Henry Spencer wore the same uniform for over twenty years, wore the same polished badge and loaded gun on his belt and worked hard to provide for his family.

He asked for certain things in return for his provisions: a wife who understood why he did his job and a son who paid attention in class.

He taught his son everything he knew: police codes and standard operating procedures. He took him on visits to the court house, spent hours with him testing him and pushing him in the right direction. When Shawn was old enough, he would follow in his father's footsteps and be a good cop, maybe ever better than him if he used his natural gifts of observation and memory.

When his wife left him he carried on as normal, pushing his teenage son towards the badge, pushing until his rebellious son pushed back. He never backed down, never wavered when he handcuffed his offspring.

He retired early. Finding something to do in the sudden expanse of time to fill was a hard adjustment to make and not knowing where Shawn was, let alone if he was alive never helped. He kept a photo of an eight year old Shawn at take your child to work day by his bed, Shawn grinning up proudly at his uniformed father.

Sometimes it made him regretful, that he'd let Shawn ride off on his motorcycle with so much bad blood between them, quickly followed by anger. If his son had just done what he'd supposed to, if he'd become a cop none of this would have happened.

Having Shawn back in his life is suddenly harder than not talking to him at all. Before he could just imagine his son deciding to become a cop after all, living in a small city somewhere and making a difference. Now he's just reminded everyday that Shawn's closest thing to a uniform is a plaid shirt and jeans and the take your child to work day is just a distant memory.

Whilst Shawn runs off on half-cocked adventures, Henry sticks to what he knows: fishing, chess games and poker nights with old cop buddies. He doesn't like having to stay silent when the rest of his friends boast about how their children are doing on the force. Shawn might be using the skills he taught him now, but it's not the way Henry wanted. He's helping people, solving crimes, Henry has to give him that, but no matter what he says to Shawn, deep down he can never accept it. Like finding yourself in an alternate reality where Shawn's a fake psychic, knowing in your own world Shawn is in a squad car somewhere, gorging on doughnuts and flicking through a sugary case file.

He can't help himself sometimes, making comments about Shawn's choice of profession when Shawn's around and it more often than not starts an argument.

"You don't get it!"

"No you don't get it!"

"When are you going to stop picturing me in uniform dad?" His son shouts his question. They're both too worked up to back down now.

"Never!" He shouts back before his brain can stop him.

Shawn visibly deflates. "That's it then," he says so quietly, Henry struggles to hear. "This is how it's always going to be isn't it?"

Henry sighs, "What is?"

"I'm never going to be the cop you want me to be.....and you're never going to accept that," Shawn pauses "...I gave up on hoping you would accept me whatever I did a long time ago...you've never given up hope that someday I would sign up at the police academy."

For someone so observant, Henry's surprised it's taken this long for Shawn to realise: no matter how much he loves his son, his personal pride can't let him accept this. He's a square peg that his son's trying to force into a round hole.

"I'm never going to be what you really want me to be dad...so either deal with it, or..." Shawn searches for an or, but there isn't one. "I don't think I can handle seeing that look in your eyes much longer."

Henry clears his suddenly tight throat, "What look?"

"The one that says I've failed."

Shawn leaves without anything really being solved, but then Henry doesn't think it ever can be. They're both stubborn. Shawn wants one thing and he wants another and Henry can't imagine a day when they'll meet in the middle.

The photo doesn't move from his bedside table, Shawn still comes to him for help on cases and he still wins big at every poker night, drinking an extra beer or two during the game to forget the way his son avoided looking at him. He gets up the same time every morning and goes to bed the same time every night. He has a routine and it makes him feels safe, knowing nothing ever changes.