Close Your Eyes, Shawn

By Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't pretend that you think I do when you know I know that you know I don't.

Shawn had not been much of a sleeper as a baby. The kid was up at all hours of the night and getting him to go back to sleep was nearly impossible.

His little boy's cries over the monitor would pull Henry from his bed and down the hall to Shawn's nursery. Shawn would be in his crib - standing up, holding onto the bars, when he was old enough - waiting expectantly for a parent to appear.

Henry would pick Shawn up, dry his tears, and hold him until he settled down. He would try to get his little boy to go back to sleep, but it seemed that once Shawn decided he was awake, he wasn't going back to sleep until someone played with him.

Stubborn little man.

Henry would rock him patiently, murmuring a lullaby under his breath, hoping that the comforting rumble of his chest and the rhythm of his breathing would calm Shawn down and send him to sleep.

"Close your eyes, Shawn," he'd whisper. "Go to sleep."

-PSYCH-

Shawn was brilliant.

That quickly became apparent to Henry and Maddie. He'd inherited Maddie's eidetic memory and could recall the smallest details.

"Damn it, where'd I leave my keys?" muttered Henry as he rifled through the pockets of his coat and scanned the kitchen.

Shawn didn't even look up from tying his shoes. He was still new to the task, carefully looping the laces with his tongue stuck through his teeth.

"They're on the fridge," he said.

Henry looked at Shawn in surprise, glanced to fridge, and then grunted in approval.

"Nice, kid."

Then his mind clicked. A memory like that. The littlest details.

Shawn finished tying his shoes and looked up proudly.

"Close your eyes," Henry ordered. Shawn looked confused.

"What?"

"Just close them, Shawn." Shawn shrugged and closed his eyes. Henry scanned the room. "How many bananas are on the counter?" he questioned.

Shawn's little face scrunched up. "I don't know. My eyes are closed."

"You saw them. Just think."

Shawn frowned as he thought. He held out his hand, counting on his fingers with his eyes closed. "One… two… three! Three."

Henry smiled. "Good."

-PSYCH-

Henry was a cop. He was a cop through-and-through. And he wanted Shawn to be a cop - to be ready.

But at age eight, you're not ready to watch a woman jump from a window.

"Don't look. Don't listen. Just shut your eyes. And keep them shut."

-PSYCH-

"Close your eyes."

"What letter on the exit sign is out?"

"What color is the vinyl?"

"What's the manager's name?"

"How many hats?"

-PSYCH-

Shawn was 13 when he got the worst case of the stomach flu that Henry had ever seen. There was one day at that he couldn't even keep water down.

A few more hours of this, Henry promised himself, and he was going to take Shawn to the hospital.

Finally, after the water stayed down and Henry wasn't afraid that Shawn would get too dehydrated, Henry calmed a little. Shawn was exhausted - feverish, nauseated, and exhausted.

"Dad," said Shawn. "I don't feel so good."

"I know," murmured Henry. "I know you don't, kiddo." He placed a cool washcloth on Shawn's forehead and turned out the lights in his room. "Sleep, Shawn. Close your eyes."

-PSYCH-

When Maddie walked away, Henry didn't know what to do.

He loved her. He'd always loved her. But she didn't love him back anymore.

And there was Shawn, almost a man, leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb to try to prove he didn't care that his mother was leaving them. But Henry could see the tenseness in his shoulders, the unnatural stillness of his son, who was usually bouncing with energy.

Then that car door slammed, and Maddie started driving away.

"Close your eyes, Shawn," thought Henry.

But Shawn didn't close his eyes. He watched, staring, as his mother drove away. As she left both of them behind.

After the car disappeared from sight, Shawn turned around and met his father's gaze. For about twenty seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then, very clearly and articulately, and not even particularly emotionally - which is really what concerned Henry - Shawn said, "I hate you."

And then he turned around and started walking down the steps, and then out onto the sidewalk, headed, clearly, for Gus's.

Henry stood alone in his living room. He couldn't move. He closed his eyes.

-PSYCH-

Shawn came back, to everyone's surprise.

Well, maybe not Gus's. Maybe Gus had always known how it would go.

When he showed up on Henry's doorstep, Henry was shocked, though he hid it behind his annoyance and anger - both of which were very real.

They went to a bar for lunch. Henry couldn't believe the mess Shawn had gotten himself into this time. How the hell was he supposed to clean this up?

"It's okay, Shawn. You got soft."

Shawn's eyes flashed angrily.

"I'm not soft. I'm sharper than I've ever been."

And God, Henry was dying to see. Dying to know if the kid could actually pull this off. If he'd ever actually learned anything from Henry.

"Close your eyes."

"Nuh-uh. No way. I'm not seven any more."

"Any longer, I'll think you're cheating. Close your eyes."

-PSYCH-

"Okay. So. Close your eyes."

"Dad, I didn't come here to take a stupid test. Can't we just talk? As men?"

"Shawn, will you trust your old man for once? Just once? Close your eyes."

-PSYCH-

Henry hadn't seen Shawn this agitated in quite some time. But then, Shawn had never had this much to lose before.

"God, Dad. How do I know what to do?"

Henry smiled.

"Close your eyes, Shawn."

"Oh, for the love of God. I don't have time to remember how many glasses are the drainer or how many bananas are on the counter, Dad. I'm having a crisis here!"

"Shawn," said Henry as soothingly as he could. "Just close your eyes." Huffing, Shawn did as he was told. "Now tell me. Can you see the rest of your life without her?"

-PSYCH-

When Henry heard the gunshot, he just knew.

And then he was moving, running, and there was Shawn, and he was on the ground, and there was too much blood coming out of the hole in his chest, and Henry was a cop, and he knew what a wound like that meant.

"Shawn," he said frantically, pressing his hands over the wound even though he knew it wasn't going to do any good. "Shawn."

Shawn, his little boy, was looking up at him with panicked green eyes. Eyes asking, Dad, Dad, what's going on, what's happening? He was trying to talk, but he couldn't - couldn't get his breath, couldn't think.

Henry placed a gentle hand on his son's forehead.

"It's okay, Shawn," he lied. "It's okay."

Shawn calmed a little, as though he suddenly realized exactly what was going to happen. A look of understanding filled his eyes, and then he just looked young and sad, just like he had when he was only a few months old and he was pulling himself up to stand in his crib, tears streaming down his face.

And Henry suddenly knew what Shawn needed.

"It's alright, son," said Henry softly, pulling Shawn's head into his lap. "Go to sleep." He stroked Shawn's hair, calming his little boy. "It's okay, Shawn. Close your eyes."