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Full Summary: Some confessions aren't worth the hardships coping with them create. But some, like the ones you wait your whole life to hear, are worth every ounce of emotion dragged out of you. But… how does someone who has spent years running away from reality learn to take a step back and face life when he taught himself how to do the exact opposite? How is Shawn supposed to realize hearing his father say those three little words to him doesn't mean Henry has never loved him until now, but that he's loved him all along?

A/N: My thanks go out to my two wonderful betas, SydneyWoo and Tazmy. I can't express how thankful I to them for taking time out of their day to help me on my story. MusicalLuna1 also receives my gratitude for assisting me in making my summary applicable. You guys made it possible!

Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for the end of 4.02, He Dead.

A Second Short

When Shawn gives his father fifteen seconds to admit what his dying words would be, Shawn wants him to stumble away his seconds. He doesn't want to hear a heartfelt reply. Hearing as much would send him into a frenzy – What do I say? How do I react? Is this when we hug? Too many questions, too few seconds, and only one chance to respond adequately boils down to an inner turmoil Shawn isn't prepared to deal with.

But, most of all, Shawn doesn't want a no-win scenario to be the means which finally manages to make Henry admit to anything similar to heartfelt feelings for his son. He knows his father would garner some perverse pleasure from being the first Spencer to concede to having real feelings bordering on love (if not love itself). And if death is what it takes for Henry Spencer to finally open up to him, then Shawn would rather have death be swift and final instead of drawn out into a soul-bearing moment of fulfillment for the older man.

After all, over thirty years have passed and Henry has only once admitted to the fact that he's proud of Shawn (that particular moment was fleeting and confusing enough that its memory has been pushed to the back of both their minds). Shawn hasn't managed to say anything remotely similar in regards to the man he calls his father. The fact serves to bite at his heart suddenly, unexpectedly.

He resolves not to let the older man have the last laugh at his expense. No, he won't let it get that far.

He steals away his father's last second, cutting him short at fourteen when he sees the "I" forming on Henry's lips.

Henry stutters out a couple more half-formed words as Shawn replies, "That's it, pop. You're dead. I'm closing your eyelids. I'm taking off your watch. Putting that thing on Craig's list," he says with a swipe of his hand towards his father's interpretation of a fashionable lamp, leaving the room as fast as the lamp went out of style.

He sighs inwardly in content as he makes for the door. Another Spencer disaster averted, he thinks but not before a niggling of regret spurs in his stomach. Perhaps he should have given his father the full fifteen? Perhaps he should have heard him out?

Perhaps doesn't change anything, he grouses as his hand grasps the doorknob with unrestrained frustration. He spends half a second watching his knuckles turn a shocking white before spending the next half making up his mind.

Shawn pulls the door open and closes it moments later, resolve holding him steadfast.

Stealing in a breath, he doubles back on the balls of his feet, just like his father taught him, and folds his body against the wall just in time to hear Henry's 'dying' declaration.

"–to say I love you."

The chaos he expects isn't there. He isn't sent into an uncontrollable frenzy, clambering to find a reply of equal weight. He doesn't feel a shred of anger grow inside, begging for any outlet Shawn can afford. Instead, he feels a sense of complacency. He spent a better part of his life trying to earn his father's love and another part rebelling when his efforts proved futile; but now he realizes that he's been wrong this whole time – that he's never not had his father's love.

He smiles, the sort of bemused yet thoughtful smile that softens his features. His father may not have the ability to be outright with his emotions but now, as Shawn replays his life in fast-forward, he understands Henry's love writes itself in his actions.

Henry says, "I'm here for you when you need me," with the occasional pat on the back.

Shared dinners are code for, "I want to spend time with you outside of cases," and "I don't want you to starve or live off take-out for the rest of your life."

Henry keeping long since delivered postcards, which originally constituted the sentiment, "This is the closest I've been to you since you left. I'm not letting my last connection to you get away easily," now stand for, "I want to be able to remember how I lost you the first time. If I don't, I don't think I'll be able to keep you around this time."

Perhaps Henry's most volatile action comes from his lectures, each one keeping the central theme of, "I care for you too much to see you lose your head. Keep it on straight and I don't have a doubt you'll find your goal."

Shawn doesn't know how it took him thirty-two years to realize all of these are Henry Spencer's warped way of saying, "I love you, idiot."

Shawn's smile widens, an unseen weight on his shoulders disappears as he stands up straighter. He can't remember the last time he has felt as relieved or validated.

Perhaps cutting dad a second short was for the best, Shawn reasons as he shifts away from the wall. He tracks into the kitchen to sneak out the back but not before giving his own declaration, "Thank you, Dad," Shawn whispers into the air, not yet able to find the other three words applicable to his father. At least not out loud. After all, his father has taught him a lot but he's never taught him how to reciprocate a father's love in words. But maybe, just maybe, he's learning.

If one wishes to know love, one must live love, in action. Thoughts, readings and discourse on love are of value only as they present questions to be acted upon.
- Leo Buscaglia