Work Text:
(Early) 2005
This had probably been the worst day of Lassiter's life. First, Victoria had wanted the two of them to enter marriage therapy. Not that that was new, but this morning she had actually convinced him to do it. Second off, his car had broken down. Right after he got to work. Also, some idiot named Buzz McNab had started working at the station to do the grunt work, and he could barely hold a folder without dropping it. And when he asked McNab to call a tow truck, he had, of course, messed up, and gave them the wrong address. So by the time the tow truck did come, his car wouldn't be fixed by the time work was over, and he was now in the metro surrounded by a melange of people, many of whom were probably felons. At the very least delinquents.
He growled as someone jostled him on the bench, and he screeched at the old man before speeding to the other end. When he finally did get into the train, he felt a glimmer of luck coming his way. Two empty seats in the corner, even though the train was packed. He sighed with a hint of happiness creeping into his voice. If -- ugh -- therapy went well today, it would make it a not terrible day. Of course, Fate or God or whatever hated him.
"Hey, is this seat taken?" A middle aged guy pointed to the other empty seat. He was smacking a piece of gum, and had headphones in his ears connected to a hot pink iPod mp3. He looked like one of those metrosexual douche bags that worked too hard on their hair and went to tanning salons and had never seen a suit and tie in their lives.
"Yes," he growled.
"I, uh, don't see anyone sitting there." The man gesticulated at the seat.
"Do you wanna sit there?" Lassiter sat up and pulled his gun slightly out of his pocket. "'Cause if you want to sit there, sit there!"
"Sure!" The man smirked, and even his blue eyes seemed to taunt Lassiter into a rage. The man plopped down and folded his legs, fiddling around with the iPod. Lassiter took a deep breathe in, and a deep breathe out, imagining himself shooting the strange, attractive man next to him.
"What's your name?" Lassiter asked, taking out a notepad, hoping to convict him of some misdemeanor before the ride was over.
"Huh?" The man pulled out a headphone.
"I said, what's your name?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't play for that team." The man laughed and shook his head. "Flattered, though."
"Well, neither do I, but you're not the police officer here." Lassiter pulled out his badge.
"Woah, woah, hey." The man laughed. "I'm not doing anything wrong! I know my rights!"
Lassiter growled and mumbled something like "don't bother me, or you will be" before plastering himself against the window and closing his eyes.
"My name's Shawn Spencer."
"'Scuse me?" Lassiter cracked open an eye.
"Well, you asked what my name was. My name is Shawn Spencer." He rolled his eyes and smacked his gum louder.
"Oh good job, you know your name! Your parents must be so proud!" Lassiter smiled sarcastically and closed his eyes again and heard peaceful silence. For exactly five minutes. Before the man -- Shawn -- started mumbling something. "Hmm?"
"Gimme three steps
Gimme three steps oh mister
Gimme three steps toward the door
Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo." This was muttered just loud enough for Lassiter to hear.
"What?" Lassiter asked, but Shawn didn't hear.
"Gimme three steps--"
"Okay." Lassiter reached over and pulled Shawn's headphones out. "You know you've been singing out loud, right?"
Shawn blinked quickly.
"Well the crowd cleared away
And I began to pray
As the water fell on the floor--" Lassiter let out an inhuman howl.
"Look, Shawn, I'm going to marriage therapy, my car is broken, and a stupid, fucking idiot is my new junior officer, and he can't hold or do anything competently." Lassiter grabbed the front of Shawn's shirt and pulled him close. He smelled like hair gel and pineapples, one of the weirdest combinations of smells he'd ever smelt, but at the same time wasn't unpleasant.
"Calm down, mister!" Shawn pulled himself away quickly.
Lassiter regretted his outburst. "Just don't bother me, ok?"
"Fine." Shawn exhaled and sat back.
"And I'm telling you son,
Well, it ain't no fun
Staring straight down a forty--"
"Alright!" Lassiter grabbed Shawn's arm. "Do you really want to fuck with me right now?"
Shawn laughed. "I already told you! I don't swing that way."
"Ok that's it--" Lassiter pulled out his gun.
"Hey, hey! I'm just kidding!" Lassiter didn't put his gun away, and with a deft movement Shawn knocked it out of his hand and smiled at his incredulous face before calmly putting his gun back.
"Why?" Lassiter sighed.
"Because." Shawn leant forward and kissed Lassiter's nose before getting out of the seat. "I like you." He winked and left the train.
The feeling in Lassiter's chest gave him something very interesting to talk about in (private) therapy, and Shawn definitely had something new about himself to tell to Gus.
2006
... "We'll be back here in three minutes! With my own cuffs," Lassiter shouted at Shawn, who smirked at the police officer from the interrogation room.
"Woah!" Shawn exhaled. "I told you, I don't swing that way!"
Lassiter froze and turned around. Where had he heard the name Shawn Spencer before? And why did he suddenly smell pineapples and hair gel?