I Seafood
Lionel Fusco is early. He arrives at the chosen restaurant with ten minutes to spare. He takes the opportunity to go to the men's room straighten his tie—the mirror there is much more effective than his car's rear-view. He didn't take the time to get dressed up for dinner, just came here straight from the Precinct, so he's in his work clothes. On his way to the men's room he spotted some bow ties and dark tuxedos so his cheap brown suit sticks out like a sore thumb. He wonders just who he's trying to impress anyway and with a shrug he goes out to pick a table.
There are a bunch of tables to choose from and as he scans the room he evaluates every one.
Sameen Shaw, it turns out, is also early. She's already a picked a table for them, one that's near the back of the restaurant but still with a clear view to the exit. The way she's sitting, she's planning to watch Lionel's six.
He ambles over, weaving between tables with surprising grace. He's gotten pretty good at dodging crowds. Sameen's wearing a deep purple dress and has her hair down—she's made a bit of an effort, and Lionel feels vaguely guilty for not doing the same. She has her arms folded when he arrives, staring up at him with her trademark blank expression that somehow seems to give the impression to all around that she's actually really pissed.
"Hello, Lionel," she greets, though it could be some kind of threat. She's hard to read that way.
"Hey," he returns. He sits down opposite her, back to the door. "You look nice," he says with a nod towards her dress.
"And you look..." She seems to struggle to find an appropriate word—she must be on her best behaviour tonight.
"...Like a cop," he finishes for her and she nods her approval. "...There's a lot of fish," he says, looking at the menu that has a surprising amount of gold leaf.
Sameen peeks at him over the top of her menu. "It's a seafood restaurant."
They place their orders—grilled shrimp with cilantro, lime, and peanuts—and there's nothing to do now but to wait. This place is a bit too high-end for Lionel's tastes—there are chandeliers with fake candles hanging from the ceiling and too many knives and forks on the table—but a bet's a bet. Wonder Boy already owes him fifty bucks for tonight just because Sameen actually showed up.
"So... how was your day?" Lionel asks when the thumb-twiddling and table-tapping have encroached on what he can bear.
"The usual," she shrugs, humouring him—but only so much. "Shot some bad guys."
She doesn't say 'And what about you?' but Lionel pretends that she has. "I helped Kane out with a homicide. Turns out this guy had killed his girlfriend over a missing ten dollar bill. She didn't even take it—he spent it on booze and, I quote, 'forgot all about it'. Total nut-job. Then I bumped into this other kid who had a BOLO out on him. So I arrested him... Then I arrested a bird for taking a crap on my car."
Sameen rolls her eyes. "I was listening."
"Didn't seem like it," he says with a little grin. He doesn't care, really. It's nice to have the chance to talk to someone about his day at work even if it's all going in one ear and out the other. He can't exactly go home and tell Lee all this. He gets the comic-book version if he gets told at all.
Their meals arrive—Lionel was hungry and just wanted to get straight to the main course, Sameen was... well, Sameen, and ordered the same. She looks down at the meagre portion on her plate and on the opposite side of the table Lionel mirrors her.
He's about to ask her if she'd like to join him for a takeout after this—and is surprised to find he wouldn't mind that—when his plate disappears from under his nose. He looks up to see Sameen shamelessly scraping everything off his plate and onto hers. She hands him back his plate, and all that remains is a single peanut and a little bit of sauce. Sameen smiles, apparently sweetly at him, but doesn't quite pull it off.
Lionel suddenly smirks; she doesn't seem to know what to make of that and eyes him warily.
"You're shellfish," he says, and laughs.
"Huh." Her cheek twitches and she stabs a shrimp with her fork—Lionel's pretty sure the plate cracks.
THE END
Author's Note: The pun at the end just popped into my head one evening and I thought, That's like something Fusco would say! So from there I tried to come up with a context for it. This was fun to write—I love Shaw and Fusco's weird almost-friendship. I hope you enjoyed it! :)