Right, so this is my first Psych fic, and it's also a Lassiet, so don't say you haven't been warned. I would also like to dedicate this fic to Loafer, who is The Queen of Lassiet. I seriously adore all her work and blame her for making me utterly obsessed with the Lassiet pairing. :-) It hurts so good! Anyway, I know it's been done before, but this is my take on Juliet following Mr. Yin Presents. No Shules. Pure Lassiet. Enjoy!
Carlton's calves burned, but he maintained his rapid pace, feet pounding against the treadmill. Breath coming in steady puffs, he kept his gaze fixed on another runner, two rows ahead, and three machines to the right. Her blonde ponytail whipped back and forth, her long legs nearly blurring as she sprinted forward at a grueling pace. Sweat glistened on her golden skin, her expression fierce.
Juliet.
His heart rate monitor chirped a warning. Damn it.
Not Juliet.
O'Hara.
His partner.
The monitor chirped again, and he ripped the plastic clip off his finger and let it dangle from the treadmill bar. Stupid monitor. Stupid heart.
He had no business feeling anything but professional concern for her. And he was concerned. Deeply.
Ever since the clock tower incident two months ago, she'd been different. Changed. That terrifying night had changed him too. It had irrevocably damaged his heart, made him vulnerable to her, though she had no idea. Thank God for that at least. She still smiled when he bought her coffee. She still laughed at Spencer's jokes. But it never reached her eyes. It was as if she was going through the motions, playing a part.
A low thrum of anger surged through him. She was his partner. He'd held her in his arms while she cried after he'd rescued her. How could she not trust him to help her?
His chest tightened. Maybe once in his arms was once too many.
He could hardly blame her. Maybe just being near him was too much a reminder of her ordeal. His feet felt suddenly leaden. He gritted his teeth and kept going. If she wanted him out of her life, she'd have to damn well make him leave. Until then, he was going to be there for her, whether she acknowledged his presence or not. She lowered the incline on her treadmill and slowed. He followed suit, relieved it was time to cool down.
This was his thirty-seventh day in a row at Santa Barbara's unofficial law enforcement gym. He normally ran outside during the early morning hours. The blazing sunrise, cool breeze on his face, and the gentle pounding of his feet against the pavement usually soothed his worries and prepared him for the day. He certainly never would have thought he'd be running indoors in a sparsely populated gym at 1:30am. But he'd been coming ever since Riley Simmons (the gym owner and also a reserve officer) had texted him about Juliet's nightly runs. Whenever Juliet showed up at the gym, Riley would send him a text. Carlton would throw on his gym clothes and head over. He'd taken to keeping an extra set of workout clothes with him at all times.
Juliet slowed to a walk, then grabbed her towel, wiping her face and neck. After taking a sip from her water bottle, she left her treadmill and headed down a hall. Carlton took a swig of his own water and followed after her.
The floor was one giant blue mat, and punching bags of various sizes hung in the corners. The entire room was empty but for them. He wasn't entirely sure whether she even realized he was here. In all the times he'd been here, she'd never glanced his way or spoken a single word to him.
She jabbed left and right, and her fists beat a rapid rhythm against the red punching bag. He wondered who she thought of when she beat at the bag so viciously. He used to visualize Spencer's face, then had switched to Yin, the sick bastard. Lately though, he'd pictured himself.
Foolish. Infatuated. Too stupid and too weak to do more to help his partner.
Coward.
He paused halfway to his usual spot and looked back over his shoulder at her.
Was he really afraid to help her?
His heart gave a heavy thud. Maybe.
If he approached her, she might tell him off for encroaching on her space, for interfering with her private time. He hadn't wanted to intrude, had only wanted her to know he was here if she needed him. But it had been thirty-seven days with no change.
What if she needed more from him?
Could he give her what she needed?
He swallowed. There was only one way to find out.
He walked over to her. "O'Hara."
No response. She continued to pummel the bag, keeping her back to him.
He moved a step closer. "Partner."
Still nothing. Irritation stiffened his spine. It wasn't that he'd expected a warm welcome from her, but he deserved some kind of acknowledgment, even if it was for her to tell him good riddance.
When she took another swing, he caught the bottom edge of the bag and jerked it sideways. Her fist struck air, and she stumbled forward. A curse left her lips, and she twisted to face him. Incandescent rage glittered in her blue eyes.
Shock zinged through his veins. "Juliet." It came out a whisper. He'd never seen her like this before.
Her pretty pink lips twisted into a snarl. "What do you want, Lassiter?"
His breath caught at the barb, but at least she was speaking to him. His grip tightened on the bag. There was no way he was backing down now. "We need to talk."
"The hell we do. Go away."
"No." He slipped between her and the bag, forcing her back a step.
Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. "Why now? I've let you come here all this-"
His chin lifted. "You've let me?" A harsh laugh cut at his throat. "You haven't let me do anything, least of all be your partner. You've shut me out, and I need to know why."
She took a deep breath and released it. "I've done no such thing." It was like watching a chameleon blend into the background. Layers of control and calm eased across her face. A sick feeling churned in his stomach. She thought she could lie to his face and get away with it. She thought he didn't know her.
"You don't need to hide from me." He gripped her bare shoulder.
A hiss of breath escaped her, and she jerked away from him as if his touch had burned her. "Just leave me alone!" She shoved him in the chest, and he staggered back into the bag. Then she took a swing at him. The frustration simmering inside him boiled to the surface. He caught her fist, and this time it was his turn to shove her back. "What the hell is your problem, O'Hara?"
"You!" She aimed a kick at his head.
He darted to the side before her shoe could break his nose, then rushed her, knocking her to the mat. She rolled backward and threw him off her with her knees. He landed on his side with an ooof. Before he could get to his feet, she was on him. Sweat-slicked arms and legs wrapped around him, attempting to pin him to the mat. His hands slipped across her skin, unable to find purchase. He arched his back to try and dislodge her, and her breasts pressed against his chest. A low groan escaped him, and he sagged back onto the floor. Oh God. If she felt how aroused he was right now, she'd kill him, or file sexual harassment charges and then kill him. He clenched his eyes shut and thought of McNab and Woody in matching pink tutus. There. That helped a bit. Of course, it would be easier if he couldn't feel her hot breath panting across his face, and if he couldn't smell her peach shampoo and the additional sweet fragrance that was pure Juliet. Damn her. And damn him.
He opened his eyes.
Her face was flushed, and a bead of sweat slid down her neck to disappear into her sports bra. He wished he could follow its path with his tongue. He made a strangled sound. Spencer in 80s neon spandex. There. That did it. Somehow he managed to drag his gaze back up to hers.
She was scowling at him. And not just any old scowl, but his trademark scowl. The one he'd practiced in the mirror for five years to perfect. The scowl that said, 'No one will find your body'. It might have been worrisome earlier, but he didn't care what she did to him now. She'd said he was her problem. It was time to man up.
"Juliet."
Her knees tightened against his sides, and she shoved harder against his arms.
He forced his body to relax completely beneath her. "You win. I surrender."
Her blue eyes widened.
He felt a little surprised at himself, too. The last time he'd surrendered to anyone was to Shirley Otis in the second grade. It was either that or lose his lunch money and get a swirlie. This surrender though felt far different.
Oh.
His breath caught in his chest and burned down his throat. Everything went still inside him. For one timeless moment, all he could see, all he could feel, was Juliet.
He loved her.
His heart lurched into rhythm again. God, how he loved her. He hadn't fully admitted it to himself until now. He'd always been attracted to her, what idiot wouldn't be? He'd told himself it was an infatuation brought on by traumatic events. He'd been so blind. Until now.
He relaxed even further. If she needed to take her anger out on him, he was willing. Hell, she could twist him into a human pretzel if it'd make her feel better. He'd give her everything, offer up his heart on a silver platter, if she ever asked for it. Not that she ever would.
Juliet stared at him, confusion and frustration clouding her face. "What did you say?" Her question was more breath than voice.
He raised an eyebrow. "You heard me. I surrender. Now what?"
She sucked in a breath, expression shuttering. "Now, nothing. End of conversation. You go home."
His heart ached. She was shutting him out again. She didn't trust him anymore.
She released his wrists and rose to her feet, not bothering to offer him a hand.
He stood and watched as she walked back to her punching bag.
He tried one last time. "I'm here for you, Juliet, whether you like it or not. Because that's what partners do. That's what friends do." His voice grew hoarse. "And because I care about you. No matter hard you push me away, I'll still be right here." At least until she signed a restraining order, which honestly appeared more and more likely.
She spun around, scowl back again, two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. "It's a little late for that! If you'd been there, I wouldn't have been kidnapped. I wouldn't have been tied to a chair at the top of a clock tower!" She advanced on him, voice hitching. "You're my partner, and you let him kidnap me!"
He sucked in an agonized breath. Each accusation was like a fiery bullet to his chest. It didn't matter that Yin had orchestrated separate roles for him, Juliet, Gus, Henry, and Spencer to play in his horror film remake. It didn't matter that they'd all done it, knowing the risks involved. What mattered was that he'd failed her.
"You let him take me!" Her palm sailed through the air, and he did nothing to stop it. It cracked against the side of his face, and he shut his eyes, welcoming the sharp sting of pain. It was nothing compared to the agony raging in his heart. He'd broken their partnership, betrayed her trust in him. He hadn't been there when she'd needed him.
"You're right. I'm sorry," he rasped. "I'm so sorry, Juliet."
A harsh intake of breath cut through the silence, and he steeled himself for another slap he more than certainly deserved. It didn't come. He licked his lips, tasted blood from a small cut on the side of his mouth. She'd made him bleed. Good. Still nothing. What was she waiting for? He opened his eyes.
She was staring at her open palm. Her skin was pink from the impact against his face. She flexed trembling fingers, then gazed up at him, mouth agape. "I hit you," she whispered.
The rage was gone, replaced with horror. Her face crumpled, and tears filled her eyes. She covered her mouth with shaking hands and let out a harsh sob. "Oh god, oh god. I'm sorry, Carlton. I'm so sorry!" Her knees gave out, and she sagged to the floor in a trembling heap. He followed her down, and wrapped her in his arms. Her sobs only grew louder. Eyes smarting at his own helplessness and stupidity, he hesitantly let go of her and tried to give her space.
"No," she cried, clutching at the front of his shirt. "Please don't leave me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
His heart beat a sharp staccato in his chest, and he quickly enfolded her in his arms. "Shhhh. It's okay, sweetheart. It's going to be fine."
Her tears soaked through his thin t-shirt. She let out another shuddering sob. "No, you need a new partner. I'm damaged now." Her voiced cracked.
His heart twisted. She thought he needed a new partner because she was damaged? Hell, no. He wasn't exactly the poster child for undamaged people. "No, I don't need a new partner, and no, you aren't damaged." He paused, searching for words he didn't normally allow himself to articulate. "I'm perfectly happy with my partner. She smells like peaches. And she's kind, and strong, and loyal."
She let out another shuddering sob. "No, she's not!" A wail. "I assaulted you. I should be arrested."
"No one is going to arrest you, least of all me." He let out a harsh laugh. "Besides, I deserve far more than just a slap in the face. Are you sure you don't want to try again, but with one of the free weights?"
She let out a choked sound, one he desperately hoped was a laugh of some kind. He rubbed one hand in circles along her back, and cradled the back of her head with the other. More sobs shook her frame, and he tightened his grip on her. She was practically curled up in his lap now, as if she was afraid he'd disappear. "Shhhh. I'm not going anywhere, Juliet. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay."
He didn't know how long he held her, but eventually her sobs slowed, and her breathing evened out to the occasional sniffle. He tried to ignore the feel of her face burrowed into his neck. Every so often, her nose, or her silky cheek, or her soft mouth would brush against his skin, sending highly inappropriate shivers snaking through his system. And, good God, her hot breath in his ear. He'd happily let her slap him in the face multiple times a day if it meant her ending up in his arms, preferably not sobbing though.
She finally drew back from him, and he let his arms fall away from her, not knowing what she wanted or needed from him. Still kneeling, she picked up her gym towel from where she'd dropped it on the floor and wiped her face with it. Her eyes rose to meet his. Despite being bloodshot and swollen, they were still a beautiful crystal clear blue. Her lips trembled, and it was all he could do to not run his thumb across her mouth and stroke her cheek. He'd likely deserve another slap for that, not to mention a kick to the balls.
She slowly reached out a hand toward him, a hesitancy in her eyes he'd never seen before, and gently, oh so gently, brushed her fingertips against the spot where she'd slapped him. "Carlton." His name left her lips like a sigh. "You're right. You deserve far more than a slap on the cheek from me."
He swallowed. Of course. She'd come to her senses and was ready for more.
Her brows drew together, and her hand trailed down to lightly grip his chin. "Please let me?"
As if she even had to ask. If slapping him eased her pain, he'd never let her stop. He belonged to her, heart, body, and soul. He braced himself, then gave her a curt nod. "Yes."
But instead of letting go, she cradled his jaw with one hand and leaned forward.
He froze in place, eyes widening as she moved closer and closer still. Was she going to headbutt him instead?
When her breath sighed across his cheek, he ceased breathing.
When her lips caressed his skin, his heart stopped.
She trailed a series of butterfly soft kisses over where she'd slapped him.
"I'm sorry." A tender kiss. "I'm sorry." Another kiss.
Carlton was far too busy dying from cardiac arrest to say anything at all.
She rested her forehead against his, and her breath brushed against his mouth. If his brain cells hadn't been expiring from lack of oxygen, he would have kissed her. But all he could do was blink stupidly at her like a dog being introduced to a new dish.
"Please forgive me, Carlton." She drew back, gaze searching his.
In his current state of expiration, all he could manage was a jerky nod.
Her lips curved into a trembling smile. "I don't deserve you." She leaned forward again, and ever so lightly kissed the corner of his mouth where she'd cut him. "Thank you." She whispered the words against his mouth.
Then she rose on shaky legs and left the room.
As soon as she was gone, he collapsed onto his back, head bouncing on the mat.
His tongue darted out and tasted the corner of his mouth where she'd kissed him. Then he touched his still tingling face. His heart restarted, drumming harder than he'd ever felt before. Air filled his lungs, rushing through him like he'd sprinted twenty miles.
Juliet O'Hara.
Good God.
The woman was going to be the death of him.
But damn. Not a bad way to go.
So, what do you think? Should I continue with another chapter? You tell me.