Work Text:
Santa Barbara, 1923
Perfect. Just perfect.
This is the first thing Shawn thinks when he sees her. She comes sniffing around the soda shop, asking questions with a detective. Maybe if they had met four years ago, before those reformers made everyones’ lives a hell of a lot harder, his reaction would have been more welcoming, but right now, Shawn is simply annoyed that the pair of cops have come to bother them. If they find their stores hidden under the floorboards in the attic, they’ll dump all the hooch out on the bricks. That isn’t something they can afford.
Yet, despite her profession, he can’t help but notice how pretty the police officer is. Her hat’s a bit crooked, and she keeps pulling it down over her bun with a flustered look on her face. She’s cute.
“While you’re waiting, want a drink?” he asks.
She returns his offer with a glare.
“Come on. I’m sure you’re tired of walking around with Detective Upstage over there.” He nods his head to her handsome, scowling partner who’s talking to Rich. “On the house.”
“All right.” She slides into the stool in front of the bar. “I’ll have a cola.”
He opens her a bottle with a pop! “For you, Officer.”
“O’Hara.” She takes a sip of her drink and fiddles with the frays of her scarf. “So, are you here often?” she asks.
He gives her a half-grin. “Day and night. Thinking about coming by off hours?”
She shrugs nonchalantly, meeting his gaze through her eyelashes. “Maybe. So the shop’s open at night too?”
That’s when he realizes what she’s doing. Damn. He catches Karen giving him a stony cold look, and he knows he’s going to have to explain why he was willingly talking to a cop once this is over. He stiffins, getting a rag and wiping a part of the marble that doesn’t need cleaning. “Until eight.”
“We’ve seen people on this street later than that.”
“Private events.”
“Mm.” She seems to ponder his lie for a second, then she takes a final swig out of her glass and sets it down. “Well. Thank you, Mister…”
“Mister Spencer. Shawn Spencer.”
“Mister Spencer, please feel free to come down to the station if you hear anything.”
He nods, and she walks over to Karen and strikes a conversation with her. The station must’ve had an inkling that Karen is part of their illegal affairs and sent her; it isn’t uncommon for female officers to come ask women working in bootleg operations. He just hadn’t expected her to start questioning him. She’s a smart dame, smarter than he gave her credit for.
Soon, the police officers are leaving, and O’Hara looks back at him with a smug smile. She knows. They both know. They know once the sun sets this soda shop turns into a speakeasy, and sodas are traded for liquor in the bar upstairs. But there’s nothing the police can do without proof, and no one is planning on giving it to them.
“Bye, Mister Spencer.”
He gives her a wave. “Goodbye, Officer O’Hara.”
As soon as the door closes behind them, Karen stalks over once with a sour look on her face. “Spencer, what were you doing talking to a cop?”
“We were just beating our gums, Karen. Everything’s jake.”
She gives him a stern look. “Fine. Don’t flirt with a cop again or I’ll take you off the night shift. Got it?”
He gives his boss a salute. “Ab-so-lute-ly” She rolls her eyes and leaves him to serve a gaggle of kids who walk into the store.
Despite himself, he does hope he’ll see Officer O’Hara again. And maybe then, he could learn her first name.
🎄
Normally, Saturdays are one of his top nights of the week. Those are the days both him and Gus are working behind the wooden counter in the attic-turned-bar, serving customers while cracking jokes. It feels less like work and more like fun, only second to going to watch a film, maybe.
Except today, it’s the Saturday before Christmas; the bar is loud and chaotic, full of flappers and flaming youth wanting to drink and dance away their holiday anxieties. While the customers have the time of their lives, Shawn has no time to relax, filling drinks left and right. He barely has time to say hello to Gus- forget having a conversation.
Even worse, Woody’s band is playing tonight, and the group are not exactly the best musicians. Often Shawn winces at the sound of Woody playing a flat note on his trombone… They’d have better luck with music from a twisted phonograph.
Shawn fills drinks and wipes the counter without really thinking about it, letting habit take over as he thoughts wander. He finds himself thinking of the woman he’s thought of quite a few times since he met her a week ago: Officer O’Hara.
A woman police officer- what a sight! It isn’t exactly common for a woman to be a police officer, even less to see one outside of the station. He has a feeling she wormed her way out of deskwork to be out on the streets, and despite the fact that she’s enforcing the Wright Act and thus threatening how he’s making more than half his dough, he can’t help but feel attracted. He makes a mental note to mention her to his mother when he calls her next. When he was younger, she always told him tales of being a woman in a male-dominated practice and how hard it was being a woman in the workforce. It made him appreciate what O’Hara had to do to get where she was, even if it was being a bull.
Plus, she’s pretty, and pretty clever too.
(Not that he’s got a crush. He only did see her for a few minutes, after all.)
“Giggle water, please.”
Shawn turns to see Officer O’Hara sitting at the stool in front of him, his mouth turning into an O.
O’Hara laughs. It’s a warm laugh, not rude or cruel, laughing less at him and more at his shock. He curses himself for noticing the crinkles at her eyes. “Didn’t expect me?” she asks.
She’s traded her black skirt and uniform button down shirt for a draped shimmering teal dress, bordered with sequins. Her hair that had been in a simple bun before is now curled in the sides and tied into a chignon. She has a face full of makeup, and how beautiful she is is overwhelming, in a good way; it’s the way he felt when he saw snow for the first time in France.
He blinks and realizes he’s staring. Then he realizes exactly who O’Hara is.
“How exactly did you get the password?” he hisses.
“I have friends,” she answers nonchalantly. As if she wasn’t here just a few days ago, upholding the prohibition.
What is he supposed to say? Oh, hello! This isn’t a gin mill, Officer O’Hara! A special soda party’s what we’re having! They are surrounded by more than enough drunken people and every variation of drink a flapper could think of. He should be sounding an alarm to stash the hooch and run, but just as fast as the thought comes, he pushes it aside. No police officer comes to raids dressed in an evening gown, and none ever sit down at the bar before making an arrest. Whatever she’s here for, it isn’t quite so simple. He runs his hands through his gelled hair. “Here to see me?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m here for a whiskey cocktail.”
She’s not the first nor the last police officer to visit their speakeasy, but probably the only policewoman who’ll ever step foot here. The fact that she isn’t as moral as her policewoman title suggests tickles him. “Shouldn’t you be counseling some flappers?”
“You’re the worst bartender I’ve ever met, Shawn Spencer.”
He makes her drink but holds the prepared glass above his head. “Might have to call the police on you, Officer O’Hara.” She scowls.
With an exaggerated bow, he hands her the glass. Her eyes twinkle as she takes a sip, her face scrunching ever so slightly at the less-than-quality taste of bootleg liquor. “They say the prohibition’s has helped quite a few things. Infant death. Hysteria.”
It may be illegal to drink, but it isn’t against the law to complain. He chuckles. “Whatever so called rewards we may reap from it, it isn’t worth it. Men came back from the Great War, and they can’t even have a drink in peace?”
At just that moment, Gus stalks over, catching the tail end of their conversation. “Baloney! You’ve spent five minutes leaving me to serve all our customers, Shawn, and for what?” He hits his best friend on the shoulder with a rag.
“Gus, don’t be a day old bottle of bathtub gin. I fought the Germans for two years to protect this country, so I have every right to protect my right to drink.”
Gus huffs. “As if I wasn’t also there, doing work twice as hard. I dug trenches for you lot and got treated three times worse.”
“Ha! I had to carry all my supplies all around France. You think that was easy?”
“Compared to digging ten feet down-”
Juliet slams her now empty glass down on the bar so hard Shawn’s surprised it doesn’t break. “If I listened to you two yap all night long I’d lose my edge and my nerves.” She takes a deep breath and lifts her chin, meeting his eye. “Shawn, mind taking me into the back office? I need to speak with your boss.”
He raises his eyebrow, half upset she doesn't care to listen to him defend his dignity and half curious to what she wants. “What makes you think she wants to speak to a cop?” he asks.
“She’s a cop ?!” Gus sputters. “ Shawn ! You damn cake-eater! You’re going to get all of us arrested!”
“Gus, cálmate . If she wanted to do that, she’d’ve done it when the night started.”
Juliet stands. “Look, Shawn, I need somebody to get me through that door-” she tilts her head to the back room- “without causing a scene. Thought you’d be the person for it.”
Shawn inspects the officer for a minute, ignoring the ringing bell in his head telling him this could very well be a trap, and nods. “Take care of the bar, Gus!”
Ignoring the obscenities Gus hurls his way, Shawn leads O’Hara to the backroom, being careful to swerve around dancing drunks and step over men half seas over laying on the floor. McNab (policeman by day, speakeasy guardman by night) will get them up and out soon enough. He stops short of the door and cocks his head to the side. “I’ll let you in… if you tell me your name.”
The officer crosses her arms, her eyebrow raised. “Juliet.”
“Shakespeare. Nice.” He winks as he swings open the door and strides in. “Karen, look who I brought!”
Karen is sitting at her desk in conversation with her husband, their heads bowed over some financial documents. Shawn registers three things at once. One, that Karen and Richard are holding hands and he definitely crashed into some sort of moment. Two, the light’s broken again, as their faces are silhouettes in candle light. And three, when Richard came up the back stairs, he brought Iris along.
Karen’s face morphs from confusion to surprise to anger, and as she shifts, the baby in her arms starts to wail. Years from now, when they laugh at this moment, they will tell Iris it was her unexpected appearance which gave her mother the upper hand.
Faster than the blink of an eye, Karen jumps up and points her revolver at Juliet with her right hand, holding her daughter in her other arm. She looks the policewoman up and down, not moving an inch even as Iris cries. “Spencer, you better explain what the hell is going on.”
Shawn sees Juliet slowly reaching towards her bag and steps forward, gently stopping her hand with his. “I don’t know everything, but I trust her. Karen, give her a chance to talk without fear of being bumped off.”
“Fine, but take her bag away from her first.” Shawn dutifully pulls the velvet bag off her shoulder, handing it to Rich, who riffles through it and pulls out a revolver.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
Juliet straightens. “I have a proposition, Mr. Vick. I’ve been trying to track the Golden Triad-”
“We’re not involved with the gangs, Officer O’Hara.” Karen snips. “I run an honest business, and I don’t like to cause bloodshed in the process.”
Juliet nods. “I know, Mrs. Vick. I’m after them, and that’s why I want to make a deal. I’ll keep Detective Lassiter and the rest of the department off your tail in exchange for information on drug pushers 1and local criminals. Lassiter has been wanting to take you all down for awhile and is planning a raid soon, but I can encourage him to look elsewhere if you help me. You have sources we don’t have. There’s a likelihood you share shipments or middlemen with them, and if you can get information for me, I can take them down. ”
Karen’s eye twitches. “He’d need a warrant to bust down our doors. How do you think he’d get it?”
Juliet sighs. “Last night, he found one of your musicians- the trombonist- drunk and found a roll of film of your speakeasy, with Richard in the background. The only reason he hasn’t bust down your doors is because three of our witnesses in a gang case are testifying this Monday and he’s prepping them. He’s planning to raid the place Monday night.”
“What a magnificent Christmas Eve present,” Richard mutters. He runs a hand over his face, his wife’s jaw clenched. Shawn knows what all three of them are thinking. Woody, that goddamn bird. He’d carried that Kodak around last week and gotten pictures of every inch of the attic, putting them all at risk.
Iris lets out another piercing cry. Karen and Richard meet each other’s eye and something unspoken passes between them. Karen lowers her gun slightly and gestures to the door. “Get out and wait. I need to put Iris down and talk this over with my husband. And Spencer? Keep an eye on her.”
Richard ushers them out and locks the door with a click. After a few minutes of quiet singing from her mother, Iris’s cries dissipate, and Shawn presses his ear to the door in an attempt to better hear a hushed conversation between Richard and Karen. His gaze flickers to Juliet, who- despite having her chin held up high- he can tell is anxious from the way she shifts on her feet. “Come here!” he whispers. She raises her eyebrow but after a second of consideration, steps forward. They press close to be able to both press their ears to the door, and he’s close enough to see an eyelash that’s fallen on her cheek; he fights the urge to wipe it away.
“We’ll look ridiculous when they open the door,” she whispers.
“They’re used to my antics.”
While they can’t make out much of the conversation, they’re able to hear it ending quick enough to jump back before Karen opens the door. Iris is asleep in a little crib they keep in the back, and the table has been cleared. They all sit down. The Vicks are holding hands again under the table, and Shawn feels a twinge in his heart like he often gets when he sees them together. It’s a cocktail of admiration and jealousy and hope he will never admit having.
“Officer O’Hara, we’ve decided to accept your proposition. We will gather and give you information when we can,” Richard says.
“However,” his wife continues, “we have conditions for both. First and foremost, you will get that film of Strode’s and destroy it by tomorrow. Only then we will discuss possible information we have. Second, Spencer, you are the one who brought O’Hara here, and I’m deeming you responsible for relaying information and keeping an eye on her operations. And if she dares double cross us, it will fall on you.”
“That won’t happen,” Shawn finds himself saying. “She’s the real McCoy, Karen.” He gives her a promising grin, “I have a good feeling this’ll be the start of a bea-u-tiful relationship.” A little voice in his head (who sounds a little too much like his father for his liking) yells that he hardly knows this woman and should not be promising anything about her. It is like a blind date but ten times more dangerous, yet for some reason, he can’t make himself care too much about the possibility this could be a trap. He’s even willing to be her unpaid chaperone if it means he can see her again.
Karen gets up and pulls Juliet’s revolver out of the desk. To Shawn’s surprise, she hands it back to the policewoman with a small smile on her face. “I respect a woman that knows how to hold a gun.”
Juliet slips her revolver in her bag and shakes Karen’s outstretched hand.
🎄
Shawn has never understood their popularity of musketeer hats- looking like wide tents atop women’s heads, in his opinion- these past few years, but as Juliet explains why she’s wearing it, he realizes its true purpose. “It was gifted by my cousin,” she tells him as they walk towards the station. “I don’t like to wear it, with the feathers being from birds and all, but it does have its uses.” She walks around his heels, and now that she’s on his left side, he can see how smart her choice was. The huge feathers dangling on its side fall in front of her face, making it difficult to distinguish much of her profile. If she sees someone she knows, she can easily turn her head and walk right past, her fellow officers none the wiser. Plus, the thing is such a huge distraction, Shawn’s sure no one will even look at her face anyways.
They head down the streets of Santa Barbara in a comfortable silence, passing several storefronts boasting last minute Christmas sales. There’s a bitter breeze which causes Shawn to pull his jacket on a little tighter. He normally isn’t up this early, sleeping after a night working at the speakeasy ‘til well past noon, and he finds himself enjoying seeing the world wake up for once.
As they turn one last corner, Juliet halts, holding out her arm to stop him. “Okay. You… you go first, like we planned,” she assures, it seems more towards herself than him, he feels.
“What’s wrong?”
She sighs. “Carlton…He’s finally beginning to warm up to me. He hasn’t ever acted like so many of the men do in the station, and here I am, ready to betray him just to get information.”
“You’re worried about Detective Upstage? If he wasn’t such a stickler for prohibition, we could’ve paid him hush money just like half the speakeasies pay the other detectives and he could focus on the gangs rather than us.”
“I know, and I don’t agree with him. But he loves the law, even when it has flaws. It’s everything to him. Ugh! He thinks all speakeasies are harboring some horrible criminals, and it’s so frustrating.” Juliet massages her temple. “I know this is the right thing to do. But it doesn’t make it easier.”
Before letting himself think too much of it, Shawn touches her shoulder ever so gently. “Juliet, just a few years ago, our business would’ve been legal. The information Karen’ll give you plus the things you already know could help take down the Golden Triad . I know the detective would disagree, but… I really think you’re doing something good here.”
She gives him a slight smile. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t let his hand linger; he is still at least a bit of a gentleman, even if his father disagrees. “I better get in there before Lassiter gets out of church.”
Shawn pulls his homburg hat down and turns the corner, heading straight into the station. He turns swiftly to avoid the front desk, rushing past the main lobby towards the back, to where the evidence lockers are kept. He wore his nice suit today, along with a bowtie, hoping his clothing was close enough to a detective’s that he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. He remembers this station from when he was a child, when he would spend long hours wandering around, and for once, he’s grateful for his father’s insistence on bringing him here so often: he knows exactly where the evidence lockers are. (The irony is not lost on him.)
Suddenly, a shot of fear runs through him: what if the lockers are being guarded by someone who knows his father? Knows him?
There’s no turning back now, so he walks the rest of the way with false confidence. The man sitting in front of evidence is young, too young to know Shawn or Henry at all. Thank God. Time for the show.
A few feet away from the lockers, Shawn collapses onto the floor, sprawling and clutching his head. “Help!” The officer jumps up and runs to him and he yells again, pulling away as the poor officer tries to help him up, forcing them further away from the lockers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Juliet rushing past, and to his relief the man doesn’t seem to even notice.
“Sir! Sir! Do you need help?” Shawn doesn’t answer, hoping it’ll keep the man squatting beside him longer, but it has the opposite effect; the officer tries to get up, to get help presumably. Shawn quickly grabs onto his arm to stop him.
“Uh- Can you take me to the water fountains? I think some water will help. I get these terrible migraines…”
The officer nods and Shawn lets him struggle to pull him upward. They walk towards the fountain. Shawn grips the man’s arm and takes his sweet time drinking. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and claps the officer’s shoulder. “Thanks! I feel so much better!” He turns on his heel and saunters towards the exit, leaving the speechless officer behind. “Merry Christmas!”
He makes his way back to the corner to find Juliet waiting anxiously for him. “That was amazing! I thought you were really in pain!” she exclaims, holding up the roll of film in her hand. “I got it.”
Shawn grins, feeling giddy- like he’s a kid again, sneaking Gus in through the back and stealing files from a detective’s desk.
They walk to the soda shop, so they can give Richard the roll of film now tucked in Juliet’s bag. They spend the fourty or so minutes talking. He learns she is 25 and moved from Florida a few years ago in hopes for a new start. She is part of a book club, volunteers at a local community center, and loves listening to music on the radio. He tells her of how he was a soldier in France, his friendship with Gus, and a favorite film he recently saw. They find they share a love for comedic radio shows.
When they arrive at the soda shop and give Rich the film, Shawn and Juliet linger at the storefront. “Are you seeing family for Christmas?” he asks.
“Well, my brothers all have their own families now… On my mother’s side, my cousin invited me for dinner, but I think I’ll be spending the day by myself and give her some sort of excuse. I don’t need to hear anymore nagging about how ‘unladylike’ my job is nor how blasphemous it is that I am not yet wed. And as for my father’s side-” Juliet snorts. “My father’s-” She laughs a type of bright, unfiltered laugh that is so infectious Shawn is soon giggling for no reason at all. Asking her why she is laughing only makes it start all over again, and soon they are both howling of laughter like madmen.
After a minute, they settle down slightly. Shawn chuckles as she continues. “As for my father’s side, well, he’s a criminal, working with a Miami crime family at a speakeasy last I heard, so even if I did know where he was, I’m sure he’d just be heartbroken at my profession!” Her father is a criminal! And Dad- Shawn slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle a shriek, his shoulders shaking as he laughs into his hand. Juliet looks at him quizzically, a smile playing at her lips. “Is it that funny?” Juliet asks, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing.
He doesn’t know if it is actually his thought of Henry or the pure exhaustion of working all night and his theatrics at the police station, but he finds it so hilarious it takes him a minute to compose himself enough to give her an explanation. “My father- my father is a cop, and he wanted me to be a cop too! Imagine our dinner!” They both double over in laughter. “He already dislikes my ‘job’ at the soda shop. I just stole from his old police department!”
A few minutes later, Shawn clutches his stomach in pain from laughing so hard. Juliet wipes his eyes. “It seems we have more in common than we thought, Shawn Spencer.”
Shawn realizes this is the end of their adventure, and he does not want it to end. The words are out of his mouth before he has time to overthink them. “Why don’t you come to my apartment for Christmas?” he asks. Shawn doesn’t really want to go to his father’s house for Christmas lunch, awkward silence filled only with Henry’s disappointment. He has his home, and if he wants to invite a policewoman woman he hardly knows to spend Christmas with together, he can.
Shawn doesn’t want to be held back by the expectations of others anymore.
Shawn doesn’t want to stop knowing Juliet until he knows everything there is to know, from the things she loves to the things she hates, the exciting and even more, the mediocre.
(If he thought he had a crush, he’s certain now.)
“That was very bold of you,” she says.
“So was walking into our speakeasy with a gun.”
“I will need your address if I’m to bring the mashed potatoes.”
🎄
Shawn is not an early riser. It’s why he’s so great at his job; he is able to spend the nights awake and energetic. Even when he is not at work, he spends the evenings going to watch films, listening to baseball games on the radio, and reading books by candlelight. Once he goes to bed, he’s asleep at least until noon.
Except today he’s awake at the crack of dawn, anticipation filling him up to the brim.
He cuts up half eaten pineapple upside-down cake he made with Gus, hoping it won’t be obvious it was made a few days ago. He seasons the turkey and sets it in his oven, boils cranberries and sugar to make a sauce, and roasts vegetables on the stove. He still has time, so he stirs gelatin into boiling water and pours it in the mold, adding cut up fruit and placing it on the windowsill to set.
He changes into his nicest looking suit, shaves, and spends way too long picking out a tie. He nervously wets his hair and combs his unruly hair to the side, slicking it back with his precious supply of Brilliantine. There’s still half an hour left, and spends it nervously picking up random things in his apartment and putting them down again.
Then, finally, there’s a knock on the door. She's here.
“Coming!” He makes sure everything is in place, takes a moment to check his appearance again in the mirror, and then runs to the entrance.
Shawn takes a deep breath and opens the door.