Henry Spencer emerged from the bathroom, sporting his bath robe. At times, he questioned his own masculinity while wearing that robe--it was, after all, soft and fuzzy and fairly unmanly. However, he would dismiss these thoughts, reasoning that his love for fishing and grilling the perfect steaks and hamburgers and his time spent as a tough, highly-skilled cop more than made up for the slight feminimity of the robe.
Plus, it was just too damn comfy NOT to wear.
Letting out a yawn, Henry made his way back to his room, automatically cataloguing the angle of the rays of sunshine just beginning to peek through his window, the cobweb that had formed in the upper right-hand corner of the ceiling, and the fly that was zooming around his bedside table in a frenzy.
He rooted through his dresser for a bit, grabbing underwear and a pair of cargo shorts, which he put on, glaring at the fly that was now moving toward the mounted largemouth bass hanging on the wall. Mumbling about "stupid pests" under his breath, he threw open his closet door, revealing an abnormally large collection of colorful and elaborately printed shirts. Shirts with various tropical designs, in reds and yellows and greens and blues and just about every other color under the sun. All shirts that Shawn constantly mocked, and--in one case--complained about wearing.
If Henry were to be honest with himself, Shawn's disgruntled feelings about the shirts was one of the reasons Henry took to wearing them. Irritating his now-adult son was a sort of passtime for him. After all, he had been on the receiving end of Shawn's antics far too many times to count.
However, there was another reason for wearing the shirts. One that Henry tried not to dwell on too much.
During his years on the force, Henry had genuinely enjoyed his job. He took pride in his work, was good at it, and he liked knowing that he was making a difference. It also served as a fairly decent distraction from his deteriorating marriage and rocky relationship with his son.
But then again, the job had its drawbacks. It was inevitable that he would see things.
Awful things.
Things that would give any ordinary person nightmares.
The fact that he was exceptionally observant made these dark, dark images burn themselves even more so into his mind. Even a tough, rough-edged cop such as himself couldn't help but shudder at the memories--memories of bloodied crime-scenes, unspeakable acts, parents crumpling at the news that their child wouldn't come home that night...
Dark, dark things.
So, after retiring from the force, Henry had stocked up on the most colorful, outrageous shirts that he could get his hands on. The brighter and more eye-watering, the better. Anything to drown out the darkness from his cop days. Anything to brighten his mood when thoughts of past crime-scenes, failed marriages, and a rebellious teenager skipping town crept back in...
Henry rubbed his neck, scanning the shirts thoughtfully, before selecting a bright orange number with palm trees scattered across it and shutting the closet doors on a genocide of color within.
Author's Chapter Notes:
So this is my first attempt at writing a Psych fic in almost...two years? Something like that. So yeah, it's been a while.
I saw that someone had wanted a story about Henry's outrageous shirt collection on the Character Fantasies thread on the forum, and this kind of just popped into my head. I'm not sure if someone answered it or not, but here's my idea on the subject.
*References to And Down The Stretch Comes Murder
Disclaimer: Don't own this beautiful show, nor do I own Henry Spencer.
I saw that someone had wanted a story about Henry's outrageous shirt collection on the Character Fantasies thread on the forum, and this kind of just popped into my head. I'm not sure if someone answered it or not, but here's my idea on the subject.
*References to And Down The Stretch Comes Murder
Disclaimer: Don't own this beautiful show, nor do I own Henry Spencer.
Chapter End Notes:
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