They’d been cleared by the paramedics with the condition that they go to the hospital if they had any additional problems breathing.  Of the two of them, Gus seemed to be handling it the best- odd both because of his childhood asthma as well as the fact that he’d been longer in emerging from the building.  Although, granted, Shawn had been the one crouching closest to the tanks when the heat caused them to burst.  Folding himself over Morgan, he’d luckily avoided most of the shrapnel.  But the influx of acidic smoke was another story.  Motivated by the flames whipping closer, he’s manned up and carried the arson inspector to safety, followed by an adrenaline pumped Gus and his oversized burden.  Whatever anyone else, or he himself, might call his best bud, the man was no wimp… this time.  Okay, yes, he still had problems with the mayonnaise jar and the plastic wrapping on CD cases, but right that moment, he’d been a hazelnut Hercules.

They hung out together at the Psych office after that, Gus bossily supervising while Shawn reattached the smoke alarm as well as installed the new multi-plug adapter for the wall socket.  Shawn had even removed the newspapers from the hotplate.

Gus was already talking about volunteering at the station before the first news broadcast aired.

“Something changed tonight Shawn.  I felt… strong, like a hero.”

Swallowing the dry tickle, Shawn smiled at his friend.  “Dude, of course you’re a hero!  You were like Robert Duvall in Deep Impact!”

Gus glared as he prepared to check the smoke alarm.  “Shawn, Robert Duvall exploded on a giant asteroid.”

“Yeah, but he like, saved the world!”

Considering that for a moment, Gus grinned.  “That’s true, he did at that.”  And then he proceeded to deafen them both by holding a freshly extinguished match up to the innocent looking device snuggled against the ceiling.

Letting the air force level ‘aliens are invading’ squeal go on about three seconds longer than necessary, Gus finally turned the device off again and stepped down from his chair.

“Okay, safety systems are engaged.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, coughing as he spoke and strangling the whole works.  “What, are we- KUHH- the Enter- KUH KUH- prise?”

The back slaps didn’t help.  At all.

Escaping from beneath his buddy’s mallet-like pounding, he bee-lined for the fridge and the bottle of icy deliverance waiting within.  Snagging a water for Gus as well, Shawn poured down a mouthful while tossing the other bottle towards his friend.  Fumbling it, Gus managed to keep it from hitting the floor by clutching it against his stomach.

“Throat still bothering you?”

Shawn swallowed another gulp, already shaking his head.  “What, that?  Nah man.  Rouge gnat- flew right down my KUH KUH, right down my windpipe.”  He finished with a stripped wheeze.

“Mm Hm.”  Setting his bottle on the edge of the desk, Gus walked around to the front, opening the middle drawer and digging for a moment.  Finding what he was looking for far more quickly than Shawn ever found anything in his own desk, his friend tossed the item across the space between them. 

Catching it easily, Shawn frowned.  “Cherry throat spray?  Really?  Dude, what have I told you?”

“They don’t make pineapple flavor; we’ve beaten that horse.”

“Beaten that horse?”

“Don’t mock my idiom Shawn.”  Grabbing his water, Gus tapped a few keys on his laptop- shutting it down.

“What are you… are you leaving?”

Lifting his sample case (and the proudly firm shoulders and chest thrust was a bit much) Gus headed across the office towards the door.  “Morgan asked me to stop by the hospital tonight.  Visiting hours are over at eight, so I need to hurry.”

Shawn made no attempt to hide his gape.  “But… But I was going to see her!  Dude, we fist bumped on it!”  The whine was too much stress for his lungs, and he nearly doubled over as the coughing fit tore holes in his esophagus. 

Gus set down his case to walk back his way.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  Maybe you should come with and get checked out again…”

Shawn waved him off as he forced shallow breaths.  “Fine… I’m fine, seriously.”  To prove it, he straightened upright and conjured a grin.  “Go on, say hi to Morgan.  Tell her I’ll be by to see her in the morning.”

Not appearing convinced, likely seeing right through the fakey display of teeth, Gus Spocked one eyebrow.

“Shawn…”

Draping his thumbs in his pockets, Shawn adopted the loose and free slouch that could make Wiccans swoon.  “Okay, a bit Henry-ish even for you.  Seriously man, no big deal.”  He could tell Gus was wavering between the desire to go and the need to stay.  Granted, Shawn suspected his sudden interest in Morgan had more to do with her job than her looks.  Either way, there was no reason to hold the man back just because…

“Just don’t say that thing you always say when we walk into a fire station.”

The worry faded to make way for irritation.  “Shawn, Morgan isn’t a fireman, she’s an arson inspector.”

Rolling his eyes at the correction, Shawn pivoted smoothly towards the other room, aiming for the couch.  “Arson schmarson.  It’s almost seven by the way, you should probably go if you’re gonna go.”

Checking his own watch for confirmation, Gus reached for his case again.  “If you’re sure…”

“I’ve got water, cherry throat spray and Animaniacs on DVD.  I’ll be totally awesome.”

Maybe disbelieving, maybe just gassy, his friend pressed his lips together.  Still, his hesitating ways were losing ground against the clock, and seconds later, he tipped two fingers in a quick salute.  Bypassing the chest thump and fist raise in favor of protecting his unstable lungs, Shawn settled for a peace sign.  What could he say, the interrogation earlier had put him in a mood.

And Gus was gone.

Dropping his smile with the click of the door, Shawn immediately lurched forward and hacked.  He’d been holding this back to the point of a brief tear battle, knowing Gus would insist on dragging him to the ER.  As it was, Shawn’s insurance premiums didn’t need any additional burdens, the threat of another price hike imminent after the concussion a few weeks ago.  Speaking of which, his head still hurt too. 

Groaning, breath more or less evening out again, Shawn let his head ease back until it rested on the cushion behind him.

Tapping at his side, he found the remote, pressing out buttons to turn on the plasma and DVD player.  Not Animaniacs unfortunately, but he wasn’t really planning to watch anyhow- just looking for noise.  The opening theme to Blind Fury fit the bill just fine. 

Sliding down a bit farther, he held the still cold bottle of water against his temple where an errant hunk of superheated concrete had skipped across before moving on to better pastures.  Gus would have corrected the syntax of that thought had he both hung around and had the ability to read minds… which he sometimes seemed to do.  He’d certainly been showing that skill in spades this week, not that it made any difference.  They’d still broken into the Chief’s office, still charmed onto the arson case, still stealthily followed false leads that could totally be overlooked because it allowed them to dress up all awesome cool as firefighters.  They still figured it out.  They still ran to the rescue.  They still… they still got there in time to save Morgan. 

The bottle rolled slowly over his forehead, leaving tiny droplets behind.

He wished he could stop the memory at that point, and then fast-forward to the heroic ending where he emerged god-like from the billowing smoke.  It would have been perfect if he’d managed to keep back the pitiful coughing attack. 

No, it would have been perfect if he… if he hadn’t failed in the first place.

He’d never failed before.  Not like that.  He always talked the bad guys out of doing bad things.  He’d talked himself out of getting shot twenty-three times since starting Psych.  Prior to this, he’d charmed or cajoled himself out of dozens of fights- including four involving weapons of some sort.

But now… twice… he’d failed to talk down the bad guys.  But… they weren’t really bad guys.  Not dyed in the wool ner-do-wells at any rate, not at first.  They’d started out heroes in fact.  A cop and a fireman.  If Lassiter hadn’t acted when he did, Shawn would have been shot.  There was no question about it- no amount of talking could possibly have changed that outcome.  And tonight, he’d proven that same sort of failure when he couldn’t talk a man out of attempting suicide- even if it meant killing three innocent people.  And he wasn’t a bad guy.  He just screwed up.  But he would have burned them all to death.

Shawn coughed, rolling sideways and pulling his legs up beneath him.  His throat ached, but he really hated the cherry spray Gus had foisted on him.  His head still throbbed too, right behind his eyes. 

He tapped around for the remote again, dropping the volume down a few more bars. 

He could still taste scorched plastic on the heels of each exhale.

Dry swallowing, he moved the bottle from his forehead and unscrewed the cap.  It hurt, but he downed over half of it in one shot, rasping loudly when he pulled it away from his lips.  Over the sounds of a blind car chase and predictable banter, he heard a quiet sound.

Turning quickly, he was halfway to his feet when his father walked into the room.  Breathing out as he dropped in relief, he scooted towards one armrest to give the old man room.  Accepting the spot, Henry bent his knees with a pop and sank down.

“How’s the throat?”

Tucking the spray into the edge of the couch, Shawn capped his bottle.  “It’s okay.”  A bit of a worry wart lately, his father studied him for several seconds before glancing towards the TV.

There was no way in hell Henry could sit by silently through this movie.  Criticism was bound to begin any second- plot, dialogue, and Rutger Hauer all helpless victims to his Gatling gun critique.  But though a guaranteed aggravator any other time, Shawn figured he could tolerate it tonight.  In fact…

“You know, I heard Rutger trained under an actual blind samurai to learn those moves.”

“Hm.”  

Not quite the cutting dissention he’d been going for.  Old man must have taken a Valium before heading over.  Oh well, nothing worked like persistence.

“In the commentary they say he actually cut off someone’s hand by accident.”

“Shawn, Rutger Hauer didn’t cut anyone’s hand off.  The swords they used on set couldn’t cut butter.”  Grabbing the remote, his father muted the set.

“Hey- KUH KUH KUH!”  Bending in half, his argument became a racking string of painful coughs, worsening the longer it lasted.  After only a few seconds he plunged his fingers into the couch to hook the discarded cherry spray- coating his raw inner workings with half a dozen vile shots.  It tasted like expired Twizzlers dipped in oven cleaner but at least it killed the lung evacuation. 

Smacking his lips in disgust, he let the small bottle drop to the floor as he cradled his skull in his hands.

“Go home kid.  Get some sleep.”

The headshake was regrettable, but required.  “Nah, I’d rather just hang here.  It’s closer to the hospital, and I told Morgan I’d check on her tomorrow.”

“So you’ll sleep on this uncomfortable couch instead of your bed to shave a couple of miles?  I know gas prices are bad, but that’s just silly.”

Standing, even though he felt the beginnings of bobble head syndrome forming, Shawn stumble stepped towards the kitchen.  “Guess I’m feeling conservative these days.  You should be proud.”  Though still containing liquid, his water bottle was close to being depleted, so he aimed his feet towards the fridge once more.

“You thirsty?”

Still sitting, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees, Henry shook his head.  “I’m fine.”

Lifting out a Tupperware of pineapple along with the fresh water, Shawn kept his back to the older man as he popped the lid and stuck a tart bite between his teeth.

The violent coughing caught him completely off guard.  A trickle of acidic juice down his throat burned furiously, and the golden wedge shot to the floor as he clutched the edge of the counter in pain.

Unable to stop hacking, he couldn’t even shrug off the hands that grasped his shoulders.  Though in retrospect, it was nice that they prevented his impending faceplant.  A minute of this and he was ready to pack it in.  Seriously, wasn’t unconsciousness supposed to set in about now?

Breaths were valiantly creating space between each barking expulsion, assuring he’d unfortunately be staying awake.  Oxygen doing its job, he gingerly began to straighten- aided by the hands. 

“Here.”  The cherry spray was pushed into his grip.  Curling back his lip, Shawn opted for water instead.

“You trying to make me OD?”

Releasing his son to lean against the counter, Henry regarded him sternly.  “You drank a whole bottle when you were five and did just fine.”

Shawn wiped wet drops from his chin.  “Great parenting dad.  How many times did you let me guzzle the bleach under the sink?” 

Unamused, his father rested his hips against the counter beside him and folded his arms.  “Kid, I had every hazardous product in the house locked up from the time you were three months old and tried to eat your own hand.”

Smirking, Shawn finally pushed away from the sink and headed back towards the couch.  The lead slacks he’d apparently dressed in after his shower were making their weight known.  Dropping more than sitting, he felt his fatigue in every muscle.

He’d never admit it, but his father’s suggestion of going home was sounding really good about then.

On the television, the movie had reached the bar fight- glib one-liners being delivered in silence.  He didn’t have the motivation to unmute it. 

And then, whatever alcohol that was contained in the cherry spray obviously kicked in, because what came out of his mouth couldn’t have been spoken from a sober mind.

“What should I have said to him dad?”

He glanced towards his father, noting the half second of surprise before it was buried.  Finding his hands less stressful for contemplation, Shawn dropped his eyes again

“I was calm.  I understood.  I knew he didn’t want to kill anyone else dad- I knew it.”  He said fiercely.  His hands were in fists now, making the small scattering of burns stand out white. 

“He… I asked him if he really wanted to kill three innocent people.  And I thought… I was sure he would give it up.  I didn’t see it- I didn’t…”  His jaw ached from trying to control the sudden shake.  Sniffing back some control, he exhaled a long gust of air before scrubbing the heel of his palm beneath his eyes. 

He couldn’t erase that look.  Tears running down his face as Army held the lighter in one hand.  He’d been horrified by his actions.  He was supposed to give up when he realized it was over.  He was supposed to listen.

But he didn’t listen.  He just looked Shawn in the eyes and…

“It was my fault.  Danny wasn’t supposed to be there!”

“What about us?  What about your arson inspector?  We didn’t do anything.  Do we deserve to die?”

“I don’t… I don’t…  No…”

“No.” He’d won him over.  He could tell.  In a few seconds, Army would snap the lighter shut, and they could all go home.  It was going to be okay.  It was…

“But I can’t live with this any more!”

“NOOOO!!”

“He was going to kill us anyway.”  Whispering now, he stared blankly towards the plasma.  “He didn’t want to, but he still…  Dad, I didn’t see it… I couldn’t see it…”

The couch dipped, and he actually flinched before shifting his eyes and then dropping his forehead against his palms.  He hated the nervous reaction.  He’d been jumpy for hours.

His dad wasn’t one for a lot of hugs and comfort.  But at that moment, he seemed to forget that as he placed one hand on the back of Shawn’s neck.

“I wish I could give you an answer son.  You know as well as I that if someone is determined to do something, they will.”

Shawn shrugged off the hand and stood.  “No- he was supposed to listen!  He agreed with me dad!  He’s a firefighter!  They don’t kill people, they save them!  What the hell happened to the rules?  First cops and now firemen.  What next?  Is Mickey Mouse going to start slaughtering people now?”  He was being irrational, and he could hear the rising pitch in his voice, but he didn’t care.  Instead of relaxing he started to pace- kicking a shoe out of his way and feeling angry satisfaction when it knocked down a stack of DVDs.

Henry watched from his perch on the couch.  “What do you want to hear Shawn?”

Stopping short of actually tugging at his hair, Shawn suddenly whirled to face his father.  “Tell me what I did wrong!”

He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the muted sting.  “I screwed up somehow.  I did something wrong- I missed something.  What did I miss dad?  Just tell me- no games dad, just tell me what I did wrong.”

Standing, the older man walked forward until he could grab both shoulders- gripping firmly when Shawn tried to wrench away.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  This was not your fault kid.”  He squeezed gently, keeping eye contact.  “It’s not your fault.”

Feeling the brief energy burst draining out of him once more as the outburst faded back to weary bafflement, Shawn clasped his elbows and sagged.  With his father’s grip sliding to his bicep, he let himself be guided back to the couch again. 

He was just so tired.

“Come on, let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine dad, really.”

His father sighed.  “Yeah, well maybe I’m not.” 

Looking up at the old man, Shawn actually found he had no response.  Henry patted his knee.  “Look, I’ll even drop you off in the morning so you pick up your bike.”  This tone he knew.  Mild though it was to untrained ears, it was as firm as leather.  With more strength both mental and physical, Shawn was equal to the task of arguing this.  But now, half falling to the floor, he just didn’t have the energy.

I screwed up.  But how?  What did I do wrong?

No answers within any more than without.  Meanwhile, his father was still waiting.

“Yeah, alright, fine.” 

Leaving him alone while he dug for his keys, Henry kept one eye on his son as Shawn switched off the television and grabbed his shoe from the pile of toppled movies. 

Slipping the sneakers over his heels, Shawn pivoted his feet to work the footwear on all the way.  Then, hooking his own keys off the counter, he followed his father towards the door.  Just before going out, however, he paused one more time, sinking one hand into his pocket.

“You can’t always win… can you.”  He said. 

Henry stood by the door, keys hanging from one hand as he shook his head.  “No.”

Shawn bit his lip, refusing to rub his skull again.  An answer at least, even though it sucked, was something.  Right?  One answer that pretty much summed up a lot of the confusion and doubt he’d been battling that evening.  It didn’t fix it.  It didn’t explain it.  It just… was.  After a second, a nodded.

And without a word, he walked out of the office.