"The place looks fine," Shawn assured Lassiter for the tenth time.
"Fine isn't good enough," Lassiter snapped. Any minute now a social worker was going to be looking the place over with an eagle eye and making up her mind about whether or not he was an adequate parent. This wasn't the time to slack off.
Shawn rolled his eyes and followed up with a neck roll for good measure.
"Dude, you've got a smoke detector, a carbon monoxide detector, a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit that makes the emergency department of the Santa Barbara hospital look like a couple of dirty Band-Aids at the bottom of Doogie Howser's backpack."
Lassiter frowned down at the clipboard in his hand. "I've got adequate space. Check." He grabbed the knob of a lower cabinet and gave it a firm shake. "Baby-proofed cabinets, check."
"Oh it's baby-proofed," Shawn agreed. "And kid, adolescent, and adult-proofed too. I can't even get in there now. What if I want to cook something?"
"Get takeout," Lassiter muttered. Truth be told, the hardest part of babyproofing his home had been deciding what to do with all the firearms he used to keep hidden around the place. But a few biometric gun vaults in strategic locations had taken care of that. He stared intently at the far wall. "Maybe I should put a few more securing screws into the bookshelf."
"That bookshelf isn't going anywhere," Shawn assured him. "An earthquake could knock down the building and that bookshelf wouldn't move."
Lassiter ignored him. "Secured the windows, check."
Shawn stepped in close and fastened him in the grip of his hazel stare.
"Lassie, relax. We got this."
Before he had time to reflect on Shawn's casual use of the word "we," the doorbell was ringing. It was time.
The social worker, Ms. Rodriguez, was in her mid thirties. She wore a dress shirt and slacks and kept her dark hair pulled back into a French roll. She looked like a woman who appreciated neatness. Gus would have loved her, Shawn thought. She shook hands with Shawn and Lassiter and allowed them to show her into the apartment.
"Charlotte's room is this way," Lassiter indicated the hallway with a sweep of his arm. He was particularly anxious to show her Charlotte's room, which thanks to the bounty of Shawn's baby shower was now well stocked with clothes, toys, and a changing table whose safety rating was the highest in its class. But Rodriguez lowered herself into an armchair and opened her briefcase instead, spreading her papers out onto the coffee table.
"I'd prefer to start with you, Mr. Lassiter," she said, staring intently at the contents of a manila folder. She turned her gaze to Shawn, who had followed her lead and was now sitting nervously on the couch across from her. "And your name is?"
"Spencer. Shawn Spencer."
"And, you're a couple?" She looked reproachfully at the notes in her hand, as if blaming them for not having Shawn's information included.
"No! Good god, no!" His words sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment.
Have I been being that obvious? Lassiter wondered. If even a stranger could sense he was attracted to Shawn then he'd really let his guard down.
"Mr. Spencer just works for me." Lassiter's eyes widened with alarm and he shifted, moving away further down the sofa.
Shawn, his ubiquitous smile now nowhere to be seen, tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at Lassiter. The effect was alarming; as if someone had pulled the plug on whatever it was that Lassiter recognized as Shawn, leaving his body on autopilot. But Lassiter had no time to think about Shawn's feelings. He was fighting for Charlotte, and he couldn't risk screwing it up.
"That's right." Shawn's voice was curiously flat. "I just show up to change the occasional diaper and whatnot." Suddenly, the smile returned and Shawn was switched on again. "Which means of course that there's still an opening for a future Mrs. Lassiter. You wouldn't happen to be single, would you, Ms. Rodriguez?"
"No." The response was like the smack of a rolled up newspaper across his nose. She turned to Lassiter. "So why do you want to adopt?"
Lassiter's mouth went dry. He'd rehearsed the conversation with the caseworker in his head a hundred – no, a thousand – times. He'd expected a thorough examination of his house's safeguards, not an interrogation about his background. Certainly not questions about his feelings.
"Well." He cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up. "At this point in my career—er, life—I feel that it would be best—that is, if—" This was a nightmare. His tongue felt as if it were glued to the roof of his mouth, blocking all coherent speech. His mind was blank, occupied only by the growing certainty that he was screwing up the interview and ruining Charlotte's future in one fell swoop.
Shawn interrupted. "You should've seen him with her when she came home from the hospital," he said.
Ms. Rodriguez blinked. She turned back to Shawn, curiosity creeping into her expression. "Elaborate," she said slowly.
Shawn tilted his head. "When I met Lass—er, Detective Lassiter, I thought he was about the stodgiest, stick-in-the-muddiest person in Santa Barbara," he said.
Shut up, Spencer! Lassiter thought. Shut it, shut it, shut it! But Shawn was still talking, and from the look on Ms. Rodriguez' face, she was hanging on every word.
"I'd never seen someone so focused," Shawn said. "He was never out of step. He was like the opening performance of the Beijing Olympics."
Ms. Rodriguez's lips thinned. "Mr. Spencer," she started to say.
"But something changed after he got Charlotte." Shawn continued as though he hadn't heard. "He was still a bit of a Mr. Roboto, but he was…" He paused. "Gentle. He cares about Charlotte like I've never seen him care about anyone in the five years I've known him. He loves that baby and I can't think of anyone better to be her dad."
Ms. Rodriguez looked carefully at Shawn's wide eyes and guileless expression. There was a long, excruciating moment. Lassiter held his breath.
And then she smiled, and Lassiter breathed again. "Well," she said, turning to Lassiter. "That was certainly a glowing endorsement from your friend."
If the eager grin on Shawn's face flickered a little at the word friend, Ms. Rodriguez didn't seem to notice. Lassiter, however, knew that his words, however true they were, had cut.
"Anything you'd like to add?" Ms. Rodriguez asked him.
Lassiter swallowed. "I just—appreciate the opportunity," he said. "To get the chance to be her," he paused and then forced the word out, "…father."
Shawn cuffed Lassiter on the arm. "He's not good with words," he explained to Ms. Rodriguez. "But trust me. He adores her." He smiled winningly.
Ms. Rodriguez smiled back at Shawn, then made a note in her file folder. "All right." She flipped a page. "Mr. Lassiter. Tell me about your childhood."
Childhood? Lassiter drew himself up. "I had a very fortunate childhood."
"Interesting choice of words." Ms. Rodriguez made another note. "What about it made your childhood fortunate?"
"I had everything I required," Lassiter said, "and an excellent education, to boot." He said the words smoothly, and hoped that the interview wouldn't include a session with a polygraph.
Shawn nodded. "If I had half the upbringing Detective Lassiter'd had, I would probably be doing more than babysitting for a living." Lassiter heard a note of melancholy creep into Shawn's voice.
Ms. Rodriguez's eyes widened, and to Lassiter's shock, she patted Shawn on the shoulder. "Don't ever downplay your job," she said reassuringly. "What you do is just as important as what Mr. Lassiter does."
"I hardly think—" Lassiter started, but stopped when he saw Shawn's warning look.
"Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez," Shawn said in a small, wistful voice. "You're really a wonderfully supportive person."
"Well, thank you, Mr. Spencer," Ms. Rodriguez said, and was she actually blushing? She cleared her throat. "Let's get back to the interview," she said, once more adopting a businesslike tone.
"Of course," Lassiter said.
"Tell me about your parents," she said. "How were you disciplined as a child?"
For the next forty minutes Lassiter felt like Rocky, fighting the Big Russian. Every blow was staggering, leaving him dazed as he stumbled though his responses.
"How would you describe your philosophy of parenting?" A left to the abdomen.
"How are your finances?" A jab to the kidneys.
"Tell me about your personal life." A hook to the temple. Lassiter saw stars. But like Rocky, he persevered. He had to, because no matter how invasive or painful or raw things got, Charlotte needed him to do this, and to do it well.
"You have a dangerous job, Detective Lassiter. What's your plan in the event that something happens to you?" An uppercut to the jaw. Lassiter talked briefly about his life insurance, but from the look on Ms. Rodriguez' face he knew he that it wouldn't be long before he was on the canvas.
"There's no worry there," Shawn assured her. "If anything happens to Lassie there's a bunch of us who'd be lined up to pitch in." Lassiter looked at Shawn with surprise. "Me, Jules and Gus for sure, McNab, even Chief Vick." Shawn slapped him heavily on the back. "We've got you covered."
As Lassiter led Ms. Rodriguez through the rest of the house, he wondered if Shawn was putting on a good front for the caseworker of if he really meant what he'd said. Did all those people have his back?
"Well," Ms. Rodriguez said, closing her file folder as they returned to the livingroom, "I think I have everything I need."
Lassiter nodded, still dazed by the process and by Shawn's assurance of support. "If there's anything else—"
"You forgot the most important thing!" Shawn sang.
Ms. Rodriguez and Lassiter turned. Shawn was coming down the hall, carrying a sleepy-eyed Charlotte in his arms.
"Oh my goodness, isn't she darling," Ms. Rodriguez said. She reached for Charlotte, but Charlotte didn't notice: she had spotted Lassiter. She broke into a gummy grin.
"Aaaah!" she shrieked joyously, lunging toward Lassiter with both chubby hands outstretched.
"Well, hi, you." Lassiter took her out of Shawn's arms.
"Ba ba ba," Charlotte said, planting a slobbery, openmouthed kiss on Lassiter's lapel.
One look at Ms. Rodriguez's face told Lassiter everything he needed to know.
"Want to hold her?" he asked.
"Of course!" Ms. Rodriguez's grin was as broad as Charlotte's. She cuddled the baby, cooing at her, and Lassiter looked at Shawn.
Shawn winked.
Ms. Rodriguez reluctantly handed Charlotte back to Lassiter. "I think that's it," she said. "Mr. Lassiter—"
Lassiter froze. "Yes?"
"Enjoy your afternoon," she said, smiling, and with one last "Bye-bye, sweetie-pie" to Charlotte, she left.
"You're welcome," Shawn said to Lassiter, flipping the lock behind her. The happy expression had dropped from his face.
Lassiter looked away and shifted Charlotte on his hip. "Thanks," he said.
"Not bad for a babysitter, right?" Shawn said sharply.
"Shawn—" Lassiter had a resurgence of that helpless feeling. He was ruining things without even trying.
"I know, I know." Shawn held up both hands. "It's complicated."
Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief. "So you understand," he said.
"Of course I understand," Shawn said. He took a step backward. "You didn't want to make things any more difficult than they already are."
"Right." Lassiter paused. The frown on Shawn's face didn't exactly jibe with his words.
Shawn's scowl deepened. "No, I get it. It's bad enough you're the single cop dad. You don't want to add a pint of gay into the mix."
Gay? Who said anything about gay? Lassiter cradled Charlotte against his chest and lay a hand lightly over her free ear, as if to keep her from hearing Shawn's words.
Did I let something slip, he wondered. Had Shawn noticed something? A look held too long? A hint of longing in a glance? Lassiter cursed himself. He knew he shouldn't have allowed himself those few seconds of oogling when Shawn had helped him assemble the changing table.
"Nobody thinks any of this is…like that." Lassiter tried to keep his tone light, but to his ears he sounded like every criminal he'd ever caught red handed.
Shawn shrugged. "Exactly. I mean, this isn't Modern Family. Although if it were I'd be Cameron and you'd be Mitchell. Cause I'm fun and you're…you."
"Okay," Lassiter said. He supposed he deserved that. Although to be fair, he thought, I didn't say anything that wasn't true.
"Besides, you didn't say anything that isn't true," Shawn said, leaving Lassiter feeling like he had just read his mind. Shawn's arms were crossed now, and he was so far away from Lassiter that his back was actually against the wall. "So I guess there's nothing really to apologize for." Somehow Shawn made the truth sound like something hurtful and vicious.
"I—" Lassiter broke off. "I guess you're right."
"Fine," Shawn said, and he practically spat the word. "Glad you're happy with how everything went, Lassie." He opened the door. "See you later."
Shawn sulked for almost two weeks, barely speaking to Lassiter when he got home from work. But as the date of Lassiter's custody hearing neared, he found the angry knot in his stomach starting to loosen. Lassiter was already so uptight that he wasn't really paying a whole lot of attention to Shawn's pouting, anyway, and spending so much time being angry was exhausting.
Shawn sat on one of the long wooden benches in the courthouse hall, and then stood up again almost immediately. The only thing worse than standing outside a courtroom waiting for Lassiter's case to be called was sitting outside the courtroom waiting for the case to be called.
"Listen," he checked the straps on the baby carrier Lassiter was wearing for the fourth time, "I can come in there with you. If you want." He knew Lassiter wouldn't ask.
"I'll be fine," Lassiter assured him, patting Charlotte's back lightly. He bit his lip. "I know judges, Spencer. They're not going to award custody to someone who looks like they're already swamped. I need to look strong. Fatherly." He lowered his voice. "Besides, the last thing I want is for the court to think this is some kind of My Two Dads situation."
Shawn laughed, louder than he intended to, and it echoed down the hall. "Yeah. That would be..." He looked at the courtroom door and then back again. "So what are you saying? You think Paul Reiser is tasting the rainbow? Is it the popped collar polo shirts? Because those were everywhere in the late 80s."
Shawn paced lightly back and forth, and briefly considered getting a coffee from the vending machine. But beverages were right off the menu this morning; the one thing he could imagine that would make his anxiety worse was the urgent need to pee. "But if we did live in the My Two Dads universe," he added. "Reiser would have no chance. My heart belongs to Richard Moll."
Lassiter's brows knit. "Isn't he the bailiff from Night Court?"
"Yep. He's 6'8" with a voice like a battleship. He was on their crossover episode where he protected Judge Wilbur from an escaped criminal. What can I say, I like my men tall, protective, and packing heat."
"I guess I see what you'd find appealing about him," Lassiter said, nodding.
Clearly, Lassiter too was in a near panicked state if he was willing to pretend discussing the romantic partnership potential of Richard Moll was an acceptable topic of conversation.
Shawn took a deep breath, and asked the question neither of them really wanted to think about but which needed to get answered.
"What if they try to take her away?" Shawn ran a hand over her hair, which sat up like spiky red grass.
"They won't," Lassiter looked sternly toward the court room doors. "The Conways, her parents," a muscle on the side of his face twitched as if saying the word was painful, "haven't got a chance. We can show a history of abuse and neglect, and they have felony convictions." He cradled Charlotte's head against his chest as if trying to prevent her from hearing his next words. "What we have to worry about is a blood relative. CPS has been looking for someone with a claim who might want to take her on."
"But a baby's a lot of work, and that family probably wouldn't want the hassle, right? I mean, what are the odds?" Shawn tried to put more confidence into his words than he felt.
"There would be some money involved." Lassiter raised his head and looked at the courtroom door again, and Shawn saw the strain etched into his face. "They'd be eligible for foster care payments."
Shawn thought about what he'd seen of the Conways in their case files, and tried to imagine any relative of theirs passing up free money. It was harder than he wanted it to be.
"What do we do if they find a relative who'll take her?" Shawn asked.
Lassiter's mouth formed a thin line. "That is why you should always have a cabin at an undisclosed location in the woods, heavily stocked with rations and firearms." Lassiter nestled Charlotte a little closer, loosening his grip when she squawked in protest. "Sorry, Char."
Shawn narrowed his eyes. "And...do you?"
Lassiter smiled, and Shawn could sense something suspiciously like satisfaction in the curl of his lips. "Of course not. That would be conspiracy to commit kidnapping."
At that moment Shawn suspected that if he were actually psychic he might have gotten an impression of Lassiter driving a car full of dry goods, diapers and formula up to a cabin in the mountains, somewhere off route 154.
"Shawn?" Henry's voice was the only one Shawn knew that could manage to combine a question and an accusation into the same tone. Shawn turned in the direction of the shout and the distinctive stomping feet echoing toward him.
As he watched Henry's approach his mouth went dry. He needed to direct the conversation away from Lassiter and the custody hearing, and onto a less dangerous subject matter. Perhaps politics or religion. Gun control, maybe.
"Dad," he said, frowning and tilting his head at his father, whose fuchsia Hawaiian print shirt and slight sunburn made him look like a vacationing lobster. "What are you doing here? Oh, wait, I get it. You've become one of those old guys who sits in on court cases all day."
Henry crossed his arms and fixed Shawn with a cold stare. "I take an interest." He came closer, his gaze going from Shawn to Charlotte to Lassiter. "Oh dear God," he said. "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."
"I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that it isn't," Shawn replied. "Before you make any assumptions, this is not the illegitimate love child of me and Emma Stone, or Gillian Anderson, or Debra Messing, or any other redhead," Shawn said.
"Gillian Anderson is 47 years old, Shawn," Henry said. "And she's not even a real redhead."
"First of all, why do you know that?" Shawn made a face. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Ew. Secondly—"
"Secondly," Lassiter interrupted, "she's mine. I mean, I'm hoping to make her mine. I'm fostering her."
"Oh." Henry visibly relaxed. "Well. Okay. I think you're crazy, but as long as this particular crazy doesn't involve Shawn, that's fine."
"Actually, it does involve Shawn," Lassiter said.
"Shut up, Lassie, shut up," Shawn said through gritted teeth.
"Oh yeah?" Henry got that look on his face; the Human Lie Detector look, the look that made Shawn feel as though he was under a microscope. "How so?"
"He's been babysitting," Lassiter said. He gave Shawn a hard look. Why hadn't Shawn told Henry about the babysitting job? Henry was always harping on about how Shawn should be more responsible. Lassiter would have thought this was exactly the kind of responsibility of which Henry would approve.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Shawn hissed. To Henry, whose eyebrows had shot up, he said, "Yes, it's true, I'm playing Stacey McGill to Charlotte's Charlotte Johannson."
"Who's - " Henry shook his head. "Shawn, can I talk to you?" He looked at Lassiter. "Alone."
"I actually need to stop by the chiropractor's office anyway," Shawn said, glaring at Lassiter. "There's something really sharp and pointy jabbing into my back." He started for the door.
Henry followed him. "Shawn."
Shawn kept walking. "What?"
"Shawn, slow down." Henry quickened his pace and fell into step with Shawn. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Nothing. You heard Lassie. I'm babysitting. It's nothing." Shawn kept his eyes forward.
"What do you mean, you're babysitting? You?"
"Don't sound so shocked," Shawn said crossly. "I worked at a day care."
"You worked at a day care for three days, and from what I heard you spent most of that time watching Pinky and the Brain," Henry pointed out. "You don't know the first thing about babies. If this is some kind of ploy to snuggle up to Lassiter - "
Shawn tripped.
"Whoa." Henry's hand shot out and caught Shawn's upper arm before he rolled down the courthouse stairs. "Be careful."
"I got it." Shawn put his hand on the railing and kept walking.
Henry followed him. "I wasn't talking about the stairs," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Shawn jumped down the last three stairs.
"Don't play dumb, Shawn," Henry said. "I know you have a thing for Lassiter."
"I do not have a thing - "
"Hey." Henry grabbed Shawn's arm and spun him around. "Don't give me that bullcrap, son. I know you better than that. You may think that getting involved with this kid is the best way to get Lassiter's attention, but that's a human being back there, not leverage."
"I know that," Shawn snapped. He yanked his arm away. "It's just a job, Henry."
"All I'm saying, Shawn," Henry said, sighing, watching Shawn stalk away, "is that there are some things that can't be undone."