Shawn's conversation with Henry had been gnawing at him. Okay, sure, he knew when he'd taken this job that it was a pretty good way to get close to Lassiter. And okay, maybe he had taken this job specifically because it was a pretty good way to get close to Lassiter.
But then he'd gotten to know Charlotte—gotten to know this tiny little person who would grow into a big person, with likes and dislikes and feelings and everything. And it still really boggled Shawn that he was part of that, that he got to watch it happening, this transformation from anonymous baby into Charlotte Lassiter (nee Conway), who was a real live actual human being. And somewhere in the middle of that, he sort of forgot that when this whole thing started, Charlottereally had been just a ticket onto the Lassiter train. Because along the way, he started to like her. Maybe, he thought, he even started loved her a little. And his feelings about Lassiter, combined with his feelings about Charlotte, were starting to turn into a whole snowball rolling down the hill situation. Things were out of control. It was exciting, exhilarating, and more than a little terrifying.
But now this conversation with Henry had left him feeling low, sleazy, and manipulative. It was She's All That, and he was Freddie Prinze, Jr to Lassiter's Rachael Leigh Cook. It was 10 Things I Hate About You, and he was Heath Ledger. Which made Lassiter Julia Stiles, which he thought Lassie actually wouldn't mind that much. Julia Stiles was pretty awesome in Save The Last Dance.
He just hoped that they could maybe skip the big-reveal prom scenes.
When his phone rang, he answered it already feeling irritated. Julia Stiles or not, Lassiter had no right to out him as a babysitter to Henry.
"What the hell, Lassie."
"She's mine," Lassiter said.
Shawn sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to start in too now. Look, I am not trying to steal your kid away or replace you in her tiny baby affections, or whatever else it is you—"
"No," Lassiter's voice cut in. "she's mine," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "They awarded me custody. She's mine."
"Congratulations! You're a Daddy," Shawn said. "This deserves a celebration. I'm coming over."
Lassiter didn't expect a lot of things, but what he expected least of all when he opened the door was an armful of Shawn Spencer. His embrace was sudden, surprisingly strong, and it left him feeling as if all the blood in his body was quickly draining into his shorts.
"I brought you some vitamin B12," Shawn said, his voice muffled against Lassiter's shoulder as he maintained the hug for approximately seven thousand minutes longer than what was socially acceptable. "I heard it's good for breastfeeding."
Lassiter heard something rattling and turned toward the sound. Suddenly his face was mere inches away from Shawn's who was looking up at him with those shiny green eyes and that perpetually half-open mouth of his. It was too much temptation for one man to bear. For a split second he could imagine himself kissing him, despite knowing it would be like putting a match to gunpowder.
Lassiter brought his hands up to Shawn's chest and shoved him back. "Get off."
"Love to. " Shawn pushed past Lassiter and sashayed into the living room, brandishing the vitamin bottle in one hand and a much larger bottle of Malibu rum in the other. "Maybe after a few celebratory shots of this, if you're feeling feisty." He waggled his eyebrows.
Something in Lassiter snapped.
Maybe it was the stress of the day, maybe it was Shawn's inappropriately long embrace and damnably kissable mouth, maybe it was the anxious tugging sensation in his stomach that seemed to ratchet up in intensity every time Shawn made a suggestive remark. Maybe it was everything; maybe it was nothing.
Before he knew what he was doing, Lassiter had stepped forward and swatted the bottle of Malibu out of Shawn's hand. It hit the floor, and being plastic, bounced but didn't break.
Shawn stared at him, motionless. "Lassie, what—"
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't say anything else, because at that moment Lassiter grabbed Shawn's head with both hands and planted a hard, angry kiss on his open mouth.
The second Lassiter's lips hit Shawn's, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. He'd wanted to shut Shawn up. He'd wanted to call the bluff, to prove that there was nothing substantial behind the bluster and shine.
And most of all, he'd wanted to prove to himself that he didn't want Shawn.
But Shawn, damn him, recovered from the shock faster than expected, and abruptly he realized that Shawn was kissing him back. Lassiter's heart beat so fiercely that it felt like fireworks were going off in his chest. He'd had this feeling before. It was exciting, and amazing, and left him light-headed and giddy. But it also led directly to heartbreak, drinking Jack Daniels in the dark and to feeling so crushed that he'd locked his Glock in his home safe, so it wasn't within arm's reach. He couldn't go through that again. Not for Shawn. Not for anybody.
He stumbled backwards. Saw the startled confusion in Shawn's hazel eyes. And something else – something that looked suspiciously like desire.
"Shut up," Lassiter snapped, when Shawn opened his mouth to speak.
"But Lassie –"
"I said shut up!" Lassiter grabbed Shawn roughly by the arm and spun him around, then shoved him toward the door.
"Lassie, it's o—" the sentence was cut off as Shawn collided firmly with the wall. Lassiter pinned him there while he pulled open the door then yanked him back, ready to propel him outside.
"Lassie, can I just–" Shawn was backpedaling, trying to resist, and the motion of his feet and his upper body knocked him off balance. He pitched forward. Lassiter tried to catch him, but he landed hard on all fours.
"Ow," he yelped, rolling onto his back, both hands clutching his left knee.
"I'm so sorry," Lassiter stammered, his anger dissipating at once. He dropped to the floor beside Shawn. "Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" Shawn said sharply. His eyes were bright with tears of pain. "I feel like I just got Nancy Kerriganed." He sat up, wincing, and extended his leg experimentally. "Damn it. Ow. I can't believe you kissed me and then tried to kill me."
Lassiter stood. "I didn't try to kill you," he said lamely.
Shawn pointed up at him accusingly. "So you admit you kissed me."
"I–" Lassiter cleared his throat and turned away. "Spencer, I think you should go."
"And now you're throwing me out?" Shawn said disbelievingly, from behind Lassiter. "Lassie, this is low even for you."
Lassiter didn't respond. He couldn't. He was overwhelmed, suddenly, by a litany of what have I dones.
"Lassie. Buddy." Shawn stood up and limped toward him, then clapped a hand on Lassiter's shoulder. Lassiter shoved it away.
"I won't pretend I'm not excited that you're finally responding to my increasingly obvious overtures," Shawn said, replacing his hand on Lassiter's shoulder without missing a beat, "but I'm a little bit confused by your approach."
"It was a mistake," Lassiter said. He pushed Shawn's hand away again. "And I really think you should go."
"But Lassie." Shawn's voice took on a wheedling tone. "We've only just begun."
Lassiter tensed. "Out," he said sharply.
"It's going to be weird at work if we don't talk it out," Shawn said, stooping to retrieve his keys.
"Good point," Lassiter growled. "You're fired."
Shawn froze. "What?"
"You heard me," Lassiter said. He looked at the wall behind Shawn's shoulder, resolutely ignoring the shock and hurt on Shawn's face. "I said you're fired."
All cajole and whimsy had vanished from Shawn's voice. "You can't do that," he said.
"Like hell I can't," Lassiter said. "Now go. Before I decide you're trespassing."
"Trespassing?" Shawn said disbelievingly. "You gave me a key!"
"Thanks for reminding me," Lassiter said coldly, even as his inner voice shouted what are you doing? "I'll have that back too."
"What is going on here?" Shawn sputtered. "What kind of weird heterosexual freak-out are you having? This is great. This is the part where I tell you I like you and you tell me you like me and—"
"But I don't like you, Spencer," Lassiter said, and the lie burned in his chest even as he said it.
Shawn's lips thinned. "Fine," he said shortly. "You don't like me, fine. But come on, Lassie. I'm good with Charlotte. You know I am. Please don't fire me." The plea came back into his tone. "Come on. Please."
Lassiter turned his back.
"Just get out," he said. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."
As it turned out, they didn't talk about it.
Shawn showed up the next day, let himself in, and began preparing Charlotte's food for the day without a word to Lassiter. Tightening a Windsor knot in his bedroom, Lassiter could hear Shawn humming in the kitchen. He waited a minute too long and decided he couldn't throw Shawn out. And Shawn, for his part, barely cast a glance in Lassiter's direction when Lassiter left for work.
It went on like that for a week: high-intensity ignoring from both directions. Then, on Friday evening, Charlotte changed everything.
Lassiter lowered his bags of groceries to the floor and frowned over the litter of newsprint, construction paper and storybooks scattered across his carpet.
I should have known, he chided himself. An hour and a half at the grocery store and Shawn was wrecking the place.
"What's all this mess?" He put his hands on his hips and stared down the culprits. Charlotte, seeing him, let out a belly laugh. She raised her hands, which were covered in blue paint, and said "Ah!"
"It's all her fault," Shawn insisted, pointing a blue finger at the messy baby sitting on the floor in front of him. "She blinded me with the arts and humanities."
"What the hell—" He looked at Charlotte and quickly backtracked, "Heck—I meant heck—have you got all over your hands?"
"Relax," Shawn said. "It's not like we're hitmen for the Anglo-Sino Alliance pursuing you across the dark recesses of space. It's just a little waterpaint."
"It's a hideous mess." Although Lassiter noted that Shawn had at least thought to protect the carpet with newspaper first.
And then he realized what he was looking at.
"She's—" he said. He was barely able to form the next words. "Sitting up."
"You were in and out so fast after work, I was wondering when you were going to notice." Shawn was grinning at him. "We had physical therapy this morning. First time sitting. Gold star, the therapist said."
Lassiter dropped to the floor beside Charlotte.
"You're sitting up," he said to her, wonderingly.
"Ah," she said again, happily, and planted her hand flat on his nose.
He picked up Charlotte, careful to hold her so she couldn't get paint all over his suit. Cleared his throat to regain his composure. "Clean this all up before you go. The vacuum is in the hall closet."
Shawn rose from the debris, a shower of tiny paper shards falling from his lap.
"We made this for you," he said sheepishly, holding out a cardboard square. "Well. Charlotte did. I just distracted her with it so she wouldn't notice she was sitting alone."
Shifting Charlotte to one hip, Lassiter took the cardboard. It was smeared at random with paint, and in the middle were two blue handprints.
It was the most perfect piece of art Lassiter had ever seen.
When Lassiter cleared his throat again, Shawn hastily turned away. "I'll just…wash up…and get the vacuum," he said, brushing his hands over his thighs and smearing paint all over his jeans. He started for the kitchen.
"Shawn, hold on," Lassiter said.
Shawn stopped. Turned.
"I…" Lassiter stopped. He looked down at Charlotte, who was cheerfully drooling on his lapel and had already decorated his shirtfront with paint.
He looked back at Shawn, who was watching him expectantly. He tried again. "Maybe…I was a little harsh last weekend," he said lamely.
Shawn snorted. "Maybe."
"Okay," Lassiter amended, "definitely."
"Apology accepted," Shawn said, nodding.
"I didn't apologize," Lassiter pointed out.
Shawn folded his arms, his eyes narrowing. "So you're not sorry."
Charlotte patted Lassiter's shoulder. "Ba ba ba ba," she admonished.
Lassiter hesitated. "I'm sorry for what I said."
Shawn's expression didn't waver. "And?" he said.
Lassiter knew where this was going. He met Shawn's eyes defiantly.
"I'm not sorry for what I did," he said at last.
All the tension seemed to dissolve from Shawn's body. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned heavily against the wall. Despite the sudden deflation, he was smiling: brightly, brilliantly.
"Good news for me," he said.
"Yeah?" Lassiter winced as Charlotte found his ear and clamped her hand around it. Sometimes, he thought, love was worth the pain.