The Intelligence Unit Series

Thirty-six hours after he'd taken Isla home from the hospital, Shawn's apartment looked like a warzone of children's books, brightly colored toys, empty juice boxes, and tiny, errant socks with ladybugs on them. Taking a healthy swig from the cup of coffee in his hand, he spent a minute shaking off what little sleep he'd gotten and surveying the strange new landscape of his living room.

Yep. He was still someone's father, and yep again, it was still surreal as hell.

Although the process had taken a healthy combination of Googling and guesswork, Shawn had figured out the literal things necessary to take care of Isla-how to help her brush her teeth, that she needed a nap after lunch, that her grapes had to be cut into quarters (this was a new one on him, but both the parenting website he and Frankie had referenced and her sister, Jo, were adamant). But even though he'd muddled his way through yesterday, including arranging to have Isla's things delivered from Lori's apartment and settling Lori's affairs per the directives she'd left with her attorney, Shawn still felt as if the whole thing were happening to him in a dream.

His only sanity-saver had been that Frankie had agreed to stick around to help. He hadn't realized how badly he needed a lifeline until she'd thrown one, lasering past all his defenses and carefully constructed covers to realize that, yes, of course he was still freaking the f**k out, albeit very, very quietly. Despite the fact that he'd pretty much puked his emotions all over her at the hospital, Frankie hadn't run screaming, though, nor had she suggested he had no business caring for Isla. Instead, she'd simply met his unease with an honest admission about her own lack of expertise, promised they'd figure things out as they went, then rolled up her sleeves and helped him make a list of things that had needed to be done.

She'd hung out with Isla while Shawn had contacted the full-time sitter that Lori had used, then swapped with him so he could spend time with Isla while Frankie went through the list of child psychologists to find one with immediate availability. They'd botched a few things-his bathroom floor had received a good drenching before they'd realized maybe baths were a smarter play than showers for a three-year-old-but overall, no grave harm seemed to have been done. Isla still hadn't spoken, but she also hadn't cried or fought him on anything, and Frankie had gently reminded him that Isla was probably trying to figure things out, just as he was.

Christ, would he ever really figure this out?

The sound of his cell phone buzzing across the coffee table yanked him out of his thoughts. Hope sent a tiny, involuntary kick through his chest, replaced quickly by his armor as the name on the caller ID registered. "Maxwell," he said, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Isla.

"Oh, my God, Maxwell, are you okay?" Hale asked in a rush. "I came in early to go over some case files and Sinclair filled me in and holy crap, you have a daughter?"

Shawn had known this would become common knowledge after he'd called Sinclair yesterday and explained everything, just as he'd known his unit-mates would want to support him-especially Hale. But everything with Isla had thrown him too far off-kilter, and yeah, he needed to keep this conversation on the level.

"Yeah, it's a long story, I guess. But Sinclair probably gave you the important highlights. I'm taking a few days to figure things out."

"Uh, I bet." The concern in her voice was as clear as it was genuine, and Shawn felt a pang in his ribs. "What can I do to help? Do you need me to come over?"

"Oh, I'm-" Shawn stopped himself before the word "fine" could default past his lips. As tempted as he might be to say it, Hale wouldn't believe him in a trillion years, no matter how good his duck and cover skills were. But, still, he wasn't about to let her see how real the struggle was. For Chrissake, they worked together. He needed her-and all of their unit- mates-to trust that he could keep his shit together when things turned pear-shaped.

"It's a little chaotic here right now," he admitted. "I'm still trying to get Isla moved into my apartment, and we have an appointment with a psychologist today, so that might be"-overwhelming. Brutal. More than I know what to do with "a lot. It's probably best if we wait."

Hale paused into the sort of silence Shawn could hear. "Look. I know you like to play your shit close to the vest, Maxwell. Your business is your business, and I don't ever take it personally that you're not a fan of sharing." "Hale," he started, but she made a noise of dissent that told him she was going to say her whole piece, whether he liked it or not.

"I get it. I do. But I'm your partner. We're supposed to trust each other. I'm not asking you to tell me everything, here, but could you please stop insulting me by insinuating that you're okay? You just found out you have a kid. You want to talk to me at least a little?" Shawn's instincts-stubborn fuckers-kicked him, good and hard and right in the nuts. If he gave his emotions any leeway right now, Hale would see that he wasn't always the calm, dependable partner she'd thought him to be. But just as he opened his mouth to deflect, an image of Frankie popped into his mind and stopped him short. Frankie had no qualms about wearing every last one of her emotions on her sleeve, and no one thought any less of her for it. She was a good cop, capable and smart.

And Hale was right. They were partners. He might not owe her a tell-all, but he could at least give up a little truth.

"Sorry. This is...well, it's a lot, and it hasn't been easy to process, so, yeah. I'm kind of overwhelmed," Shawn said.

To her credit, Hale's stutter-step of shock only lasted a beat. "I can only imagine."

"I appreciate your offer to help," he said, because he really did. "I'm just trying to take things slow with Isla so we can both adjust. She's been through a lot, and according to Natalie, it's going to take her some time to understand that living here with me is permanent. I don't want to throw too much at her at once."

"Totally understandable," Hale said. "But if you need extra hands or a break or whatever, I'm happy to dust off my babysitting skills."

"Thanks. We're meeting up with Isla's sitter, Annette, today, so that will hopefully help Isla feel more comfortable." Plus, he obviously needed someone trusted and familiar to take care of Isla while he worked. "And Frankie's been helping, too, so..." Shawn realized the slip when it was mostly out, and shit. Shit.

"Oh has she?" Hale asked, her grin coming through loud and clear in her voice.

"It's not like that," he argued, just in time for the memory of their incendiary kiss to slam through him. "Okay, it's mostly not like that. I think. I don't know." Jesus, who was in charge of his mouth? "It's complicated."

Hale laughed. "Oh, my God, you're tongue-tied! Ahhh, you're so cute!"

"I'm not cute," Shawn said as she cackled into the phone.

"You're adorable. Also, you really like her, don't you?"

"Yeah." The truth flew out unchecked, and funny, despite how vulnerable it made him, he didn't want to call it back. "I mean, like I said, it's complicated. We're working together. We have a history. I just found out I have a daughter I knew nothing about." "But," Hale led.

Shawn bit. "But we work well together. We're making progress on the Beck case." He took a brief minute to fill her in on the basics. "And even though the rest should be weird, it's not. In fact, the only time I don't feel weird is when she's here. Which is weird all by itself."

Annnnd now he was rambling. But if Hale noticed, she (thankfully) didn't call him out on it. "I don't think that's so weird. I mean, you and Frankie were partners for two years, and you were a couple for a decent chunk of that time. You just said you like her, and I'm willing to bet that's not one-sided. You should feel comfortable with her, don't you think?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again, and finally... "Yeah. I suppose that does make sense."

"I'm really glad you have someone to lean on right now," Hale said. "But don't forget, we're all here, too. You always have our backs, no matter what, Maxwell." Her voice turned uncharacteristically serious. "Every last one of us in this unit has yours, right back. Any time you need it. Okay?"

"Yeah, I...yeah." Shawn pushed the words past his tightening throat. "Thank you."

"No sweat," Hale chirped, bright and sunny and back to normal. "Now go give that little dumpling of yours a squeeze from me. Oh, and just so you're aware? I'm the sort of auntie who always brings candy. Always."

Shawn ended the call before she could add in a drum set or extreme skateboard lessons. Pushing off the couch, he went to at least try to begin sorting through the toys and books that had arrived by the boxful yesterday, but the sight of Isla peeking into the living space had him stopping short.

"Hey, kid." At her creased brow, he creased his brow. "You sleep okay?"

Isla nodded, clutching Mr. Prickles to her chest. Shawn still didn't have a clue what her morning routine should look like other than tooth brushing and breakfast eating, but he managed to get her through the first and on her way to the second without too much fanfare. When her waffles were in the toaster and her milk had been poured into one of the plastic cups that had made its way over from Lori's, he looked at her and said, "We're going to see Annette today. What do you think about that?"

Isla's nod came a touch more easily this time, and okay, good. This was good. "We're going to try to work it out so she can still take care of you once I go back to work, okay?"

Another nod. A tiny part of him was tempted to press, at least a little, to get her to talk. But, God, he was utterly graceless when it came to this sort of thing. He didn't want to risk screwing up and losing the ground he'd gained with her, but he also needed to figure out a way to get her to talk, at least a little. To make her feel comfortable. Cared for.

He needed Frankie.

It was dangerous, Shawn knew, to let her back in. Christ, he already wanted her, with her greedy kisses and wide-open honesty, far more than he should. But Hale was right. Above everyone in his unit, Frankie was the person he wanted to lean on right now. The person he trusted to see his uncertainty and emotions-hell, she'd already seen them in spades-and not run screaming in the opposite direction.

He needed to care for Isla. He might not know how to do that, but he did know that he'd be better at it with Frankie's help. Her mere presence yesterday had somehow managed to calm him, to let him breathe and focus enough to muddle his way through some

answers.

So, yes, it was dangerous, and yes, he'd have to figure out some of this on his own. But Shawn needed her, all the same, so he reached for his phone before his defenses could get ahold of him, and shot off a text.

Hey. Got a busy day here, but was wondering if you're up for some dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for dinner. Turns out, I have a lot of them.

Her response popped up on his screen a minute later, and his smile felt better than it should.

Funny, I've got the perfect vintage of juice box to go with dino nuggets. See you at six.

***

Ten hours later,Shawn's apartment was in no better shape than it had been when he'd hauled himself out of bed. But it had taken every ounce of his energy to make sure Isla was dressed, fed, and safe all day, plus, they'd been to both the psychologist and to see Annette, so the fact that his living space looked like a blast zone of puzzle pieces, plastic cups, and pint-sized laundry felt pretty secondary.

Except for the fact that Frankie had buzzed up from the front door two minutes ago, and okay, maybe he should've tried to at least tidy up a little.

A knock sounded off on the door to his apartment, and ah, hell. Too late.

Shawn looked at Isla, who had been playing an interactive game with loads of cartoon animals and catchy jingles, and tilted his head at the door. "Hey, kid. Frankie's here. Do you want to come say hi?"

Isla put her game down, but remained on the couch, cautious. The child psychologist had recommended that Shawn include her in as much as possible without pushing her to participate until she felt comfortable doing so, so their day had been full of questions like the one he'd just asked, along with responses like the one Isla had just given. At this point, as much as he wanted more, Shawn knew he should take what he could get, so he headed to the door, giving the peep hole a quick look-see before opening up. "Hey," he said, and damn, how could anyone look so pretty in a simple pair of jeans and a plain black sweater?

Frankie flashed a smile, her cheeks rosy from the chill outside. "Hey, yourself." She lifted a brick of juice boxes as her smile became a grin. "Never let it be said that I show up to a dinner party empty-handed."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "You seriously brought juice boxes?"

"I'm a woman of my word," she said, handing over the juice boxes as she made her way over the threshold and shrugged out of her leather jacket. "So, yep. I sure did. Hi, Isla." Frankie took a few steps through the entryway that was open to the living space beyond, waving at Isla. "It's nice to see you again."

"Sorry for the mess," Shawn said, because wow, it really was pretty bad.

But Frankie just shrugged. "I have three siblings. I've seen much worse." Nodding at the dish towel that he was just realizing he'd left slung over his shoulder, she asked, "Can I help with dinner?"

"Oh, ah, no. It's not too labor intensive-I wasn't kidding about the chicken nuggets. Isla chose mac and cheese to go with it, and Annette said she likes peas better than broccoli, so we're having those, too." "You had me at mac and cheese," Frankie said. "Isla, would it be okay if I kept you company while your dad finishes up? That way, I won't get under his ginormous feet."

She kicked off her boots and made a show of wiggling her own toes, then sending a pointed look at Shawn's size twelves. Isla didn't laugh, but she did nod with ease, so Shawn took the win. The open concept setup of his kitchen and living space made it so he could easily hear Frankie ask Isla about her game, to which Isla responded with a combination of pointing and demonstration. Frankie still held up her end of things as if they were having an actual conversation, though, so easily that Shawn felt a f****d-up stab of jealousy. Every time he spoke to Isla, it felt awkward, like he was asking the wrong thing or saying something that would only make her want to clam up further. Annette had said Isla was usually responsive and happy-not chatty, per se, but not radio silent, either. She, too, had fallen into an easy rapport with Isla during their trip to the park today, and damn it, was he the only one who wasn't going to figure this out?

The beep of the oven timer brought him out of his thoughts. Stuffing back the odd feeling in his rib cage, he went through the motions of getting dinner assembled, calling Isla and Frankie to the kitchen. Frankie's presence eased the way, somehow, especially when she took her first bite of the boxed mac and cheese Isla had chosen at the store earlier and rubbed her stomach in appreciation.

"Good pick," Frankie said, moving on to her peas, next. "I like these, too."

Isla nodded, scooping up a bite with her child-sized spoon. Frankie asked Shawn about their day, how things had gone with Annette (fantastic-the woman was great with Isla and more than willing to continue looking after her. Thank God) and if they'd had fun at the park, then asked Isla a bunch of yes/no questions about her new room. If she was thrown by Isla's non-verbal responses, she didn't show it, treating the conversations she had with Isla exactly as she did those with Shawn. By the time their plates were empty, Shawn felt relaxed enough to take a flyer, hoping Isla would bite.

"So, I, um, thought maybe we could watch a movie?" He rattled off the name of a popular, animated movie that had popped up on his Google search and been confirmed by Tess via text earlier as three-year-old appropriate.

"That sounds fun," Frankie said. "Do you want me to clean up in the kitchen while you help Isla put her pajamas on?"

Shawn blinked, and of course, he hadn't realized Isla would probably be too tired to put her pajamas on afterward. "Oh, right. Sure." He looked at Isla. "Sound okay?"

Nodding, she headed down the hallway. He muddled through getting her ready for bed, still half-certain he'd break her or hurt her in some irreversible yet totally unintentional way. Miraculously, he managed well enough, and they returned to the living room to find Frankie on the couch, holding Mr. Prickles.

"|

I figured this guy might want to watch a movie, too," she said, scooting over so Isla had plenty of room to sit between her and the spot on the other end left for Shawn. He got the movie queued up and hit the lights, leaving the ones in the kitchen to do their thing, just to keep it from getting too dark. Having no experience with animated movies, he wasn't really sure what to expect, but Isla seemed to like it well enough. She watched with rapt attention, cuddling Mr. Prickles to her chest as she snuggled in against the couch cushions. Shawn must've gotten caught up in the movie, though (they made the songs so damned catchy), because the next thing he knew, Frankie was clearing her throat.

"Oh, okay, whoa. I think we lost your girl," she whispered, gesturing down at Isla, whose eyes had drifted shut. Her tiny body was now leaning against Frankie's, her head lolling to the side just enough to look terribly uncomfortable.

Worry tapped at Shawn's throat. "Here. Let me-"

Instinctively, he shifted to scoop Isla up. Not a difficult task, considering how small she was in comparison, and before he could overthink it, he'd lifted her from the couch and pulled her close. Her little arms circled around his neck, probably out of her own sleepy instinct. But then, Isla tucked her head into the crook of his neck, burrowing into the safety of Shawn's arms as she sighed contentedly, and some feeling he had no name for flooded his system.

He might not know what to do with her or how to take care of her, but in that moment, carrying her to bed and tucking her in tight, Shawn knew one thing.

He'd do anything-anything-to keep her safe.