Lassiet Shuffle

(From a random shuffle on my MP3, which has a good mixture of classic rock, country, parody, weird – including Al - and classical)

STAY ALL NIGHT / Willie Nelson

"All right. Siddown and shuddup already. We've got tons of old files to go over. I hate this crap…damned state auditors…"

"We're not just detectives. Now we're glorified secretaries. And tomorrow we have to go through old boxes of evidence. Probably to see what all Shawn has taken from them in the past year."

"Hey, you do realize this is our punishment, right?"

"You're the one that wanted to make out in that closet."

"It was like a Marx brothers skit. Mops and brooms and cleaning equipment and shrieks, and your ex-boyfriend running away, sobbing, like King Julien."

"King who?"

"Never mind. Drink more coffee. This is an all-nighter. Put on some music."

"Can we play something by Willie Nelson?"

"Sure. You're welcome to touch my Willie."

THE TIDE IS HIGH / Atomic Kitten

The witness was flirting with Carlton, and Juliet was about to pull her Glock and aim for something sensitive, like maybe an ear. She settled a cold gaze on the woman, reining in her temper, while her partner continued writing on his notepad, eyes narrowing a little and his mouth pursing.

God Almighty, he is so sexy, she thought, and returned her gaze to the burglary victim, in whose vast and elegant living room they were now standing. The woman had called the SPBD to come investigate a robbery, and when she had opened the door, she had looked at Carlton as though he had stepped out of a romance novel, but she had looked far less pleased to see Juliet.

"So what all was stolen?" Carlton asked, tapping his pen on the pad and looking around the room with only vague interest.

"My best silver and some antique jewelry," the woman breathed, looking Carlton up and down, an action to which he was oblivious.

"Got an approximate value?" Juliet asked.

"I can dig up the insurance papers," she said. "I had it all assessed a few years ago…" The woman smiled at Carlton, and Juliet wanted to scratch her eyes out. Instead, she stepped forward, moving just a little into the woman's line of vision and blocking her view of his blue and silver tie and his sharply-cut black suit. She crossed her arms and fixed the woman with a cold 'touch-him-and-you'll-be-limping-for-a-week' glare.

"Good." Carlton nodded and flipped his notebook shut. "The burglars didn't do a lot of rifling through stuff – I guess they knew where to look." He raised one black eyebrow at Mrs Claiborne, who simpered a little.

"Um…"

"If you have something you'd like to tell us, I'd suggest you do so right now, so we don't have to charge you with wasting police time on a false crime report," Juliet said sharply. Carlton looked at his partner, briefly appalled, and then at the woman.

"Mrs Castleton…"

"Claiborne," she said, smiling at him again, though now she looked a little worried.

"Oh. Right." He nodded. "Anyway…this was a robbery, wasn't it? It wasn't just…er…not a robbery?"

Mrs Claiborne's pouty bow of a mouth formed into a frown and she sighed. "Maybe…maybe I just…uh…misplaced those items. You know how it is…"

"Yes, I'm always misplacing my family silver," Carlton nodded. "Particularly since it was stolen from the mansion of the Marquess of Queensbury by one of my ancestors in eighteen-fifty-two, so it'd be both a great loss and bit too on the mark, irony-wise. So…Mrs Calumet…"

"Claiborne," she said, starting to look less than pleased with Carlton, however much she appeared to find him physically attractive.

"So you want to cancel these festivities and move on to a heartfelt apology for wasting our time?" Juliet snapped.

"Um…"

"Mrs Elmendorf…" Carlton started again.

"Claiborne!"

"Right," Carlton nodded. "Anyway, we'll send you our bill. Thank you, Mrs Gainesway" He nodded and gave Juliet a very gentle nudge toward the door. They stepped out into the gray, rainy day and Juliet gave her partner a look that indicated she wasn't all together pleased with him.

"You couldn't remember Claiborne?"

"Of course I did. But I figured she'd enjoy spending the day at Wikipedia, finding out what Elmendorf, Castleton, Calumet and Gainesway refer to, and by that she would be distracted from making nuisance calls to the police…at least for today. This is the fifth time she's called this month. Last time I came out here, I could have sworn she pinched me."

Juliet's eyes narrowed and she looked back at Mrs Claiborne's house. "She just likes to look at you," she finally groused.

"She may look. She may not touch. I told her that in no uncertain terms."

"She'd better not, or she'll double the number of bones in her body."

"Aw…was Juliet jealous back there?" he asked, grinning as he opened the car door for her.

"Not so much jealous as 'insane to the point of gunplay'," Juliet told him, stretching up a little to catch his kiss before he closed the door. "Only I am allowed to touch your family jewels!"

KISS / Prince (or the Artist Formerly Known As)

"I am not dancing."

"Carlton…we're alone. In your house."

"God only knows if there's cameras planted around here…"

"Stop being paranoid. We've checked this entire place. Three times! Now…dance!"

"Nope."

"It's Prince, Carlton."

"What prints? Where?"

"Carlton…"

"I hate dancing. I look like I'm having a seizure when I dance. People wet their pants laughing."

"Try! I promise I won't laugh. I'm more likely to just rip your clothes off and have my way with you on the floor."

"Okay. Fine. But if you laugh, it's no sex for…uh…about…um…ten minutes, tops."

I NEED YOU TONIGHT / INXS

Dear Juliet,

I have never been so bored in my entire life. A year or so ago, going to a forensics conference would have been the highlight of my month, but being here without you is driving me friggin' nuts.

Maybe I could ask you about the weather, but that's a boring subject, and you're never boring. Confusing, confounding, bewildering, exciting and really fun when naked, but never boring. But otherwise – write back soon and tell me what's going on. Has Spencer stolen all my fruit slice candy yet? Does he know that that stuff is doctored to cause explosive diarrhea? If so, I want details. If not, direct him to that drawer immediately.

You know that I miss you, right? You know that I wish you were here beside me in this bed, reading some article in Martha Stewart (Woof! Woof! Woof!) magazine and asking me if I like lilacs. Which I don't, except when I smell them on you.

I know what you've been doing today. Aside from the usual superb work as a cop - albeit currently a desk-riding one - you went back to our place and watched the dishes, playing music. INXS again, right? All that machismo – obviously you like that a lot.

I'm a little nervous about the speech I have to give tomorrow. Wish you were here to back me up. I understand that you couldn't come. Not allowed to fly, in the final month of your pregnancy. The second you go into labor, if you do go into labor while I'm still trapped here, you call me and I'll get on a freaking fighter jet to get back to SB.

I miss you, baby. I love you. Can't wait to get home. Be wearing something nonexistent. Tell the baby I love him. Or her. I still think it's a boy.

Love,

Carlton

SEX BOMB / Tom Jones

"You were spying on me?"

"So what if I was?"

"That's just…I dunno…kinda weird. Kinky weird."

"I like watching you. And don't tell me you don't watch me."

"I admit that I do, and I admit that it's kinky."

"I can't help myself. Sometimes I watch you while you're sleeping, or when you're showering, and especially when you're shaving, which just about drives me crazy. I become like…like a sex bomb. Gotta explode and drag you to bed."

"Even when I nick myself?"

"Even then."

"You really are kinda weird, O'Hara."

"So are you. Like when you insist on dressing me."

"It's a pretty big turn-on, actually. Undressing you is fun, but…er…should we be talking about this here?"

"You brought it up!"

"Yeah, but we're in the station. With people around."

"We're keeping our voices low."

"If that's so, why does McNab look all flushed and cross-eyed?"

BEAUTIFUL BOY / John Lennon

"Okay. So…let's get some things straight between us, kid." Carlton eased into the rocking chair, gingerly settling the three-day old baby into his lap. "I'm not good at this, really. I mean, I took care of my brothers and sisters when they were babies, since Mom wasn't really…into babies. She squeezed 'em out, yes, but…well, that's for many years for now. No use traumatizing you now. But I was never too happy about doing the job, and when they started looking for a nipple things never did go well."

The baby began howling, black-lashed eyes squeezed shut, face turning a mottled purple as he expressed his outrage. Carlton knew the boy wanted his mommy, and particularly his mommy's milk, but Juliet was exhausted and sleeping like a rock. Carlton was not willing to wake her, and so he had gotten the emergency bottle and had warmed it up while trying to quell his son's indignant squalling. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had taken a taste of the milk, finding it strangely sweet and bitter at once.

"All right," he said, keeping his voice low. "So. We debated for a long time about what to name you. Dermot Carlton Lassiter – blame your mom on that one. I was leaning toward David. Tried my best to convince her. But…eh." He persuaded the baby to take the bottle's nipple, and finally little Dermot - all nine pounds, four ounces of him - took the clue and began sucking vigorously, obviously very hungry. "It's a good name. Solid enough. Introductions are in order: I'm your father. Name's Carlton. Forty-five years old now, far too old to be getting started, but it took me long enough to catch a clue and chase your mom, and then she caught me and now here you are. Conceived on our freaking wedding night, no less. How 'bout that for hitting a homer on my first at-bat, so to speak? Anyway. You'll never have to worry about male pattern baldness, but you'll start to go gray before you hit thirty. Sorry about that, but if you're lucky you'll have your mom's personality, instead of mine. Uh…so far as advice I should give you…well, don't just jump off the bridge 'cause everybody else is doing it. Never hit a girl, even if she's really asking for it. Don't…uh…spit into the wind. Don't pull on Superman's cape…that kind of thing. And don't get involved in land wars in Asia."

Dermot's vivid blue eyes were wide open now, staring up at his father, clearly intrigued by the low, rumbling of Carlton's voice in comparison to the softer, sweeter sound of his mother's. His hair was thick and dark, with the same sworls and cowlicks as on his father's head, and the same dark eyebrows. Juliet had commented, on seeing baby photos of her husband, that her baby was Carlton's image. That had gotten a worried look from Lassiter, but she had actually seemed pleased.

"You know, when I married your Mom, I never thought I'd love anybody more than I love her, but then you came along and it's…God, it's like nothing on earth. It's like a gift I didn't even deserve, much less expect, you know? No way I could ever deserve this – you, much less her. I know I'll be overprotective and I know I'll probably growl at you a lot, and I know I'll have a hard time saying that I love you, but don't doubt for a second that I do, and why are you spitting up on my arm?"

He wiped the spit-up away and grinned down at his son. "Beautiful boy – that'll be our secret, eh? You spit up on me, I pretend to be annoyed, but I won't be. I'll never be. I wear spit-up on my tie to work with pride. I'd better stay in shape, if I'm gonna keep up with you, though. Your Mom is already saying she wants to have more kids. Hard to believe that, since she was in labor for twenty hours and tried to kill me with a stopwatch and a clipboard, but…whatever she wants, she gets, and if she wants more, she gets more. So you'll have brothers and sisters, if things work out. We'll have to get a bigger place, too. It'll be fun, I promise. You've also got your idiot honorary uncle Spencer to keep you entertained, and uncle Guster, too, who will teach you all about pharmaceuticals and useless trivia. You're in for a pretty good kidhood, Dermot. A damned good kidhood. I won't teach you about guns until you're in your teens, though. And if you don't want to be a cop, it'll be okay. Okay, maybe not, but still…I'll deal, and you'll still be a crack shot and will know how to defend yourself and anybody else."

Cautiously, he brushed his mouth against the boy's temple, and Dermot made a soft baby sound that squeezed Carlton's heart. He had no trouble at all with sitting up in that rocking chair, holding his son and feeling grateful for the life he had.

It could only get better from here.

FIN