Heaven - #7

Disclaimer - I only own Psych season 1 and 2 on DVD. I am already anticipating getting season three. That was such a great Season opener!

Henry Spencer had had a long day. As a cop that wasn't uncommon. Most law enforcement officers would tell you – most days feel like a long day when you carry a badge. Henry never said that to Madeline. His wife was a psychiatrist. She would probably analyze that to death if he were to say it out loud. Madeline thought Henry didn't like to express his emotions. Well, maybe. But he also didn't like anyone judging his thoughts or feelings and he couldn't help but feel that Madeline would dissect anything he said. So usually, Henry just kept quiet.

As he entered the house through the kitchen, Henry noticed the timer had gone off on the stove – but it was still on. With a sigh, he pulled the chicken and potatoes from the oven. Madeline only had to put the pan in the oven and pull it out when it was done. Henry had set it up before he left for work. Madeline had been going on lately about how she needed the extra time to work on her psychology paper, since she had been away from work since just before Shawn was born. Their son, now four months old, was, in Henry's opinion, too young for daycare. But they had compromised. Madeline would do research from home until Shawn was six months old, and then he would be enrolled at a daycare run by the mother-in-law of a fellow SBPD officer.

Poking at the chicken, Henry sighed. It was a bit dry but was still edible. Too tired to fuss with much else, Henry pulled out a couple of tomatoes, which he could slice up to have with dinner. Placing the vegetables on the counter, Henry followed the sound of the electric typewriter. Madeline had a corner of the living room set up as a mini-office. Years later, Henry would convert that corner to a wet bar, but for now it was where his wife would pile books, folders and other research material in a casual pile. The pile would wave occasionally as Madeline pounded away at the keys.

"Madeline? Did you forget something?"

Without even looking up from her typing, Madeline paused to grab some White-Out and dabbing some on the paper, she blew on the cover-up before returning her focus to her work. "No, no I don't think I forgot anything, Henry. Why?"

"Dinner."

"I put it in the oven. It should be ready in…" Madeline's voice trailed off as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh, hell, I…"

Henry interrupted his wife, gesturing her back to her seat. "I took it out. It's still edible. And we can slice up some tomatoes, so don't worry about a vegetable. Listen, are you ready to eat?"

Looking back at her paper, Madeline grimaced. "I just need another five minutes, Henry, I swear." Just then, the sounds of a soft wail could be heard. "Shawn. But I just gave him a bottle a little while ago. I…"

Interrupting again, Henry turned towards the sound, calling over his shoulder, "I got this one. Probably needs a fresh diaper."

Sure enough, Henry picked up the fussing infant and checked the offending garment, muttered, "Geez kid, any of this stuff stay inside of you? No wonder you're so skinny. I hope you bulk up over the years or CPS will be hounding me for starving you."

Henry went to put Shawn back into the crib when he was done changing the diaper, but the intense hazel eyes glared up at him. His son had yet to smile at him. Shawn smiled at Henry's partner, at his boss, at his grandparents and of course, at Madeline. Shawn smiled and cooed for strangers in the grocery store, especially the old man that ran the fresh produce section. But Shawn had yet to smile at his father.

Picking up the baby with a sigh, Henry tucked the infant into his shoulder. Running a hand along his son's back, he walked back towards the living room. Hearing the typewriter keys still clacking furiously, Henry didn't even bother approaching Madeline. Instead, Henry walked the baby out to the porch. Sitting on the porch swing, he set the swing in motion with a gentle push of his foot. Cuddling the baby, Henry looked down at his son, smiling. "Hey, kid. Think you can give one of those smiles you seem so fond of to your old man? Daddy could really use one today."

There was no smile, but Shawn did stare at his father intensely, as if to say, "So what's up, Pops?"

Brushing the baby-fine hair with his fingers, Henry's smile became a bit shaky. "I held a little boy, not much older than you, Shawn. I held him as he died. His mother had left him in a locked car and gone into a bar. She swore she had only been a minute but witnesses say she was in there for over an hour. It was almost ninety degrees today, Shawn. That kid never had a chance." Henry sighed, looking up at the sunset. It was a beautiful sight but somehow its glory was lost on him today. "You know, my grandfather use to say that a perfect sunset and a newborn baby was the proof that God was in Heaven. But I have to question that, kid. What kind of God lets a baby get cooked in a compact car while his mother does shots?"

Henry's heart was heavy as he recalled the shuddering final breath of that baby boy and cuddled his own son a bit closer. Blinking away any moisture from his eyes, Henry looked down at Shawn and gasped in wonder. Shawn was smiling up at his father. No gas, a real smile with eyes twinkling and hands waving. Almost as if he knew that would make his father feel better. Miraculously, it did.

Raising his son up closer to his face, Henry placed a small kiss on Shawn's forehead. No matter how crazy his son drove him in the future, Henry would never forget the day his baby had finally smiled at him. God really was in Heaven, wasn't he?

A/N - Henry once said that Shawn didn't smile at him until he was four months old, so that is here. And the words about babies, sunsets and heaven were said by my father-in-law when we told him he would be a grandfather. Sadly, he died before our daughter was born. I posted this on psychfic on Father's Day and dedicated it to my father-in-law. It may not be Father's Day, but the feeling is still there, just as we know that he is, watching over his children and grandkids. - CC