Shawn made it back to their home in record speed and quickly got in the car to race to the hospital. He needed to see Lassie. He needed to talk some sense into the detective- remind him what he's made of.

He drove quickly down the all too familiar road between their home and the hospital. He hated knowing it with his eyes closed. He hated knowing every tree and every turn and every road sign just as well as he knew the road between his house and his dad's, or Gus's, or even to the Psych office.

Not that he didn't have all of the roads in Santa Barbara memorized anyways. When he was younger, his dad had spent an entire week making him learn every single road within a 50 mile radius of their house then testing him by blindfolding him for a drive and making Shawn tell him where they were. Shawn remembered being eleven years old sitting blindfolded in the back seat thanking whatever stars led his dad to live somewhere that backed up to an ocean so he didn't have to learn every direction from their house.

But this was different. This road carried more weight. It was the road he had driven on when Juliet texted him that something had happened to Lassiter. It was the road he had driven when he got the text that something was wrong when they lost the baby. It was the road he had driven Juliet on every other week for nearly a year while she was doing chemo.

He saw a fire hydrant on the side of the road and tried to shake away the ghosts he had left on this road.

"Jules, are you okay?" He asked, unable to keep his eyes on the road. It was late in Juliet's treatment, and her thin body lay slumped over, her shiny head resting on the window, bouncing with every blemish in the road.

Her eyes were closed tightly, and Shawn watched carefully as she worked to take each desperate breath.

"Mmhm," she said softly, nodding her head.

"Jules, tell me what's wrong," He put his hand out to touch her arm. He felt her icy cold hand reach over to pat his own.

"I just," Juliet took a short breath, "I don't feel so goo-"

She was cut off by a coughing fit before she began losing the little bit of breakfast she had managed to eat before her chemo for the day.

"Jules!" Shawn quickly pulled over and ran around the car. He carefully opened the door and put a hand on her back. She had her hands over her face, and she was folded over trying to catch her breath.

"Come here," he said, helping her out of the car and sitting down with her, him leaning against the fire hydrant, her leaning against him. He hadn't seen this side of the treatment yet. He had just found out it was affecting her so badly, and he didn't quite know how to react.

They sat quietly for a minute. Shawn watched cars pass down the road, a few curious children in the back seats catching his eyes and watching them. He felt Juliet's breaths become easier in his arms.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said softly, letting Shawn hold up her exhausted body.

"Too bad I'm not a firefighter," Shawn said, looking down to catch her eyes and smiling. "I could use this fire hydrant to clean you up,"

"I don't think that's how it works Shawn," Juliet said, a smile crossing her face.

"Of course it is!" He said, confidently. "You know I would have been a firefighter if my father hadn't told me that it was a terrible career choice."

"So you became a psychic instead?" Juliet asked, the glistening of playful mischief returning to her eyes.

"Exactly!" Shawn said, "So really, you can blame my father for the fact that I cannot clean you up right now."

"I'll make sure I tell him that next time I see him,"

"Good, you should."

He started to say something else, but Juliet suddenly began coughing again and dry heaving over Shawn's legs. "It's okay," Shawn said, calmly, gently rubbing her back. "I've got you."

It had been right before she had gone downhill and had spent nearly a month in the hospital and he did this drive more times than he could count.

He soon pulled into the hospital and was taken on autopilot to the elevator. But this time he got to press the button for the eleventh floor, grateful he was no longer having to go to the ICU to visit the detective.

This floor was so much calmer than the ICU. Each room had a real door that closed and there were so many fewer people hustling around. But what Shawn was most struck by was how much quieter it was on this floor. Not like the ICU, where monitors were going off every second, one after another from every direction. The symphony of ringing and groans that filled the halls still haunted his dreams.

Shawn walked in the direction of Lassiter's door which was slightly open. He peeked his head in and saw a woman about his dad's age sitting next to Lassiter's bed giving him instructions.

"Good job, Carlton!" she said, her scratchy voice encouraging him. Shawn looked over at Lassiter. He didn't look like he was moving. He was sitting up, his left hand resting on the bedside table.

"Now slide your hand across the table," Shawn watched as Lassiter slowly and methodically pulled his hand across the table. "Use your other hand if you need help," Lassiter readjusted so his right hand was on top of his left and began pulling the weak arm.

"Now back the other way. Last time, Carlton! You're doing so good!"

Shawn watched Lassiter- Detective Lassiter- sitting at the table, pulling one hand across with the other hand because it did need the help.

"Hello!" the woman said, noticing Shawn at the door, "Can I help you?"

Lassiter's head turned aggressively to the door. "Spencer. What are you doing here?"

His voice sounded sharp and the words fell heavy.

"Shawn Spencer," Shawn said, sticking out a hand. "I am Detective Lassiter's Doula,"

"You're his birthing coach?" the woman said, looking from Shawn to Lassiter.

"Don't listen to him. He's an idiot."

"You hurt me, Lassie face," Shawn said, putting his hands on his heart in mock defeat.

"Shawn, Carol," Lassiter said in short words.

"I'm Carlton's physical therapist. We were just finishing up, so I'll leave you two alone." She stood up and patted Lassiter on the shoulder. "Really great work this week, Carlton. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but I am already starting to see progress in you. Keep doing your exercises."

She walked out of the room, leaving Shawn standing arms folded on the side of the room.

"What do you want, Spencer?"

Shawn walked around the bed to take Carol's seat. "I'm coming to see you, man! I want to see how you're doing! I haven't seen you in a while." He reached a hand out, gripping tightly onto Lassiter's knee. Just for a moment. Not too long to make him uncomfortable, but long enough to reassure Shawn that thankfully, miraculously, he was still here.

It had been entirely too long since he had visited Lassie in the hospital. Since the Lily incident actually. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was just…hard. Hard to see the man who he had come to admire as the epitome of strength and determination in such a vulnerable position. It confused his eidetic memory seeing his competent and fearless friend completely useless in a hospital when he could so clearly picture him from before. Every time he saw Lassie now, he had to remind himself that this is how he is now, silencing the years of film reel he had gathered in his mind of solving cases with Lassie and Juliet, playing tricks and making witty remarks against the detective's once quick mind that now had to visibly process every small sentence directed towards him.

No, that wasn't why he was here. He didn't need more reasons to be sad for all that Lassie had lost. He needed more reminders of how grateful he was that Lassiter was still alive at all. They could have lost him. They were supposed to lose him. Wasn't that what the doctors had told Marlowe the night of his stroke? Hope for the best and prepare for the worst? The fact that he was here at all was a miracle, and Shawn for one wanted to relish in the miracle. Not lock it in a room full of loss and grief.

"This is not where you should be seeing me." Shawn watched closely as Lassie placed his strong hand over the other, hiding his tightened fingers from view. Shawn took in the room, the monitors, the equipment, everything there to help Lassie do all the things he couldn't do on his own anymore. And it was a lengthy list.

"Well, this is where you are, Lassie, so this is where I am seeing you." He tried to sound confident. He wanted to be convincing. He had to prove to Lassiter that he was happy to see him at all, even if it was in a stark white room with medical equipment lining every wall.

"No one should be seeing me like this." His eyes shifted around. Shawn saw his eyes stop in the corner before returning to Shawn's general direction.

"I'm completely useless. I can't even move half of my body. What's even the point?" So bluntly, like an animal locking in on his prey. Except the way Lassie was looking at whatever it was, he was definitely looking more like the prey than the predator. It hurt Shawn to see how truly Lassie believed every word he was saying. He was embarrassed. He was hurting. He felt alone. But he wasn't alone. He had a whole station full of detectives and officers constantly asking Juliet about his progress and a family who would do anything to bring him home. The anger in his voice punctured Shawn's chest and he could feel his friend's sadness and defeat flowing through his own veins. But the frustration and hurt that he felt for Lily after waking up to her crying for her dad every single night ran deeper.

"You know, Lily just wants to see you. She misses her Dad," Shawn could see pain flash across his face.

"She doesn't want to see me like this." He motioned to himself with his strong hand, before using it to move his weak hand onto his lap under the table. Hiding. It felt like that was the only skill Lassiter had regained sometimes- the ability to hide away and dodge questions and care like the plague.

"She does though. You're her dad and she misses you. She talks about you all the time."

"She does?" He asked, his eyes downturned, studying his hidden hand under the bedside table.

"Are you kidding, Lassie?" Shawn asked, cocking his head to get a better look at Lassiter, trying to make sense of what could possibly be going through his mind. "I think she asks when she can come see you about four times an hour- and that's just when she's with me and Gus."

For a second, it looked like Lassiter's eyes got softer, and what looked like a smile began to form at the corners of his slightly bearded upper lip.

But it felt short-lived. And when he spoke again, the words came out harsher than before. More deflated.

"Think about your dad," he said, his brow furrowing in frustration, "what if he couldn't do everything that he used to be able to do? What kind of father can't play and run around with his daughter?"

"Lassie! Think about your dad," Shawn interjected, wishing he could slap the insecurities right out of him. "Didn't he die when you were a kid?"

"Yes," Lassie said in his short voice.

"And? Wouldn't you rather have more time with him, even if he couldn't do everything he used to be able to?" Shawn continued to press.

"I mean," Lassie looked around again, his eyes sad with memory. "I guess?"

"Listen Lassie Face," Shawn said, taking a square stance against the bed so he could look right at Lassiter, even if Lassiter couldn't seem to look right at him. "Do you know how much Lily looks up to you? Every day, all she does is talk about her brave daddy and how much she misses him. Not how he got hurt or how he won't be the same, even though she knows that because it's all people keep reminding her. But she doesn't care. She just wants you home."

"How can you know that?" Lassiter asked, studying his kinked fingers sticking out of his new hand brace from Carol. "She's four years old- you don't know that she understands any of this. She's just a child."

"Maybe," Shawn said, shrugging, "but she's your kid, so she's gotta have at least some second class smarts. And she's been spending an awful lot of time with me, and I have definitely made her smarter." He smiled, already prepared for the most aggressive eye roll Lassie could manage.

Laughing at the first glimmer of happiness he had seen on Lassie's face in months, he continued, "Lily just wants her dad. And Marlowe just wants her husband. They just want you back, no matter what you can or can't do."

"When did you become so mature?" Lassiter asked, moving his hand back on the table, but Shawn wasn't listening.

"Besides, Marlowe and Jules have been spending so much time together, if you don't get home soon, I'm pretty sure they're going to leave us for each other. And then you and I will have to get married to win them back."

"Spencer," Lassiter said, deadpan. But Shawn was convinced he could see a smile starting to form under his overgrown beard.

"What do you say?" Shawn asked, wiggling his eyebrows in excitement. "You ready to Shassie it up to win our wives back?"

"Spencer." He said again. "Shut up." His voice was short, but the corners of his eyes were clearly upturned.

"C'mon!" Shawn said, excited to see the slightest bit of joy in Lassie's face for the first time in forever. "We can do some spooning- I'll even let you be the little spoon."

"Ha," Lassie said, shortly. "I would rather spoon a brown bear."

But Shawn was no longer paying attention to his words. He was more excited by Lassie's left hand, which was suddenly moving independently across the table. It was a slow movement, and it only moved a few inches, but it was moving, without the help of his other hand.

"Lassie!" Shawn cried, cutting him off. "Your hand- you moved it!"

"I did?" He asked, his eyes dropping to his hand, shock dancing across his face.

"I saw it! You slid it on the table."

Staring at his hand, Lassiter slowly lifted his pointer finger off the table. The movement was unsteady, shaky. But it was definitely happening. And it was definitely intentional.

"I…I…" He was stunned, sequentially lifting up each finger, just a little bit, all on their own. It was like the connection had suddenly been re-established. It wasn't perfect. The movement was unstable at best, and Shawn could tell by the deep lines in Lassiter's forehead that each movement took a great deal of effort. But he was moving his left side, for the first time in six weeks, all on his own.

"I hadn't done that before."

Shawn took it as a win.