Title: Not the Honeymooners (or, How Juliet Got Her Groove Back)
Rating: PG for this chapter, NC-17 later, because there is a tragic deficit of Lassiter/Juliet smut in the world.
Summary: Lassiter and Juliet go undercover as honeymooners, while Juliet continues to deal with the aftermath of having been kidnapped by Yin. Set a short time after 5x02, "Feet, Don't Kill Me Now."
Author's Note: The last time I posted a WIP, I was mostly very good about updating every week. I hope to do that again with this fic, but I'm not making any promises. However, I do promise that it will be finished eventually.
"The two of you will be going undercover," Chief Vick said, and tried not to sigh as both detectives' faces predictably lit up.
"Yes! Finally, a chance to whip out the Slovokian accent I've been working on. What kind of scum will I be going undercover as, Chief? Drug kingpin? Pimp? Weapons smuggler? PETA activist?"
"No fake accents. Also," she said, anticipating his interruption, "no fake moustaches, beards, sideburns, goatees, soul patches, or dreadlocks. The same goes for fake scars, injuries, tattoos, or noses. The only disguise either of you will need is these."
She pulled two small boxes out of her desk drawer and handed one to each of the detectives. Lassiter opened his to find a wedding ring,
"Chief, what's this about?" Juliet asked, puzzled, staring at her own ring.
"You two have been requested by the narcotics unit to assist on an investigation. You both know who Zachary Copeland is?"
"Of course," Lassiter said, exchanging a glance with O'Hara. "The crime boss. He's rumored to be involved in drugs, guns, prostitution…but no one's ever been able to prove anything."
"That's right. For the first time, we've got a really solid lead on his organization that could finally put him behind bars. Our information has it that he's meeting with one of the heads of the Columbian drug cartel at the Regency Seasons Resort this weekend. We want eyes and ears all over the resort. The villa we believe he'll be staying in is directly across the courtyard from the honeymoon villa. Which is why I want the two of you there."
"So we're posing as newlyweds?" Juliet asked, taking the ring out of the box and trying it on experimentally.
"Yes. Here is the information you'll need for your cover identities," Chief Vick said, handing them each a folder. "Like I said, we'll have the place staked out from top to bottom, but in terms of sheer proximity, you two will be the closest, and from your vantage point, you should be able to see everyone coming in and out of the front door of the villa. Before the end of the day, I'll have detailed descriptions of all of the players in Copeland's organization that you should be familiar with."
"We have a lot on our plate right now, Chief," Lassiter said, eyeing his own ring uneasily.
"That's true," Juliet agreed. "Carlton and I are still investigating the Catrow murder, and working on following up on the robbery at Shnitzky's Diner, to say nothing of the fact that we're still trying to catch up on the case load that accrued while I was…away."
"I thought the two of you would jump at the opportunity to be a part of this bust," Vick said, sounding disappointed
Exchanging another quick look with his partner, Lassiter said "We absolutely want to assist in bringing Copeland down. We just wanted to make you aware of the caseload we'll be putting on hold for the next few days."
"Get Miller and Dobson up to speed on the diner robbery, and call in Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster to take a look at the Catrow murder."
Before Lassiter could lodge his automatic (and inevitably ignored) protest at calling in Spencer, Juliet said. "Shawn and Gus are out of town until next week. They went to the Spam Festival."
"The what?" Lassiter asked in disbelief.
"You know, Spam. The canned meat?"
"Yes, but how can there be a fes…you know what, never mind," the Chief said. "The less I know about anything called the Spam Festival, the better. As much as I hate to say it, the Catrow investigation can be put on hold for a few days. You haven't made any headway on it this week. Maybe some time away will give you a chance to regroup and come back at it fresh. And if not, I'll have Mr. Spencer take a look at it when he returns."
"When should we arrive at the resort?" Juliet asked, as she opened the folder with the undercover identity details and started reading.
"Your reservation is for tomorrow afternoon. Pack a bag for the weekend. Casual clothes, Carlton," she said sternly. "It's your honeymoon. Look, I know this is a different kind of assignment than what you're used to. I also know that you both typically jump at the chance for undercover work even though...well. As I've told you before, Lassiter, you're never more obviously a cop than when you're trying to pretend to not be a cop. On the other hand, O'Hara, you tend to embrace your undercover identities so wholeheartedly that frankly, it's a little bit terrifying. I'm hoping that the two of you can balance each other out."
"We'll be fine, Chief," Juliet said. "You don't have to worry about us."
Vick sighed. "Just make sure that there's no honeymoon equivalent of the $800 skates, okay O'Hara?"
Seeing that Juliet had the stubborn look on her face that suggested she was about to argue, Lassiter intervened. "O'Hara, get together our findings on the diner robbery for Dobson and Miller and see if they're free to meet with us to go over the details of the case," he said, and she nodded, heading for the door.
"On it," she said, pausing to add, "also, I still think that those skates were completely necessary to maintain my cover. And, they were cute."
Lassiter lingered for a moment after she left. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," he said, once he was certain his partner was out of earshot. "She's only been back to work for a couple of weeks. Maybe it's too soon to send her out on an assignment this high-profile."
"Have you seen any evidence that she's having any kind of difficulty?" Chief Vick asked him, concerned.
"No," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean that she's ready for something like this."
"She has to be ready sometime," Vick said, her tone softening as she added, "and you can't protect her forever, Carlton. Frankly, she would be offended if she knew that you were trying."
Lassiter went back to his desk to read over the details of his undercover identity, surreptitiously watching Juliet as she made a phone call.
He was worried about her.
Since she had come back to work after her…vacation, as he liked to think of it, she had been quieter. More serious, less perky. While there had been a time early in their partnership when he would have been glad to see such a change in her, now he was used to being greeted with sunshiney smiles and cheerful chatter.
The differences in her personality weren't drastic – she smiled, she laughed, she argued with the Chief about roller skates – but there was an underlying melancholy in her that he'd never seen before. She tried to conceal the circles under her eyes with make-up, but he could still see them, evidence that she wasn't sleeping well, and he had caught her a few times staring off into space, distracted and distant.
She came over to his desk now, handing him the Shnitzky's Diner file. "Dobson and Miller are going to meet with us in an hour in Conference Room B. I think I might run out and get something to eat. You want something?"
"Anything but Spam," he said, and she laughed.
"Hey, this afternoon do you want to set aside some time so we can go over our cover identities? Get our background straight?"
He shrugged, turning his attention back to the report he was typing. "I'm not sure we'll have time. Simon Catrow's brother is coming in this afternoon to answer those questions we had about Simon's safety deposit box, and at 4:00 I have a meeting with Chief Vick and Lieutenant Sanchez of the Patrol Division."
"After your meeting then," she pressed. "I think it would be beneficial to make sure that we're on the same page."
"Fine," he agreed, but in the end, it didn't happen; they got called to a homicide mid-afternoon and spent the afternoon and evening chasing down and charging the abusive boyfriend who had gunned down his ex-girlfriend. It wasn't until after 10:00 that night, as they walked out of the station together, that Juliet brought it up again.
"We're not going to get any time at all to talk about our undercover assignment," she said unhappily.
"It'll be fine, O'Hara. Look, why don't I pick you up in the morning? We'll have plenty of time to go over things in the car."
She nodded in agreement, looking at her watch as she did, and sighed. "Crap. I missed my krav maga class tonight."
"You're taking krav maga?" Lassiter asked, intrigued.
"I just started a couple of weeks ago," she said distractedly as she fished her car keys out of her purse. "It's a really good form of self-defense for women because it's not dependent on being stronger than your opponent."
"That's pretty badass, O'Hara. What got you interested in it?"
They had reached their cars, and she was opening the door to her little Bug and not looking at him. "Oh, you know. I like to be prepared. And it's a good workout. I'll see you in the morning, Carlton."
"Yeah. Good night," he said, watching as she got into her car and drove away, his earlier concern for her not the least bit diminished.
Juliet was falling.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She couldn't close her eyes, could see the ground rushing up to meet her, and knew she was going to die. She was going to smash into the pavement and all of her bones would break. Her blood vessels would burst. The pain would be unimaginable. Her face would be unrecognizable.
She jerked and woke up, her heart thudding heavily in her chest, her skin clammy with sweat. You're safe, she told herself, checking the drawer in her nightstand to make certain that her gun was still there. Safe, she chanted in her head, as she looked at the clock and saw that it was 4:17 in the morning. Safe, as she checked the locks on the front door and the window, gun in hand, and put on a pot of coffee, because there was no point in trying to go back to sleep after she had the dream.
In her dreams, there was never any Carlton and Gus coming to save her. There was only the snap of the rope holding her in place and the rush of air as she fell and the certainty that she was going to die.
She wondered sometimes if Abigail Lytar dreamed of drowning. She hoped not.
She turned on the TV and found a mindless sitcom to leave it on, the familiar rhythm of the jokes and the laugh track somehow soothing to her jittery nerves. It was probably good that she was up so early, she told herself; she needed to be better prepared before her undercover mission got underway.
While she waited for the coffee to finish brewing, she sat down at her kitchen table with her gun and, with hands that were still trembling, disassembled it then put it back together again. She did it twice, not coming close to beating her best time, but after the second time she had stopped shaking and the dream had faded into the background of her mind.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and read over the Copeland file again, studying the information about the people in his organization that were expected to be at the resort that weekend. After that, she read up on her cover identity, getting out her highlighters and colored pencils in order to make notes about everything she needed to know about Jessica Livingston, elementary school teacher from Dayton, Ohio, and new bride of insurance auditor Colin Dwyer.
After she had come up with a satisfying history for Jessica and Colin (they had been set up on a blind date by friends; one of Jessica's fellow teacher's had a husband that worked with Colin and had been engaged for a year before tying the knot in a small church ceremony. They had spent that year saving for their dream honeymoon on the coast of Santa Barbara, which Jessica had longed to visit ever since she was a small child, when her grandmother had made a daily ritual of watching the soap opera named after the city).
Carlton would undoubtedly say that she was overpreparing, but she thought it was only smart to know as much as possible about the person she was pretending to be.
While she packed a suitcase for the weekend, she thought more about Jessica and Colin. What drew them to each other? Well, Jessica had probably been instantly smitten with Colin's big blue eyes and broad shoulders and commanding presence and ability to outdraw criminals and get confessions by glaring at miscreants…wait, no, Colin was an insurance auditor. His ability to, uh…Nope. She couldn't come up with anything sexy about insurance auditing.
Not that Carlton was sexy when he was outdrawing criminals or getting confessions. Or if he was, she had certainly never noticed. And she had also definitely, definitely not noticed how nice he looked from behind when he was standing with his hands flat against the table in the interrogation room, leaning forward to make his point, his shirt snug against his shoulders, his slacks snug against his…
Okay, maybe she HAD noticed. But only in a strictly professional way.
Right. She was supposed to be thinking about Colin and Jessica. They must have shared interests of some sort. Sports, maybe. Or movies. She thought about Carlton's unlikely love for Grease and smiled. Maybe Colin and Jessica were both movie buffs, the kind who saw all the Oscar nominees and made elaborate bets about what was going to win and went to midnight showings of big releases. That would be nice, going to something as simple and normal as a movie with Carlton. He could buy her popcorn and put his arm around her and…
Colin, not Carlton. She was going to have to be careful about that.
Popcorn. Popcorn sounded good. She realized that she had been up for nearly two hours without eating, so she made herself some scrambled eggs and toast. Her appetite had been off since the clock tower incident (as she preferred to think of it), so she tried to pay attention and eat on as regular a schedule as she could manage given her unpredictable job. Her therapist told her that it was normal for her eating and sleeping patterns to be off kilter for a while after a trauma like the one she had experienced, so she tried not to be impatient with herself over not being the same as she was before.
She hated that she now thought of her life as "Before the Clock Tower" and "After the Clock Tower."
The sun was up by now, so she went for a quick run before showering. Carlton arrived just as she finished getting dressed, and she opened her front door and waved him in.
"Do you want some coffee before we go? I haven't unplugged the coffeepot yet," she said, heading back to her bedroom to grab her suitcase. She didn't hear a reply, and when she came back out, she found him staring after her with a dumbfounded expression.
"Carlton? What's wrong?"
"O'Hara! What the hell are you wearing?"
She looked down at herself, confused. "A dress?" she ventured cautiously. A cute little sundress, if she did say so herself, feminine and pretty and appropriate for a new bride on vacation in sunny California. And best of all, it had a matching chunky-knit cardigan that covered her shoulder holster.
"The Chief said no disguises!" Lassiter snapped.
"It's not a disguise. It's a dress. I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon, I can't very well wear a pantsuit and…oh, Carlton, is that what you're planning on wearing to the resort?"
He crossed his arms defensively. "There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing."
"You're dressed the same way you always dress! You're even wearing a tie! The Chief told you that it was casual dress."
"It's my most casual tie!" he protested. "And these are my casual shoes!"
She set down her suitcase and went over to him. "You look like a cop," she said, tugging the knot on his tie free before he could protest.
She unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt, her fingers grazing against warm skin and springy hair, and was struck with the insane urge to keep unbuttoning. Instead, she brushed her hands across his shoulders, dusting away imaginary lint, and straightened the lapels of his jacket. When she looked up at him, she saw that he was watching her with eyes as big as saucers. Hastily she stepped back, smoothing down her skirt.
"That's better," she said, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness. "Now you don't look so much like you're going to arrest anyone."
"Okay," he said, looking anywhere in the room but at her, "thanks. I'll take your suitcase to the car while you finish locking up."
"Great," she said, and was relieved when he left the room. What the heck was that?