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"Shawn!"
Gus was cold.
It was almost eleven at night, and the city's lights twinkled in the distance. They did not twinkle where they were now. He wasn't even sure if they were in the city.
"Shawn! This is not funny, Shawn!"
Gus was tired.
He was tired of not knowing the plan, and he was tired because they'd been up all morning, all day, and what would probably be all night. He was mostly tired of not knowing the plan, though. Especially this plan.
"Gus, please, you're overreacting."
Gus was not overreacting.
That time Shawn pranked him on Easter by cracking an egg (not boiled, thanks) on his head, and Gus didn't speak to him for a week? Okay, that was a slight overreaction. Shawn dragging Gus out to the shady end of Santa Barbara where the street workers prowled and the "prostitutes are sin except when I use them" office workers lurked to solve a case he was only technically invited on (the Chief had only contacted them because of the case's need to be solved immediately, but stressed that they were pretty much unnecessary)?
Gus was pretty confident he was not overreacting.
"It's really not that cold, buddy. Just put your arms in the shirt!"
"There's no arms, Shawn! Technically, there's not even a shirt, Shawn!"
Did Gus mention they were scantily clad in netted shirts and tight, leather pants and combat boots? That Shawn convinced him into eyeliner and nail polish? He was just glad he was able to talk Shawn out of the short shorts.
"This was not part of the plan, Shawn!"
"When I told you we would be pretending to be prostitutes for a case, what exactly did you think it would entail?"
Certainly not this, Gus thought. As they huddled away from their mark, a tall, lanky guy who looked far too grumpy, Gus refrained from yelling it at Shawn. He also restrained himself (barely) from strangling Shawn. He was sure the lanky, albeit scarily grumpy, murderer would take care of that.
"Are you sure about this?" Gus asked nervously. Shawn had his phone strategically hidden on his person, GPS and speakerphone on, dialed already to Gus, whose phone was tucked inside his left boot. In the five minutes since Gus was made aware of - most - the plan, they had taken every precaution they could think of.
"Gus, don't be James Caan in Elf."
"I'm not sure-"
"Don't be James Caan in the beginning of Elf," Shawn corrected himself.
Gus nodded, then frowned. "You're sure this is the guy?"
"Yeah," Shawn confirmed. He looked nervous, a little scared, but sure.
"And you're not getting in his car?"
Shawn rolled his eyes, but recited, "Quickies are meant to be quick, and going to an alley instead of a hotel is quicker."
Gus shuddered a little, still weirded out by hearing Shawn say it, and nodded. "Alright," Gus relented finally. "I'll be at the end of the alley. Your speakerphone is on. Say the codeword if you need me."
"Yeah, yeah," Shawn grumbled. Then louder, to the grumpy, lanky, now slightly annoyed guy, "He was just making sure I knew my safe word. Turtledove Humpkins." Shawn walked away from Gus. "His name, not my safeword. My safeword is pineapples. Although I might change that because pineapples have been involved in my sex life before."
Grumpy, lanky, murder-y guy didn't smile. Gus supposed if you're upset enough to commit murder, sexual jokes from the prostitutes you're killing probably wouldn't make you laugh. He could at least pretend, Gus thought. Even murderers had some sort of manners, right?
As Shawn and the suspect headed into the alley, Gus settled against the wall of an old building, one of the walls at the opening of the alley. He pulled his phone out of his boot and put it against his ear. He, for the most part, ignored their sexual banter (at least, Shawn's sexual banter, which was cringe-worthy enough by itself that Gus now felt grateful that lanky guy didn't seem to have any manners about returning said sexual banter).
It was only when the suspect actually replied to Shawn a few minutes later that Gus paid any attention. It almost sounded like he was fishing for information, and Gus' heart panicked at the realization that grumpy, lanky murder-y guy must know Shawn was involved in the case to be asking those questions.
Panicking in earnest, Shawn not having said the codeword yet, Gus debated running into the alley. If he was wrong, he'd have spoiled he case. If he was right, Shawn could be shot. Well, he could be stabbed, too, Gus supposed, but lanky guy seemed more of a gun nut.
Before Gus could decide on a course of action, he heard Shawn shout "You're under arrest!" and the scuffling of what was probably murder-y guy resisting arrest and shouts of pain from Shawn, probably being stabbed since he didn't hear a gunshot. He was wrong about lanky guy being a gun nut, then, Gus noted absently as he sped around the corner. Running into the alley, case be damned, Gus prepared to throw his phone at the murderer and maybe blind him, if he was lucky.
He wasn't prepared to see Shawn and unarmed, murder-y, lanky, and so very grumpy guy handcuffed together, and when Gus saw the guy's empty holster and badge, he groaned.
It looked like they'd arrested a dirty cop. Just their luck.
~*~
Lassiter had turned out not to be a dirty cop. He was actually the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara police department, and Gus had been surprised they didn't get arrested for assaulting a police officer.
Technically, Shawn had been arrested, initially, for prostitution and the murder they were arresting Lassiter for. It had been a big embarrassing mess, and if it hadn't been for the fact that Lassiter's partner, Juliet, had apprehended the actual murderer, he was sure they would have been in more trouble than they ended up being in.
Lassiter had originally insisted they still be punished, since Shawn had given Lassiter a pretty good shiner, but when the Chief had pointed out Lassiter had made the same mistake they had, Lassiter didn't insist anymore.
Somehow, between Shawn mock-apologizing, Lassiter threatening to put Shawn in jail, and Shawn complimenting Lassiter's handcuffs, they had ended up dating.
Gus was still unsure how he felt about it because Lassiter still gave off that murder-y vibe. Shawn's assured him that's just the aura of a police officer (and something about wild, Irish ancestors that Gus didn't understand).
Gus still isn't so sure, months later, as he pulls the invitation to their wedding from the envelope addressed to him, a card in the shape of a gun shooting flowers, but he's learned to roll with it by now.