Title: Hells Belles, Part 1

Author: tera_gram & Jane Westin

Rating: PG

Pairings: Shawn/Lassiter.

Warning: Shassie Slash. Spoilers for Yang 3 in 2-D.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. [Thank-you to for the disclaimer]

Summary: Lassiter takes on a new responsibility, which brings him closer to Shawn

Note: Hell's Bells noted that I usually write about Shawn and Lassiter's "awkward beginnings and sudden, heart-warming realizations of affection," and requested something about them married with kids. This one's for you, Hell's Bells.

Check out jane-westin's prequel to this story Belle In A Handbasketlink

Chapter 1

Santa Barbara, Six Months Ago.

Lassiter blamed the fist. It was small and chubby and it gripped his index finger with a strength he didn't expect a baby to have. His first meeting with the owner of the tiny fist happened on a rainy October 4th night when he and O'Hara had been called to a domestic disturbance. The couple creating the disturbance were highly agitated that their black market OxyContin business wasn't running as smoothly as they had hoped. They were not at all agitated by the obvious distress of their emaciated six-month-old daughter, strapped in a car seat in the bathtub.

As Lassiter carried the tiny infant to the squad car, sheltering her against the blowing rain with his jacket, he was surprised by how angry he felt. As he looked at the hospital x-rays that detailed her fractured bones he felt as if he'd tapped into a well of anger that had no bottom. It surged up, threatening to drown both her abusive parents and the pessimistic woman from child and family services. Within forty-eight hours, he was applying for a foster parent license and arranging for a home visit.

Lassiter worried about how his decision might be perceived at work. He didn't want people to think he was going soft. The truth was, however, that no one who had seen Lassiter with the tiny girl thought of him as soft. If anything, the word 'fierce' had come to mind. O'Hara noted how he glared from beneath his brows at anyone who came within a ten-foot radius, as if they might try to steal her away. McNab had personally heard Lassiter talking to her when he thought nobody was around.

"Who's my little princess? That's right. It's you!" Lassiter had cooed at the baby. McNab had smiled broadly, and was about to initiate conversation until Lassiter had added, "And anyone who tries to hurt my little princess gets shot in all his toes and fingers with a Glock 17 before dying slowly of a festering gut wound." McNab had done a quick 180 and brought his reports to O'Hara instead.

In a way, the situation with Shawn had been the baby's fault as well. The psychic had strolled in to the station one stormy evening and caught Lassiter going through a stack of resumes from potential nannies. In his glistening pea green poncho Shawn he looked like a wilted flower. As he Shawn pulled off the wet slicker and hung it on a peg, Lassiter hunched even further behind his computer screen and pretended not to see him. It was late and the bullpen was operating at minimum capacity. Maybe, without an audience, Spencer would just go home.

"Lassie, Lassie, Lassie," Shawn slapped a wet hand heavily onto his shoulder and smiled slyly. "You wouldn't, by any chance be misusing your access to police resources, would you? "

Lassiter turned and glared at him with red-rimmed eyes. After the fourth sleepless night the morality of misusing police resources paled in comparison to the danger that a sleep deprived man with a Smith & Wesson M&P posed to the public.

"What's it to you?"

Shawn sat on the edge of his desk and loomed over him, smelling pleasantly of something light and clean. It reminded Lassiter of a freshly mowed lawn.

"Only that there's a much easier way to find someone to babysit little...what's the kid's name?"

"Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte." Lassiter felt the muscles in his jaw tighten and his teeth ground together. Shawn mocked everything he did. Why should caring for a neglected infant be any different?

Shawn tilted his head, puzzled. "Why Charlotte? She's my least favourite character on Sex and The City. There's still time to change it, you know. What about Samantha? Or Miranda?" His face lit up. "Hey. What about Shawna? Shawnelle? Shawnika? Oooh, I like that one. Say it with me…Shawnika."

Lassiter grimaced. Somehow, giving her an identity just hadn't been high on her birth parent's list of priorities. Even now, the courts still considered her to be Baby Conway. But Lassiter had been calling her Charlotte for almost a week now.

"Charlotte's a family name. It's the feminine form of Charles." He ground the words out. Somehow even giving Spencer this amount of information felt excessively forthcoming. He didn't want to turn into one of those people who talked about their kid nonstop. Not that she was his kid, he reminded himself. Not yet, anyway.

"And it's the name of Angelica's mom on Rugrats," Shawn said, waving a hand as if this was common knowledge. When Lassiter continued to glare at him, Shawn continued. "Here's the thing…some of these fly-by-night babysitting places just dope the kids up with tranquilizers, dress them as pumpkins or sunflowers and churn out calendars. You need someone reliable. The good news is I'm available to help." He tilted his head, grinned, and held the pose, allowing Lassiter to take in the glory that was Shawn, available to help.

Lassiter smirked and turned back to his computer screen. "The Chief may be content to rely on your mumbo-jumbo to select her childcare, Spencer, but I prefer the tried and true method of a thorough background check and a session with the polygraph." He'd already eliminated one candidate who, although leading the pack in childhood education credits and glowing references, admitted to having smoked marijuana in junior high. The last thing he wanted was to leave little Charlotte in the care of a drug addict.

He glanced at the clock on his computer screen. His mother's poker club was starting in an hour. As much as he disliked the idea of unsavory babysitters, leaving a child in his mother's care for an extended period wasn't exactly his first choice either. Every penny she saved him in childcare now would be paid out in Charlotte's counseling bills down the road.

Shawn rolled his eyes and started to play with the pens on the desk, making them dance like little legs. "I don't mean help in your search," he said. "I mean I'm available to babysit. Although now that you mention it, I would be great at tracking down sitters. I was always the first in my class to find Waldo."

"Waldo." Lassiter was unimpressed.

"Yeah. He's like Harry Potter, except he dresses like a candy cane and has thinner books. But seriously, think about it. You look like you're a couple days away from hiding her in your desk drawer, whereas I have a very flexible schedule."

"You." Lassiter managed to pack all his doubt, distrust and revulsion into the tiny word. But despite his feelings, Spencer wasn't wrong. He didn't know how Spencer could tell, but he had actually measured several spaces in the office to see if they could accommodate a small sleeper. Just for those nights when he had to work late.

"Yes, me." Shawn leaned back, almost lying on the desk, and ran a hand up his t-shirt. "I'm great with kids. I've worked as a teacher, and I took a pediatric first aid course from the American Heart Association. Plus I've seen every episode of Sesame Street and my cable package includes Nickelodeon."

"Really?" Lassiter tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. First Aid training was on his list of must-haves. "You taught children?"

"No. I taught English as a foreign language in Thailand, but if I can convince thirty Thai businessmen to put on a musical production of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, I think I can communicate with a baby. She speaks English, right?"

"A kind of English." Despite his exhaustion Lassiter couldn't suppress a smile when he thought of how Charlotte had started to mimic talking. He looked at Shawn with narrowed eyes. "What about diapers? Changed any?"

Shawn leaned forward further, resting his chin in his hand, and looked up at him with guileless hazel eyes. Lassiter glanced away then back again, his discomfort at the intimacy fighting with his need to scrutinize Spencer for any hint of ulterior motivation.

"I worked in waste removal in New Jersey for a week and a half," he said, "so I know all about handling toxic substances. And I learned a lot about how the witness protection program works, if that becomes relevant."

Lassiter looked at his shrinking list of possible caregivers, and a phrase he'd heard his grandmother use came to mind: Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

"You're hired. Temporarily."

It was a bright and sunny Saturday when Gus arrived at the psych office to find Shawn with his back to the door, wiggling to No Doubt.

"Hey baby, hey baby hey," Shawn sang in a light falsetto.

"Shawn," Gus said, moving to his desk and trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, "I've said it before and I'll say it again. Psych is a business, and people generally expect a business to be professional. Booty poppin' is not professional."

Shawn turned and rolled his eyes. "Psssaw! I am totally professional. He did a quick dance step he'd picked up from watching Kristi Yamaguchi on Dancing With the Stars and then stood, hands on his hips, with his chin in the air. "Tell me that didn't look professional. I dare you!"

Gus froze. "Why do you have a baby strapped to your chest?" He immediately estimated the age of the baby, subtracted nine months and tried to recall who Shawn had been seeing over a year ago. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with Gina Raypack."

"Of course not," Shawn said, pulling a face. "Do you hear the kid baby-talking about herself in the third person?"

Gus continued to stare at him with what he liked to think of as his truth ray.

"Relax," Shawn said, finally crumbling under the power of the ray. "It's not mine. I'm babysitting." He smiled. "I'm a manny."

"A manny."

"A male nanny," Shawn explained.

The baby looked at Gus with serious brown eyes, then put her lips together and blew, spraying spit everywhere.

"I just taught her how to do that," Shawn said proudly. "She's obviously brilliant. I'm looking into Ivy Tech schools. I think she'd look adorable in Harvard gold."

"I think you mean Ivy League," Gus said. "And Harvard is crimson, not gold."

"Whatever." Shawn shrugged and reclined onto the couch. The baby was small, but carrying her around all day was starting to take a toll on his lower back.

Gus walked smoothly to his desk and sat, trying to look calm. When Shawn had first pushed him into this psychic detective business he'd expected it would last anywhere from six months to a year before Shawn got bored and moved on to something else. Now, seeing Shawn wearing the Snugli and a glow of enthusiasm, he wondered if Shawn's commitment to running Psych had simply been a temporary anomaly. He glanced around their office and wondered if he could find someone to sublet the space until their lease ran out next year.

"I know what a manny is," he said, trying hard to hide his disappointment. "Why are you one all of a sudden?"

"Lassiter's gone all Different Strokes for Charlotte here and I'm his Charles In Charge."

"Have you even considered how this new job might affect Psych?" Gus didn't bother trying to keep the resentment out of his voice. As much as Shawn might relish the excitement of constantly switching jobs, Gus had grown to enjoy Psych, and he wasn't crazy about losing his most adventurous job so that Shawn could act out his favorite scenes from Three Men and a Baby.

Shawn gaped. "You have a second job."

"That's different. I have a job so my bills get paid and I have a respectable work history on my resume. You, on the other hand, are taking care of a kid. And kids need constant attention."

As though to illustrate this, Charlotte began to wriggle and squeal, batting the carrier with both hands. Shawn stood and bounced a little to quiet her.

"As I said." Gus smirked. "Constant attention."

Shawn pouted. "You should have seen him, Gus." He ran a hand in front of his face. "With the dark circles and the red eyes. He looked like a pot-smoking panda. Lassie needed someone."

"Why did that someone have to be you?" Gus had a feeling there was more going on here than met the eye. It was starting to feel suspiciously like the time Shawn had suddenly professed a desire to join the grade eight boy's volleyball team in order to spend more time standing next to Walter Mayfield.

Shawn smiled. "I see what's going on. You think I'm ditching Psych."

"Well, aren't you?" Gus crossed his arms, realized that looked defensive and settled for resting his hands on his hips.

"No. Gus, buddy, pal," Shawn strode over and wrapped an arm around him. "Don't be the pizza burn on the roof of my mouth." He waved a hand at the office. "This is our place. This is where we do our thing. It's our secret headquarters, Batcave, crime lab, Scooby van, all rolled into one! I wouldn't leave this."

Gus barely dared to believe him. "So you're still doing Psych?"

"Of course!" Shawn twirled slowly, modeling the baby carrier. "Check it out. This kid is portable! And how cool will it be when we question people with a baby? I've already got this bit worked out where I pretend the baby is sensing their guilt." He put a hand lightly on Charlotte's head, and Gus thought her expression did almost look like she was experiencing some unpleasant psychic revelation. "Kids are like dogs," Shawn added. "They can sense evil."

"Dogs cannot sense evil." Gus said insistently.

Shawn waved a hand, dismissing the objection. "You're just saying that because Mrs. Wallis's Doberman used to chase you home from school."

"It wanted to kill me and eat me." Gus's mouth hardened as he recalled the terror of trying to outrun the 70lb monster. He'd taken to carrying all-beef wieners with him so he could fling them behind him, hoping the dog would think they were Gus's fingers.

"It wanted to play."

"With my shin bones, by burying them in the park." Gus leaned back in his chair. He was still resentful about the situation. Mrs. Willis had eventually sent a letter to his parents, asking him to stop feeding her dog junk food.

"My point is," Shawn said, "we can still do all the stuff we did before, only now we'll be doing it with a baby. It'll be like Undercover Blues. I get to be Dennis Quaid, so you're Kathleen Turner."

"I'm not being Kathleen Turner, Shawn."

"Fine. You can be," he groped for a substitute, "Lieutenant Ted Sawyer. Happy now?"

"Fine." Gus nodded. He had enjoyed Obba Babatundé's stage portrayal of Sammy Davis Jr. in Sammy: Once in a Lifetime. He could live with being Lt. Sawyer.

Charlotte squawked and wriggled, as though the idea of Gus as Lt Sawyer annoyed her.

"Now if I could just get a pair of Wayfarers and if you would grow a moustache... Oh-oh!" Shawn wrinkled his nose. He removed Charlotte from the carrier and sniffed her tentatively. Nodding, he held her out to Gus. "Yep. We've got a situation here."

Gus stepped back and held up his hands defensively. "Why are you giving her to me? You're the nanny."

"Manny."

"Whatever."

"Come on, Gus," Shawn pushed Charlotte toward him again. "She needs to be changed."

"Oh no, Shawn." Gus crossed his arms and smirked at his friend. "You are going to change that diaper. And the one after that, and the one after that. You're the manny. Man up."

"Fine." Shawn continued to stare confusedly at Charlotte's lower half.

"You haven't changed a diaper before, have you?"

"Duh. Why do you think I'm hanging out with you today?" Shawn shifted Charlotte to his hip, opened his desk drawer and pushed the contents of his desktop into it. He spread out a changing pad and hefted the diaper bag onto the desk.

"No." Shawn looked up to see Gus shaking his head.

"What? This is perfect."

"Change her on the floor. Not the desk."

"The floor?" Shawn, knowing when that he had not, in fact, cleaned the floor the last four times Gus had asked him to, sounded horrified. "Why not the desk?"

"Because she can squirm away from you and fall off the desk. Do you want to have Lassiter meet you at the emergency room?"

Shawn imagined having to call Lassiter from the hospital. "The floor it is!" He pulled the changing pad from the desk, set it onto the rug, and lay Charlotte on it.

"Have you sanitized your hands?" Gus asked.

"Of course," Shawn stretched up to Gus's desk, pumped a glob of sanitizer onto his hands and rubbed them together. "What's next? This little Strawberry Shortcake is starting to smell ripe!"

"Take off the dirty diaper."

Shawn unfastened the tabs of the diaper and peeled it open. The horrible smell intensified. He immediately grimaced and turned away.

"Ugh!" Shawn's nose felt like it was trying to retract into his head. "This smells like a dogfood burrito left in a hot car."

"You officially gave up your right to complain about smells when you bought a case of Nacho Corn Nuts," Gus reminded him.

"They're cheaper by the caseload," Shawn explained. He turned reluctantly back to the unpleasant task. "How about looks? Can I complain about those?" He gestured at the mess inside the diaper. "That can't be normal. It looks...it looks..."

"I know," Gus sympathized, wincing and nodding. He brought the lined wastebasket over. "Now wrap the diaper up tightly and throw it in here." He pulled the can back for a moment and pointed a finger warningly at Shawn. "Do not slam-dunk."

"Fine." Shawn wadded up the diaper, sealed it closed with its sticky tabs, and set it into the trash.

Gus glanced anxiously toward the door, hoping that no clients came in to find them hunched over a dirty diaper." Now clean her bottom with the baby wipes." He grabbed the pack of wipes from the baby bag and held it out to Shawn.

"Can't we just hose her down in the sink?" Shawn asked, glancing wistfully toward the tiny kitchenette. Charlotte grabbed one of her feet and looked expectantly up at Gus, who shook his head.

"You have to wipe front to back," Gus added. "You don't want to bring her back to Lassiter with an infection, do you?"

Shawn imagined the unchecked fury that would unleash and shook his head, silently mouthing the word "no." He pulled a handful of baby wipes from their package and stared at the situation before him, muttering, "Front to back, front to back."

Seeing Shawn's wrinkled brow, Gus added, "The front of the baby, Shawn."

"Oh. That makes more sense." Shawn began to wipe her clean.

Charlotte scrunched her face up and began to howl.

"What am I doing wrong?" Shawn felt panicky and incompetent. "Why is she crying?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't you cry if you were bare-assed and cold and someone was messing with you?"

Shawn considered that. "Good point," he said.

"Babies go through ten or more of those a day." Gus remarked, watching Shawn's face for a reaction. "Do you still think getting close to Lassiter is worth it?"

Shawn glanced up at Gus and back at Charlotte, wriggling and crying on the floor, and fought to conceal a smile. "What gave me away?"

Gus snorted a laugh. "Please! This is just like the time you agreed to be lunch room monitor because it meant being close to Mr. Coltie."

Even as he dropped dirty baby wipes into the trashcan, Shawn's eyes glazed with the memory of their grade nine homeroom teacher with his floppy Johnny Depp hair. "You mean Mr. Cutie."

"And the time you joined the boys volleyball team, and the time you pretended you knew how to rock climb. You have a history of doing dumb things to impress guys you like."

"The volleyball team wasn't dumb." Shawn frowned and grabbed a clean diaper from the bag.

"You couldn't play," Gus pointed out. "They lost the semi-finals because of you."

"Okay, but rock climbing was pretty cool." Shawn maneuvered the clean diaper under Charlotte and wrapped it up around her. Charlotte took a deep breath as though to howl again, but instead, she just let it out and kicked her feet at Shawn.

"Until the fire department had to get you down off Cathedral Peak."

"Hmmm," Shawn mused, fastening the diaper with its sticky tabs. "Not one of my more successful dates."

"This," Gus said, pointing to Charlotte, who was now comfortable, clean, and smiling, "is a real person. She is not a way to get to Lassiter."

"That's easy for you to say, you've been dating Jules for what, like eight months now?"

"Eight and a half. But that's a totally different situation."

"Come on, Gus," Shawn cajoled, picking Charlotte up and installing her back in the chest carrier. "You've got your hot cop. Help me get mine. That's all I ask."