Gus' pen drummed against the table as he stared through his comic without taking in a word. Relaxing when Shawn was stuck in their room was always hard, but this time was the worst. He could have made it, he could have given Shawn something to do. Maybe even gotten him out of their room for a few minutes… But instead he was sitting here feeling grumpy as the end of his lunch break ticked down.

He could have ignored what Shawn had said and gone home anyway, but he couldn't. He had to prove that he trusted Shawn to know what he could handle.

And, really, he'd been doing so well, it made sense that he'd be able to handle being alone for so long. It was just… things were almost going too well. Since when did Shawn just flip a switch to be good with being by himself? Nothing ever came that easy with him. It should be a celebration, but instead it left Gus feeling like he was missing the vital piece of the puzzle.

And he could probably figure it out if he went home, but he couldn't because Shawn said not to, and sure he was supposed to say 'no' sometimes, but this didn't feel like one of those times, and why was this so hard? Maybe he was the one who couldn't handle being alone now… Was it possible to get conditioned into always assuming the worst case scenario?

Gus let out a sigh and slapped the comic closed. It was ridiculous and didn't need a second more thought. He'd made his decision, it had been the best one he knew, and that was that. Instead, he should think about Candice. Think about her smile, and the way her hips moved all nice and flowy, and the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the astronomy class she was taking for fun… She seemed to enjoy her time with him too; she'd even offered to let him take her out for dinner.

He'd said no; he'd had to say no. Shawn shouldn't have to wait for him to go on dates. But it had been nice that she'd offered.

Though, Shawn seemed to be pushing him to do more things on his own… Maybe that was why he was suddenly ok in the dorm room. He'd realized Gus' conditioning even before Gus had. Maybe this was his way of helping.

Warmth spread in Gus' chest as everything made sense again. He'd have to do something nice to make it up to Shawn, but he could also prove that Shawn didn't have to worry. Maybe he'd call Candice and see if dinner this weekend was still an option. He could do something fun with Shawn during the day and then, maybe, get to enjoy a date that night…

A harsh buzzing against his leg interrupted his daydreams. He pulled out his phone and stared in confusion at the letters 'SBPD' that were flashing across the screen. Why would the police be calling him? He sat up straight and answered in his most professional voice, "Hello? This is Burton Guster speaking."

"Howdy, Mr. Guster, this is Chief Swanson," a male voice drawled out, sounding like he belonged in the Wild West.

Why would the police chief be calling him? "Good morning, sir. How may I help you?"

"My boys here picked up a slave this mornin' who was skulking around some culverts. The collar gave us your information. You know anything about that?"

Blood rushed in Gus' ears as the world darkened around him. That wasn't possible, surely he'd misheard. Shawn was in their room. He had to be in their room. He'd been acting odd, but not like that. "I'm… I'm sorry, sir, but are you sure you have the right master?"

"Burton Guster, age eighteen, owner for almost seven months. The slave looks to be the same age, brown hair, green eyes. 60027070."

Shawn's eyes were hazel, not green. Gus struggled to take a full breath as a hammer beat inside his chest. It wasn't possible; Shawn wouldn't run. They were friends, he would have told him, he was just in their room and this was a terrible mistake. He wouldn't have just run…

It wasn't his first time trying to run…

"Are you still there, Mr. Guster?"

"Y-Yes."

The chief seemed almost curious as he asked, "Were you aware that your slave has a history of trying to run away?"

"I'd… been made aware, yes." This couldn't be good. What happened to a slave who'd run away too many times? "Will I be able to pick him up?"

"Normally, no. Three strikes and all that… but one of my Detectives seemed to take a shine to him. Said to give him one last chance. You're real lucky, son."

Gus squeezed his eyes closed as he prayed a fast series of thank yous to God, Jesus, and any other angel who might be listening. "Thank you. I promise, it won't happen again. Can I come get him now?"

"You can come to the station whenever you want; your slave's not too banged up. But there's still a matter of the fee and the mandated punishment."

Gus' stomach lurched and he slapped his hand over his mouth to keep his lunch down. This was bad, it was so bad… As soon as his mouth was able to answer without puke coming out, he asked, "Is there any way to just pay extra to not have to do the punishment?"

The chief snorted in amusement. "Well there's one I haven't heard before. The punishment's mandatory. A slave doesn't care about your money, just its skin."

"Of… Of course." This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening... "I'll be there shortly. Thank you for your time."

He hung up and stared at the phone in his hands as he replayed the conversation over again. He made it until 'mandated punishment' before he had to sprint to the bathroom, his hand slapped over his mouth.

He barely reached the toilet before a day's worth of food came back up.

Gus stared out of the taxi's windshield as they drove over another hill. The ocean became visible, glittering like a blue gem of peace and tranquility. They angled down and the vista was lost to the sharp lines of buildings and the gray expanse of cracked roads. It all deserved to burn. The streets, the people, even the fucking ocean.

Why would Shawn run? Gus had bent over damn near backwards to make things as good as he could, to make the burden of the collar as light as possible. He'd done everything right. Except when he hadn't. But even then he'd fixed it and done things right again. He let Shawn be a person, he went along with his crazy ideas, he even shared his food, damnit! Shawn had to have known how good he had it.

Why would he risk that? What had happened? Had Gus done something wrong?

He thought back, but nothing stuck out. His biggest mistake recently had been to give Shawn a gift, and even that had been smoothed over relatively quickly. They'd been doing good. Better than good. They could have kept being good if Shawn hadn't gone and ruined it all.

Which didn't seem fair. It wasn't Shawn's fault, right? That's what Gus always told him…

But it sure as hell wasn't Gus' fault. And that only left one person to blame. Or, as said person would say, it only left a slave to blame. Maybe he had a fucking point. What person would-

Gus cut off the thought with a groan, dropping his head and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. That wasn't him. That was just what this situation was doing to him.

What was this situation doing to Shawn? Gus' groan turned into a growl and the spots inside his eyelids flared white as he pressed harder on them. It didn't matter about Shawn. Not right now. He was allowed to have his own feelings about this situation that Shawn had caused.

"Hey, mister. We're here," the cabby rasped in a voice that spoke of decades of cigarette use.

Gus looked up to see a warm and inviting building with spanish style arches and a cheerfully red roof. The sign up front matched the friendly aesthetic as it proclaimed 'Santa Barbara Police Department'. It was wrong. It should have been slate gray with prison bars across the front door…It was keeping Shawn from him. It was holding Shawn somewhere where he was probably hurting. It was going to make Gus-

"Th-Thanks." Gus paid the driver, his hands shaking so bad that he could barely count the cash out.

The driver took the money with a sympathetic smile. "Good luck."

It wasn't like he knew what was going on, but the sentiment was nice either way. "Thank you."

Gus climbed out of the car, each step drawing him closer to his doom. He couldn't do this. But he had to do it; for Shawn's sake. He'd promised, months and ages ago, that if Shawn ever needed punishing that he'd be the one to do it. He'd naively thought that they were to the point where he'd never have to keep that promise.

Oh god. He was going to have to hurt Shawn.

It turned out, he still had more food to throw up in the neatly trimmed bushes that were planted in front of the steps.

"Your slave's in holding room four." The lanky officer who'd been assigned to escort Gus through the precinct pointed towards a door with the number four on it. He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall, his frown easy to see under his too-small mustache. "I don't suppose we could just skip ahead to the punishment…?"

"I… I want to talk to him first," Gus answered faintly. He was supposed to be polite to cops, but the door in front of him was taking up too much space to make room for niceties.

"Fine… I hope I don't miss the chief giving out assignments for this…" The officer had been beaming energy when he'd been called over to the front desk, but that had dropped as soon as he'd learned he wasn't arresting anyone. "You have ten minutes; I'll be out here if you need anything. Don't get blood in our room."

"Wouldn't want to hurt the room," Gus muttered quietly before he could stop himself.

"Blood borne pathogens," the officer corrected dryly. "We just had the training." And with that odd sendoff, the door was opened and Gus had no choice but to step forward.

The room was small, not even big enough for a table. An uncovered fluorescent bulb cast a harsh light on the kneeling figure in the corner. Gus' mouth ran dry as thousands of questions competed to be the first one out of his mouth. Why here? Why now? What had happened? How had he been caught? How had he been able to run? How could he have been so stupid? What were they supposed to do now? How had everything go wrong?

The winner of the battle slipped out of his mouth, and his voice shook at its intensity. "Why?"

Shawn flinched and tensed but didn't answer. More questions spilled out of Gus' mouth. "What got into you? Why would you risk everything? Why climb around in culverts? Did you want to get caught? How long were you planning this? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you trust me?" He was missing something important; he needed to stop.

He didn't stop.

"I thought we were doing good. Weren't we doing good? Was it something I did, something I said? Was I-" his voice broke and he asked the most important question in a strained whisper. "Why wasn't I good enough?"

Shawn still didn't move or talk, despite the volley of questions that had just been hurled at him. Gus suddenly remembered a fact Shawn had told him on another day he hadn't been able to answer questions: first responders could give him orders. Which, of course, included cops.

That wouldn't do. Gus quickly wiped his eyes before walking to the door and giving it a sharp knock. He started speaking as soon as it opened. "Can you please let him talk back?"

"Why would you want to do that?" the officer asked with a bewildered stare.

He wouldn't believe the real answer. Gus channeled every other master he'd ever seen as he answered, "Because it's no fun yelling at him if he can't try to defend himself."

"I swear, this town attracts all of the weirdos," the officer muttered before pulling out a remote from his pocket. He glanced at the paperwork and inputted several commands on the device before putting it back away. "There, he can answer questions."

"Thank you," Gus answered politely before closing the door back in the officer's face. He rested his forehead on the cool wood, willing it to calm his mind long enough to actually hold a decent conversation. They only had nine minutes left. His voice was more steady when he asked, "Why?"

Shawn's voice was small and shaking as he answered, "I… had to. Sir."

"Not good enough." Gus turned around to watch as he asked again, "Why?"

Tension radiated from Shawn's body, like he was expecting to be kicked. He looked miserable enough to actually want to be kicked. His collar beeped before he was able to come up with another answer. "B-Because I had to make sure everyone was safe. Sir."

That didn't make sense! "Did you forget that you have a fucking tracker on your neck?"

Shawn's voice went flat. "No, sir."

A savage part of Gus' brain was glad to hear the forced honorifics. Let Shawn know that he hadn't just put his life in jeopardy, but their friendship as well. "Then why did you think this would work?"

"I thought I could get it off, sir."

"How?"

Shawn winced before glancing meaningfully at the closed door. "I can't tell you that, sir."

The door that might have other people listening on the other side. Though, judging by the officer's annoyance at escorting them, that seemed unlikely. Gus still covered for him, because he was an idiot. "Which means you had no plan. Great. You realize slaves have died trying to do that, right?"

"Yes, sir," Shawn answered blankly.

Screw this. Gus stalked up to Shawn and leaned down close, whispering in his ear. "I would have helped, you know."

And he would have. He would have asked hundreds of questions and made sure it was the right call, but he would have at least made sure Shawn would last more than half a day before being caught again. He pulled back enough to let Shawn see the sincerity in his eyes as he added, "You should have let me."

Shawn's eyes were pained as he stared back, unable to answer. Gus stood up straight and walked back to the middle of the room. "Do you know what happens next?"

"Mandated punishment. Yes sir. I'm…" he curled in on himself. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Good," was all Gus could say. Silence fell as he counted down the seconds until his worst nightmare came true. The one where he did find Shawn at the pier, but he didn't learn how to be anything other than a master. "How much are you already hurt?"

"Mostly bruises, sir. They used the collar first." Shawn hesitated before quickly adding, "You don't have to-" the collar cut him off with a beep.

Gus let out a hollow laugh. "Of course I do. It's not like I can let anyone else do it, right?"

"You… You could, sir. They'd let you. I wasn't quiet when they caught me…"

Of course he hadn't gone down without a fight… "Great. So they're extra pissed at you. How are we even having this conversation?"

Shawn sounded just as confused as him. "I don't know. I thought I was done, but then you came in…" his collar beeped and he quickly added, "Sir."

"Damnit, Shawn! We wouldn't be here if you'd just thought this through."

Infuriatingly, his yelling seemed to actually make Shawn relax.

"This is serious! They could take you away, even now. To 'recuperate damages' or some such nonsense. I can't help you if they decide to do that! Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I know I messed up, sir," Shawn said in the biggest understatement of the century. "And not just because I got caught… but thank you."

Gus collapsed against the wall and was almost glad he could force an answer when he asked, "Why?

Shawn spoke to the floor when he answered, "Because you're still treating me like a friend. Sir."

That wasn't fair… But something still relaxed in Gus as he said, "That's because you are my friend, you idiot. Now, can we please figure out how to keep you from whatever dark hole they want to sell you in?"

"They won't let you argue the punishment down, sir. They'll just think it makes you incompetent."

He was incompetent. He'd left the remote on his desk so he wouldn't have to worry about the half mile radius… This was his fault. "And I can't argue it down from what?"

Shawn hesitated before answering with a wince, "The equivalent of ten whips, s-sir."

"Fuck." Five minutes left… He couldn't freak out now. "Equivalent means there's options. Is the collar an option?" At least then he could make sure there wasn't permanent damage…

"S-Sometimes, sir. But they won't like that."

"Because you pissed them off. I swear, it's like you're trying to make it as bad as possible."

Shawn flinched, and an apology was at the tip of Gus' tongue before he swallowed it back down. It was a legitimate complaint, damnit. But that wasn't important right now. "I'm assuming you have a suggestion?"

Shawn relaxed at the shift in tone and answered, "The cane is a good middle ground, sir. No blood, and the thinner ones won't break bones…"

Gus' stomach lurched, letting him know it was ready for round three of vomiting. He pushed down the option and said, "I don't know how to use a cane."

Shawn's look turned confused.

"What?" Gus asked.

"Everyone knows how to use a cane…" Shawn said in his usual 'my master is insane' voice. "You just… hit with it. Sir."

"Yes, but how hard do I hit, where do I hit, do I follow through or not, how do I aim it…?"

"Hard enough to hurt, the back and legs, yes follow through, no idea. Sir."

Bile filled Gus' mouth as he gagged, and he swallowed it thickly as he dropped his head into his hands. "Oh god… I can't do this."

He couldn't. Just the thought of holding a cane made him want to run screaming to the hills. This wasn't what he signed up for.

He'd promised he'd take care of Shawn. Part of that was not letting others hurt him.

A quiet tongue click caught his attention, and he looked up to see Shawn giving him an earnest look. One that spoke of understanding and remorse and hurt. Gus cleared his throat and rasped out, "What?"

"It's ok if you let the cops do it, sir. You don't have to do it."

"Yes, I do." It was his responsibility. He could at least make sure there wasn't any permanent damage. Hopefully…

Two minutes. He couldn't freak out. "We don't have much longer. What's the best way to do it?"

He listened to the explanation, giving questions when needed so Shawn could keep talking. A scream grew in the back of his mind as the plan was laid out. He shoved against it as he finally walked towards the door.

A quiet tongue click stopped him again. "What?" Their time had to be up…

"I know I don't deserve a favor, sir, but I can't stop thinking about it, and can you please tell someone to check–" the collar beeped and Shawn spoke faster. "Check behind the ear of the perp in–"

He flinched at the shock and Gus quickly asked a question before he tried to push through more. "Where?"

Shawn's voice relaxed in relief. "In the waiting area, sir. He forgot to wash there; they'll find evidence for the arson."

Of all of the things to be thinking about… and Shawn chose that? Gus' mouth moved before he'd fully processed the words. "Ok, I will."

Shawn's eyes flicked down in a silent thanks. Gus nodded at it before steeling himself and opening the door. "I'm ready. But, there's just one more thing…"

There was a full rack of torture devices in the discipline room. The cops could call them whatever they wanted, but the belts, whips, canes, and floggers that filled the case couldn't be anything else. The smell of bleach was overpowering as Gus forced his feet forward and remembered Shawn's advice.

"It would be better to not use my name, sir. They'll think you're too soft otherwise."

He could do this; he'd acted before. He just had to embody a character who was everything he hated. No problem. Gus made his voice harsh as he kept his eyes forward and ordered, "Slave, come here."

"I'm sorry, sir. I know you won't want to, but…"

"They can still change their mind. I know."

Chains clinked, and Shawn stepped up beside Gus, barely recognizable behind his blank slave mask. A metal leash kept him in his place and short chains between his cuffs made sure he wouldn't try to attack anyone or run. Gus didn't dare look him in the face as he unhooked the leash and nodded to the officer to deactivate the wrist cuffs. An older detective stood nearby, his eyes hard as he watched the proceedings.

"They'll have a w-whipping post, sir. You just have to order me to get into position."

"Go over there. Shirt off, hands up."

Shawn did as he was told, baring his scarred back as he put his hands up towards the sets of holes in the post. The officer pressed another button and Gus saw the mechanism in action as one of the cuffs opened along the side for a short chain to be launched out. A click sounded when the other cuff activated its magnet and the chain locked into place. Another press of the button had the chain retract until Shawn's wrists were pinned to the post.

And Gus was focusing way too much on the details so he wouldn't have to look at the marks and bruises on Shawn's back with the knowledge that he'd be adding to them. He was going to puke…

He had to get back into character. He was a master, his slave was just a tool, his slave had embarrassed him, so the slave needed disciplined. Punished.

Tortured.

"Most masters look forward to it, sir. They like having an audience, and everyone knows it's just the warm up…"

"That's sick and wrong… What do I need to look for?"

"There'll be canes, sir. It's best to use one of the middle sizes. It's ok; I can handle it."

Gus couldn't. He picked up the cane that Shawn had described. It was simple, just a handle and a length of thin wood, but it was too heavy, too solid… too real. This couldn't be happening.

He was a master; his slave was just a tool. He wasn't 'Gus' right now. He was Jimmy, he was the janitor, he was Jessica and the bully and every other person who'd ever sneered when they heard a slave talk.

He could be those masters, but he still couldn't think of Shawn as just 'his slave' as he turned around and took a few experimental swings. The high pitched swish made Gus' palms break out into sweat. It sounded so fast. It was too much.

Shawn was counting on him.

"Canes are fifteen hits," the officer said, sounding bored. He glanced at his watch and his jaw twitched before he went back to filling out his paperwork.

"Will they expect me to say anything?"

"Most masters like to gloat, sir. But at the very least, you should reiterate what I did wrong."

"So I should say something like, 'you ran away, this is what you deserve'?"

"When… when it happened before, they said a lot of reasons, sir."

It was now or never. He couldn't let Shawn down. Gus set his jaw and stepped into his role. His voice was cool as he said, "You knew what would happen if you tried to run. Slaves don't get to be free."

Shawn had known the risk he was putting them both in. And he'd still run.

"It'll cause the least damage if you start at the top and work your way down. Sir. You shouldn't hold back. And Gus" –the collar beeped– "I'm sorry."

Gus' arm raised up and he focused on a spot near Shawn's shoulders. A spot already covered with white, circular scars. He was doing this to keep Shawn safe. He was doing this because he'd promised.

He had to. Shawn had made him. He had to.

His arm came down against his will, the tip of the cane whistled through the air, and a jolt radiated through his hand as he completed the swing. Too much, if he'd felt it that much, how bad could it have been at the other end? A line of irritated, red skin now stretched over the top of Shawn's shoulder blades, showing the exact spot Gus had hit him.

Oh god, he'd done that. And Shawn hadn't even flinched.

His voice felt detached from his body as he said, "I gave you privileges, and you threw them in my face."

None of this would have happened if he'd ordered Shawn to stay. Even just stay in their room, or the building… It was his fault.

Two more hits, two more red lines, two more pieces of his soul fell away.

Twelve more. "You thought you could use me. You thought you could be better than me. Look where it got you."

Gus raised his arm again, the world slowing as he took in the marks he was leaving on his slave's back. The marks that were joining the patchwork tapestry of every other master Shawn had ever had. Masters were just masters.

His arm came down, and he hit his friend. He was just a master.

The cane swished through the air and Shawn mentally braced himself. He couldn't stop his sharp inhale at the hit, but he could keep it from being visible from the other side. His master was holding back; it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Gus was having to do it; it was his worst punishment yet.

The new hit stung, hot and sharp, the pain adding to the rest of his back, each hit making the other welts flare. He'd done this; he deserved it.

His master didn't say anything else as the cane whistled again. Shawn couldn't stop his small jolt when it hit him diagonally and the pain burned through him. His master had finally stopped playing. It was only going to get worse, and then they'd go to his master's home and the kid gloves would come off, and… and…

A sharp intake of breath behind him snapped him out of the spiral. His master had just never used a cane before; it wasn't like the other times. He had to keep it together for Gus.

"Y-You…" Gus' voice wavered before regaining the tone that sent shivers deep into Shawn's bones. "I had to skip classes to come here. To take care of this."

He couldn't react; he had to make it as easy on Gus as possible.

The cane hit his lower back, and Shawn focused on the pain to keep his reactions to himself. The burning heat sank into his skin as the stinging danced above it, looking for any sensitive spots to dig its knives in. It spread, meshing with the other pains and covering his entire back. He accepted each layer into himself, the penance of his actions. He'd put Gus in this position; he deserved this.

Five more hits to go.

The next two came fast and without warning, crossing over each other right above his belt. He locked his knees and rode them out. No weakness. Masters took advantage of weaknesses. Weakness would hurt Gus. He had to protect Gus.

Silence filled the room, and Shawn held his breath. In some ways, hearing Gus sound like a master, a regular master, was worse than the physical hits. It made it hard to remember that Shawn himself had given most of the suggestions of what he should say.

But when Gus finally spoke, he didn't sound cold or cruel. He sounded broken and lost. "I trusted you…"

It hurt worse than anything else that day, shredding his heart as a fist clenched around his lungs and refused to let him take a breath. He would gladly take a full whipping if it meant never hearing that tone again.

He barely felt the last three hits as they blazed across his back. It was over.

But what had it cost?

Everything was wrong as Gus led Shawn through the precinct. The leash was too rough in his hands, their footsteps were too loud, other people's voices were too muddled… It was like he was walking just slightly in the past, disconnecting him from reality.

He couldn't think about why; he just had to leave it behind them. Bright light beckoned him forward as the sun glowed through the frosted windows of the front door. He just had to get to the door, then things could be right again…

"Mr. Guster, may I speak with you for a second?"

He didn't want to, he couldn't handle any more hurdles right now… Gus turned around to see the older detective striding towards him. "Yes. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong…" the man gave him a small smile as he added, "I actually misspoke. I need to talk to your slave."

Gus gave him a quick look over. There wasn't anything notable about him besides his age. His suit was professional without being flashy, his hair was balding in a typical manner, and his face looked like it could smile just as easily as it could frown. Normally he'd check Shawn's reaction too, but Shawn was in full slave-mode and hadn't moved since the detective had shown up. A plastic bag hung from his hands, holding the scarf and sweatshirt he'd been wearing when he'd been brought in.

The sweatshirt Gus had bought him… He couldn't think about it. And he couldn't risk angering the cops; they were so close to leaving… Gus nodded his consent, and the detective immediately moved close to Shawn. A small part of Gus' mind urged him to listen to the muttered words, to focus, to learn more. But he was tired, and focusing anywhere near Shawn meant focusing on Shawn, which meant focusing on what he'd done to Shawn… Gus focused on the tiles under his feet, drawing patterns with his eyes as he kept Shawn in his peripheral vision.

It was going to be a while before he'd feel comfortable completely losing track of him.

"Don't get any ideas," the detective said louder as he stepped back. "This was a one time thing." He looked at Gus, his eyes hard as stone. "Keep it on a short leash." Shawn flinched like he'd been hit. " if it tries to run again, you won't be getting it back."

"Understood," Gus answered. He needed to get Shawn away from the man. He needed to get both of them away from the precinct. He needed to never think about today ever again.

"Have a nice day." The detective wandered off towards an area with several desks, and the way to the door was finally clear.

Gus took the opportunity before anyone else could stop them, leaving the precinct and stepping into the sun.

He was still exhausted, he was still disconnected, things still weren't better. Why had he thought they would be? He just needed to get them home. Then they'd actually be safe; then he could feel better.

They walked down the steps and Gus pulled out the remote that the detective had given back to him. The small light in the corner was green, which meant he was in charge again. "I rescind all orders, I allow free speech."

His voice was too flat, too dead, but he didn't have the energy to try to add anything to it. It didn't actually matter.

"Thank you, sir," Shawn answered quietly.

The dark side of Gus' brain wasn't happy to hear that word anymore. "You don't have to say that."

He should probably look back to see the response, but that was too much. His whole body was heavy as the earth tried to swallow him whole. They just had to get home. That was all he needed to focus on.

He flagged down a passing taxi and opened the door while nodding inside. Shawn hesitated, his eyes flicking between the seat and the floor. Gus' stomach dropped at the sight; Shawn had wondered the same thing the very first day they were together. Had they really lost that much progress? They couldn't have. "Please sit."

The collar blinked green, but Shawn still hesitated before nodding and climbing in. He sat straight up, keeping his back from the cushions. Just like he had that first day.

"Wait. Is it… would it hurt less to kneel?"

Shawn's shoulders relaxed slightly as he shook his head. "I'm ok."

"Ok." He should probably rescind the order now… Gus closed the door and went to the other side. He could rescind it when they got home. Then he wouldn't have to worry about Shawn jumping out of a moving car…

"Where you headed?" the cabby asked as soon as Gus put on his seatbelt.

"The university." Gus gave the address to the dorm and sat back with a sigh. They were almost there; they were almost done.

They drove for several minutes before Shawn quietly said, "I know why the detective vouched for me now…"

Any other day Gus would have been drooling at the chance to solve that sort of mystery. But today he was too exhausted. Even moving his eyes was more work than he could manage. "I can't. Not now."

"...Ok."

It was another several minutes before Shawn spoke again, his voice a whisper. "I'm sorry…"

The words brought a lump to Gus' throat and he didn't have the energy to try to fight the tears that started to fall as everything became real again. "Me too…"

The only sound in the cab was Gus' quiet sobs as they rode the rest of the way home.