He didn't expect to wake up. He had been dead after all. He had died a hero's death (whatever that meant).

But still Shawn stirred in his bed, feeling the deep pain in his side that all the morphine in the world couldn't mask. His breathing was harsh, and each inhale felt like knives cutting into his abdomen.

But he was alive.

Shawn swallowed and opened his eyes. "Dad?" he asked, trying to focus on the figure sitting next to him.

"Shawn…it's me," Gus said, feeling his throat close up as his friend mistook him for his father. Shawn sat back in his bed as he recognized Gus sitting next to him. "Oh right," Shawn said, a little surprised. "My dad is…dead."

He closed his eyes tightly as if he was trying to escape from a dream, but that proved impossible as he realized he was already cursed with consciousness. He sighed. "What are you doing here?" he asked Gus.

"You were shot, Shawn. You almost died," Gus said. Shawn looked at him and raised his eyebrows. His friend was wearing a crumpled dress shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. There were heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days. The last time he had seen his friend this disheveled was the night after the funeral.

Shawn shook his head, not paying attention to the fact that he had almost been a dead man. "No, I mean why aren't you at work?" Shawn's voice was horse from disuse, and he swallowed dryly.

Gus stared at Shawn. Was their relationship really so bad that Shawn would think he'd choose work over him? His stomach churned with guilt as he realized the number of times that he had.

Gus rubbed his temples and sighed. "I told them I was taking a few days off. And if they wanted to fire me for missing the damn budget meeting, then they could kiss my black ass goodbye."

Shawn sat silent for a moment, then burst out laughing, causing pain to erupt in his ribs. He couldn't stop though, and kept laughing, chuckling like he hadn't in years. "Dude," he said through his giggling. "You are so bad ass."

Gus laughed with him. "You know that's right." Their laughing soon died down as they realized it had been years since Gus had said that to Shawn.

"So what happened?" Shawn asked, looking out the window of his room. It was dark outside, the clouds covering the stars.

Gus punched him in the arm, and Shawn winced. "You got shot, that's what happened. Dude, what the hell were you thinking, going out into a robbery standoff like that? Vick says she's torn between firing your ass and giving you a medal." Gus scoffed and Shawn could tell which option was more appealing to him. Gus stared at his friend, seeing for the first time the stress lines on his forehead and the slight thinning of his hair. There was a raw look of hurt there, covered up by years of saying, "I'm fine." Gus felt tremendous guilt for not having seen his friend turn into the man he was today. And for not trying to stop it.

"You were dead, you know," Gus said quietly. "For a whole three minutes in that ambulance, you were dead. That's what they told me. And then I see you, and you're pale as a ghost from blood loss, looking like you're about to die for real. You've been like that for three days," Gus said, anger mixed in with his sadness. "Do you know how that made me feel?"

"I have an idea," Shawn said thickly. His eyes were watering, but he kept the tears back. "Kind of how I've been feeling for the past fifteen years."

He said it lightly, but Gus heard the truth in it. He almost felt like hitting himself. He had let his friend live in a kind of hell for fifteen years, and hadn't batted an eye. God, what kind of friend was he?

"I'm so sorry, Shawn," Gus said.

Shawn shook his head. "You shouldn't be."

Gus raised his eyebrows. "Don't try to tell me this wasn't partly my fault, Shawn. I will kick you in the shin."

Shawn smiled wryly, feeling a kind of nostalgic joy at his friend hanging out with him like this after so long. If only it were just hanging out, and not two friends who had drifted apart, only to be brought together by a gunshot.

Only now in the presence of his friend did Shawn realize how lonely he was. There had been no one there for the last few years, no one to even grab a smoothie with. Shawn had been living with an ache in his chest that could come only from the feeling of being truly alone. But now that he was with Gus he felt it lift slightly, become a little less crushing. Shawn didn't want that relief to go away.

"Gus," Shawn said after a moment's thought. "Do you want to know why I went and got shot?" he asked. He was genuinely asking; giving Gus the choice to take him back, or leave him for the life he had now.

Gus hesitated for a moment. It was only a moment, but enough to send guilt coursing through his mind. But in the end there was no doubt over what he would say in response to Shawn's question.

"Why?" Gus asked.

"I'm a detective," Shawn explained slowly. "When my dad died, I decided to be a cop. I don't even know why anymore," Shawn said wiping his eyes. "Some shit about needing to live up to him. I needed to, "carry on the Spencer legacy," or some other crap. So I became a police officer. I didn't think about my dad anymore, because that would mean questioning if becoming the cop was the right thing to do. And I was so sick of indecision."

Gus only listened. Listened to something he probably should have heard fifteen years ago.

"And then somehow…being a cop was all I had. If I wasn't a cop, I would have to feel all that crap, and I knew it would just hurt too much. If I wasn't a cop I wouldn't be able to cope." I wouldn't be hero material.

Shawn took a break to breathe, feeling winded just from this short speech to Gus. He forced himself to go on, knowing if he didn't get it all out now, he might have to go back to the way he was before. An unfeeling droid.

"I don't think I ever let go of my dad, you know?" Shawn said his eyes red. "I never thought about him – I couldn't let myself – but I never let him go. I lived in his house, cooked his steak; I lived his damn life," Shawn chuckled without any humor. "And I just couldn't take that anymore."

"Shawn," Gus said slowly. "If your dad was still here, I think he would have made us talk about this years ago."

Shawn laughed again, feeling his sadness break a little as a shard of happiness came into it. "He would have."

He sighed and looked at Gus again. Gus knew Shawn hated exposing himself like this, but the fact that he did it anyway was enough to make Gus hope that his friend could be happy again.

"Gus…" Shawn said, a tear managing to escape his eyes before he quickly wiped his eyes. "I miss my dad."

"I miss him too," Gus said, pretending to not notice the trail the tear had left on Shawn's cheek.

Others came to visit Shawn in his hospital bed. Some gave him a pat on the back for what he had done, some dressed him down for being an idiot. Shawn had fully expected to recieve a lecture from Lassiter for putting himself in danger like that.

Lassiter came in the same day as Gus had, to get his statement. When he walked in he simply said, "Spencer, you're an idiot."

"Well, I don't know about that," Shawn said. "Most go with 'genius', or even 'the most amazing man I've ever seen in my life.'"

Lassiter rolled his eyes. He sat at the side of Shawn's bed, only sitting there for a moment. Then he looked Shawn in the eye. "I'm not here to get touchy feely or anything like that," he said. "I'm just here to get your statement."

"But your father was my hero," he admitted. "I looked up to him, everyone did. And when you enrolled in the academy, I saw an opportunity to take you under my wing, to repay your dad for all he taught me. Truth be told, I probably expected too much of you. It sometimes felt like the police station expected you to follow in your father's footsteps." Lassiter pointed his pen at Shawn. "I don't think any of us expected you to follow his footsteps to the letter though, Spencer."

Shawn couldn't decide if Lassiter's tone was accusatory, proud, or weary. Or perhaps some combination of the three.

"With all due respect, Detective, I was never one to act according to expectations," Shawn said, looking Lassiter in the eyes.

Lassiter smiled to himself and nodded. "You got that right, Spencer."

"Before I give my statement," Shawn said, a little hesitant, "could you give this to the chief?" He grabbed an envelope off his bedside table and gave it to Lassiter.

Lassiter looked at the envelope curiously. "What's this?"

"My two week's notice."

Lassiter looked at Shawn in shock as he put his hands behind his head. "I think I'll go to Mexico," Shawn said quietly. "I've always wanted to go there."

"The department will miss you, you know," Lassiter said, not sure if he was more surprised that Shawn was leaving, or saddened by the fact that he had known it would happen eventually.

Shawn nodded. "I don't think I'll miss it though."

Lassiter shook his head, amused. "You never were one to follow expectations, Spencer."