And
A Psych Fanfiction by UA
There was something. In that pen, on the sheets and the way they felt more like cardboard than paper, and the way they blocked the light and made shadows on the table. And the way they looked liked the lines of her face, when she came back to him, minutes and hours later. All resignation and hope and exasperation…
And gratitude. She was thankful to him. Indebted. Relieved. Was she… was she happy?
She got up from the table, and so did he. And she leaned in, and something happened between their lips that was tenuous and just beginning to live when he though it should be dying. A gossamer thread between then, thin and stripped bare of pretense, clean of the sham of a marriage, of their deliberating and living in limbo. Thin and delicate as it was, it was probably stronger than anything they had ever had.
He gave all he had left, and all she wanted. He gave her his promise.
"You can walk out of here, and don't look back. So we both have tomorrow."
A promise and a day and a life. And she walked away from him and the love was still there and the love was still there, damn it. But she gripped the handle with no hesitation and seized upon the gift. The gift she accepted, not the jewelry or lies. She was gone, taking that gossamer thread with her.
What was it, now, that existed between them? Sure, it was understanding, an understanding that was mutual and acknowledged. But it was so much more than that. It was more that that as Lassiter went home and took a shower and then lay on his bed, comatose, until the darkness ate him. It gnawed at the back of his mind, it clawed at his heart. Even if it didn't bother him.
When Juliet turned to him, suspicion in her eyes but voice gentle and asked him, "Carlton? You there?" He could genuinely answer, "Stop asking stupid questions and get back to work, O'Hara," which in Lassiter speak was equivalent to 'I'm fine, alright?'
Because he was. There was something… stately in him. Wizened. Mature. Sage. Calm. Relieved. This had been such a long time coming that he felt nearly empty inside- weightless and free of the constant what-ifs; the 'what if she calls me?' or 'what if I screw this up again?' The constant inconveniences; 'Do I send her something for her birthday? Should I get her a Christmas card?'
The look in her eye said so much, that night in the candle glow. She walked out the door without her anger, without her strained expression. She too was free. And grateful and-
And…
And…
And what?
What the hell had happened between them? When had they stopped their power struggle, their give and give and take? When did drop their masks and look each other in the eye and recognize the lemon car of their marriage?
When he handed her the papers.
No goading.
No immature games.
No pleading.
Maturation and acceptance and…
And…
And…
And what?
What?!
'Respect.'
'Respect, Carlton.'
Oh.
AN: So, today is Tuesday the 17th and, for all you Psych-os like me, that means I need to write a fic in honor of that wonderful, brilliant episode. Yes, that's right, Carlton gets his little pontification here. I 3 so much 3
I've been meaning to write for psych for a while, it's one of my absolute fave television shows, and Tuesday the 17th being my 3rd fave episode (after Shawn takes a Shot and Lassie did a Bad, Bad Thing), I decided that this was the perfect, cliche opportunity to do so. Written on the fly, so pardon the mistakes (although the repetition was a literary device, so if you critique... that was on purpose. Whether or not it works, however... xD)
Reviews are like Shawn's Easy-Bake cake, but, like, cooked and delicious ;)
~UA~
