Shawn awoke with a start, momentarily confused as to his surroundings. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was on the couch at Gus' apartment, the same place he'd awakened for the past few mornings.

His cell phone was ringing, and Shawn wearily reached over to answer. "Hello?"

"Mr. Spencer, this is Edward Malloy," the voice began. Shawn groaned inwardly. Malloy was the funeral director in charge of his father's services, and Shawn had spoken to the man far more in two days than he'd ever thought could be necessary. Each conversation had been a brutal reminder of the circumstances, another painful jab to Shawn's fragile psyche.

"Yes, Mr. Malloy," Shawn fought to keep his voice steady. "What can I do for you? I thought we'd taken care of everything already."

"Almost," Malloy said patiently. There was a note of sympathy in his deep voice as he gently reminded, "You never decided on the wording."

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit. Dammit all to hell, I hate this. "Okay," he responded softly. "I'll try and stop by later this morning." Even though I really don't want to.

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Spencer," Malloy replied politely.

"Yeah," Shawn said as he hung up and dropped his face into his hands. And stop calling me 'Mr. Spencer'. That's Dad's name. Was Dad's name, he corrected himself miserably.

Gus appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Morning, Shawn. Who was that?"

"Malloy. Again. He's asking about the headstone. I...forgot to tell him what I want it to say."

Gus raised an eyebrow. "Forgot?"

Shawn snorted. "Okay, fine. Picking wording for Dad's headstone just seems so...final. The rest of it…I could deal with that somehow." He chuckled dryly. "Especially since Dad had most of it prearranged for some morbid reason." I guess I should be glad that he was so anal about future plans and crap like that. God only knows how much I'd be talking to Malloy if Dad hadn't done it himself. "But the words…I can't…I just can't. I don't even know what it should say. It shouldn't be this hard." He rubbed his temples in an attempt to massage away the ever-present headache. "It's stupid."

As he had so many times in the preceding days, Gus sat down beside his friend and squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's not stupid, Shawn. Your father died very unexpectedly. No one blames you for having trouble making these decisions. You're doing a lot better with it than I would be." Gus hadn't been surprised to discover that Henry had made the vast majority of his own funeral arrangements. It was exactly the sort of thing that he had grown to expect from the no-nonsense former cop, and for Shawn's sake he was thankful for the foresight.

"I just want this to be over, Gus. I hate it. I hate everything about this whole process." He looked at his best friend, eyes shining brightly. "I miss him, Gus."

"I know," Gus said sincerely.

Abruptly, Shawn stood. "I guess I should shower and head over to the funeral home. The sooner I decide on that damn wording, the sooner we can get this over with." He paused. "Will you drop me at the house so I can get my bike?" So far Shawn had managed to avoid returning to his father's house, but knew it was inevitable. He was tired of depending on Gus for transportation, anyway.

"Sure, buddy," Gus said, carefully studying his friend's face. "If you think you're ready."

"Ready as I'll ever be," Shawn replied with a shrug.

After retrieving his motorcycle and finishing at the funeral home, Shawn found himself driving toward the Psych office. He wasn't sure what he planned on doing there – they didn't have any open cases and it wasn't like he could concentrate anyway – but it felt good just to ride and before long he was parking his Norton outside the front door.

Shawn's cell phone started ringing as soon as he got inside, and he noticed with disgust that it was the funeral home for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Jesus, Malloy," he said out loud. "It's been ten minutes! Enough already! Just make the damn decisions yourself!" He simply couldn't talk to the man again so soon, and tossed the phone on his desk with a huff.

It was the first time that Shawn had been entirely alone since Juliet and Lassiter had shown up at his father's house two days prior. The ensuing 48 hours had been a blur of arrangements, phone calls, condolences and questions, but Gus had been there for all of it. And while Shawn appreciated Gus' presence – more than he'd ever be able to convey – he was beginning to feel smothered. He just needed to be alone for a little while, to have some time to catch his breath, to sort out his feelings. To try and come to terms with his father's untimely death. It had taken quite a bit of fast talking for Shawn to convince his protective best friend that he'd be okay by himself for a couple of hours, but eventually Gus had reluctantly acquiesced.

But now that he was all alone with his thoughts, Shawn missed his buddy's company desperately. Don't think, he told himself sternly. Thinking is bad. Pineapple is good. Look for pineapple! Shawn wandered over to the fridge. I know I had some in here. Sure enough, when he opened the refrigerator door there was a plastic container full of sliced pineapple. Shawn smiled as he pulled it out, but the moment of happiness was fleeting. Behind the pineapple rested another container, one that was filled with leftover roast and potatoes. The smile dropped from Shawn's face as he read the handwritten note taped to the plastic dish. 'I expect to get this one back, son. Or else. –Dad'

For some reason, seeing the words written by his father's hand was simply more than Shawn could handle. He hurriedly replaced the pineapple and backed away from the fridge, grabbing for a nearby trash bin in blind desperation. He barely made it before losing the entire contents of his stomach, meager as they were. God.

At that instant, Shawn's cell started ringing again and he yelled, "Stop calling me, dammit!" The phone continued ringing, and he stumbled over to the desk and picked it up irritably. Without even looking at the display he flung it as hard as he could, feeling only marginally satisfied at the resounding crunch of shattering electronics against the wood floor.

After two long days of fighting to keep it all together, Shawn finally began to break down. "I should have been on time! I'm sorry, Dad!" Shawn bit his lip, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. This is all my fault!"

Without thinking Shawn struck out, searching for an outlet to release his pain. Blindly he slammed his right fist into the wall and startled at the resulting crack. He saw the damage to the sheetrock a few seconds before it registered in his hand. "Ow!" Shawn gasped. He staggered into the damaged wall and slid down, clutching his newly injured hand against his body.

Shawn's heart pounded and his breathing came too fast, and it took a huge effort to get it under control again. He leaned his head against the wall with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. Once he finally stopped fighting, exhaustion claimed him almost immediately and when Shawn opened his eyes again, it was to stare into the face of a very concerned Gus.

"Shawn! What is going on? I've been trying to call…what happened here?" Gus glanced at the wall above Shawn's head, taking in the busted sheetrock with a frown.

"I think I broke my hand," Shawn said pitifully, holding up the injury for Gus to see.

Gus yelped in surprise when he saw the bruised, swollen fingers. "Yeah, I think you did. Come on, let's get you to the ER." He moved to help his friend stand, but stopped at the slowly shaking head he received in response. "What do you mean, no? You need to get that looked at, Shawn."

"I know. But…I just…" Without warning the dam broke, and Shawn couldn't keep silent any longer. He barely managed to hold back the flood of tears as he told Gus everything, finishing with, "Don't you see? It's my fault that Dad died! If I'd been on time for once, I could have saved his life! This is all because of me!"

Gus sighed. He had been waiting on this conversation even as he'd hoped it wouldn't happen. "Shawn, don't. Please don't do this to yourself. Juliet-"

Shawn didn't give his friend the chance to finish. "He was alone, Gus!" Shawn's voice caught, and he choked back a sob as he persisted, "My dad died alone, in his kitchen! He deserved better than that! He was my father!"

"There's nothing you could have done," Gus chose his words carefully.

"You don't know that! What if I could have saved him?" Shawn winced as he gestured a little too emphatically with his injured hand.

Gus knelt in front of Shawn and put both hands firmly on his friend's trembling shoulders. "I do know that, Shawn. That's what Juliet was calling to tell you."

Shawn was confused. "What? Jules called?" Both men glanced over at the shattered remains of a cell phone. "Oh," Shawn said meekly.

"Yeah," Gus replied with a sigh. He didn't bother to ask why Shawn's phone was in pieces – he had a pretty good idea. Instead, he continued, "She called me when she couldn't reach you. The autopsy report is back."

"Ohhh," Shawn breathed. He had been dreading the results for two days. This is the moment of truth. Where I find out for sure that everything really is my fault. "Well?"

"It's like I was trying to tell you, Shawn." Gus softened his tone as he continued, "There's nothing you could have done. The report puts the time of death at almost three hours before you arrived. Even if you had been on time, it would have been too late." He looked directly into Shawn's reddened eyes and spoke gently, as if to a frightened child. "There's nothing you could have done."

Stunned, Shawn didn't respond right away. Gus watched his friend carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Finally, Shawn whispered, "But he was alone. He…he died all alone."

"I know," Gus said soothingly, "I know." There was more, but he waited patiently for Shawn to gather himself and ask.

"So…what…" Shawn trailed off. "What happened? Was he in pain?" He was torn. He wanted – he needed – to know, but at the same time dreaded the answers.

Gus smiled sadly. "No pain," he assured his friend. "The coroner said it was a massive heart attack." He looked Shawn square in the eye and said firmly, "He was gone before he hit the floor. Even if you'd been there, it would have happened too fast. There's nothing you could have done to help him, Shawn. He probably didn't even realize what was going on."

Shawn let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "He didn't suffer?"

Gus shook his head emphatically. "No. He didn't. I promise."

Gus wouldn't lie to me. Shawn leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Dad didn't suffer. He didn't die scared and alone and wondering where I was, why I wasn't there to help him. Relief flooded his fatigued body, and the throbbing of his injury began to momentarily outweigh the aching of his heart.

"Come on," Gus said quietly. "We need to get you to a doctor." When Shawn didn't move right away, Gus went and found an ice pack in the freezer. He returned to Shawn's side and gently laid it against his friend's swollen hand.

Shawn's eyes flew open and he gasped. "Ow!"

Gus winced in sympathy. "Sorry. Come on, let's get you up." Nodding weakly, Shawn finally allowed Gus to help him to his feet. Gus kept a steadying hand under his friend's good arm and wrapped the other around his waist. Shawn leaned gratefully into the support and much as they had those few nights before, the two men shuffled slowly toward the waiting blue car.