Six Months (Minus Two Weeks) Later…
When Shawn opened his apartment door, the last person he expected to find standing there was his father.
"Dad!" He blinked, not even attempting to hide his shock.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
"Well, can I come in?" Henry scowled finally, his hands jammed in his pockets.
Shawn silently held the door open and stepped aside, too stunned to immediately come up with a witty retort. Henry entered, looking around the apartment with a critical eye.
"You never learned how to use a damn vacuum." He muttered, more to himself than out loud.
"What are you doing here?" Shawn rolled his eyes, mentally preparing for a lengthy lecture about his housekeeping habits. "A random barracks check?"
Henry just shrugged.
"I was in the neighborhood…"
"Dad. You've never been in the neighborhood. Ever. I didn't know you even knew where I lived."
"Well, maybe I'd come by more if you didn't live like a slob, Shawn." Henry shot back, kicking at a pile of dirty laundry that had been discarded in the middle of the floor. "I mean, God, Kid. Don't you even own a laundry basket?"
"You didn't come over to investigate my laundry!" Shawn snapped, rapidly losing patience with this conversation. "So, just tell me! What the hell are you doing here?"
Henry hesitated, for some reason Shawn could only fathom refusing to meet his eyes.
Clearly, something was on his mind.
"What?" Shawn demanded. "Don't tell me you and Mom are getting another divorce!"
Henry glared at him, apparently not amused.
"Shut up, Kid."
Henry sighed, tossing Shawn's jacket aside as he sat on the couch.
"What the hell are you doing, Shawn?" He asked quietly.
Shawn stared at him in dumbfounded bewilderment.
"You heard me. What the hell are you doing?"
"It's my apartment!" Shawn shouted in exasperation. "I'm existing! What? Do I need a permit for that now?"
"That's not what I mean!" Henry snapped. "And you know it! What the hell are you still doing at the Academy? You cracked your case six months ago."
Shawn blinked slowly, finally starting to get a vague idea of what the conversation was really about.
"Well? Didn't you?" Henry pressed on.
"Yeah. I did."
"Then why are you still there, Shawn? What the hell are you trying to prove?"
Shawn shrugged, tumbling into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.
"I'm not trying to prove anything. I started something and I wanted to finish it. That's all. I don't know. This cranky old guy I knew once told me I should finish what I start….actually, he didn't tell me as much as yell at me…"
Henry's piercing eyes locked with Shawn's, searching his son's soul for any trace of trickery or deceit.
"What are you going to do after tomorrow? When you're done?" Henry continued his interrogation, his eyes still burrowing into the depths of Shawn's inner-being.
"I don't know."
"Well, get a damn idea. You'll have a badge, Kid. A real one. People are going to be counting on you. Peoples lives are at stake."
Shawn sighed and leaned forward.
Suddenly, this had turned into the conversation he had been avoiding for six months.
"I'm not going to join the force, Dad." He said quietly. "They offered me a job, and I turned it down. I'm not a cop. I'm a psychic detective. That's what I want to be."
Henry blinked, his face settling into an impenetrable mask.
"Then why are you still there?"
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer, Shawn!"
Shawn stood up furiously, his ears burning.
"What the hell's the matter with you?!" He shouted. "When I quit, you ride my ass! When I finish something, you ride my ass! What the hell do you want from me? I'm not a psychic because I can't be a cop. I'm not a psychic because there's nothing else I can do. I just proved I can be a cop. But I don't want to, Dad. I want to be a psychic! Why isn't that good enough for you?"
For once, Henry didn't have an answer.
He stood up and silently marched to the door, apparently too angry to even speak.
When he reached the doorway, however, he slowly turned around again, his eyes meeting Shawn's squarely.
"You'll have to give Lassiter his gun back when you're done at the Academy." He growled.
"So?" Shawn snapped, still fuming himself.
"If you're going to stick with this psychic detective…thing…you'll need a gun."
"I don't need a gun."
"Yes, you do, Shawn."
Henry's voice was suddenly quiet, and for some reason he was staring at the floor again.
"What are you talking about?" Shawn demanded.
"I still have the one I carried on the force…" Henry mumbled. "I don't use it…"
Shawn stared at his father, a slow smile starting to creep across his face.
He tried to hide it, but couldn't.
"Maybe I do need a gun." He said quietly. "Women are always trying to kill me…"