(Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they belong to USA network. Reviews are helpful! I tried to capture the dialogue style and interactions of the characters. This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it!)
The morning after the awkward "close talking" incident, Juliet's eyes opened with a snap at the light sound of movement in her kitchen. Her chest seemed to freeze up momentarily, and she was fleetingly glad that her detective training had made her at least mildly aware of small changes in her environment, even in sleep. A quick glance at the digital clock by her bed told her that it was a little after seven in the morning. She was vaguely aware of being tired, but the adrenaline rush was overriding all of her other feelings. Cautiously Juliet padded around the bed on the blue carpet to grab her cell phone and the gun stashed under her pillow. Praying that the phone wouldn't make any beeping noises, she quickly dialed Lassiter's number and hit send. He answered on the third ring, and she told him the situation as quietly as possible. With a brisk "I'm on my way," he hung up. Juliet crouched low behind the bed so that she was shielded from the door and listened intently. Whoever the intruder was, they were not taking too much care to be stealthy, she noted. And, curiously enough, judging by the soft, metallic clanging noises and a few repeated swooshes that indicated an opening of the refrigerator door, they had not yet left the kitchen. Her confusion reached even greater heights when she heard a few bars of "Accidentally in Love" whistled loudly with no reserve whatsoever. Who on earth….no. Surely not, she thought, as her eyebrows traveled up her forehead. Not even Shawn would be stupid enough to break into the home of someone with a license to carry a weapon and the knowledge of how to use it. But then she remembered the time when he chased an armed criminal while masquerading as a bounty hunter a few days ago. And then there was the time that he went undercover as a pop singer while really playing bodyguard to the insufferable judge of a television show, and then…..
Her mind spun out into the endless web of reckless things that Shawn had done until she came to the conclusion that no one but Shawn Spencer could be the intruder in her kitchen (who had now progressed to full-fledged operatic singing) at this moment. Rolling her eyes, Juliet replaced the gun back under her pillow, smoothed her hair, prepared her annoyed face, squared her shoulders, and stormed into the main room of her apartment. She had to fight to keep a straight face when she saw Shawn, spatula in one hand, pineapple slice in the other, chef's hat (complete with cow face and ears) perched jauntily on his brown hair. He looked up and grinned when he saw her, merrily waving his spatula-hand. Juliet took a deep breath, hoped that her features looked appropriately contorted with rage (rather than battling not to laugh), and started on him.
"Damn it, Spencer! I almost shot you. What the hell do you think you are doing, breaking into my apartment at seven a.m. on a Saturday?"
He grinned, unabashed. "Ah, so we are being formal," he said with a flourished bow. "Well then, O'Hara, I am making you breakfast. It's a Spencer specialty. Pineapple pancakes. Well, it's actually just my specialty, but, I am a Spencer, and therefore I think that calling these a Spencer specialty is not only appropriate but pleasantly alliterative. Alliterationish. Alliteritivational?—" he paused, musing. Juliet was staring, open-mouthed. Desperate to cling to some aspect of dignity, she rounded on him once more.
"Well, Shawn, as sweet as that is, I still need to know how the hell you managed to break into my apartment."
"Ah, Juliet. I divined," he said, with much flourishing of the spatula, "that you keep your key under a rock beside the hedges on the right side of your apartment building door. Clever, I must say. Most prefer the conventional false-bottomed hedgehog or another small woodland animal statue. I, myself, go with the gnome." Juliet didn't know what to say. She was irritated, sure, that Shawn had broken into her apartment, but it was very hard for her to stay angry at anyone who was cooking her breakfast, let along while wearing a cow hat. Grumbling, she dragged a four-legged stool from the center island and plopped down next to where he was standing by the stove. The scent of freshly baked pancakes and the sweet aroma of pineapple made a surprisingly pleasant mixture, she thought. Just as Shawn was opening his mouth to speak again, the front door burst open. Juliet screeched and sent the stool flying sideways as she scrambled to her feet in alarm. Shawn held up both hands, spatula included, in a sign of surrender, but he quickly dropped them at the sight of Detective Lassiter, gun drawn, standing panting in the doorway. Juliet swore under her breath; she had been so surprised that the intruder was Shawn that she had forgotten to call Lassiter off. Fighting the urge to laugh at the enraged look on her partner's face, she stepped out from behind Shawn, and relinquished her death grip on his arm, which he rubbed vigorously.
"What the hell, Spencer?!" shouted Lassiter, still pointing the gun at Shawn, who seemed unconcerned.
"I seem to be getting that a lot this morning," he said. "Now Lassie, if you wanted a pancake, all you had to so was ask."
"Detective O'Hara!" said Lassiter, obviously extremely irritated. "Was this your idea of a prank? You woke me up at seven on a Saturday morning and said there was an intruder. Now I walk in here to find Spencer of all people baking pancakes in a cow suit!" Lassiter looked on the verge of spontaneous combustion, so Juliet started to explain quickly. When she had finished, Lassiter's face still looked like a mottled tomato, but he had lowered and holstered his gun. Shawn then started to speak.
"First of all, Lassie, one does not bake pancakes unless one is extremely foolish. I, Lassie, am a pancake master." He clasped his hands and bowed his torso once towards Juliet, who fought the ridiculous urge to giggle or blush. What was wrong with her? Shawn continued on: "Also, I am only wearing a cow hat. Not an entire body suit. Though, I will not pretend that I have not attempted to buy one on eBay several times. That is not the point. Either way, there are plenty of pineapple pancakes to go around. He picked up one from the steaming pile and tossed it at Lassiter, who managed to catch it reflexively in his hand.
"Damn it, Spencer, I don't need this crap! You need to seriously consider the word 'professionalism' or the next time I arrive here it will be with a patty wagon to take you downtown for breaking and entering charges," he fumed.
"A Patty wagon? Really, Lassie?" Shawn arched an eyebrow. "And by the way, the last time I considered the word 'professionalism' was on a fourth grade spelling test; that would be around the same time that you last considered the words 'flattering haircut'. Although now obviously I am reconsidering my last consideration of the word, and therefore I can truthfully say that today was the most recent date at which it was considered." He grinned at Juliet, who started to grin back before remembering herself and feigning a coughing fit. Lassiter stared at the pair of them and stormed out, still clutching the pancake in his fist. Shawn grabbed Juliet's hand and pulled her to the window, where they watched him stride to his car.
"Wait for it….wait for ittttt…." Shawn sing-songed, grinning. Sure enough, Lassiter stopped, glanced around, took a bite of the pancake, and chewed thoughtfully before hurriedly devouring the rest. "I told you they were good," Shawn said.
"I guess I'll just have to see for myself," said Juliet, now letting herself laugh.
"And by the way, Jules," said Shawn, massaging his arm again, "The next time you want to hold me, you don't have to invite Lassiter for the big show, all you have to do is ask." He grinned as her jaw dropped, and shoved a miniature pancake into her open mouth before she could protest.
Author's Note: I am not sure yet whether I will add more chapters to this one, or just create separate stories! I do like the idea of Shawn and Jules actually going somewhere though, so I am inclined to add more to this one. And I desperately need to play around with writing Gus for my sanity. That's my idea of a treat, I guess. :P