Through a Dark Window a Single Candle Burns
Disclaimer: Standard stuff. Don't own psych, just playing in the sandbox, enjoying writing fictional stories about fictional characters from a fictional show. Lassiet, post-S7, so any spoilers apply.
AN: A sequel of sorts to my earlier story, A Trope For All Seasons.
Dedication:
For Loafer
"No… no, Shawn, I understand." Juliet sighed into her phone. "No, I get it, I really do."
She leaned back in her chair and blinked hard as she stared up into the antique lights hanging amidst the more contemporary fluorescents. Even though the modern lights gave greater illumination to the detectives' bullpen, she honestly preferred the mellower glow provided by the old copper-shaded fixtures. As part of his efforts to revamp the SBPD, Trout had tried to have them removed, citing them as ineffective energy wasters, but on the same day they were scheduled to come down, a notice had come in declaring the building a State Historic Landmark, which meant any proposed changes were required to be submitted in writing and put before a board. Essentially, they'd have go through enough hoops and rings of fire as to make even a piranha back away.
A Trout never stood a chance.
As Shawn continued yammering excitedly over sleigh bells ringing in the background, she rose and moved down the hallway and slipped out a side door.
"Seriously, it's fine. I understand that it's for the kids. It's a good thing. Really."
She sank down onto a shaded stone bench. "It'll all be good and I'll just see you when I see you. Yeah. I know you love me more than chocolate Santas. Be careful, okay?"
But he hadn't heard that last, his voice drowned out by what sounded a chorus of carolers warbling a cheerful ska rendition of "Feliz Navidad."
"I'll see you when I see you sounds appropriately vague."
Juliet started, the phone dropping from her hand to clatter to the tiled walkway.
"God, Carlton!"
"Sorry." He rounded the bench and dropped to a knee to retrieve the phone. After placing it on the bench beside her, he rose and took a step back. "I wasn't exactly being quiet as I walked up. I assumed you knew I was there."
It was now her turn to say "Sorry," as she sighed.
"No problem." He leaned with his customary ease against a nearby pillar, and as he cast a quick fond glance over the arch soaring overhead, Juliet was struck with a sudden flashback to the first day he walked into what would soon become his condo. She recalled his appreciation for the fine oak floors and the historic details and if his disregard for the hanging body of the condo's former owner had been just a little creepy and off-putting, she could at least justify it as due to this being a far less messy homicide than the vast majority they'd worked over the years.
Even the fact that he'd nearly become a victim of the whackaloon killer hadn't diminished his love for the elegant pre-WWII building.
Which left Juliet absolutely certain as to who had spearheaded the campaign to have the SBPD building declared a historic landmark and safe from Trout's scaly clutches.
Not that she'd ever mention it to him.
Not that he'd ever acknowledge it.
But if there was anything Carlton could be described as, it was a creature of habit. Until he'd been forced to vacate his desk in the bullpen, the items on its worn surface hadn't changed or even shifted, with the exception of a photograph of Marlowe and him on their wedding day. And God knows, the man had a well-documented appreciation for history.
Yeah—the building's survival definitely had all the hallmarks of a Carlton Lassiter Plan.
"So."
"So—" She shifted on the bench to better face him, mentally cringing at the sight of him in a patrolman's blues. Even after nearly six months, it seemed almost unbearably wrong. Even if he did wear them well.
"I take it that was Spencer."
She nodded.
A single dark eyebrow rose. "And—?"
With the shorthand that even six months of separation hadn't managed to eradicate she answered his unspoken question. "The North Pole."
His other eyebrow joined its mate. "Come again?"
"North Pole, Alaska."
As Carlton's jaw dropped a slight grin tugged at her mouth because yeah, it was absurd as hell—more so when actually spoken aloud. "He and Gus volunteered to be elves at Santa's House throughout the holiday season."
Carlton shook his head, but the familiar expression of annoyance Juliet half-expected never materialized. Instead, he grinned—also familiar.
Also very much missed.
"I'd ask why except a) I really don't care and b) even if I did, any explanation would no doubt be so convoluted as to trigger a migraine. Much as I've missed working with you the past few months, I have not missed the migraines."
He lifted his large Starbucks cup in toast and took a sip.
Once again a wave of memories, so powerful as to leave her lightheaded, washed over Juliet. How many times had they shared coffee while snarking or grumbling or comparing theories on a case? It wasn't anything she often did with Shawn because he wasn't much for coffee.
Or sharing theories come to think of it.
All of a sudden, she found the cardboard cup in her hand. At her questioning look, he shrugged. "You looked at it like you were kind of desperate."
Cautious, because she also recalled his predilection for four sugars and a lot of cream, she took a sip. Surprised, she took a second, longer sip, shooting a curious look over the cup's plastic lid.
A faint hint of red tinged the edges of his ears but he remained otherwise unperturbed as he said, "Doctor recommended I cut back on either sugar or whisky."
"Easy choice, huh?" she teased.
"You have no idea," he replied with another easy smile although this one didn't quite reach his eyes.
Rather than ask what was wrong, because she had a sense something was—as well as also having a sense he wouldn't 'fess up unless it was at gunpoint and maybe not even then—she instead blurted, "It's supposed to be a charity thing."
"Beg pardon?"
After another sip, she passed the cup back to him and leaned back, propping her hands on the edge of the bench.
"The elf thing. It's part of a charity event. I'm not exactly clear on the specifics." She laughed quietly. "Mostly because I was afraid of the migraine sure to ensue if I badgered him for actual details. I suspect it was probably Gus' idea anyhow."
"Probably bribed Spencer with promise of payment in candy and marshmallows."
Juliet laughed again. "Are you kidding? They were probably both enticed by the promise of payment in candy and marshmallows. The kicker for Shawn was likely a promise of toys."
"Of course," came the dry rejoinder. "Hard to say what might be the greater enticement." He lifted the cup for another drink.
As he put his mouth to the same place hers had been, Juliet couldn't help but shiver just a little. It had been a long time and so much had happened, but it didn't matter. Like it was yesterday, she could still feel his mouth on hers—could still taste coffee colored with a hint of whisky as his tongue had stroked hers.
Could still feel the shock and piercing regret over what she'd so stubbornly refused to acknowledge until reality had reared up and smacked her upside the head.
Externally, they'd both moved on after Carlton's stunning confession of his long held feelings for her and he, at least, had most assuredly closed the door on their relationship that had never been, but she, on the other hand…
It had taken many nights and a lot of soul-searching to realize it had been a lack of acknowledgment on her part rather than an outright lack of knowledge. Some part of her had to have been aware Carlton harbored feelings beyond those of partnership and friendship for her, but if she didn't acknowledge them, then they couldn't possibly exist. Until the moment her arrogance and sheer pigheadedness had pushed him to reveal one of his most closely guarded secrets and it all became incredibly, intensely real.
And incredibly, intensely impossible.
He was with Marlowe and happy. She was with Shawn, and as she was soon to discover, everything on which their relationship was based was a lie. And instead of turning to her partner and best friend, she'd muddled along, first breaking up with Shawn because it was the right thing—the only thing to do—before falling back into a relationship with him simply because it was easier.
Because being with Shawn was easier than coming up with answers to the many questions of why they'd broken up so soon after taking the oh-so-serious step of moving in together.
Because being with him was easier than facing why she was so angry.
And because being with Shawn, no matter how foolish and perhaps ultimately futile a choice, was definitely easier than looking at her partner, day after day, and berating herself for willful blindness and stupid arrogance.
The irony that as difficult as Shawn could be, a relationship with him was easier than almost any other alternative beyond moving to Iceland and assuming a new identity did not escape her.
"So back to 'I'll see you when I see you…'" He offered her the coffee cup once again. "Last I checked, Santa clocked out on Christmas and I can't imagine that the Dynamic Duo would want to remain somewhere the lows dip below zero on a regular basis for too long, no matter how much chocolate's involved."
Taking the cup, she took another long sip, savoring the still-hot brew. And absolutely refusing to dwell on what else she imagined she could feel.
"Well, apparently they're taking the Elf Show on the road to various locales that celebrate into January. Mexico may have been mentioned. Or maybe Miami." Something that started with an M. Frankly, she'd tuned him out after a while.
"I see." His tone remained steadfastly noncommittal even as his eyes cooled to the chilly blue that signified deep annoyance. "And what about Christmas?"
She shrugged and drained the remains of the coffee. "It'll be like every other Christmas I've celebrated since moving to Santa Barbara. I'll get a tree and decorate the house. If Mom and Lloyd weren't going to be on their Australian cruise, I'd invite them over for Christmas Eve dinner—as it stands, I guess I'll volunteer for a shift at the station. With any luck I'll even be able to swing Midnight Mass."
And oddly enough, she was okay with it. Like Carlton, she was something of a creature of habit and while she was rather good at compromise, there were some things she preferred doing a certain way. Christmas was one of those things. To be perfectly honest, she'd kind of been dreading the holiday, half-terrified of what Shawn might insist on in the spirit of the holiday. Oh, he'd said all the right things, about how exciting it was, starting their own traditions, combining the best of the Spencer and O'Hara Christmases Past, but she knew whatever promises and sweet words were pledged, that the end result would be as it always was, which was to say, he'd do whatever he wanted. She also knew how it would end—with him, cajoling her into going along, simply because it was easier than arguing or insisting they compromise.
Considering the boxed neon Santa and female elf in a short skirt and fishnets that she'd discovered in the garage, she already had an inkling as to what Shawn's idea of the spirit of the holiday might entail.
Really, it was better this way.
"I envy you."
Carlton's quiet voice snapped out of her own thoughts.
"Me?" She was genuinely shocked. "Why?"
"Even when you were on your own, you never hesitated to make Christmas something special. When I was alone, I never saw the point. All that time and effort—and sooner rather than later the tree would die, the garlands would turn brown, all the crap would have to be put away again for another year, and you'd be left with yet another fruitcake that could just as readily serve as a doorstop." His steady blue gaze held hers. "And here you are, on your own again—on a year you should have been celebrating your first Christmas as part of a couple—and instead of being angry or bitter, you're planning on making it…special."
"It is special."
Again, his gaze searched her face until finally he nodded, as if coming to a decision. What he said next, however, was probably the last thing she would have expected to hear. At least from him.
"Would you mind if I joined you for Midnight Mass?"
Juliet sat stunned, her brain attempting to process what she'd just heard and what it might mean.
"Won't you be going with Marlowe?" she finally asked.
After a pause, he quietly said, "She's spending it with Adrian at the prison. She doesn't want him feeling abandoned."
But what about you? You're her husband. It's your first Christmas as a married couple. Shouldn't she be concerned about you feeling abandoned?
But of course she didn't say any of that. It was Carlton. She didn't have to.
"There's more to it than that."
She stared at the empty cup in her hands. "I wasn't going to ask."
"I know." Another pause. "You've been really good about that, even when you maybe should have. Like when she pulled her Runaway Bride routine. You were nothing but supportive."
"You love her."
And she'd promised herself if nothing else, she would be his friend. The best friend she could possibly be. Because if there was anything she'd realized in the wake of Carlton's confession was that there was no way she could lose him either. As he'd said about her, she would rather have him as a friend than not have him in her life at all.
"Yeah." He smiled, but there was an unmistakable air of melancholy about it and shadows dulling his eyes to an opaque slate blue.
And once again, another memory swept over her—the expression on his face when she'd awkwardly and more than a little cruelly rebuffed his equally awkward request to join her and her family for their Christmas celebration. He'd recovered well, but the shadows and melancholy had lingered long after he'd turned and left.
Another chapter's worth of regrets in a book filled with them.
Impulsively, she asked, "Are you busy tonight?" somehow already knowing what the answer would already be.
A startled expression crossed his face, followed almost immediately by a slow, pleased smile. "As it so happens, I am not."
"My tree was delivered yesterday. I was planning on decorating tonight."
He studied her for a long, silent moment, a speculative light in his eyes.
"It would just be me."
"That's fine."
"Okay." He nodded. "Can I bring anything?"
She smiled and breathed just a little easier. "How about some eggnog?"
The edges of his mouth twitched. "Heavy on the nog?"
"Definitely."
"I'll be there by seven."
Another breath, easier than the last. "I'll be waiting."