Whiskey Girl
copyright 2014
DISCLAIMER (but I don't know her!): I do not own anything to do with Psych. Regretfully. This is a damn shame, because I could've had so much fun. Hence, I write fanfiction.
OTHER DISCLAIMER: I am a huge fan of Karlton. Don't like? Don't read. Let's all play nice here. I'm especially directing it to one particular review I deleted on my previous story "Thanks for the Imagery, Spencer!" You have a choice to read. I let you know what it contains. Therefore, don't troll me because you read something you knew you didn't like. Play nice.
I never thought Kirsten Nelson got enough screen time…IMHO.
Summary: Pre-Psych. An awkward second year beat cop and a mouthy yearling cop.
So again, Carlton Lassiter, second year on the force, found himself sitting in a bar along with the rest of the plebes, first years, and second years, watching as the rest of his fellow cops socialized and laughed, flirted with each other, and basically relaxed after the truly shitty week that befit those lowest on the law enforcement totem pole. Carlton Jebediah Lassiter, however, not quite comfortable with small talk, sat on the perimeter, occasionally chatting with his few friends and debating whether to hit on one of the newbie female cops (assuming they didn't run away screaming. He wasn't exactly good at being smooth). Carlton cursed the heat he could feel rising up through his collar as his insecurity and natural shyness ate at him.
He looked over at some of the female cops. He understood the whole equality thing, he supposed, but he also knew many of these female cops wouldn't last, or would remain forever meter maids. Most made no secret about wanting to "marry up" to some DA or judge and not marry a fellow cop (which he supposed colored his view of them, but there you had it). He admitted to himself, though he would never voice it out loud, no sir, not in this day and age of political correctness, that it made some of the women cops he had encountered within the Academy and the SBPD lose respect in his eyes. To serve as a cop was an honor, and yeah, they were all on the shitty end of it now, but they were serving and protecting, creating justice. Carlton couldn't remember a time when he had wanted to do anything else. He couldn't respect any cop, woman OR man, who didn't wear the badge with the same sense of responsibility. That being said, Libby Dalton has come in off her shift an hour earlier and was still in her uniform, and as the resident "hot lady cop" of SBPD, she did fuel his (and every other male's) Heather Locklear-on-TJ Hooker fantasy. Carlton tried to work up the courage to walk over there and ask her to the upcoming holiday party for the precinct at Mahoney's next Friday night. His introspection was interrupted by the slightly drunken voice of Jack Grady, a five-year veteran (and resident asshole according to most of the newbies, a sentiment Carlton shared).
"Hey! Look who just walked in! It's my sweetheart! You gonna /serve/ me tonight, Dunlap?"
"Bite me, Grady! There's the menu, I'm not on it. And since I'm not on duty and you're not in uniform, shut the hell up before you get taken out by a girl!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Carlton saw a blonde ponytail flash past and someone duck quickly behind the bar. He rolled his eyes as Grady continued to make an ass of himself. "Dunlap, you're breaking my heart."
"Kiss my ass!"
"Can I?"
A glass slammed down in front of Carlton on the bar, followed by a bottle of opener. Carlton's sharp blue eyes studied the person of said glass slamming. His brain immediately went through all the statistics he had memorized on all the yearlings. Officer Karen Marie Dunlap. Twenty-three. Graduated with a B.S. in Biology, summa cum laude from UCLA. Graduated with top honors from the Police Academy. Top marks in fire arms and hand-to-hand (something which intrigued Carlton). Working on Master's in Criminology at UC-Santa Barbara, same as him. She was in his Psychological Profiling class, though she tended to keep to herself, also like him. He remembered some things overheard from Detective Henry Spencer, who had apparently taken some sort of interest in her. Carlton had heard a few jokes around the locker room about that, though no one was stupid enough to say it in front of Spencer. Apparently she aspired to be a homicide detective, and then a chief of police, which had gathered many laughs from the "boys club" of the precinct. He had been there when Henry Spencer had shut them down, saying that girl was whip smart and going to go places. Hell, if someone like Spencer put belief in a yearling like that, then Lassiter could agree with it. Carlton had no problem with a woman wanting to make detective though Chief of Police was pushing it. SBPD had always been a boys' club.
"You need another beer?" A soft contralto broke his concentration and he looked up at the object of his current thoughts. Brown-no-Carlton's sharp blue eyes picked up bits of green and gold in an almost amber color-hazel eyes locked with his. "Do you need another beer?"
Carlton shook out of his revery. "Yeah. Sure. PBR." She nodded and walked away to the freezer, cracking the cap open with the bottle opener like a damned expert. "You're on a tab, right Carlton?" His eyes widened at her use of his first name. Dunlap smirked. "Carlton Lassiter. Two years. They have me in research and records too."
"Ah." He took a swig of his PBR. "Thanks. And yeah." She nodded and turned away as another customer, a fellow cop, asked for a Jaeger shot.
Carlton turned his attention back to the matter at hand, which was working up the courage to ask Libby Dalton out for the holiday social next Friday. He watched as the California beach blonde (he did love blondes) giggled and rubbed Miller's arm. He could hear the nun who taught him third-grade religion in his head. /Heaven helps those who help themselves, lad./ He grinned. Since she was a nun, he doubt she meant it about getting a date. Taking a swig of his PBR for extra courage, he took a breath and walked over. "Officer Dalton-um, Libby-" she stopped what she was doing and both she and Miller stared at him. He felt the words get stuck in his throat. /Smooth, asshat! Just ASK!/ He cringed inwardly as Libby tried to roll her eyes inconspicuously. The ghost of a smirk went across Miller's face. And all of Carlton's insecurities kicked into gear; his anger began to boil. "Never mind." He walked away, but not soon enough to avoid hearing Miller's remark. "Have you ever met a bigger dork in your life?" Libby Dalton giggled again, and unlike the previous times where it had been music to Carlton's ears, this time it was harsh, grating. "Nope. Though he does have big feet. That's usually a good thing, though I think he'd trip over his. Probably clumsy all over."
Carlton slump on one of the barstools. He knew he was a beanpole. He knew he wasn't smooth and could be a real bastard. But he didn't deserve to be laughed at. Hell, who the hell was he kidding? He watched as Miller drunkenly pulled an equally drunken Libby Dalton out, both of them showing more PDA than two horny teenagers. The only difference was, unlike Miller, he wouldn't trash talk Libby after they did what she and Miller were about to so obviously do. So much for pushing out of his comfort zone. /Robocop, that's me./