Disclaimer: don't own nothin'. Just stealing Steve Franks' characters and having my way with them.
Rating: T
Summary: Carlton's decision to help out an old friend gets Juliet's attention. Lassiet FICTION. Been too long since I felt motivated, and what finally did it was seeing TimO in all his bearded glory in his Supernatural episode last month. :: Set early during S6 after "True Grits." References to Shules and Carlowe. Probably just a two-shot, maybe three. Here's shot one!

. . . .

. . .

The funny thing was, he wasn't running away.

It was true he and Juliet had argued, and it had been pretty bad, but it hadn't been nearly as bad as the argument they were going to have some day, the inevitable building-for-years set-to which would end their partnership forever. He knew it would happen, because even though he was in his own way mellowing about Spencer, he was finding it harder to tolerate Juliet's acceptance of how Spencer treated her.

Which wasn't any of his business… except that it often took place in his presence, and he had to pretend to ignore it, to not feel the hurt he could usually see in her features, in the set of her shoulders, in her quiet tone. And he hadn't been so distracted by Marlowe that he couldn't see it especially clearly during the re-investigation of the Thane Woodson case, when Spencer was completely insulting about how he intended to prove Juliet had wronged his client and only he could 'fix it.'

Friday afternoon near quitting time, she got off the phone with Spencer after a conversation where he apparently steamrolled over her request to go to a new and slightly upscale restaurant despite having promised to take her there, and when Carlton rolled his eyes at her she snapped at him, so he snapped back that the eyeroll was about her caving in to Spencer again and again, and she said he didn't exactly have a better track record with relationships—which would have been true even if he hadn't just been dumped by the still-incarcerated Marlowe for her lawyer—and he asked if she did, given the men she'd chosen over the years, and she demanded to know what kind of man he thought she should be with if he knew so damn much, and he was about to grind out that he himself at his worst would be better than most of the men she'd dated (except it wasn't true, really; Scott Seaver had been a good guy and even Declan Rand was decent and considerate for a fraud) when he caught himself short, but Juliet wasn't having any of that, and followed him out to the parking lot and went on snapping, saying a lot of things she didn't exactly need to point out about his inflexibility and bad attitude and general mistrust of people and how he might—might—and she did mean might—have the very slimmest of miniscule chances at being a quasi-normal person if he'd just keep his yap shut once in a while and not assume the worst of everyone. When he retorted that giving people too many chances meant that once again she'd be spending a Friday night at Taco Billy-Bob's instead of a nice restaurant with silverware in place of sporks and moist towelettes, she slammed him with a resounding "you're a jerk!" and stomped off, and he got in his Fusion and roared home himself.

But it wasn't that bad.

Not bad enough to make him want to run away, chuck it all, ditch his job or God forbid, her.

He knew he wouldn't have her in his life forever (and had briefly believed, during the Marlowe phase, that he could get over her and simply be a friend and partner), but the only event which would get him to clear out of Juliet's life completely—if not flat-out leave the state—was the horrifying prospect of her marriage to Spencer.

Made him shudder every time he considered it. He was strong, but not that strong.

So the fight wasn't any reason to run away. It was pure coincidence that Hank Mendel called him on Saturday afternoon and asked for help.

Carlton figured Juliet would be cold to him come Monday but eventually she'd thaw, especially if he brought her some Starbucks and let her drive the Vic, and even if she didn't thaw and went to the Chief and said she absolutely could not work another day with her asshat partner, she'd probably change her mind before the Chief (if she even agreed) could separate them. Juliet was, after all, loyal, and by God, if she could tolerate Spencer aggravating her repeatedly, surely forgiving him one more time was likely.

It'd be a hard week, but it would get better.

But the phone rang and changed everything.

Hank and his Miss Annie (he still called her that, even though now she was technically Mrs. Annie) were going off to tour Australia for six weeks. He was hoping Carlton could find someone to 'farm-sit' the property he'd acquired after giving up Old Sonora, someone who could maybe look after the horses, mend a bit of fence, mow a bit of grass, and generally keep the place occupied. Oh, and pick up the mail and bring in the paper. But it had to be someone who liked solitude, because the house and land were out in the middle of nowhere, although cell phone service was pretty good if you liked that sort of thing (Hank didn't, but Miss Annie did).

Carlton said he'd ask around and call him back, even though he had no intention of asking around, because all he really wanted was five minutes to explore the thought which popped into his head the moment he heard Hank's question.

The thought was… why not me?

Answered by… you can't take that much time off from work.

Followed by… why not? Other people do. I have over a year's worth of leave accrued.

Answered by… you've never taken that much time off work.

He thought about it. There were a lot of days he didn't want to go to work—not because of criminals but because of civilians—but he always told himself to suck it up, man up, toughen up and get his damned ass in the car.

And this wouldn't really be a vacation per se: sounded like he'd stay pretty busy with Hank's list of chores.

So why shouldn't I do this? This one time? For Hank?

For me?

And…

And…?

There seemed to be no riposte, so he called Hank back. He said, "Mind if I do it?"

He could hear Hank's smile. "Thought you'd need more than three minutes, son."

By Monday morning he had half-forgotten Juliet's probable chill; he was more concerned about how Karen Vick would respond to his request, because he'd made up his mind that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

When he said calmly, "I'd like to take six weeks off, starting two weeks from now," Karen had just set her coffee down on the desk, which was fortunate, because judging by her expression, she might have dropped it in shock.

"You'd like to do what, starting when?"

"Take six weeks off, starting the thirteenth."

Karen blinked.

He waited. He could wait a long time.

She blinked again. "I have to say no."

"You can't say no."

"I have to say no, Carlton, because you're my head detective and six weeks is a hell of a long time without a damned good reason."

"You're always telling me to take time off."

"A day or two, here and there!"

"I have over a year's leave accumulated."

"Because you never take a day off!"

He refrained from the eye roll which had gotten him in trouble with Juliet.

"Chief. I need this."

"Well, I need you here to run the squad! You want a week, fine, take a week. Or if you have to have six, we'll schedule it for a few months from now when we're prepared for it. But you can't—"

"It has to be now. It's for my friend Hank Mendel."

For a moment, she softened. But only a moment. "I'm sorry. It's just too much time, and not enough notice."

"Six weeks," he insisted. "Starting the thirteenth. Between now and then I'll tie up every loose end I've got and I'll bring O'Hara up to speed on everything. She'll be an excellent interim head detective and it'll give her something else for her resume. And it's not like I'm leaving the country, you know. I'll be less than two hours away and reachable by phone. Think of it as me being on an extended undercover assignment."

Yeah, like that would happen.

"Carlton…"

"Karen," he pressed. "When have I ever asked for anything like this?"

He had her. She hated that he was right, but he had her. He tried not to look smug as she signed off on it, but her glare made it clear he needed to try harder.

Juliet was snippy when she came in, but now he was in a good mood, and this plus him handing her a pre-emptive venti startled her so much that she was briefly silenced.

Half a cup later, she came to his desk and muttered thanks.

"No problem, partner," he said cheerfully (yes, cheerfully), while she glanced down at his open day planner. He had been rescheduling some appointments, and she obviously noted that this sort of calendar-altering was going on.

But since she wasn't quite done being mad at him, she asked no questions. She was turning away when he asked her to sit down.

"Starting Monday the thirteenth, you'll be the interim head detective for six weeks," he began.

Her lovely blue eyes widened.

"Before I leave I'll go over my open cases with you and—"

"Six weeks? Where are you going to be?"

"Farm-sitting for Hank Mendel. You'll have to submit the monthly report but I'll show you how to do the quarterly—"

"Farm-sitting? For six weeks? When?"

"The thirteenth," he repeated. "He and Miss Annie are going to Australia."

"How long have you known about this?" She sounded anxious.

"He asked me this weekend. Now, you're going to have to take lead on the Harper case. I know you have a problem with the—"

"Carlton!" she interrupted, somewhere between upset and torked off.

"What?"

He couldn't read the exact nuance of her expression now. She seemed unable to decide what she wanted to say, and it was obvious that whatever she chose would be angry and involve his death and/or dismemberment.

Juliet stared at him for a long time, those big dark blue eyes fixed on his as her internal struggle raged on.

"O'Hara," he began carefully. "You can call me any time you need me. Not that you're going to need me. And it's only six—"

With a sound of helpless rage, she threw her hands up in the air and stalked back to her desk.

That was the state of affairs for most of the week. He kept his word to the Chief by tying up loose ends and writing up notes for Juliet which she'd probably burn as soon as he left the station that last day, and while he was thus engaged, Juliet stayed angry.

At least he assumed it was anger. He wasn't sure what else it could be. Normally she didn't pitch a fit when she had to pick up slack for anyone, but given that she'd been mad at him to start with, maybe it wasn't that much of a stretch to cast a wider net of pissed-off-ness.

She was short with Spencer when he came around, and it seemed to Carlton—not that he minded one bit—that she moved their encounters out of his sight and hearing. It also seemed to Carlton that when she would return to her desk, she was exasperated with Spencer instead of him, but within moments she'd return to scowling in his direction.

During the second week, he let his curiosity get the upper hand.

"You gonna tell me why you're so mad at me?"

Juliet looked up from her computer screen, frowning and already annoyed. "What?"

"Specifically. I know you were mad before because we argued, but are you still mad about that, or are you mad about me taking a vacation, or is it both? Or it is something else I don't even know about?"

"I'm not mad that you're taking a vacation. Why would I be mad about that?"

"I don't know," Carlton said patiently, "except that maybe you think I'm dumping extra work on you."

"I don't think that," she snapped. "Work is work and it's not like I can do more than I can do anyway. If I didn't like the work we do I wouldn't be a cop."

He sipped from his coffee mug, trying again to sift through the expressions on her face. "Then you're still mad about the argument."

"I am not." Juliet got up with her own mug and turned away.

"Fine." He headed off, but she zipped out into the wide hall to stop him. "What?"

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear impatiently. "Why are you taking this time off now?"

It was Carlton's turn to frown. "Because… Hank needs me now."

"No, I don't mean that. Look, you don't take leave. You usually have to be medically sidelined to take more than fifteen minutes off. Any other time you'd have told him you couldn't do it, not for six weeks anyway. So why now?"

"Because… Hank needs me now," he repeated. "The guy he had lined up broke his leg. It was a last-minute thing."

"Carlton. Why did you, of all people, say yes to six weeks away from me… I mean, your job?"

He felt the slightest of prickles as her amendment sank in. "It's got nothing to do with you."

She brandished her empty mug as if she'd like to hit him with it. "You can't lie to me."

Now he was annoyed—the prickling receding. "Why not? Spencer does."

"That's not what I mean. You're my partner. I know you."

"He's your boyfriend. You know him. If he gets to lie to you, why can't I?"

Juliet drew in a breath, her cheeks flushed. "Well, irrespective of the point where you're agreeing you're lying to me, that's still not what I mean! I mean I can tell when you're lying, Carlton. I know you!"

"Well, you ought to be able to tell when he's lying. Everyone else can."

Oh, she wanted to kill him now. It radiated off of her in palpable waves. Good job, Lassiter.

"Enough about Shawn. I know we've had our rough patches—and yes I saw that eye roll—but we've been through too much for you to just stonewall me like this."

"I'm not stonewalling you! I'm taking a long overdue vacation so I can help Hank out. I need a break and I know everyone else does too. What the hell do you think I'm lying about?"

For a few moments—breathing unevenly—she only stared at him, doing that deciding-what-to-say thing he was beginning to know so well.

"About whether you're coming back."

The prickling returned as he registered the flat weight of her words.

"Of course I'm coming back."

Hell yeah he was coming back. He wasn't sure now what he was coming back to, and the prickling was hinting that she might very well have reached the ultimate limit of her patience with him, but not coming back to her… to work, rather… was not an option.

Still she searched him. "Carlton."

"O'Hara, I'm coming back. I have a car payment and a mortgage and I'm not even half-done with the SBPD yet."

"Then what are you lying about?"

"I'm not lying about anything!" Irritation returned. "I'm not Spencer. You can trust what I say."

Juliet stalked off.

Probably not his wisest choice of retorts.

. . . .

. . .

He packed up his things on Friday night, his mind half on Juliet's behavior the past few days. She didn't talk to him much, but she no longer seemed angry… more puzzled and hurt. He caught her gazing at him more than once and she always flushed and looked away.

Figuring out the problem would have to wait. If she was still his partner when he came back, they could start from there. If she wasn't, he'd… he'd think about that later .

Would she ask for a new partner?

Well, clearly their fight had been preying on her mind more than he'd expected. Nothing he could do about that, and short of apologizing for being a jerk, neither of them had any need to 'take back' the words they'd said: she was right about him being too distrusting—and a jerk—and he was right that she let Spencer treat her like a groupie rather than a girlfriend.

Maybe she'd transfer out.

Carlton felt a wash of fear. Hurt.

No… well, maybe she would.

It wasn't as if he'd ever been able to predict a woman's behavior with any success, and she was more than sharp enough to have figured out that continuing her relationship with Spencer was always going to cause friction between the two of them, even if he successfully kept his feelings for her under wraps forever.

Juliet wasn't going to subject herself to that sort of stress indefinitely—their jobs were hard enough—and she wouldn't be the first person who chose a personal relationship (no matter how screwed up) over a mere work relationship.

"Forget it," he told the room, and zipped up the suitcase. Six weeks on the farm was what he needed. By the time he returned, maybe he'd have had his own epiphanies about how to deal with the problem of his rickety partnership.

Yeah. It could happen.

Be convenient if he stopped loving her while he was gone, too.

. . . .

. . .