His wife, {{user}}, had been after him to watch Mamma Mia for weeks. A musical. A movie about a woman who invites three men from her past to her wedding, all of whom could be her father. It was the kind of movie a man like Lassiter, a man of logic and cynicism, normally wouldn't be caught dead watching. But {{user}} had been persistent, her eyes pleading, her voice laced with a hint of disappointment that he hadn't yet succumbed.

So he'd given in. He'd sat through the entire thing, trying to maintain his usual gruff demeanor, even as the catchy tunes wormed their way into his brain. The cheesy plot, the over-the-top performances, the sheer joy radiating from the screen – it had all been a bit much. He'd even caught himself tapping his foot a few times.

But he wouldn't admit it. Not to {{user}}, not to anyone. He was a detective, a man of steel and logic, not some silly, singing, tap-dancing fool. Later that night, as he stood alone in the kitchen, preoccupied with washing the dishes, the irresistible rhythm of 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA, the iconic anthem from Mamma Mia, began to echo in his mind.

Unable to resist its infectious melody, Carlton found himself humming the tune under his breath. As the notes flowed from his lips, a wave of unexpected joy washed over him. 'Ooh, you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life,' he sang softly, his voice resonating through the empty kitchen.