He sat outside his Dad's place for a long time. It was stupid – he was raised in this house, and over the last few years had spent a lot of time here. So why was he nervous?
Because life had changed, dramatically, since he'd been kidnapped. The world as he had known it had tilted drastically and he still wasn't sure of himself. And worse than that, he wasn't sure if the people he cared for really cared for him.
He snorted softly. He was being ridiculous, he knew. Of course they cared for him. In his saner moments he knew that for a fact. What he didn't know is whether or not those people would be happier without him constantly in their lives.
He could be irritating – he knew that and in the past had reveled in it. But now – now he felt like he'd started to grow up and the opinions of other people did matter to him.
But if he stopped being himself – would that be any better? Could he be mature Shawn and still be – Shawn? He didn't know.
He suddenly patted his breast pocket and chuckled. He had been mature Shawn the last few months and he'd pulled off straight A's in college. He had the paper to prove it and he was still himself …. wasn't he?
He sighed and slowly dismounted his bike. He was still confused, and still didn't know who he was – or who he wanted to be. But what he did want was to see his Dad. He was surprised at how crucial that felt right now. He just hoped that his Dad would want to see him.
He walked to the front door, giving a smile and a wave to old Mr. Jenkins, who was standing on his porch staring at him. The old man scowled and turned and entered his house. He still hadn't forgiven Shawn for the broken window 20 years ago.
He reached out to open his father's door, but then paused. Should he knock?
He shook his head. God – he hadn't changed that much, had he? He took a deep breath and turned the handle.
He walked softly towards the kitchen, from where he could hear sounds emanating. His father must be preparing lunch for himself.
"Hey Dad."
His father had been bent over, retrieving a pot from the cupboard. At the sound of Shawn's voice he dropped the pan, stood up so fast he almost fell over, and let out a strangled, "Shawn?"
"Heya pops!" Shawn said, a grin on his face but with eyes that showed how nervous and hesitant he felt.
"Shawn!" Henry repeated. He quickly walked over to his son, but frowned as Shawn jumped and stepped back. Henry paused, but at Shawn's sheepish grin he laughed softly.
"Come here!" he said, drawing his son into a hug. "God, it's good to see you Shawn."
To say that Shawn was surprised was an understatement. As he returned his father's hug – and wasn't that weird – he felt a sudden sense of relief come over him. His father loved him – he really did.
It felt good to be home.
"Let's take a look at you," Henry said as he finally let go and stepped back. His face was slightly flushed, and his eyes overly bright, but he'd donned his usual gruff persona and looked his son over from head to toe.
"You've put some weight back on," Henry noted, "although you could still use a few pounds. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Shawn told him, still feeling rather bemused. "I feel fine. Uh – how are you?"
"Me? I'm fine Shawn. Why wouldn't I be?" he answered, sounding slightly irritated. "I'm not the one who got hurt."
Slowly Shawn grinned. Now this was the Henry he knew and - okay fine, that he knew and loved.
His father's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked.
"Nothing. It's just – good to be home."
"Yes, well, if you didn't have a habit of running off, you could be a home all the time."
"I don't have a habit of running off," disputed Shawn. "I only left once right after high school – and that is not a habit!"
"Okay, okay," Henry put up his hand in defeat. "Now, are you hungry? I was just making some lunch."
"Sure, that would be good. I had breakfast hours ago."
Henry watched Shawn out of the corner of his eye as they two men made their way to the kitchen. He noticed that Shawn was still limping – the doctor said he might retain a small limp permanently – but he was moving much better than the last time he'd seen his son.
"I'm fine Dad," Shawn said, having noticed his father's examination. "I promise."
"Can't a father be concerned about his son?" Henry asked mildly, as he moved to the refrigerator. "I've been worried about you."
"I wrote and told you I was okay," Shawn defended himself.
"You wrote once," his father pointed out. "And your letter said – practically nothing except you were off somewhere with camels!"
"They're lovely beasts," Shawn told him. "Very gentle and friendly."
"They're mean and they spit!"
Shawn sighed, although inside he began to relax. This was all so familiar – Henry was acting just like he always had and for some, perverse reason, Shawn was enjoying the familiarity of their back-and-forth.
"I was in Pasadena," he suddenly blurted.
"Are there camels in Pasadena?" his father asked flippantly.
"Of course not," Shawn rolled his eyes as he sat and watched his father prepare lunch.
"Okay – and what were you doing in Pasadena?"
There was a pause while Shawn debated whether to tell his father or not. He'd planned to – he'd even brought his grades to show off. But now – now he was feeling frightened and embarrassed about the whole thing.
Would his father call him an idiot? Would he tell Shawn that he wasn't smart enough – that he'd failed at everything (okay almost everything – Psych excepted) he'd tried. He could almost hear his father ridiculing him, laughing at him, telling him to try something he could handle.
"Shawn?" his father's voice interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up, to see a ery worried expression on Henry's face. Shawn closed his eyes and took a deep breath – hoping, praying that Henry wouldn't laugh at him.
"I've been going to college," he said in a rush.
That didn't get the reaction he'd been expecting. Instead of laughing at him – or, and this was less likely, turning to him and saying how proud he …
"Really?" his father interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes," he answered – not because he didn't have more to say (he always had more to say) but because he was still waiting for the ball to drop.
"What college?"
"Pasadena City College," he said quietly. "I figured I'd start small."
Henry blinked and then put down the spoon he was holding, took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hand. "What are you studying?"
"I took a variety of classes. I'm not sure yet what I want to pursue."
That caused his father's eyebrows to go up. "You want to keep going?"
"Of course," he frowned. "What good is one semester?"
Again Henry breathed – deeply and slowly. After letting out the air in his lungs he reached down and once more picked up the spoon. As he turned back to the counter he said something Shawn had rarely heard from his father.
"Good for you. I'm proud of you Shawn," his father said. "Very proud."
His father's words had screwed with their entire dynamic. He really had no idea how to deal with this kind, gentle and compassionate Henry. He wondered if his father was reacting this way out of pity – pity for what he'd been through. Did he think that Shawn was somehow less than he'd been before? He frowned – he'd certainly wondered that.
"Here you go," Henry put a plate in from of him and then sat down himself. "Now, tell me about college. What classes did you take?"
Okay – it might be weird, and it might be throwing him off his usual game – but he had to admit that he rather liked having his father show interest in something he was doing – that wasn't a "I wanna be a cop when I grow up" kind of thing.
So, he embarked on a description of his classes, his professors and his fellow students. Of course he embellished it a bit – because, hell, he was Shawn Spencer. But mostly he told his father the truth – and Henry seemed to be enjoying it immensely. He laughed, asked questions and generally treated Shawn like someone he liked. It was … different.
"So – you enjoyed it?" his father asked after they'd talked for almost an hour.
"I did," he answered, seriously. "It was nice to do something different and I had some great profs." He frowned suddenly. "But I did feel old," he said. "Most of the students are young enough to be my kids!"
"Shawn – you're 30. You would have had to be very precocious to have college aged kids. Unless there's something you're not telling me?"
Shawn grinned. He hadn't enjoyed a conversation with his father this much in – hell – in forever. "Nah – unfortunately my prowess with the opposite sex didn't start until much later," he said. "But they did seem young."
"Yeah – one of the perks of growing old. Hell, I went to the doctor the other day and I swear she looked like she was in kindergarten! Now, should I ask … how did you do?"
Shawn smiled, reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to his father.
"What's this?" Henry frowned.
"Open it and you'll see," Shawn told him.
Henry's eyebrows went up but he did as Shawn suggested and opened the paper. He squinted for a moment and then sighed and stood up. "Need my glasses," he explained.
He searched until he found his reading glasses, and then he sat down and once more looked at the paper.
Again, his father did not react the way he had expected. Instead he stared at the page way longer than it should take anyone to see a few grades. After that he slowly raised his head, a serious frown on his face.
"These are your grades, Shawn."
"I know," Shawn rolled his eyes. "You always asked to see my report card, so this time I thought I'd beat you to the punch."
Henry looked down again. When he lifted his head his expression had changed – to one Shawn could barely read, although it didn't look bad.
"Shawn – you got straight A's."
"I know," he grinned. "Pretty neat, huh?"
"Neat? This isn't neat Shawn – this is – amazing! I can't believe this. I always knew you were smart, and I also knew you didn't try your hardest but –"
"But?"
"But hell! I thought I was proud of you before. Now! I'm really proud of you. This is wonderful. You even got an A in Math, for god's sake."
"I know," he grinned, but then the grin slowly faded. "I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it – and I did. It felt … good."
"See, isn't that what I always -" suddenly Henry stopped and literally bit his lip.
"Dad?"
"Nothing Shawn. I'm just – really proud of you – and so glad to see you again!"
Shawn knew that his father had been about to do the old "I told you so tango" that he liked to play often. But this time he'd stopped himself and instead had praised his son.
"Who are you and what have you done with Henry Spencer?" his son asked.
"What are you talking about Shawn," the "this is more like the Henry I know" said. "All I'm doing is telling you something positive. Don't go and make more of it than you need to."
"I'm not – I'm just – surprised."
"Surprised? You didn't think I'd be proud of you?" Henry asked curiously.
Shawn shrugged. "I wasn't even sure you'd want to see me," he said quietly.
That caused Henry to frown and slowly set down the paper he was still holding. "What are you talking about?" he said. "You're my son. Of course I want to see you. In fact, I missed you these last few months. Whatever gave you the idea I wouldn't want to see you?"
Shawn shrugged, but a moment later his father's hand covered his.
"Shawn, look at me," Henry said softly. "What is this about?"
Shawn sighed and looked around the kitchen – where he'd spent so many years listening to his father try and mold him into a cop. He wondered if his life would be much different if he'd listened.
"I just figured – well, I know you've been disappointed for me for years and that you've hated what I've done with my life."
Henry closed his eyes for a moment and then sat back in his chair. "Listen Shawn – I haven't always agreed with everything you've done, that's true. But the fact is, the last few years I have been proud of you – and yes, I've also been irritated by your shenanigans -"
He stopped when Shawn laughed. "Shenanigans, Dad?" he son teased. "Is that any different than tomfoolery?"
"Shawn!" his father warned.
"Sorry. Continue."
"Well, what I was trying to say, is that I have been proud of what you've accomplished with Psych. I don't always agree with your methods, but you do know what you're doing and you do it well. And – well – I think what you're doing is a better fit for you than being a cop."
Shawn's eyes grew big and he leaned forward. "You really aren't Henry Spencer, are you?" he asked wonderingly. "I – wow." Shawn then grew serious. "Thank you. That means a lot.'
"So now, tell me where you got this stupid idea I wouldn't want to see you?"
"I guess – before I was kidnapped – it seemed like everyone hated me. While I was – being held – I was sure that no one was looking for me," he said quietly. "In fact, I convinced myself that everyone would be happier if I – if I died."
Henry looked at him in shock. "Shawn," he said, running his hand over his head. "How could you possibly think that. Sometimes you can drive people a bit crazy – but that doesn't mean people don't care for you. God kid – I love you – you're my son. And I know that you're the most important person in the world to Gus. He hasn't been the same since you've been gone.'
"I figured he'd do better without me," Shawn confessed. "I – hold him back."
"Hold him back? Are you kidding? Without you Gus would be -"
"Would be?" Shawn prompted when Henry stopped speaking.
"He'd be boring as hell," Henry said. "Gus has a tendency to be rather – uh – straight laced," he said. "You bring out the best in him."
Shawn blinked – not quite sure if he was dreaming this whole conversation. But whether or not it was a dream or reality – he knew that his father's words were beginning to heal some of the wounds of the last few months.
"So – you and Gus don't hate me?"
"Of course not Shawn. Don't be ridiculous."
"Now that's the Dad I know!" Shawn told him. "I was starting to wonder if you'd been cloned. All this praise and sweetness is rather – disturbing."
Henry chuckled. "Yeah, don't get used to it. I'm sure you'll do something stupid and I'll get irritated and we'll be at each other's throats and then thing will be back to normal!"
"I do not do stupid things," Shawn defended himself. "You just over-react!"
Henry laughed and shook his head. God, it was good to have his son home again.
"Have some dessert," he told Shawn, getting up and grabbing the cake he'd made. And then you should call Gus – and Lassiter and Juliet. They've missed you too."
"Lassy?" Shawn said through a mouthful of chocolate cake crumbs. "Miss me? Hah – I'm sure he's enjoyed the last few months immensely.
"Mmm – maybe, although I rather doubt that. I think he got used to having you around, even if he wouldn't want to admit it. Life at the station is not as interesting as it was."
Shawn smirked and took another bit of cake. He loved the idea that Lassiter would miss him.
"Uh – what about Juliet," he finally asked. He had tried to get her out of his mind – feeling like he wasn't good enough for the blond detective – but it hadn't worked. The fact was, he was head-over-heels in love with her.
"Detective O'Hara?" his father asked. "She called quite a bit at the beginning, wondering if I'd heard from you, but after a while she stopped. You really need to give her a call," his father said, innocently. "I think she was hurt you didn't get in touch."
Shawn had wanted to. He'd wanted to call her, to talk to her – but his sudden onset of doubt had convinced him that she didn't need him in her life either. It had about killed him, and now he could kick himself. He hoped she would forgive him.
"Call her," his father said gently. "I'm sure she'll understand."
Shawn looked sharply at his father – who was clearing the table and not looking at him. Did he know? Shawn hoped not, but he also knew his father was incredibly observant (he'd gotten much of that from his Dad). He felt somewhat embarrassed, but also excited. He wanted to see her – and Gus and even Lassie.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was home.