Author's Note: Herein lie the minor spoilers for He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me, Oops He's Dead and Bounty Hunters!


Not for the first time in her life, Juliet manages to simultaneously laugh and cry a little when she starts her car and REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling" blares from the speakers.

Her hand automatically shoots out to change the station, but she drops it before touching the button. A sappy 80s love ballad is actually a fitting punishment.

How can she be so stupid?

Even if he wouldn't have had a date, tonight never would have been the right night. Sheesh. She knows what he went through today, can only begin to imagine how he feels. Why couldn't she have given him time to recover? Then, in a few days, when he'd no doubt mention he's in a relationship - a real relationship - with another woman, she could have just kept her feelings to herself.

He'd told her a little about Abigail. She seems like a decent person, nice, with a good sense of humor. And she had been the one who got away. How can Juliet deny him that? After all, everyone has a "one who got away."

She just hopes Shawn won't be hers.

Now, as she drives home, her stomach is already twisting at the thought of seeing him at the station. With a normal person, she could act as if nothing had happened. But with Shawn... oh God, Monday is going to be awful.

'Office romances never work, O'Hara. You should know that by now.'

The thought of going home is even less appealing than the thought of going to work on Monday, and so Juliet finds herself pulling over to take a walk along the boardwalk. She buys an ice cream cone - not comfort food, since it's actually frozen yogurt and, therefore, healthy - and strolls down the boardwalk, staring out across the ocean.

Sometimes she pretends she's still in Florida. Usually after a big day, she pictures a hug from her mother and talking sports with her dad and her brothers while Mom and Grandma fuss with dessert. Thinking of her family always makes her feel homesick, and it helps pretending she is mere minutes away instead of a continent.

She's finishing the last of her cone when her phone rings. "Speak of the devil," she murmurs at the caller ID, chewing quickly before snapping the cell open.

"Hi, Mom," she says, her mouth only partially full.

"Hi, Bean," her mom's voice is like a soft, worn-in blanket, and Juliet, standing on a pier in Santa Barbara, wraps herself in it.

The familiar, caring pause between her mom's greeting and the "How are you, sweetie?" brings a tear to Juliet's eye, which she wipes away angrily.

She's not going to cry over a boy; she's not thirteen.

"Okay," she lies. "How are you?"

"Jim! David! I swear to- back away from the brownies! You're two grown men!"

Juliet chuckles and sniffs, imagining her mother, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, swatting her dad and her uncle away.

"Sorry, honey. These O'Hara men are worse than the dog."

Juliet smiles, but doesn't say anything. What is there to say?

She's close to her mom, very close, and over the course of the last few years she's let more than a few details slip about a certain psychic. They'd used up half of a month's cell phone minutes in one conversation after that 100% speed dating match. And another half of a month's minutes when she and Shawn had close talked, although, to be fair, a lot of it was also about how Juliet had beaten herself up over losing Tancana.

She likes talking to her mom - she knows exactly when to listen and what to say. Like now, for instance. Sensing Juliet's not ready to talk yet, her mom launches into a story about the problems she and her dad had experienced eariler in the day when they tried to buy new lawn furniture.

She earns a few sniffly laughs from her daughter before segueing flawlessly into, "How was your day?"

Like her mom is turning a spigot, Juliet finds herself spilling every detail of her day - leaving out, as she always does, the most gruesome or worrying parts (although the serial killer aspect makes it difficult this time around). Juliet's made easily twenty ambling laps of the pier by the time she gets to the part of the story involving the bumbled asking out.

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry," her mom's sympathy almost provokes a tear. Almost.

"It's okay. It's fine. It's no big deal," Juliet assures her, shivering slightly in the cool breeze. Feeling chilly, she decides it's a good time to go back to the car.

"Juliet, I don't know how you do so well undercover," her mom tells her in a mock-stern tone. "Because you're a terrible liar."

Juliet grins despite herself. "Thanks, Mom," she replies sarcastically.

"Look, Bean, I know it's not the answer you want to hear tonight, but trust me. It'll work out how it's supposed to in the end."

"Yeah," Juliet agrees halfheartedly, imagining an invitation to Shawn and Abigail's 80s-themed wedding. She shudders involuntarily.

"I'm serious. Don't you trust your mother?"

Juliet smiles, strolling up the sidewalk to the parking lot. "I trust you, Mom," she tells her.

"You should," she teases. "This old lady knows what she's talking about. Haven't I told you what your father did before we were engaged?"

Juliet's smile turns into a full-fledged grin. "Yeah, yeah. We all know the story by heart."

"Good," her mom says, and Juliet can hear her smile. "Now, when are you going to grace us with your presence?"

"I've gotta go, Mom," Juliet jokes quickly, approaching her car in the almost empty lot. Her mom laughs at their usual end-of-conversation exchange.

"All right, all right. I love you, Bean. Sweet dreams."

"Bye, Mom. Love you, too."

Juliet flips her phone shut and digs through her purse for her keys. She's still smiling when she unlocks the door.

She sinks into her seat and her smile quickly fades.

Realizing she's not alone in the car, she spins but doesn't have time to pull her weapon before she feels the barrel of a gun on the base of her skull.

"Not. So. Fast," a male voice demands, and then there's a vague sense of pain as the whole world goes black.


Author's Note: Just wanted to say that the nickname "Bean" came from a young, intensely competitive softball-pitcher Juliet, because I can picture her taking out a few batters. :P