A/N: Just a bit of fluff for the occasion. I don't own the characters.

A very happy new year to everyone out there, and hopes for a bright and better year. I think we could all use a better year than the last.

Carlton Lassiter sat at his desk, doing paperwork. He was afraid to look up from his work, as it seemed to multiply every time he took his eyes off it, even for a moment, but look up he did. Lassiter had come into the habit of performing quick checks of the station every now and then when he was working; it helped him gauge the time. Looking around now, he could see that the night staff had come on shift at some point. And that it was dark outside.

The last time he'd looked up, it was to see O'Hara walking out into the halo of light which often encompassed the station in the late afternoon. She'd said something about plans and told Lassiter to have a happy something or other, probably some back handed comment about Lassiter's determination to have paperwork rather than a life.

That, it seemed, had been some hours ago. The night shift usually didn't take over until after nine, and Lassiter knew from the way they were carrying on that they'd been on shift for at least an hour. He sighed. Maybe O'Hara was right; maybe he needed a better way to occupy his time. Shaking his head, Lassiter gathered up the files on his desk. For now, all he really needed was to file these reports and go home. He gathered up the folders and the papers, and made his way to Records.

Lassiter walked down the hall a little slower than usual, allowing his mind to catch up to his surroundings. Something was off about the station, about the night shift officers. Shouldn't there have been more of them? Lassiter made a note to discuss this with the chief tomorrow. Criminals struck most often at night, and they shouldn't be cutting back the man power available to respond to such activity.

As he made to turn into the Records room, Lassiter's world went dark. There was a heavy pressure over both his eyes, and a presence at his back. He dropped the files almost immediately. Crossing his arms at the wrist for leverage, Lassiter grabbed the wrists of his assailant, stationed to either side of his eyes, leaned forward, and pulled.

"Guess whooooooowaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

Somewhere between grabbing his wrists and pulling the younger man over his own back, Lassiter had realized that it was Spencer. Not that that had stopped him. If the young detective, for Lassiter had long ago convinced himself that that was exactly what Spencer was, was going to continue to work at the police station, he needed to learn not to sneak up on people. That, and the look Lassiter was currently getting from the "psychic" sprawled on the hallway floor was priceless.

"Lassie?" With the wind knocked out of him, it seemed that was all Spencer was able to say, an unintended, but happy, side effect of Lassiter's actions.

Lassiter scowled down at Spencer. "Spencer! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spencer winced. "Trying not to move too much. I think you broke one of my ribs."

"Don't be a child, Spencer," Lassiter admonished. "Walk it off." Lassiter looked down at the man in front of him, and realized the true problem facing him. "And get off my files."

The paperwork Lassiter had been so determined to finish was all over the floor, out of sequence, crumpled, and completely unacceptable. He'd have to run off new reports and do the work over again. Lassiter grumbled to himself as he bent to pick up the files, an action made all the more difficult by the fact that Spencer was still laying on them.

Spencer looked up imploringly, holding out a hand, and Lassiter begrudgingly took it, pulling the man to his feet. The second he was once again mobile, Spencer was turning a hurt look on Lassiter. "Why, Lassie? Why?"

"You don't surprise an armed man like that, Spencer. You're lucky you didn't get shot." Lassiter stooped once more to gather his files, surprised to see Spencer kneeling to help.

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. "Noted, but I actually meant why are you still here."

Not him, too, Lassiter thought, thinking of O'Hara and her constant admonitions about his need of a social life. "I wanted to get some paperwork done. Paperwork that I will now be staying to redo, thanks to your intervention."

Spencer looked shocked for some reason. "Lassie, surely you have better plans!"

If you really thought that, you wouldn't have come here looking for me. Lassiter glared once more at the younger man. He sighed, knowing he would have to ask. "And why would that be?"

Spencer gave him a look of shock that was almost convincing. "Dude, are you serious? It's New Year's Eve!"

Lassiter looked down at the forms he'd been signing and dating all day. December 31st, so it was. How had he not noticed that? Lassiter shook his head, determined not to fall prey to Spencer's particular brand of distraction. "Spencer, these are my plans. Thanks to you, I have to reprint all these files and complete every one of them again."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Come on, Lassie! Photocopies will get those wrinkles right out! And you know that can wait for tomorrow."

Loathe as he was to admit it, Spencer might actually have a point. And it might be nice to ring in the new year from somewhere other than the station. For once. But that just drew Lassiter's thoughts back to his dark, empty house and his dark, empty life. Here there were people, there was action, there was something to take his mind away from all the things he'd lost, all the things he'd never had. Lassiter couldn't help but laugh when he realized that he had been looking for a distraction, and one had come to find him, instead.

Spencer seemed to take the small chuckle as a sign of agreement. "See? Yes! That's what I'm talking about! Let's just put these files away, and you can come out on the town with me and Gus! It'll be great."

Lassiter sighed, raising an eyebrow. He looked at his watch, and had to check again when he realized the time. It was already a quarter to midnight. "You go. I have…work to do. You only have about fifteen minutes to go find your friend."

Spencer stamped his foot like the obstinate child he so often resembled. "But Lassie! You have to come with us!"

Lassiter tried to ignore Spencer as he moved to the Records room to file away the papers until tomorrow. But, of course, Spencer followed him. Everywhere he went, every file cabinet he stopped at, Spencer was less than a foot behind.

"New year's is a special time, Lassie, a time when everybody should be out having fun. It's a golden day," Spencer continued, his voice taking on a hint of wonder, "when everyone gets to have hope for the new year. Even everyday sour pusses like you are supposed to wonder what the next year holds, hoping for one that could be better than the year drawing to a close. Think about it, Lassie, think about all the crap that you put up with this year. Think about what the next could hold."

Lassiter finally turned on Spencer, only to see the man staring off into the middle distance at nothing in particular. "First of all, I don't put up with crap. I arrest scum. And second, next year is going to be full of the same crap. Having a new year doesn't mean you get to flip a switch and everything is just better. The world doesn't work that way.

Spencer nodded at the wall, clearly ignoring him. Then Spencer turned on him, his eyes just a little too intense. "And then there's the kiss."

Lassiter felt his eyes narrow. "What?"

Spencer smiled, but the look in his eyes hadn't changed. "You have to kiss someone at midnight, Lassie; it's good luck!"

Lassiter had never given the concept more than a moment's thought, but maybe that explained all the bad years he had had recently. He was always in the station at midnight, filing away the end-of-year reports and trying to finish the paperwork that seemed never to end. He looked down again at his watch. "Well, Spencer, it looks you'll be having bad luck this year, then. It'll be too late in five, four, three, two—."

The kiss surprised him, but it probably shouldn't have. Spencer was an odd man with odd beliefs, and apparently this tradition meant something to him. It was a simple kiss…at first.

What should have surprised him, but somehow didn't, was his response to the other man's behavior. Lassiter knew he should have pushed Spencer off him, threatened to shoot the man, then gone back to his paperwork. Instead he found himself responding to the motion of Spencer's lips on his, dropping his jaw as he felt Spencer's tongue trying to push past his lips, settling his hands on Spencer's hips as he felt the other man begin to rock gently in place.

Before he was really aware of what he was doing, Lassiter had Spencer pushed back up against the wall of the Records room, one hand running through his unkempt hair, the other snaked under his shirt and around his back. He might have worried in that moment that he had taken a simple act too far, if Spencer hadn't been moaning into his mouth and running his hands along Lassiter's back from inside his suit jacket.

Their bodies flush against one another, moving in tandem, each moaning as the other found just the right spot to put his hand to send sparks through every muscle, every bone; they didn't hear the door open. They were on the hinge side of the door, though, so as it opened it swung into Lassiter's back. For a moment, it pushed him closer to Spencer, and he relished the friction, the heat, the simple nearness of Shawn. But then his mind caught up to the situation, and he backed away, pushing the door back the way it had come.

Buzz McNabb stood in the doorway, ringed by the bright light being thrown from the adjoining hallway. "Detective, Shawn, what are you guys doing in here?" McNabb's face held its habitual well-meaning smile, and his tone was more curious than accusatory. Had it been anyone else, Lassiter knew, there would have been trouble.

But this was McNabb, and he knew just how to handle McNabb. Using his most authoritative tone, he stared the tall officer down. "I called Spencer in to clarify his statement from the McNally case."

McNabb frowned. "On New Year's Eve, sir?"

Lassiter frowned right back, but where McNabb's was full of confusion, Lassiter's dripped annoyance. "The case file needed to be complete before the end of the year if the DA is going to press charges, and the larceny charge was completely dependent on Spencer's statement. Some of us take this job seriously, McNabb."

And just like that, the man had practically fallen apart. "Of course, Detective. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-that is, what I was trying to-it just seems…."

Lassiter couldn't help but smile at the man's clear discomfort, but he could feel Spencer behind him, hit him softly in the spine and clearing his throat. "Don't worry about it, McNabb. This is how you learn."

McNabb grinned like a five-year-old being given a cookie, and, for the first time, that smile didn't make Lassiter want to punch the young officer. "Thank, Detective."

Spencer stepped out from behind Lassiter. "What are you doing here, Buzz? I'd've thought you and the misses would have some pretty big-time plans."

McNabb looked down at his feet. "Well, we did, but one of the night shift officers that had holiday duty called in sick. I picked up his shift so I could get Valentine's Day off." He looked up with a grin. "But Francie came by the station anyway so we could kiss at midnight."

Spencer smiled, subtly reaching back to give Lassiter's hand a slight squeeze. "Well, if that's not the sweetest thing I ever heard, then I have no idea what is."

McNabb blushed slightly, the ear to ear grin lighting up his face. "Well, I just came in to drop these off for Billings," he said, dropping a pile of folders into the "out" box on top of one of the filing cabinets. "It was nice seeing you Shawn. Bye, Detective. Happy New Year, guys." He left, shutting the door behind him, and if Lassiter hadn't known better, he might have thought he heard McNabb laughing on his way out the door.

But he didn't have time to think about that. Spencer had rounded on him the second the door shut. "Now, where were we?"

Lassiter didn't buy in to superstitions, and he very rarely observed traditions. He didn't think that spilling salt would wake the devil, or that stepping on sidewalk cracks would somehow cripple his mother (not that he hadn't tried a few times anyway), and he certainly didn't believe in psychics. But maybe Shawn was on to something this time. Five minutes in, this year was already better than any Lassiter had had in recent memory.

Maybe he should always have Spencer around for a New Year's kiss. And maybe spending New Year's Eve at the station wasn't so bad.