#that really just wasn't there in Houses when it should've been considering it'd been five years

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Five

- Little Big Surprise

Series Masterlist

wc: 3.3k

The house felt too empty, too quiet.

Isabella has been at her father's house for the past week and you missed her dearly. So, you had to find new hobbies to pass the time. You should've been used to the days she isn't home but you still aren't.

A new addition to your routine was your newfound hobby; watching Formula One races, or more so, watching Max race.

You would've been a fan even if you didn't know him personally, purely based on his driver skills, but that little detail made every moment of the race a tad bit more special. Your eyes would always try to find him on the track with the others, which he was in front of, leading.

You even found out that you could watch an on-board camera for a specific driver while watching the main race screen as well. It was very obvious whose camera feed you chose to watch.

This was the first time you watched the race after coming back from The Netherlands, mainly because it's only been a week since.

Though it wasn't fun watching the race without Isabella, or more like without her own added commentary.

Fortunately, Isabella's father would be dropping her off today. Until then, you had to find a way to pass the time.

Picking up your phone, your finger hovered over Max's contact. The last time you spoke was yesterday, when you congratulated him for the win over text.

You caught up on your pending work, meeting clients, writing up contracts, and even began designing the floor plans. One of the perks of working as a freelance interior designer, was that you could complete it at your own pace. The downside, however, was once you were done, you didn't really have anything else to do.

You worked for a few hours today, so your little break where you contemplated to call Max was well earned.

But before you could decide whether or not you wanted to call him, your phone rang with a call from him.

You quickly answered, greeting him with, "I was just about to call you, but I thought it'd be too late for you." You remembered that even though it was daytime for you, it was nighttime for him.

Max hummed, "too late? Oh wait, you're right, it's well past midnight." You furrowed your brow as his response confused you, but you didn't comment on it.

"So, what's up?" You asked, wanting to know why he called.

"You actually left something when you came to the race, and I kept forgetting to mention it, but I was thinking of sending it back to you as a package," Max explained, and you began to wonder what you had left behind.

"Yeah, sure that's fine, I actually have no idea when I'm going to see you again either." You shut your eyes tightly as you regretted the words as soon as you spoke them. "I mean—" you tried to explain but he cut you off, "I know what you mean and you're not wrong,"

You told him your address for the package, still wondering what you left behind, but dismissed the thought once you heard some noises on the other end. Specifically, noises that would indicate a person is outside, such as traffic.

"Max, are you outside?" You asked, wondering what he'd be doing out at this hour. "What no! Hold on, can I call you back in a bit?" He didn't wait for your response, just hung up the call.

You held your phone in front of you, looking at the dark screen as if it would give you any answers, but as excepted, it didn't. Then, you dropped the thought or at least tried to since Max did say he'll call you back.

You made yourself an iced coffee before falling into the depths of online shopping. Before you could decide on buying anything, the doorbell interrupted you.

"Max" you gasped as you opened the door, seeing him standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. "Hi," he grinned, eyes taking in your presence since it had been too long since he last saw you.

"You lied about the package," you commented though there wasn't any malice behind your words. "Consider me as the thing you forgot?"

You chuckled at his words but it quickly became quiet as you finally realized that he was truly standing in front of you. "Please tell me you have a work thing here and you're just stopping by because you were in the area?"

"I could tell you that, but it would be a lie," he shrugged. You hesitated before asking the next question, "and the truth is?"

"I just wanted to see you and Isabella again." Either he didn't realize the weight behind his words or he chose to ignore it but you stood there, holding the door, in surprise.

"And now I'm realizing it probably wasn't a good idea to drop by without asking you," Max's words lacked confidence but you quickly shook your head. "No, it's just that you keep surprising me by standing on the other side of the door," then you smiled and added, "this time it happens to be in a different country."

Again, he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but if he was able to hear the thoughts running through your mind, he'd know that this was a big deal to you. In the best way possible.

"So, can I come in?" He asked, as he was just idly standing by the door. "Oh yes, sorry."

He passed the flowers to you once he was inside. "I didn't know which flowers you like, but this seemed fitting," he explained the reason behind the sunflowers.

You wanted to ask why, but you held back because in the few weeks you've known Max, he always manages to say something that leaves you speechless.

"It's perfect, thank you. I think I have a vase lying around somewhere." You found one in the back of a cabinet next to your kitchen, and started filling it with water.

Max stood across from you and commented, "that vase should never be left empty."

You chuckled, more at the thought of the vase being full than his words. "It has been empty more often than not."

Although it was just a simple back and forth conversation, Max made a mental note to try and never let it be empty for as long as he knows you. Which he hopes would be a long, long time.

Max looked around the house, noticing a lack of a little ball of energy. "Where's Isabella?"

"At Tyler's. He'll drop her off in about an hour." Once you set up the flowers, you paused, realizing you have to make lunch for Isabella but you didn't want Max to think that you didn't want him here.

"Everything okay?" He asked, always noticing everything. "Yeah, I have to make lunch for Isabella." You didn't know what reaction you expected but it definitely wasn't a laugh.

Max stepped closer to you, rounding the kitchen island that was in between you two. "If you think you have to entertain me as a guest, who by the way showed up unexpectedly, I'm going to think you don't consider me a friend."

You broke out into a smile, realizing that you overthought the small situation. "I do consider you a friend, otherwise I wouldn't have ranted on and on about my job."

"I will say though, if you're making lunch, I want some too," Max added with a sheepish smile. "Isabella's lunch entails a homemade pizza and fries—made with freshly cut potatoes—because that's all she wants to eat every time she comes home."

"Fair enough, let's make extras for all of us," Max began rolling up his sleeves and washed his hands in preparation.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Max, what are you doing?" He looked at you as if his actions were obvious, "I'm going to help you. Did you think I was going to let you make lunch all by yourself?"

There he goes, leaving you speechless. You shut your mouth because you couldn't find a response, and began taking out the ingredients. "Just a warning though, you're gonna have to tell me what to do because I'm not the best chef," Max stated.

"It's okay, you can be my assistant," you responded which made him raise his eyebrows, "assistant huh? I like the sound of that."

You paused, looking at him with a playful glower before both of you broke out into laughter.

You passed him the potatoes after rinsing them, tasking him to peel and cut into strips to make french fries.

Although he didn't notice, you might've stopped a few times while kneading the dough to look at him. Unbeknownst to you, he did the same when you weren't looking either.

"So does Isabella go to her dad's often?" Max asked after a moment of silence. "Sometimes it's every other week, other times it's only a weekend per month," you explained.

Max had loads of questions about Tyler, but he was content in knowing only what you were willing to tell him. This time, you didn't continue the conversation about your ex, and Max understood that you didn't want to talk about it.

The topic was forgotten as soon as you accidentally smeared pizza sauce across your face. You truly had no idea how it got there, but only realized when Max brushed his fingers against your cheek to wipe it away.

However, he only smeared it further. He couldn't control his laughter as it spread and that prompted you to wipe it from your cheek and smear it on his.

He glared at you but it only lasted a millisecond as he grabbed a handful of dry flour. "Max," you warned, stepping backwards in an attempt to get away from him.

You didn't get far as his arm found its away around your waist to pull you back and hold you still. Then, he dumped the flour on your face, adding to the remnants of the sauce.

Your hands pressed against his chest to push him away but it was a useless attempt since he had you cornered against the counter so you had nowhere to go.

You spluttered since a bit of the flour got in your mouth and Max laughed at you. Then, you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing Max's face, you rubbed your cheek dusted with flour and sauce against his. Now it was even.

Once the laughter died down, both of you noticed how close you were standing. Max couldn't back away because of your palms on his cheek and on the nape of his neck.

Your eyes widened slightly at the realization and you quickly dropped your hands so he could move. Max took a second too long to process that you weren't holding him anymore, before he created more space between you two.

Then, you noticed the time, "shit she'll be here in twenty minutes."

"You should go change, I'll take care of the rest," Max suggested and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "you're going to take care of it?"

He nodded like it wasn't a big deal. "You're the one who said you're not a good chef," you spoke with a teasing smile.

"I said I'm not the best chef, I can be a good chef," he reasoned and you couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine, as long as you don't burn my house down."

"I'll try," you heard him as you went upstairs to your room.

"He got me flowers," you muttered to yourself as you picked out a clean outfit. "He fucking got me flowers." The realization hit you hard, more so because you loved sunflowers, and he just happened to randomly guess the right bouquet. Which was something your ex could never do right even after you told him, mainly because he preferred roses and only bought you roses.

"It seemed fitting," you repeated his words, "Max, why do you have to be so nice?" You asked rhetorically as of course he wasn't there to answer.

You hurriedly went downstairs after washing up and changing to see whether Max had done anything wrong. Perhaps if he was a lousy chef, you'd have one complaint about him. So far, you have liked everything about him.

Fortunately, nothing smelt burnt, and nothing was broken. When you spotted him, he was frying the French fries.

You paused in your tracks, and took a good look at him so you could remember this moment later. Max looked very comfortable in your kitchen, in your house, as if it wasn't his first time. You hoped it wouldn't be the last.

"Looks like everything's fine here," you commented and he turned to look at you with a smile, "no burnt houses," he shrugged.

"The pizza still has a few minutes to go, and the fries are all done," he spoke as he gestured with his hands, but when he looked at you again, you had a stupid smile on your face.

"What?" That made your smile widen, "nothing, just, thank you for helping me."

"Always," he responded, already planning that he'll be around as long as you wanted him to be.

The doorbell rang, interrupting your peace but you were beyond excited to open the door and greet your daughter. Isabella definitely got the habit of being overly excited from you.

However, when you opened the door you saw Isabella standing beside Tyler with a frown on her face. "Hi angel, did you have fun?" You crouched down and ruffled her hair.

"Can I go inside, mama?" Her timid voice surprised you as she would usually answer that question happily. "Sure, sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute."

You watched her head inside before you stood up, closing the door behind you so Isabella wouldn't hear your conversation and faced your ex, "what happened?"

He scoffed, "nothing happened, I just told her that I won't be able to see her again as planned because I'm flying out of the country."

"Another business trip?" You asked and he nodded. "She usually doesn't get this upset any other time you cancel, did something else happen?"

"You know how she is, overdramatic," Tyler casually shrugged and that word ticked you off. "Don't you dare call my daughter overdramatic," you pointed at him harshly.

"Oh so now she's your daughter? Isabella gets upset easily, you know this."

"I do not want to hear you say that word again to describe her, I've heard it enough from you when we were together. Now tell me what happened."

Tyler sighed, and for a moment he thought about saying that Isabella was just like her mother, like you, but he didn't want to waste any extra time being around you.

"I introduced her to Emma," he stated as if it would explain everything but you furrowed your brows in confusion. "Who?"

"My girlfriend. Isabella noticed her around the house a few times so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her," he explained and you were about to interrupt but he kept going. "I don't know if Isabella doesn't like her, but she's been in that mood ever since."

"Tyler, she has only seen us together, so of course if you introduce her to someone else, it'll take time for her to get used to it," you decided to explain in a calm manner.

"You don't have an issue with my girlfriend?" He asked and you raised your brows, "why would I? It's not my business unless it involves Isabella."

He shrugged, then laughed at his thought before saying it out loud, "well I hope that you don't have an issue explaining dating to her, that is, if you ever start dating again."

"My dating life is none of your business. Don't you have somewhere to be? Perhaps back to Emma?"

"Alright, I'll text you when I'm back in the country," he stated and turned around to leave but paused as he saw a new car in the driveway that he knew didn't belong to you.

"Whose car is that?" You laughed at his need to always be all up in your business, "goodbye, Tyler."

You entered the house with a sigh but the sight in front of you warmed your heart, making you forget all about the conversation with your ex.

Max was crouched down onto his knees to be at eye level with Isabella, who had two arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

When Max heard the door close, he opened his eyes and saw you. He removed one hand that was resting on Isabella's back and gestured for you to come closer.

Understanding his silent gesture, you crouched down right behind your daughter and wrapped her in a hug as well, so she was sandwiched between you and Max.

You placed loads of kisses on her cheeks until she started giggling. Isabella let go of Max and turned to face you, "mama, you didn't tell me that Maxy was here!" Just like that, her mood was drastically different from when she first arrived at the doorstep.

"He surprised me too, angel," you spoke as your gaze shifted to Max.

"Did you watch him race yesterday?" You asked Isabella, but her mood dropped again. "No mama, daddy was busy."

"It's okay, you can watch the next one with your mama," Max spoke, and Isabella nodded in agreement. "Okay!"

Then Max gasped, "the pizza!" He quickly rushed towards the oven to check on it, making you and Isabella laugh.

"Maxy made pizza?" She asked as she sat up on one of the barstools, which also happens to be her favourite place to eat even if you have a dining table.

"Maxy and mama made pizza," Max corrected, as he watched you cut it into slices.

"Are you ready for school?" Max asked once all of you began eating. You and Max also sat up on the barstools beside Isabella.

"No." She simply stated. Max frowned, "why not?"

"It's a big school, it's scary." Her words made you frown, "but you're a big girl too now."

"How about we go shopping tomorrow? Buy a new bag, more school supplies, and anything you want," Max suggested and this time you didn't stop him.

You already had a plan to take her shopping tomorrow, mainly because you already knew that Tyler didn't or else she would’ve been beaming about it.

"Even the glittery clips?" Isabella asks with a bright smile on her face, making Max chuckle, "yes even the glittery clips"

"Oh what about ice cream?" Isabella asked, and this time you watched Max become the victim of her pout and big round eyes. He looked at you for help, but you pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh.

"Yes, we can get ice cream too," he gave in making Isabella cheer.

"Alright, angel, finish your food." You gestured to her plate and she quickly obliged, stuffing her face with pizza and fries.

You were glad that Max was here, able to instantly uplift Isabella's mood. However you couldn't help but think about Tyler's words.

You never thought about dating again ever since you broke up with your ex, especially since Isabella was a baby and almost always with you.

But now that she was older, beginning to understand relationships, you thought about her reaction if you ever introduced her to someone you wanted to date.

Plus, you never met anyone that would make you debate the decision of whether to start dating again or not, that was until you met Max.

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[dmclemblems]

Nopes really whitewashed almost everyone tbh. Edelgard for one. Duke Aegir and Count Gloucester don't even seem as bad; I even agree with Count Gloucester that Claude isn't to be trusted in GW! SB tries to convince you that Lonato not bad, actually, and that Ashe will ditch Faerghus for Lonato. Gustave reunited with Annette way earlier this time around (this isn't whitewashing, it's more that he has a faster character arc lol). Felix is also way nicer in general, Hubert less aggressive, etc.

To an extent I don't mind them adding in humane traits for some of those characters. They shouldn't be all black and white, good or evil. Most real people aren't like that and in a story like the one they're telling in the Fodlan games it'd be odd to have so many characters specifically on one end. It's one thing to have a small few at best, but I do enjoy seeing aspects of characters that are good when we've only heard bad things about them.

That said I do agree that they made some characters a lot softer and kinder like Hubert. Felix makes sense imo because things happened differently in this timeline. He became the Duke very early and presumably spent a lot more time with Rodrigue and grew into his position. With Dimitri I think it's that maturity that he's grown into that helped reduce how cruel he was.

Rather than just making some of them kinder and whatnot though, I noticed they took a lot of characterization away from some character. For example, Dorothea, Raphael and Caspar were... pretty bland. Normally I like Dorothea but I borderline couldn't stand her in this game. All she does is bitch and moan about the war that she willingly fights in this game and worries about Edelgard constantly at camp. There's basically nothing to her character in the main story outside of simping for Edelgard and I feel like the only reason she's recruitable in AG is because she's so popular and they figured they should make her recruitable in all routes. Her supports with Flayn would be cute if not for Dorothea going on about how she thinks she should've died with the other soldiers and how much she laments being there. She fought for Edelgard because she wanted to, which makes Flayn directly her enemy and yet she acts fine and dandy around Flayn in their supports. If not for the context in the rest of the game their supports could've been cute, but I can't really see it that way with all the things Dorothea goes on about.

Lonato is definitely worse in this game imo if only for the fact that he's willing to go along with the guilt tripping against Ashe. The whole thing came off as even worse than Houses made it out to be.

There's a lot of give and take with the characters in this game that I've noticed. Some of them are worse at the expense of making others better. Hilda for example I like a lot more in this game and she feels more like a real person than her Houses counterpart, but Dorothea only seemed kind of decent to me in some of her supports. Caspar was reduced to not caring who or what he fought for other than the Empire, even if it was being led by Thales and people were burning entire villages to the ground and murdering all the residents (even though his father even told him he could flee and he wouldn't blame him for it).

I'm okay with seeing characters like Erwin have some good traits and qualities. It's one thing that he seems scummy in Houses, but that doesn't mean he's devoid of all humane traits. I can see it working out that his people would love him/his leadership but he's doing underhanded things behind the scenes when he doesn't trust other nobles (like the former Duke Riegan and how he didn't like or trust him. You could argue he did it out of concern for the Alliance based on what we know in Hopes while still acknowledging that it was a scummy way to go about things).

Ludwig is a special case in AG because in SB he's still total trash. Pretty sure SB Ludwig had zero redeeming qualities lol. Like I mentioned before, I feel like they needed to use him because they had nobody else they could use to take the same role Cornelia and Shahid had in their respective routes. AG gave him more opportunity to not be quite as awful. It makes sense to me because if he was just total scum of the earth, I can't see how Ferdinand would even care about him, father or not. In Houses he's distraught at his father's death, so there had to be something there.

Matthias though to a point I do agree was altered a little bit on the "too good" side. He tried to get Sylvain to go alone to stop the remaining bandits from Miklan's group and Sylvain expresses to Byleth that there's no way he's doing that and thinks it's weird of his father to even suggest that. The way he also mentions Matthias to be "pulling his weight" in the timeskip makes it sounds like he... doesn't do very much for the Kingdom? Like, my impression of him from Houses was that he was a total dick but very loyal to Faerghus. Like, he'd do what he had to do for his country but was so emotionally detached that his own son didn't expect much of anything from him. He's kind of in a similar boat as Erwin, where I do like seeing the humane aspects of them but it feels like they really pushed toward the good side instead of the middle (when it would've been totally fine if they made them a bit better than how Houses portrayed them but not quite so seemingly kind).

Yuri kind of seemed a little less... scheme-y and antagonistic (even jokingly/tauntingly/teasingly), so I do prefer him in Houses.

[emachinescat]

Another whumpy AU.

Title: Henry's Allegory of the Doghouse | Fandom: Psych

Summary: Just when Henry is wondering if trying to repair his relationship with his son is worth it, after all, he gets a call that changes everything. "Mr. Spencer? It's Gus. I'm at Santa Barbara General. There's been an accident." Spellingg Bee AU; part 2 of "AU That Glitters" series. Contains spoilers and whump.

Words: 3,307

TW: motorcycle accident

AO3 Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Episode: s01e02 Spellingg Bee, Whump

Year Published: 2017

Full story here or on AO3!

When Henry ventured back outside, dusk had come and gone and night was beginning in earnest. He wasn't surprised to see that Shawn had left without saying goodbye. He was even less surprised that he'd left the doghouse unfinished and the tools out. With a grunt of irritation, Henry lugged the pitiful excuse of a doghouse back into the garage and tossed the toolbox in behind them. Half wishing that he could slam down the garage door to get some of his irritation out, he had to settle for jabbing the control button repeatedly and aggressively.

He should have known. Shawn had never finished anything when he was a kid; why would he start now? Never mind the fact that he was pushing thirty. Henry snorted. Face it, Spencer, he ordered himself. Shawn never grew up, and chances are he never will.

Stomping back up the stairs to the porch and slamming the front door behind him, Henry found himself wondering if it was even worth trying to salvage the mess he and Shawn had made of their relationship at this point. Shawn obviously wasn't trying, just like he never tried at anything. Why should he have to put in all this effort if Shawn was just going to give up, like usual?

It wasn't about the dog house, he realized. It never had been. It was, and always had been, about their relationship. With a small, unamused chuckle as he puttered around, getting ready to turn in, Henry acknowledged that his relationship with his son was the doghouse. Too much effort to make it work, stuffed into a dark corner until it necessity demanded it be dragged out and refinished, but it was still too much effort to make it work, and so… and so back in the darkness it went.

***

Shawn internally cursed that stupid doghouse as he veered his motorcycle around a wide curve. Why was nothing ever simple with his father? For Pete's sake, Shawn had asked for a tiny favor, and his dad had dragged out the Hound Hotel from Hell out of the garage and insist that Shawn finish it. Did he not realize that this case was time sensitive? If he was going to solve this case and keep his standing at the police department, prove that he wasn't a one-hit-psychic wonder, he needed results and fast. Did Dad not realize that this kind of thing was one of the reasons he'd left home in the first place?

Yeah, the divorce and being there for his mom were factors – big ones, in fact – but did his father ever stop to consider that what might have driven Shawn away – driven Mom away – might have been his overbearing, overruling, stifling iron grip? No, of course he didn't. Because all he cared about was results. How many hats, Shawn? How many hats?

Who – the hell – cares?

With a frustrated sigh, willing to admit, at least to himself, that he was, by this point, possibly, brooding, he tried to clear his mind and focus on the road before him. Maybe he'd given up a little too soon. As much as he hated that idiotic doghouse, it was, unfortunately, his key to finding out what had poisoned the spelling bee judge. Tomorrow, he'd come back and fix the damn house, get his results, and go back to avoiding his dad as much as possible.

The headlights of a larger vehicle coming up fast behind him indicated that someone wanted to pass. Shawn kept to his side of the road to let them by, but they just kept coming. Before Shawn could figure out what exactly was going on, they were on him, jarring the back of his bike and sending him careening off course.

Shawn struggled to regain control of his bike, but it was too late. The last thing he saw before being tossed from his bike and toward the rocky ravine on the side of the road was a large van, headlights blazing, overtaking the smoldering corpse of his bike and disappearing over the hill.

Then there was pain, and everything went black.

***

Henry's phone woke him up.

Looking at the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was just a few minutes to midnight. "Seriously, Shawn?" he grumbled as he fumbled out of bed and groped around for his phone. Who else would be calling him this late? And probably wanting some asinine favor as well. Well, tough luck, kid.

When he looked at the number on displayed on the screen, though, he didn't recognize it. Damn telemarketers were getting a lot more ambitious these days. Still, a spike of foreboding rose up in his gut. Telemarketers didn't work these kinds of hours. Even they, devil spawn though they were, had to sleep sometime. And Henry didn't give his number out to just anybody, so who…?

Clamping down on the sick feeling trying to encapsulate his being, Henry answered gruffly.

"Yeah, hello?"

The voice on the other side was quiet and shaky. He didn't recognize it until it said, "Mr. Spencer? It's Gus."

Guster? Really? Henry could've sworn he had the kid's number, if only to keep tabs on Shawn. Maybe he'd gotten a new number, or Henry hadn't added Gus's number when he got his own cell phone earlier in the year. Either way, it looked like it was his son's much-too-patient-and-forgiving best friend calling, which meant that Shawn had done something stupid. Again.

"Gus? What did Shawn do this time? You're not at the Mexican border, are you?"

The next words froze Henry's veins and released the fear that had been trying to build up inside of him. "N-no. I'm at Santa Barbara General. There's been an accident."

Henry was out the door before Gus finished speaking, in his truck, and speeding toward the hospital.

God, please. Not again.

***

When he arrived, it was to find Gus pacing back and forth in the ER waiting room, arms crossed tightly across his chest, a breathy keening noise accompanying every breath. Henry recognized it instantly as a panic attack, as he'd had to coach a much younger Guster through several of them when he and Shawn were kids, once when a large, but harmless, spider had found its way onto Gus's sneaker. That one had been a doozy.

But Henry didn't have time to put the kid gloves on (oddly enough, it'd always been a lot easier to don the kid gloves for a kid who wasn't his own). Stalking over to Gus, grabbing the frantic man by his tense shoulders, and spinning him around to face him, Henry demanded, "What happened?"

Gus's eyes were red-rimmed, but he managed to regain relative control of himself. "I'm not sure. I got a call about forty-five minutes ago from the hospital. They said that Shawn had been in an accident and that he was en route to the ER. They didn't give me much more than that; I'm waiting on the doctor right now."

Henry's heart tripped over its metaphorical feet in relief. That meant Shawn was alive. Hopefully, he would stay that way. Then Henry could kill him himself. How many times had he told Shawn to get rid of that death machine?

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and it troubled him more than he cared to admit: "Why'd they call you? Why didn't I get a notification?"

Gus was suddenly very interested in a stain that looked disturbingly like dried vomit on the waiting room's wall.

"Gus…?"

"I don't know; they told me I was Shawn's emergency contact."

Henry's heart sunk like lead into his gut. "What about me? Last time—"

"I don't know, Mr. Spencer. I'm sorry. Shawn must have changed it. You'll have to ask him, I don't know…"

The wheezing was starting back again. Releasing the tension in his shoulders the best he could, knowing that Gus wasn't at fault, Henry gently guided the young man to an empty chair and sat him down. After Henry had settled in beside him, he spent a few moments studying his son's best friend. He hadn't seen the kid much since Shawn had left home. Hadn't seen him at all since he'd left for Florida and come back last year. Kid must be keeping himself busy, he assumed. He looked good, though. Other than the obvious panic attack ravaging his systems.

"It's okay, Gus," Henry said, awkwardly patting the young man's back. Once Gus had calmed down enough, Henry rose to his feet. "I'm going to go to the front desk, see what they can tell me."

From behind his hands came Gus's muffled reply, "Good luck with that. They wouldn't tell me a thing except to please sit down and we'll let you know as soon as we know something." The high-pitched mocking tone was so petulant, it nearly caused Henry to let out a bark of hysterical laughter. Instead, he made his way to the desk, determined to get some answers about his son.

Three frustrating minutes later, he sat back down beside Gus and let his own face drop into his own hands. "Dammit."

Gus's muttered "told you" didn't help matters any, and Henry closed his eyes and tried to stave off his own waves of panic.

Dammit, kid. Why didn't I check up on you sooner? I should've asked you to stay for dinner… I should have made you finish it… I should have gotten rid of that damn bike a long time ago.

***

It was a little over an hour later when a nurse poked her head into the room and announced, "Shawn Spencer?"

Henry and Gus clambered to their feet and followed her when she beckoned them over. "We'll just take a moment to talk before we go see Shawn, okay?" She led them to a quiet hallway to the left of the main bustle of the ER and into a small office better suited to be a broom closet. "Have a seat." Gus and Henry scrunched themselves into the two hard plastic chairs nearly stacked on top of one another on one side of the office. For two people who hadn't properly spoken in years, it was a little too close for comfort, but neither complained, too focused on getting information about Shawn.

"Hi, I'm Lily Eastridge," she introduced herself. "I've been helping Dr. Davis with Shawn; he's finishing up with him right now. Are you Shawn's father?"

Henry dipped his head. "Henry Spencer; this is Shawn's friend, Gus. How's my son?"

"Overall, he's pretty lucky, Mr. Spencer. It could have been a lot worse. Still, he has some pretty extensive injuries, but none that should prove to be life-threatening. Your son should make a full recovery."

Both Henry and Gus breathed sighs of relief. "Thank God," Gus exhaled.

The nurse smiled. "So this is what we're looking at right now." She consulted her chart with a quick flick of her eyes before continuing, "Shawn was brought in via ambulance after a passerby spotted his motorcycle off of Nilesferry."

"He was on that backroad on his bike? No wonder he crashed," Henry couldn't help but grouse. How many times had he told Shawn to stick to well-lit roads, especially at night.

The nurse allowed his micro-tantrum, then went on as if nothing had happened. "We did several tests, including an MRI, an XRAY, and an Ultra Sound to check for internal organ damage. Ultimately, we treated Shawn for a severe concussion – no skull fracture, but it was probably a close thing – and a broken wrist."

"That's all?"

The nurse raised her eyebrow at Henry's brash, but somewhat relieved, tone. "No. He had a couple of other concerning injuries, including a four-inch-long gash in his left shin and a dislocated kneecap." Gus and Henry winced in synchronization, but Nurse Lily wasn't done just yet. "This leads me to what is, along with the concussion, perhaps the most severe and concerning of his injuries. Shawn sustained a complete tear to his patellar tendon."

Gus said a word that Henry didn't even know was in the kid's vocabulary. Outwardly, Henry shot the kid a disapproving look. Inwardly, he was a bit proud of him. Didn't know Gus had it in him. But that led him to realize that something that would incite such a reaction in someone like Gus was probably not good at all for his son.

"Can we speak in layman's terms?" Henry asked irritably, his worry for his son coming out as it always did – through gruff words and brash tones.

"The patellar tendon's what anchors the kneecap to the shinbone," Gus explained. "It's usually a pretty debilitating injury, especially a complete tear."

The nurse shot Gus an impressed look. "Wow, are you in the medical field?"

Even in his state of worry, Gus managed to adapt a smug look on his face and flick the side of his nose like a mosquito had just landed on it. "I'm in pharmaceuticals. Surprised I haven't seen you around here."

"Gus, time and place," Henry snapped. "So what are you going to do about the tendon?"

"We've scheduled him for surgery first thing tomorrow morning. Dr. Cunningham is doing the procedure; he's very skilled at what he does. After that, Shawn will have to go through some pretty intensive physical therapy, and he may have a limp for a while, but he should, eventually, regain full mobility and function of his leg again."

"Thank God." This time it was Henry's turn to thank a deity he wasn't even sure he believed in.

"Can we see him?" Gus asked.

"Certainly. Fair warning, he is in a good deal of pain. We do have him on morphine, but low doses so that we can better monitor his concussion overnight. As long as those symptoms don't worsen, the doctor should be able to use an anesthetic to put Shawn to sleep during the surgery instead of a local one, and we should be able to bump up his pain meds after the surgery." She gave them an encouraging smile. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to Shawn. The doctor should be getting him moved out of the ER and into a room shortly, and then you can stay with him tonight if you wish."

***

Shawn looked, for lack of a better word, like hell. Lying there with his left leg bandaged and suspended above the bed, IV pumping drugs – but not enough to dull the shine of pain in his eyes and on his forehead – into his arms, head bandaged, eyes unfocused and glassy, wrist in a splint until they put it in a more permanent cast…

"Dammit, kid," Henry said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He reached out, hesitated, then told his pride to shove it and brushed a strand of sweaty hair off of the kid's forehead. "I told you that damn thing wasn't safe."

Shawn seemed to be having trouble following the conversation, because at least two and a half minutes passed before he responded, words slurred and voice hoarse, "'t wasn' my fault."

Henry shook his head. "It never is, kid."

"N-no," Shawn gasped, squirming slightly against the pain. "Wasn' an… acc'dent."

Henry's heart stuttered. Was Shawn trying to say what it sounded like he was saying? "Shawn, did someone do this to you? Was this intentional?"

It was another long, agonizing minute before Shawn caught up with the conversation and tried to nod, decided against it with a wince of pain, and answered aloud, "Yes. Someone ran me… off th' road."

Anger like none Henry had ever felt welled up inside of him like a volcanic eruption. Someone had done this to his son. Someone had tried – and damn near succeeded – to kill him. He cursed. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that he woke Gus, who had nodded off in the window seat.

"Wuzzat?"

"Don't worry about it, Gus; go back to sleep," Henry ordered.

Muttering something indistinct about Pluto, Gus acquiesced with a cavernous yawn.

"How'd I … get here?" Shawn asked blearily. He looked like he was about to drift off, and Henry hoped to God that the meds were starting to do something.

"Ambulance, kid. How else? Some good Samaritan saw your bike in the brush and called 911."

Shawn was now trying to shake his head and discovering that this, too, was a no-no for people with severe concussions. "Can't be right," he muttered. "The d'rection the bike … was headin' … too far out, no street lights. No one could'a seen me…"

Henry narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying, Shawn?"

"M'be they didn' mean to kill me."

Henry's eyes now flew to the opposite end of the spectrum and widened. "You think the person who ran you off the road might've called 911?"

"Why not?" Shawn asked. "Should'a been no … way t' know it was them… Pro'ly waited a few minutes … then called. Would'a attracted lotta atten…tion if they'd killed me … 'tention they didn' … need…"

Shawn's eyes were drooping exponentially now, and although Henry's first instinct was to press for details about the car that had done this – because about to crash or not, Shawn would have noticed – he ultimately pushed his cop instincts aside and waded into the very strange – and new, and awkward, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome – waters of father instincts. Giving his son an encouraging smile that the kid probably didn't even see, he smoothed back another couple strands of hair and said, "That's a good lead, Shawn. I'll call the station right now and have them track the number and see if we can find the person who did this."

Barely conscious anymore, Shawn added, sounding like he was already asleep, "…pro'ly … find … our killer … too …"

Henry laughed softly. "Damn it if you don't manage to solve this case while concussed in a hospital bed, kid."

To his surprise, Shawn said one final thing before succumbing to slumber, "I'll fix … the doghouse … t'morrow, kay, dad?"

Amazed, with a tightness in his chest that felt surprisingly like pride, Henry shook his head at his son's drugged and concussed optimism. "Don't think you'll be up to that for a while, sport," he said, resting a hand briefly on Shawn's mussed hair. "We'll do it together when you get better, huh?"

There was no response. Henry waited a few minutes, until he was certain that Shawn was finally, mercifully asleep, then grabbed his cell phone and stood up to make the call. Halfway to the door, Henry turned to look at his now resting son. He thought of the doghouse, and of how he'd lamented the effort that Shawn didn't seem to be willing to put into it, or the relationship. He remembered how he'd wondered if it was even worth it to try to resurrect his relationship with his son.

After the roller coaster of emotions he'd ridden in just a few short hours, he'd learned one thing: It was most definitely worth it. He'd lost him once to circumstances and hard feelings. Now that he had a chance to get him back, Henry was sure as hell not going to lose him again. It would be a long, hard, tough road, and they'd probably regret taking it at some point or another, but the moments with his son tonight in the hospital room had proven that it could be done.

It would be done, just like the damn doghouse, even if he had to do all the work himself.

But smiling softly, remembering his son's offer to fix the doghouse the same day he would be having his knee opened up, he realized that he probably wouldn't have to.

Maybe, just maybe, Shawn was willing to try to fix the ragged remains of the doghouse of their relationship, too.