Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.

"Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been..."

Lassiter tried to remember his last confession. Twelve years of Catholic schooling hadn't exactly beaten the faith into him.

"My son?"

"Sorry father. It's been a long time, let's just say that."

"Alright. What do you wish to confess?"

Lassiter sighed heavily and rested his head against the side of the confessional. Father Brannigan-a Boston-born Irishman on the better side of sixty-knew that sigh like he knew his own name. A transgression in his heart, he thought. The poor man.

"To be honest, father, I'm not a believer," Lassiter sounded pained. "Not an atheist either, but I can't remember the last time I went to mass of my own volition. I wanted to ask your advice on something."

"Ask away my son." Lassiter took a deep breath and loosened his tie, the real exhaustion of a week of sleepless nights, long, hard days at work and innumerable tumblers of whiskey and rye finally setting in.

"There's a woman, father."

"Ah?"

"Yes. She's smart, funny, a crack shot-"

Father Brannigan uttered what was undoubtedly a choked cry of surprise.

"She's a cop," Lassiter blurted. Can't even confess your sins without fucking up. The sound of his mother's voice resonated nastily in the back of his mind. "I'm a cop too. We're partners."

"Alright. You had me worried for a moment."

"Sorry. Can I continue?"

"Yes, my son. Go on." Lassiter cleared his throat.

"Anyway...smart, funny, a fantastic cop...beautiful..." His voice took on a wistful quality that he hardly ever was heard to intone. "She's absolutely perfect, father. She's completely amazing."

"But...?" Brannigan knew what would come next.

"But she's my partner. And I think she's in love with someone else." Lassiter spat out the words that were most hateful to him. Juliet and Spencer. Spencer and Juliet. His worst nightmare, realised.

"How long have you been in love with her?" Brannigan asked.

"Six years." Lassiter said it without hesitation or doubt. Six long years. He'd been in love with Juliet in some capacity since the moment he'd clapped eyes on her. But that was when he'd prayed and hoped and wanted his relationship with Victoria to work, if only for stability...if only to, on the very face of it, have a normal life. After it became apparent that it couldn't happen between them (and good riddance, thought Lassiter), he'd become more and more aware of something that he was now sure he'd always known.

He was madly, crazily, idiotically in love with Juliet, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It wasn't as though it'd been a realisation that had happened all at once. There was no epiphany, no moment of clarity, no pivotal second in their relationship that he could quite pinpoint the beginning of his romantic feelings toward his partner. It had been a slow boil between them. At the beginning, she was a pretty young thing, head full of academy training and ideals. But the longer he'd come to know her, the more he adored that about her. She was still idealistic, despite what she saw every day, and despite everything that had happened to her. Despite dealing with you all the time. She still believed the best of everyone, even him, and there was something undeniably magnetic about that.

"That's quite a long time." Brannigan said. Lassiter snapped himself out of his romantic carryings-on and swallowed hard.

"Yes, I agree. So my question is-"

"What should you do about it?"

"Yes father. What do I do? I can't just...take her from her current-" he sputtered over the word boyfriend, and ended up not saying it at all. "And it's not like she'd be interested in me anyway. I'm too old for her...I'm too bitter. I'm not like...not like him."

Father Brannigan was silent for a good while, tapping his fingers together.

"Father, are you still there?" Lassiter asked worriedly, pressing his face against the lattice screen between them.

"Yes. I'm afraid you're in quite a predicament, my son. Her being your partner does make things difficult."

"I know, father, I know."

"My son, this is destroying you inside, that much is clear. There's only one solution; you must tell her how you feel." Lassiter's stomach churned.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"Why?" Lassiter chuckled thinly.

"Because when I'm not in the line of duty father, I'm a fucking coward."

"Don't swear, my son. And coward or not, there's no other way. You must either tell her, or face compounded bitterness and regret." Compounded bitterness and regret...coward or not, Lassiter didn't need any more of either of those things in his life.

"Alright. Thank you, father."

"Go with God."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Lassiter got out of the confessional and straightened himself up, despite feeling rather shaken up. He walked out to his car, where Juliet awaited him. She had the radio on and was tapping a rhythm on the passenger's seat window.

She grinned when she saw him, and he felt his breath leave his lungs. Being that beautiful should honestly be criminal.

"Have you eased your Irish-Catholic guilt, detective?" she asked jauntily. He smiled.

"Something like that. Lunch?"

"Sure." He gave her a sidelong glance.

"You pick the place."

"Wow, that confession must've really put you in a good mood. You smiled your real smile and are letting me pick where we eat? I should go in there, I might come out looking five years younger." Juliet said.

He chuckled, started the car, and drove away. Father Brannigan watched from his window in the rectory and smiled. Poor, poor man.