Comfort time! Soon the feelings stuff is all over and we're in La, getting back to the case. Promise.

Shawn was in the middle of pulling on his jacket when he left the room, swaying on his feet only for a moment. He was confused, very much so, and he was ready to lie down on his couch, close his eyes and just think for another hour or so. Not that he was allowed to do that. Wishful thinking.

He carefully brushed a finger over the thin band-aid they had taped over his nose, wincing at the contact. Shawn was reasonably glad that it wasn't broken. He knew he had to look pretty stupid with a swollen nose, a white strip bright on his face and one or another blurred step once in a while as if he was drunk, but at the moment he really had other things to worry about. Shawn found Martinez leaning against the wall opposite from his door, watching him intently. Officer Miller had, thankfully, left along with Abigail to make sure she would stay safe during this whole ordeal. He hated putting her in danger.

Shawn didn't spare the man much of a glance, preoccupied with getting his phone out of his jeans pocket. "You coming?" Martinez fell into step next to him. Shawn didn't glance up, quickly unlocking his phone to search for his father's cell number, but he heard the uncertain pause in his companions steps. "Come on," he said and looked at him, finally managing a half-hearted grin. "You are supposed to be the one with the Welcome-Back-Cake."

The other detective smirked right back. "In your dreams. I can not-so proudly declare that you are the better cook."

"I'm an awful cook," Shawn pointed out.

"I know."

"Did you-" Shawn interrupted himself with a laugh and immediately regretted it as a numb, mind-consuming pain appeared in the back of his head once again. Stupid concussion. Thank God for painkillers. "Ahh- Did you just insult yourself to get out of cooking duty?"

"Are you alright?" Martinez asked him and grabbed his arm in case he needed something to steady him. Shawn shrugged him off.

"It's not a big deal," he muttered and turned back to his phone. Hitting speed dial, he brought it up to his ear and waited for the ringing to end. They arrived in the lobby and Martinez gave him some privacy by handling the release forms at the front desk. Shawn swept his eyes over the waiting area until his dad picked up.

"Shawn?"

"Hey, dad," he started. "Remember how you said I have to come by until Friday? I can't make it."

"If you don't need your stuff, it's not my problem," Henry retorted.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Look, can't you just re-schedule your 'I need to be productive' time and go fishing instead? Is that too much to ask?"

"Why can't you just drop by and go through your stuff real quick?"

"I'm kind of preoccupied!" Shawn gritted his teeth in annoyance.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Is this about your case?" His dad asked suspiciously.

"No, dad," he scrambled for a response that wouldn't end with Henry demanding he'd spill the beans to him. "Gus and I are just... going on a road trip."

"A road trip."

"Yeah," he nodded, as though to proof his point.

"Shawn, I will not postpone some much needed repairwork just because you decided you needed to get out of town on a spending fee."

"It's not a spending fee!" Shawn protested.

"It doesn't matter whether you go partying or something else. Your stuff is gone by Friday."

Shawn groaned, thinking quickly back to what he remembered from his father's garage. "Okay. Fine," he told him exasperated. "Just don't throw out the surfboard. That was expensive."

"I was the one who bought it," Henry deadpanned.

"Goodbye, dad," Shawn dismissed him and disconnected the call, looking up at the detective who'd come back by now.

Martinez raised an eyebrow in worry, glancing between him and the phone. "He doesn't know?"

Shawn gritted his teeth, frustration from the call seeping into his voice. "Before you guys showed up, no one knew. And it was good that way." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just go."

Martinez shrugged and followed him outside to the parking lot. He was a little disappointed by the way Shawn took their reunion, seeing as they had been good friends when he'd left. He couldn't blame him, though. Shawn was injured, personally involved in the case and for some reason, there seemed to be some kind of arguement between him and his other friends. He just wished the other wouldn't blame him. He shook his head slightly and started towards the unassuming, silver painted car.

"How's your little one?" Shawn asked after a moment. Martinez paused in the motion of opening the car door, looking over at Shawn. If he hadn't lost his touch, that was a sheepish, Spencer way of saying 'I'm sorry.'

"She's fine," he said, giving in and sat down in the car. Shawn followed his example. "Turning two in a few months. I see you haven't gone soft on us, huh?" The other detective didn't answer, just started fidgeting with his fingers. "Where do you need to go first?" He tried again and this time, he got a response out of his old friend.

"My apartment. East Valerio Street."

Martinez nodded, even though he didn't recognize the name. "You're gonna have to guide me," he reminded Shawn.

Shawn sighed. "Just straight ahead for the time being."

They drove in silence for a minute, only interrupted by an occasional "Turn right" from Shawn. The detective wasn't sure what to make of Shawn. He didn't remember ever finding him this gloomy, but he wasn't sure whether it was his place to ask either. He'd always imagined meeting Shawn again would be a happy coincidence, or maybe, with some luck, Shawn would've finally decided to come back to them. They'd gotten along great back then. Inside their little division, they'd keep on switching partners every other case or so, despite having the usual assigned partner. It made for a great team. Whenever he'd gotten around to working with Shawn, they'd shared jokes with each other. Shawn, despite being younger than him, had been a detective for at least a year already when Martinez managed to climb the ranks. He'd been young and impressionable, as they all say, but so had he himself. They'd made a good, although distractable, team, each had their own tricks up their sleeve and both had been eager to learn.

He recalled one particular stake out near a grocery store one time when they'd spent most of the time applying Shawn's deduction methods on the customers that they almost missed their targets leaving in a whole different car than they came in. If Martinez wouldn't have looked up back then, they would've no doubt gotten a chewing out from either King or McCoy (or both) that would've gone down in history.

"Turn left and slow down," Shawn said next to him. He followed his instructions.

"When are you going to stop moping and do something about your friend?" Martinez asked in his best, conversational tone. He didn't really expect Shawn to answer, so he glanced at him surprised when the retort came immediately.

"It's not that easy," the ex-detective grumbled.

Martinez focused back on the road. "And why's that?"

"Have you ever lied about about a great chunk of your lifetime to the people you care about?" Shawn asked tiredly.

"No."

"Then you wouldn't understand."

"Try me," the detective challenged him softly. The fact that Shawn had even answered his question made it clear that he, subconsciously, did want to talk. At least that's how he had worked back in Los Angeles and Martinez doubted - or rather hoped - that Shawn hadn't changed that much in their time apart.

Shawn started drumming his fingers on his right thigh, torn between wanting to talk and wanting to think about everything in silence. After a moment he sighed. "Gus and I never kept anything from each other," he said. "He's mad. Hurt. I understand that. But I don't like it - I want to talk it out with him like we always do. But he doesn't seem to want to talk."

Martinez breathed out slowly and slowed down to let another car out of a side street. He didn't particularly understand what Gus had to be feeling right now, but if he so much as imagined a situation like his - "I think he needs time. Maybe the rest of the day. At least. Don't you think?"

"Of course I think so," Shawn retorted. "I understand."

"But you don't want to?" Martinez asked carefully.

"Not so much as that," the ex-detective replied. "It's just... I want him to understand, too. But I don't know how fair that would be."

Martinez frowned. "Understand what?"

Shawn spread out his arms. "You know - it. How it happened. Why. When. Everything." He cast a short look outside. "Stop here."

Martinez slowed to a stop and managed to find a free spot for his car quickly. He sat still, thinking about what his friend had said. Shawn didn't make a move outside, either. "Did he ever lie to you like that?" He asked after a moment.

"No," Shawn responded instantly. "Never. He's the best friend I could have." He sighed, moving a hand up to shield his eyes from the light. The sund was to bright on the late afternoon for a sad day like this. "He didn't deserve this."

Martinez bit his lip, fingers drumming on the steering wheel in deep thought. "Look, Shawn," he started. His friend looked up at him hopefully. "I may not know a lot about your friendship or anything but -" He paused. "He wants to work it out, too. Believe me. He didn't leave the hospital in raging madness or anything, he stayed. He agreed to come with us, to stay on the case and help us. Help you."

"You're taking him into police protection," Shawn reminded him. "It's not like he had another choice than coming."

"But he did," Martinez disregarded him. "You know the procedures better than that. He could've asked to stay here because of his job. He could've asked for a detail, like your girlfriend. But he didn't." He hesitated. "Don't give up on him. He doesn't either. He just needs time to process everything. You understand that, right?"

Shawn breathed out a long, low breath, nodding slightly. "Alright, Marty," he said. "I'll trust you on this."

Gus was glad that he had a car. He really was. It gave him an excuse to ignore McCoy in the passenger seat, as well as the sneaking suspicion that the man was using some kind of cop skill to eye and analyze him constantly, because he was busy watching the road ahead. Turn left. Slow down. Watch the traffic light. Avoid the pedestrian. Accelerate. Turn tight.

It was awkward, to say at least, to have a cop watching you all the time. It wasn't like he was unused to the feeling - half of his childhood were spent at the Spencer household and the last four years he and Shawn had worked closely with the police department - but that didn't make it any more comfortable. He felt like he wasn't allowed to make a mistake, because there was a witness that would not hesitate to make him pay a fine. Normally he wasn't a bad driver, but he didn't want to risk a note on his report card either. Also, it made their whole situation even more real. There was a freaking gang after them, and Shawn had been lucky enough to escape primarily unscathed. Gus was just waiting for the moment when McCoy would ask him to turn right and then tell him there was someone following them.

It didn't happen.

Gus took out his keys and walked inside, quickly finding his suitcase and starting to throw all kinds of clothing inside. Underwear, jeans, dress pants, shirts, tee-shirts and a spare pair of shoes. He grabbed the phone charger and a few pill samples, before leaving the room to look into the kitchen. He found McCoy sitting there at the table, staring down at the case file and tapping his chin distractedly while he was lost in thought. Gus didn't know how he had found the file, since he'd hidden it very carefully, but he didn't care at the moment. It reminded him too much of Shawn - probably typical cop behaviour, he thought bitterly. He regretted thinking that only a second later. Shawn had always been like that - he was still Shawn despite the cop label.

Right?

"Don't you want to hide your spare key in here?" McCoy suggested easily and looked up at Gus, a frown on his face.

"I have an alarm system," Gus pointed out.

"I don't know if you know," the older man started. "But those aren't as safe as most people think. Burglars are pretty creative when it comes to breaking and entering."

Gus paused, wondering if he should take McCoy's tip. He was a cop after all, right? He was an expert on this. Also, there was a gang after them.

Gus went outside to pick up the spare key from the fake stone. Shawn had warned him about that, too. He'd said it was obvious for anyone in the business that that's his hide-a-key. Gus didn't believe him.

"So, how did you find out?" McCoy leaned back in his chair and watched Gus rummage through his fridge, getting out any leftover foods that he wouldn't come around to eating now. He didn't want to come back to a moldy kitchen.

Gus considered playing dumb for a moment, not really in the mood for this kind of conversation. It wouldn't matter though, would it? McCoy was a cop, he knew when someone was lying. He had been trained to see the signs. So had Shawn. "It got obvious after a while," Gus answered. He sounded calmer than he felt.

"He didn't tell you?" McCoy clarified.

Gus gritted his teeth and closed the fridge, turning to the trashcan. "He tried to."

McCoy hummed in understanding. Gus almost relaxed when he stayed silent for another moment but he wasn't so lucky. "He was a bad cop, you know."

Gus frowned, turning around in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? He knew the Captain was talking about Shawn, but his words didn't make sense. Shawn wasn't capable of being a bad cop, no sir. He'd been trained in the arts of police thinking since the tender age of five, Gus knew that if it hadn't been for Henry's mistake in arresting his son, Shawn would've probably been employed by the SBPD sooner, most likely working alongside Lassiter and Juliet. He paused in his thoughts, suddenly weirded out by the thought, but shook it off. "Excuse me?"

McCoy tilted his head and hid the smile at Gus' sudden show of defensiveness. "Don't get me wrong," he told him. "He was an extraordinary detective. But he was a bad cop."

Gus' frown deepened and he shook his head in confusion. "You're not making any sense." The pharmaceutical salesman turned back to emptying the leftovers into the bin, but his mind was still trying to wrap around what the older man had said. How in the world was Shawn supposed to be a good cop and a bad one all in one. They were all nuts, these Los Angeles people.

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for another moment. He had Gus hooked, he knew that. It may not be his fault or his place to talk everything out with Gus, but maybe he would come around to speeding things up for the private investigators duo. "I'm just saying. He knew the rules and codes, alright. Passed the academy in one of the top spots. Made detective soon enough. Everyone was stunned." He paused. "But he was a bad cop. He didn't follow the rules and procedures. If he wouldn't have had a sensible partner most of the time, he would've ended up in quiet a bit more tight spots than he did like that."

Gus didn't answer for a bit, mulling over the other man's words. They brought a sense of familiarity with them, somehow. It sounded just like the Shawn he knew and sometimes not appreciated. He breathed out slowly and shook his head, putting the dishes into the sink to wash them quickly. He felt the detective's eyes on him but didn't look up to meet them.

"You need to talk," McCoy stated gruffly and started to pack up the file on the table. "Never make a decision without having all the facts. That's a rule."

"I'm not a cop," Gus reminded him.

"Doesn't mean the rule doesn't apply."

"Why are you doing this?"

McCoy looked up at him, frowning in confusion. "What?"

"You know," Gus waved one of the plates around clumsily. "Why are you trying to help Shawn and me? You're a cop. Cops don't do feelings."

"Who in the world told you that?" McCoy stared at him.

Gus frowned. "I thought it's a rule."

"Look," McCoy shook his head to get back on track. "We aren't machines or anything. We have family and a life, too. But they affect our ability to function, more often than not. That's what the rule is about. There's no place for emotions in the field. It could decide between life and death."

Gus hummed in understanding. "That's not the answer to my question, though."

The Captain tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. Smart, stubborn and focused. No wonder Shawn had managed to work so well with Clint when his own best friend had literally been the same. "I wasn't the one who wanted to hold Shawn back in the department, despite everything Shawn may think. I told you - he was a bad cop. Some day something was bound to happen, and I didn't want that." Gus looked understanding for a second there. "But this here, he seems happy. Genuinely," McCoy continued. "He was always laughing in LA, but Santa Barbara is something else entirely to him. He was going under in the department. He tried to put it all behind and start over, but the Chief wouldn't let him." McCoy sighed. "I guess what I'm saying is... I don't want to be responsible for ruining something genuine, just because Spence wasn't allowed to leave behind what he already had. Do you understand?"

Gus hesitated, before nodding slowly. "I think so." He paused. "He never wanted to come back?"

McCoy shook his head. "Not once."

They left the apartment not five minutes later, Gus' suitcase in hand, heading towards the small blue car and, against all odds, Gus felt a little bit relieved by what he had learned from the older man.