Disclaimer: I don't own psych yadda yadda no copyright infringement yadda yadda.
Rating: T.
Summary: Takes place in the days after the end of the S6 premiere ~ SPOILER ALERT if you haven't seen the premiere yet, but it should come as no shock to anyone who watched the end of S5 that Lassiter found out about Juliet and Shawn, and in the opener for S6, doesn't handle it well. CHAPTER TWO.
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The radio blared, and distracted Juliet needed a moment to realize the dispatcher was saying pursuit in progress... suspect is armed and dangerous... Steven Chandler... "That's our perp!" she said to Bryan urgently. "Hang on!" She left burnt rubber on the pavement, and Rob Bryan hung on, radioing in their participation as Juliet headed for the pursuit area.
Chandler had robbed ten convenience stores in Santa Barbara County in under two weeks, six of them in Santa Barbara itself. He'd beaten one clerk and vandalized the other places, and Juliet and her partner were tired of being one step behind his drugged-out ways. It sucked playing catch-up to a target who couldn't stay off a substance for more than a day.
They were too late to be in on the collar. Chandler had been pinned at the end of a cul-de-sac, his car smashed up against a dumpster. He was being extricated from the vehicle, but seemed to be alive.
Two police cars from across the county line were there, along with an unmarked cruiser in bad shape, its doors scraped and its windows shot out. A dark-haired man was being treated by the paramedics, there were SBPD cops all over the place, and a trim brunette who looked very aggravated was standing in the middle of it all.
Aggravation usually meant "in charge," so Juliet and Bryan went straight to her. "O'Hara and Bryan, SBPD. You are?"
"Gardner, Ventura PD. My partner and I were in pursuit after Chandler hit a convenience store in Faria." She gestured to the man with the paramedics.
Juliet noted the man's lean frame; he was shirtless and arguing with the guy who was trying to clean the blood off his arm. "Is that from the crash?" Bryan headed away to Chandler's car, where progress was being made on cutting the door.
"No," Gardner said with a certain tone. "Chandler got off a shot—more than one, actually—in Faria. But nothing would do except we had to pursue. He," and she jerked her head toward her partner, "said his arm could wait."
"No offense, but your partner's kind of an idiot." Juliet smiled. "Get him to the hospital. We can take Chandler from here."
"Oh, I don't think we'll be giving Chandler over." Gardner's tone now was mild, but somehow implacable.
Juliet straightened her spine. "Chandler's wanted for ten robberies in this county."
"He's wanted for murder in ours," Gardner shot back. "Take it up with him; he's the lead." She pointed, and Juliet steeled herself to go talk to the man.
He had his back to her, and he must have been getting tired as the adrenaline wore off, because the paramedic was prevailing. He put his hand up to rub his temple as Juliet approached, and thus it was his face was partially shielded when she said, "Detective. I'm—"
He put his hand down immediately and stared at her, those damnably blue eyes fixed on hers like a beacon, pinning her in place, and she lost all ability to breathe or think or speak.
The paramedic looked between them both. "I think I'll take a couple of minutes to get fresh bandages," he said casually, and retreated.
"Carlton," she managed, her heart pounding.
He relaxed, or maybe he was just too tired to put on any kind of show. "Juliet."
She remembered that the last time he'd spoken to her, he called her Juliet. That was four months ago.
For a few more seconds they just stared at each other, and she had no idea what he was thinking about but she was thinking oh my God I can't believe it's you why did you go what can I do please don't hate me oh God Carlton it's really you.
Then she remembered his injury, and panic rose even though with her logical brain she knew he was okay. "You were shot."
He gestured to his left arm. "It's fine." Behind him the paramedic shook his head. "It's nothing to go to the hospital about," he said more loudly, and the paramedic muttered that it wasn't up to him.
"Carlton, come on. You don't just shake off a bullet wound." Her gaze fell to his chest, streaked a little with blood. She hadn't often seen him sans shirt, and this wasn't the time to dwell on that. He had lost weight he couldn't afford to lose, she noted with detachment. "How are you, really?"
He didn't answer at first, and she watched his face carefully, trying to read him. "I'm functional," he finally said. "You?"
"Equally," she said, but it felt like a lie. "Bryan's not you." She hadn't meant to say that. Bryan was okay; he was steady and dependable, even-tempered and rational. But he wasn't Carlton Lassiter.
"Gardner's not you," he said simply, and her heart ached. "Anyway, there's work to be done. Chandler had an accomplice, and that accomplice has got some of the money."
Juliet took a deep breath. This was a job. This was his job. Focus. "About Chandler. SBPD has a vested interest in containing this guy. He's done a lot of damage and the DA wants him locked up fast."
Lassiter shook his head, which must have hurt, judging by how he put his hand up to his temple again. "He killed a clerk in Faria today. I think our DA will have a vested interest in him too."
"I don't think you can—"
"Never mind, O'Hara," he interrupted. "I'm in no condition to argue right now, and ultimately neither one of us gets a say in the matter." He stood up, as if to walk away, but this was a very bad idea, for he suddenly pitched forward, and that's how it came to pass that Juliet ended up supporting the weight of a half-undressed bleeding man whom she understood now more than ever was someone she could not live without.
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It had been a rough four months.
Lassiter had sucked up every ounce of resistance to the idea of not being in charge when he transferred to Ventura. He knew he couldn't come in to an established crew and act like someone who was used to being the head detective. He had no reason to expect support from his new chief without having earned it, so he toed the line, did as he was told, missed Juliet every moment that he was awake and most of the moments he was asleep, and put in hard work to warrant his place there.
He hadn't called her. He hadn't texted her. He had only once sent any kind of message, and that was during his second week in Ventura, a handwritten note to wish her well and thank her for working with him all those years.
But despite that attempt at closure, his feelings for her hadn't abated.
His partner, Bonnie Gardner, was efficient and tough, with a hard reserve. She didn't want to be friends, as Juliet had; she already knew her path and didn't waste time making nice with anyone. She got the job done, and he respected her, and he was even grateful that she didn't seem to want to ask him anything about himself. Their work together was quiet.
He was in a hospital room, arm securely wrapped, mild concussion from when the car was smashed, and under orders to spend the night. His chief had come and gone, Gardner had come and gone, and the nurses had come and gone. He ached, but not from the injuries. God, Juliet had looked so good. Pure sunshine. And her eyes... if he was an optimistic man, he'd have said she missed him as much as he missed her.
But he knew better: she had Spencer, and she was a social person, nice to everyone, liked by everyone. She wouldn't have had time to miss him. Who would miss him, anyway?
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Juliet paused in the hall outside his room, her heart still pounding. It seemed to have been pounding all day, and even more so since she left Santa Barbara and drove to Ventura to find him in this hospital.
Go in, she told herself. Go in. She advanced two feet, tapping on the door frame.
Lassiter was lying in bed, blue eyes closed, but they opened fully when he heard her knock, and he gazed at her, unsmiling. "I'm asleep, right?"
She went closer. "If you are, I am. How are you feeling?"
"I hurt," he said, and that could mean anything. "But I'm okay. Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."
"I'm not here to be nice, if that's what you think."
Lassiter frowned. "Then why are you here?"
She swallowed. "I'm here to beat the crap out of you. I'm here to yell and scream and cry and punch you in the nose for what you did."
He stared. "Ah."
"Ah? That's all you can say?"
"Well, hurry it up already. Visiting hours will be over soon, so you don't have a lot of time."
Juliet, despite herself, laughed. "Dammit, Carlton. Why?" She stepped up to the bed and gripped the rail. "Why did you do this?"
"It was time to move on." He looked stressed. "We both needed it."
"I didn't need it," she protested. "I didn't need it at all. I needed you. My partner. The same idiot who had the nerve to polygraph me for not telling him about Shawn and then cut me loose without a word."
Lassiter sighed. "O'Hara, this is something you should just leave alone."
Juliet stared at him. "I don't think I can do that. In fact, I know I can't. You need to—"
"I need to what?" he interrupted. "I need to work. I need to get out of this hospital and get back to work, and you need to do the same thing."
"You owe me an explanation." She reached down and put one hand on his good arm, slipping the other down to clasp his hand, holding on tight even after he tried to pull back. "I'm guessing it's not one you want to give, but you owe me. Nearly six years we spent together, Carlton, six years. You don't get to walk away clean."
He gripped her hand hard, his eyes like sky and winter and the blue sea.
"You wanted to tell me," she whispered. "But I didn't think I had time for you." It was something she'd regretted every day since he'd gone. She'd even dreamed about standing in that hall, calling him back, telling him she had a minute, please tell me what's going on.
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Lassiter felt the warmth of her hand, and saw the look in her eye, and wanted both to tell her everything and send her away at the same time. She had wrung so many secrets out of him over the years; he'd told her so many things he'd never believed he'd tell anyone, and they weren't even deep dark secrets, but merely odds and ends of a life he didn't think anyone particularly cared about, except Juliet, who always seemed interested and always followed up and always made him glad he'd told her, no matter how slight it was.
But how could he tell her this? How could he tell her how he felt? It would make her feel bad about having dragged it out of him. It would make her feel like she had to fix it. Then he'd be both an idiot and a charity case.
He didn't want to hurt her. But he was tired of hurting, too.
"Juliet. Let this go. You have a job and a life and a partner and a boyfriend. Let me go."
She stared at him, eyes glistening, and for a moment he thought she was going to back off. But then she said very quietly, "No."
"O'Hara—"
"I will not let you go," she clarified, her grip on his hand even more fierce. "I care about you too much to let you push me away. You had your four-month vacation from me. That's all you get. I'm going to leave here now and let you rest, but make no mistake. I'll find out where you live, and I will be on your doorstep, or following your car, or flat-out arresting you, if that's what it takes to keep you in my sights until you talk to me. You get it?"
Lassiter was mesmerized; only that word would describe it. "As if I could rest now," he managed.
She started to release his hand but he held on, and she leaned in to kiss his forehead, her breath warm on his skin in those few moments. "Carlton," she whispered. "You are mine."
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But he wasn't hers, she reminded herself harshly. She'd left him after that, while he was still staring at her with those eyes, those eyes, those eyes, and she'd meant what she said but what did she mean and how could she prove it and what about Shawn?
What was she saying to herself, never mind Lassiter?
She wasn't sure. But she knew what she'd told him was true.
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… more on the way …