"I bet I could guess where you're from."
"Yeah?" He keeps typing without looking up.
"Oh yeah. Real easy." He stops, quirking an eyebrow at you.
"How so?"
You reach over to steal a fry from him, pouting while you pop it in your mouth. "That Big Mac was disappointing," you lament, sighing wistfully, "I'd kill for a Double Double right now." Shanks snorts and surrenders the rest of his fries to you.
"I remember in high school, my friends and I would try to race out the gates after sixth 'cause there was an In-N-Out right across the street from us and the lines would get crazy long and parking was such a bitch." You took a break to pop another fry in your mouth, looking up to see if he was listening. Shanks was squinting at something on the screen, holding his chin and humming his acknowledgment when you finished your sentence.
"My go-to order was a Double Double with no tomato and a chocolate shake. What'd you get?" He hummed in approval before reaching over to take a sip of his drink.
"A triple with a vanilla malt and animal style fries."
You hum thoughtfully while he keeps typing.
"So what mission did you do for your project?" He stops typing abruptly.
"What?" He scrunches his nose and shakes the cup, rattling the ice. "Mission?"
"Mhm. There's 21 of 'em. You should know that." He takes a sip and chuckles.
"Why would I know anything about missions?"
"'Cause you're from California."
"Why do you say that?" He challenges, leaning back in his chair trying to put distance between you. In every interview he had ever given over his career, Shanks always dodged the question. He'd obfuscate by changing the subject, being painfully vague, or pretending Roger was calling him back to the dugout. No one knew where he was really from. You chased him, leaning over his desk on your crossed arms. You knew you had him and you weren't going to let him get away that easily.
"Because no self-respecting New Yorker knows what the fuck animal style fries are."
Without breaking eye contact, you slurp what's left of his coke.
"So which one was it?"
He sighs, his shoulders sagging. Shanks looks to the McDonald's bag trying to see if there's something left he can bribe you with. He mumbles something under his breath that you don't catch.
"What was that?"
"San Luis Obispo."
