A/N: I've found my way back to the Psych fandom. I've tried to write Psych once before, but gave up on it rather quickly. I'm hoping that I have a better understanding of the characters and a higher quality of writing. Let me know. :-)

Slowly

If someone had told him six years ago that he would be here now, in his favorite chair in front of the TV, a glass tumbler in his hand and a bottle of its contents on the coffee table... he would've told them to find Buzz McNab and talk to him about their far-fetched ideas. Instead, he was the sorry sap in the recliner.

Not only was he a sorry son of a bitch, but he was a classic asshole.

This term was something he was comfortable with, for the most part. Carlton had been identified as an asshole for most of his life. Asshole was the word used by peers in high school, other students that sat next to him in class in college, and nearly every co-worker he'd ever had. As he moved through adulthood after graduation, most of the identifying became less straight forward. Instead of the teenagers and twenty-somethings that had snarled it in his face, the word was now whispered behind water coolers, mumbled under breath between cups of coffee, or spoken nonverbally-with looks shared between any groups of people he shared a room with.

Even so, Carlton Lassiter was someone that didn't really mind. The opinion others had of him was something out of his control. He lived his life the way he wanted to live it, and he was... fine. If those around him chose to judge him, then so be it.

The only person to never so much as gesture to the concept was Juliet. The opposite of Carlton, Juliet was happy, sunny, optimistic, and passionate about the world around her. A quick scowl in the direction of any mumbled derogatory term for Carlton that touched her ears was enough to end the offender's sentence in its tracks. Then again, Juliet often called him an ass herself, but never an asshole. It was a very, "only I can call my momma fat" mentality. Carlton didn't understand it, because while he was, admittedly, an idiot, he wasn't stupid enough to think Juliet cared about him. Carlton, though... he cared for Juliet. More than he'd like to (and would) admit.

Juliet O'Hara was everything Carlton wasn't. She treated Carlton with respect. She was never afraid of his scowl, or put off by his tone. Juliet looked at Carlton like he knew what he was doing, and dammit, he did, because he was the damn Head Detective. Juliet seemed to-dare he say-accept Carlton the way he was. If Carlton made a lame joke (as none of his jokes were anything but lame) Juliet would smile her shining grin and laugh a giggle that came from deep in her stomach and out between her lips. When Carlton was "in a mood," as Juliet would call it, the junior partner would shake her head in annoyance, and with just a slight color of red dusting her chest, would call tell him stiffly, "stop being an ass." Even though he didn't care, truly, about the names everyone called him- it was still different when Juliet responded to him in a derogatory way. In some way, Juliet's name calling always had a softness to it. It was never harsh. It never seemed to be because she didn't like him (although Carlton was not under the impression she hated him) but it seemed to be because she was trying to help him in some way. Carlton would never understand it, but he knew- as much as he knew he was an ass- that no matter what he asked from O'Hara, whatever he needed, she would do it for him. It was a nice feeling, and because of it he considered her his only true friend and even a best friend, were he to be juvenile.

Carlton was resigned to the fact that he cared for Juliet much more than Juliet probably cared for him, but what could it hurt? He stayed where he was supposed to be and was cautious not to cross any lines and freak her out. Juliet stayed her sunny, caring-for-him-on-some-weird-level self, and they operated as an effective partnership and as pretty good friends.

This way of thinking would prove to be dangerous.

The dark haired Head Detective knew that there was no way around where he was at now. He didn't get to his position by being unaware. Carlton knew his marriage with Victoria was not a good one. He made a lot of mistakes, but he'd liked being married. He enjoyed belonging to someone and someone belonging to him. His marriage was not one of his best experiences and the way it ended was not one of his proudest. Coming from the ruins of his failed marriage was Lucinda Barry. Lucinda was a good partner, but even though he was sleeping with her, she wasn't really his friend. He didn't call her at midnight with a thought on a case. She wasn't his first text when he saw something that reminded him of the chief, Henry, or heaven forbid, McNab. When he needed a ride, he didn't ask her. He was her partner, she was his, and he was sleeping with her. Period. The end. That was all their relationship was. Victoria was playing with his feelings, he was coming to grips with who he truly was, and he was losing the only person who had ever, truly, really, seemed to care about him. Lucinda was available, she was willing, and he'd liked being married, so gripping for something similar seemed the natural answer.

It wasn't.

The affair left a black mark on his record, and the amount of mumbled vulgarity had only doubled in the station. After the affair, not only had Carlton been left with the aftermath of his divorce to clean up, but he was also standing in the leftovers of his career.

Now, currently, Carlton was who he was. He was older. He was bitter. He was angry. He had an unnatural annoyance with squirrels. He kept a black book of all those he had arrested. He had a big nose, big ears, and he resembled Mr. Bean. As if that wasn't enough, he was pessimistic, unforgiving, and a real pain in the ass to be around.

Not only did he fit the concept of, "damaged goods" so well, but as of recently, he was a sad son of a bitch with no real hope for the future.

Carlton did not know how long it had been. He didn't even know, specifically, when it had happened. All he knew was that on Tuesday last week, October 10th, he realized he was hopelessly in love with his partner.

Long after everyone had gone home for the night -around ten or eleven- he was walking out of the station with Juliet.

"I'm so tired." She had said.

Without even so much as glancing in her direction, Carlton had known she meant more than physically. The case was hard. Children were involved. Children and their own father. A definition of the reason they did the work they did and simultaneously a reason to stop doing the work they did. They had been working long days, even longer nights, and the physical toll was nothing compared to what they were working through emotionally. When they reached her car, he paused. "I know, O'Hara." He'd said, "It's a tiring case."

She searched her bag for her keys for a few moments without responding to him. He stood by to make sure she made it inside of her bug safely, and as she was searching, he was wondering again why she carries those huge bags- much to large to ever find anything in, let alone a set of jingling keys in the dark parking lot- but before he could ask her, she started shaking. "I just-I can't-" she looked up at him, and he saw her eyes welling up. "They were kids, Carlton."

He reached for her at once, his hand grasping her wrist and puling it out of her bag gently. "I know, O'Hara." He repeated, his hand falling from her wrist as he let it dangle at her side. "C'mon," he gestured, "I'll drive you home."

She shook her head. "You don't have to drive me." She wiped at her cheeks. After a big breath in, she straightened her shoulders. "I'm fine. Sorry."

Carlton's brow furrowed slightly. It took him a beat, but he realized she thought he was judging her for her tears. "O'Hara.." he started, but her eyes met his again, blue eyes blood shot red, and tears pouring out, and he couldn't help but notice how the blue of her eyes grew deeper and more intense in color. "Juliet." He tried again, "You're exhausted. Let me drive you home."

"You have to be tired, too." She shook her head, seemingly to herself, and then she looked back at him. "Aren't you tired?"

He nodded, trying to ignore the voice telling him how beautiful she looked like this. She's beautiful. Yeah, and she's upset, asshole. "I am." Finally, he answered her. "But I also had three more cups of coffee than you." A pause. He couldn't read her. "Let me drive you home."

Juliet looked at him for a moment, and then relented. "Okay." She smiled a teary smile. "Thank you."

"What are partners for?"

They didn't talk on the ride. He drove them in companionable silence, with the radio softly playing in the background. The night was dark, and while it was nearly midnight, it was heavier- more like two or three. When they reached her apartment, he parked effortlessly in front of her building, and without a word, unbuckled and exited the car. He opened her car door for her to get out, and followed her to see her safely to her door.

When her key was in the lock and turned, he bid her goodnight.

She turned to face him. "Thank you, Carlton." Her hand rested on his forearm.

He shrugged. "Can't have you crashing." I don't know what I would do without you.

Juliet took a step closer to him. "I don't just mean for the ride." His eyes showed how lost he was. She sighed, and the hand on his forearm felt like it was burning. "For everything."

"Partners." He repeated. "There's no way anyone else would take me."

She smiled. "That isn't true."

"Only because-" he thought better of it, and stopped.

"Because what?" Her eyes widened slightly. "Because I've softened you?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I was going to say." It was.

She smiled larger now. "I think it was."

"You're exhausted, O'Hara. Delusional."

"Mhm." She smiled still. A moment passed of them just staring at each other. He opened his mouth to bid her goodnight again, and she spoke. "You're a good person, Carlton." He huffed in protest. "The best."

Carlton felt his cheeks getting warm. "You're the only one to think so."

Juliet got closer still, by means of wrapping her arms around his middle tightly. "You're my best friend." She said when she pulled away.

He said nothing. His tongue had suddenly become ten pounds. He couldn't move it.

A kiss to his cheek, and then, "Goodnight. Let me know you made it home, okay?"

He nodded in agreement, and then she was gone. Disappearing into the apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, when he had just taken off his shirt to change, his phone buzzed. Safe?

He waited only a moment to reply. Home. He typed. He most definitely did not feel safe.

She did not reply.

The next morning, the 11th, a Wednesday, he would find out she fell asleep as soon as she received his reply. At this knowledge, his stomach would tighten and his heart would be approximately 25% faster.

While Juliet had fallen asleep promptly, it would take Carlton nearly three hours. He would lay in bed, awake, and only able to see the blue of Juliet's eyes and the smile on her face when she told him he was her best friend. He would touch his cheek where her lips had brushed, smell the peach scent of her hair, and remember the way the heat of her body had felt so close to his.

He would come to the conclusion he was in love with her, and had been for some time.

The night of the 11th would look much the same.

He would come to two conclusions that night.

He was in love with his partner.

He needed to not be in love with his partner.

The morning of the 12th, a Thursday, he would start fixing it.