathcycle in my driveway, it belongs in the street." He reminded Shawn as he stormed out the door. The door slammed and Henry sat down on his uncomfortable wooden stool and rubbed his temples.
The second suggestion:
Fishing with Lassiter was one the few things Henry truly enjoyed. It was calm, quiet, peaceful, and Detective Lassiter made an excellent fishing partner because he did the one thing every fishing partner should do: shut up. He was quiet, and when there was talk it was about work, sports, or books. With Shawn it was constant noise about television sitcoms, latest Gus incidents, and how boring fishing was.
Lassiter sighed. Henry worked a knot out of some fishing wire and he sighed again.
"Something on your mind, Carlton, or are you just bored?" Henry barbed. Lassiter swiped his nose in embarrassment and shrugged.
"Not really." He watched his forlorn bobber swivel in the water, ignored by all potentially hungry fish. "How's your son doing?" He asked unexpectedly.
Henry cocked a brow and replied shortly, "He's fine." He tried to go back to concentrating on his pole and lure but he could feel Lassiter's eyes on his back.
"Fine?" An unspoken 'continue' lingered in the air. Lassiter sat calmly and evenly met Henry's stare.
"Shawn's fine. He's healthy, he's working. Nothing has changed."
Lassiter replied with a quiet, "oh."
"He's still a big pain-in-the-ass, as usual," Henry remarked, surprised that Lassiter grinned. "Why so interested in the well being of Shawn anyway?"
Lassiter looked away and mumbled, "No reason." He seemed to think about it before changing his answer to: "Actually, he's been around the station a lot recently and he just seems… I don't know. Depressed? I mean, he's still all forms of smiles and loud and obnoxiousness, but it's different. I think something's bothering him and I was wondering if he talked to you about it." The last part was kind of rushed, like he was nervous, and Henry was immediately suspicious. The fact that Carlton was asking about his son, a topic taboo, and seemed to be genuinely concerned, tipped off the former cop's radar.
He thought back to several days prior and his argument with Shawn and became uncomfortable. He looked Lassiter up and down, assessing and denying that it could be possible. "Why don't we just get back to fishing?" Henry asked, except that it was more of a command than any kind of request. Lassiter's shoulders dropped a little, but he smiled and went back to watching his bobber, which by this point had disappeared.
"Shit," he cursed; whipping his pole back and sinking his hook into whatever dragged his line down. Henry went back to setting his lure and tried to ignore the itching on his neck and the fact he wanted to know more.
The third suggestion:
Seeing Burton Guster without Shawn in tow was like seeing a guy sitting on a bicycle without wheels; it just didn't make much sense. Guster was floating around his yard mumbling to himself and pacing. He decided to help end whatever argument the boy was having with himself with a gruff, "What do you want, Burton? You're making a rut in my lawn."
Gus whipped around like he was caught breaking and entering. "Hello Mr. Spencer," he respectfully began, his initial nervousness gone, "I just came to pick up some things of Shawn's."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "My boy's capable of picking up his own things."
"I know. He's just indisposed right now."
"Indisposed?" Henry asked skeptically, wondering why Gus hadn't just gone with 'busy' or 'is a lazy ass.'
"He's still not sore about our last fight is he?" He waved an accusing finger at him, "Shawn's got to grow up sometime and he doesn't need somebody else to do his errands that he's too afraid to do. If he has a problem with me, tell him to talk to me personally. No more running interference, it's childish and annoying."
Gus stalled, thinking and choosing his words carefully, "Shawn didn't send me here. In fact he doesn't even know I'm here. Sir," he added quickly.
"So what do you want Burton?"
"Would you like the truth or a lie?" Gus's extra dark espresso shot of the morning gave him courage. Henry growled in response so he figured it was no time for jokes. "Shawn's having some issues that he needs to talk to you about but refuses too for... various reasons," Gus's voice paused before 'various' so Henry now knew the reasons were specific. "And it's really giving him a hard time. I came here to act as the middle-man, so to speak."
"You came here, unbeknownst to Shawn, to try to work out our own personal family problems?"
Gus swallowed and looked at the ground when he murmured, "It sounds really nosey when you say it like that."
"Not at all," he remarked sarcastically.
"Shawn's my best friend. I would do anything for him, but right now he is really struggling with something and he needs to talk to you. Father-son talking." Gus surprised himself with his own courage as he steadily increased his volume and frustration, "If you're not willing to go and help your only son, then I'll just have to keep bugging you until you do."
"Get the hell off my lawn."
Gus immediately began to retreat. "I'll start tomorrow," he threatened, bumbling over some uprooted earth and a shovel before climbing into his fuel-efficient and reasonably priced automobile. He shouted from his window, "Do you even want to know what he's so upset over?"
Henry made annoyed shooing gestures and shouted, "Go already." He turned away to vent his anger on his abused back lawn. His flowers were bent from being watered with a full powered hose, his yard was littered with holes from a hoe and a whole lot of frustration, and his rake will never again collect fall leaves due to a severe spinal crack. His son managed to destroy his lawn even when he's never there.
The fourth suggestion:
After much consideration and too many sleepless nights, Henry decided to visit his son. It had been over two weeks since their first serious fight in a long time, and as much as he hated to admit it, he missed talking to Shawn. After so long of being separated from his only true family member, and then seeing him again and again, it was hard to get used to the concept that Shawn could leave again, and he just might have. It was a bridge that Henry was not ready to burn.
He showed up at the Psych office unannounced. He figured there would be yelling. Shawn would cry to him about his problem at work or whatever PMSing issues he was dealing with and they would get over this and back to their mutual almost-distain for one another. As he approached the front entryway, he noticed a car parked on the curb. Nothing out of the ordinary, most likely a client. Henry felt a familiar twinge in the back of his neck from his uniform days and looked at the car again. It was a red Honda; clean, fairly new, and most importantly, it was Lassiter's car. He looked at the license plate and even peeked through the window. Lassiter had been on enough fishing trips with him for him to be able to recognize his car.
Apprehensive, (although he did not know why) he walked up to the deck of the building. The shades were drawn and the door locked. He raised his hand to knock and then hesitated. He decided to go around back instead. He spent too many years on the force to ignore a feeling like the one he had, that something was up, so he went with it. Around the side of the building was a window. It was a little high up, but the shades split and on his toes he could see into the main room.
Shawn was in, standing close to his office desk, and appeared to be arguing with Lassiter. The detective didn't seem to be arguing back. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose and shaking his head at whatever Shawn was saying, disagreeing but not pushing the subject. Henry wondered for a moment if it was proper to be spying on his son, but figured this would make up for all the times Shawn had snuck into his house to 'explore' and thus borrow and ruin equipment, tools, and for some weird reason, Tupperware. The argument seemed to be coming to a close, Shawn throwing his hands up in frustration and looking down in a definite surrendering position.
Lassiter crowded into Shawn, and for a second Henry thought he was speaking tersely into his ear like a child, but then they turned a fraction of an inch and he could see they were kissing. Not a goodbye kiss, or a good to see you again manly kiss; it was kissing that was in no way friendly in nature. For every excruciating second Henry could not look away. His orange and green palmed shirt could erupt into flames and he still would not be able to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Lassiter intimately touching his son's face and neck, Shawn's sliding hands gripping Lassiter's ass, the barely concealed smile on both of their faces. They finally stopped, but continued to talk to one another, not moving from their positions, most likely whispering or speaking softly. Shawn laughed at something he said and kissed the detective again, his hands moving up to Lassiter's waist.
It looked like a very private moment for them both, and Henry was embarrassed to have witnessed it. He quickly slunk off toward his car. Confusion, anger, and bitter resentment were all bouncing around in his chest. His torturous memory bringing up all the things that Shawn said in their previous fights, Lassiter on his fishing boat genuinely concerned, and even Gus at his house. He sped off, his tires squealing and leaving a sour burnt smell in the air to match the taste in his mouth.
The question:
Henry was in his favorite lounge chair, drinking even though it was only late afternoon when a knock at his door interrupted his sulking. The knocks continued and increased in volume. He swung open the broad door and was stunned to see Shawn gasping on his front porch.
"Hey Dad," he panted, like he had just ran from his office to the house. The office where a few hours prior he'd been kissing Carlton Lassiter, Henry's brain malevolently added. "Can we talk? We really need to talk."
Henry wordlessly held the door open and made Shawn duck under his arm to get in. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, the first of which being, "What the hell are you thinking?" or better yet, "Are you both quitting your jobs and moving to San Francisco?" and his favorite, "How long are you going to be gay for?" He winced at his own inner crassness. Shawn was in such distress that he didn't notice his father's own mental struggle. They both walked the walk of death row into the living room.
"Dad," Shawn began, fussing with his shirt hem and fighting for confidence, "I'm with Lassiter." He began at last. "I have been for a while now, and there is nothing you can say that will change what I do and why. I—" he swallowed, made eye contact, and said almost defiantly, "I love him dad. I really, really do. You can hate me forever… or whatever, but I had to let you know. God it's been tearing at me weeks." He stumbled over, "So now you know," before letting out a nervous breath. There was a long pause, in which Shawn was waiting for a reaction, a reply, or insult, and Henry was fighting for the right thing to say. He thought back to how Shawn looked when they were together, happy and carefree. The usual, but there was more to it. His goddamn oldschool cop gut was telling him something and he should listen to it. His only son was in a happy relationship with another human being.
"Does he love you?" He finally asked. Shawn slowly shook his head yes. "Then I guess that's all that matters, isn't it?"
His son smiled, a real 'Oh Thank God' smile, and sat on the adjacent couch, forearms resting on his knees.
"Do you want a beer?" He asked, effectively ending that particular conversation. "Now how about you tell me about this latest case you've been on. Double murder?"
END