Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
WARNING: Spoilers to 4x3, High Noonish.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the great response I've gotten on FFN. It's been great!
Lassiter hadn't felt that excited since he had gotten a new gun holster at the secret Santa party last Christmas.
And considering that gun holster was something he'd been pining for since he'd seen it at the 2008 Santa Barbara Gun Show, that was saying something.
Lassiter looked at his boots and smiled. As a kid he had come to Old Senora every weekend, becoming entranced by a time where the good guys were the good guys and the bad guys were the bad guys. A time where the only law a sheriff had to follow was the one set by the gun on his belt. And now here he was, wearing the same spurs he had always secretly dreamed about wearing.
Lassiter felt good in his cowboy attire (not a costume, not matter what Spencer said). He looked at his pocket watch and nodded; it was time.
Lassiter tipped his hat and stepped outside, letting the saloon doors slam on his way out. He glanced at the tourists, but immediately forgot about them as he saw Stinky Pete standing across the road.
Or should he say, Stinky Spencer. Lassiter couldn't help but grin at the play on words. Oh yeah, you can bet Spencer wasn't feeling too hot now.
The psychic was standing a few yards away, decked out in his black bad guy outfit. Spencer looked as cocky as ever, even though he knew how this skit ended. As soon as he saw Lassiter, the psychic smirked.
Lassiter fingered the gun at his belt. Finally, after all this time, after all of the endured quips and idiocity, he was going to get to shoot Shawn Spencer. It was going to feel so good.
"Hey!" Lassiter shouted. Fully aware of the badge on his chest, he'd very much enjoyed his role as the sheriff. It was the most fun he'd had off-duty in a long time.
"Drop your weapon and come peaceably," he drawled.
Spencer fingered his own gun. "Well, Sheriff, I ain't exactly a peaceful man," he said, in an accent that was probably supposed to sound Western.
The two stood across from each other, each waiting for the other to make his move. The only thing that would have completed the moment would have been a tumbleweed coming between them.
Lassiter's eyes narrowed.
Spencer and Lassiter took out their guns at the same time, but in the end Lassiter was just a little faster. Not to mention that here, the good guys always won.
As Lassiter fired the blank, Spencer flew off his feet, dramatically falling to the ground. As he twitched on the ground (which Lassiter would kill him for later), the crowd cheered. Lassiter put his gun back in his holster and smiled. It had felt even better than he'd thought it would.
Guster ran from the sidelines to Spencer's side, probably to make sure that Lassiter hadn't really shot him. Lassiter could have rolled his eyes.
"Couldn't have done it better myself, Sheriff."
Lassiter turned and saw Sheriff Hank approaching him. Even though it was beyond surreal to see the Sheriff in jeans and a t-shirt instead of a cowboy hat, he was glad to see his old friend.
Lassiter smiled shyly at the compliment. "You know I could never replace you, Hank."
"Well, you did it better than Mr. Spencer did at any rate," Hank said. "Man always had trouble pulling the trigger, even though I told him the whole thing was fake."
Lassiter did roll his eyes this time. "Sounds like Spencer," he said.
"Can't deny he's not a good man though," Hank added. He leaned in slightly. "You know, it was his idea to let you do the final show."
Lassiter's eyebrows shot up. He looked over at Spencer, watching as his friend helped him up off the ground, the two bickering incessantly.
"You mean that my childhood dream came true just because that overgrown man-child helped me?" he asked in disblief.
Hank clapped Lassiter on the shoulder. "Got your dream, didn't ya? Anyway," he said, looking back towards his car, "I best be goin' now. It's been good seeing you again, Binky."
Lassiter nodded. "Thanks for everything, Hank."
Without warning Hank hugged him. Lassiter smiled softly.
"I'll see you around," Hank said, walking back towards his car.
Lassiter looked back at Spencer. He grimaced at the thought of what he was about to do, but he felt he owed it to the man.
"Hey, Spencer!" he shouted, walking towards the two men.
Spencer looked up at him and grinned. "Great fight, huh, Lass? I have to say, I made a very convincing bad guy."
"Not that convincing," Guster interrupted. "You could have used more feeling, more passion."
"More passion? I had one line! How am I supposed to fit more passion in when I have one line?"
"Spencer," Lassiter interrupted, before the arguing could get out of hand. "If you don't stop talking I swear I will shoot you for real."
He sighed and looked at the fake psychic. "This isn't easy for me to say, but…thanks. In the end you came through for Sheriff Hank, and I owe you one for that. And…"
This was like getting teeth pulled. He made himself keep going, because for once Spencer wasn't making some witty remark.
"I know you're the one who came up with the idea for me to be Sheriff today. So…thanks again I guess."
Spencer grinned. "Aww! Lassy, am I sensing some friendship vibes here? I think I am."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Please, I'm just giving thanks where thanks is due."
"Did Sheriff Hank tell you to thank me?"
"Goodbye, Spencer." Lassiter was about to turn but stopped. "Just out of curiousity, whose idea was it for you to be the bad guy?" he asked.
Spencer adjusted his hat. "Mine of course. Thought you'd enjoy getting to shoot me," he said grinning. "Plus, ladies have a thing for the bad guys."
He and Guster fistbumped, and went over to the hotter tourists, already hatching a plan to flirt their way into their trust.
Lassiter sighed. Of course Spencer had to get his victory. Lassiter looked down at his gun and took it out, admiring the piece.
But then again, he got his too.