. . . .

. . .

Am I a good cop?

The question came right after he turned out his light and settled into bed. It was just past eleven, and he hadn't texted her since yesterday, but he'd wanted to—enough so he'd had to lecture himself about remembering to not be a pushy asshat.

He sent: Yes.

You're not just saying that?

He couldn't blame her for wondering.

O'Hara, I'm not nice enough to lie about whether you're good at your job. You know you're a great cop.

Pause.

Carlton.

The single word on his screen seemed to shout out a hundred other questions, so he asked one of his own.

What's this about?

The pause was longer.

Have I ever, really, been too quick to jump on a lead from Shawn?

While he was considering how to filter out his opinion from the truth, she sent another one.

Have I been gullible?

And another.

Have I been a damned fool?

No. Influenced by hope and optimism, maybe, things he wasn't overly comfortable with. But never a fool.

What the hell number had Spencer done on her?

He thought screw it and called her, and she answered immediately with a breathless sort of "Hi."

"O'Hara, listen to me," he said firmly. "You have never been either a fool or gullible. Spencer is a master manipulator but you've always kept your eyes on the goal of solving the case. If you're quicker than I am to follow one of his crackpot leads, it's only because you're more open to... the unconventional than I am."

He could hear her breathing, somewhere far away, but yet so close.

"Thank you," she finally said.

He wanted to ask her where she was. Why she'd gone off so suddenly. Why she was asking these questions about herself. Whether he needed to shoot Spencer.

"Are you all right?"

Juliet sighed. "Yeah."

There had to be more. He needed more. "Sure?"

"I'm just... thinking about a lot of things. Sometimes the… spotlight we put on ourselves is so bright we need someone else to tell us what's under our noses."

"Well, I know a little about self-doubt myself," he said quietly, and probably only because the lights were out and she seemed so close, and this felt so very private and intimate.

"Not about your ability to do your job."

"Definitely about my ability to do my job," he countered. "For at least the last six years. Being repeatedly shown up and undermined and publicly mocked doesn't help, either."

She made a sound—dear God, a sniffle? Was that for him?—and took a deep breath. "I am so sorry for anything I did—or didn't do—which made that worse."

"Oh, hell no. Don't think that. God, woman, you're the only reason I—" Haven't transferred out away from him. Haven't shot him. Haven't shot myself.

The next sound was unmistakably Juliet blowing her nose.

"Carlton," she said softly. "Thank you. For that, and for answering the text, and for calling me, and for everything."

"You have nothing to thank me for. But…"

"Yes?"

He hesitated, looking toward the window, through which he could see the night sky and a sliver of moon. "Keep in touch while you're away, okay?"

Her smile was almost palpable; it was in her voice as she said, "I will. Every day. I promise."

"You don't have to promise," he said gruffly.

"But I am." She blew her nose again, but her tone remained light. "I have to make sure you don't give my job away."

"I'll pierce my nose before that happens, O'Hara."

The sound of her laughter was so damned nice that after she said goodnight, he lay smiling at the ceiling for a few moments simply glad to have heard it, let alone caused it.

. . . .

. . .

Karen poured coffee into her mug Friday morning, thinking about meetings with the mayor and the press and various other police officials, about more problematic issues than she wished to have to deal with. When Shawn Spencer loped down the main hall, her first thought was oh I really don't have time for him, her second thought was but that's okay, since he's aiming for Lassiter, and then if I stand just so behind this column, they might not notice me.

She didn't normally hide from trouble, but Shawn could be very… draining.

"Detective Lassiter," Shawn said with dramatic formality.

"Spencer." He didn't even look up from his computer screen.

Shawn hovered restlessly for a few moments, not saying anything.

From where she stood, Karen could see the annoyance in Lassiter's vivid blue eyes when he turned to Shawn and said, "Either sit or stand. Don't waft."

"Wafting. That's new. Fine, I'll sit."

"Stop talking about sitting, and sit. What do you want?"

Shawn's body language, even ostensibly 'relaxed' in the chair, said he was uncertain, uneasy, agitated. "Jules. Have you heard from her?"

Lassiter looked fully at him again, the blue sharpening to ice. "You still don't have any idea what you did to make her leave?"

"Dude, I have no idea. None. You're the last person I'd expect to admit that to, but there it is. I'm at a loss. I haven't heard from her since last Friday—a full week. Nothing."

Karen watched him with as much interest as Lassiter was showing.

But Shawn went on slowly, "I'm sensing, however, that you've heard from her."

Lassiter met his gaze evenly. "Yes."

"Well what the hell? Why didn't you say something?"

"She asked me not to," he said simply, and Karen thought, bless you for honoring her request, and shame on me for doubting you would.

"What? Why? Where is she?" He was more agitated. "I cannot believe you would keep this from me."

Leaning in closer, Lassiter said flatly, "My loyalty is to my partner, not to you."

Shawn was quiet, but only for a second. "Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"The hell," Shawn retorted. "If you've been in touch with her, then—"

"Spencer, I don't know where she is. I haven't asked, and I won't. If she wanted me—or you—to know, she'd have said so."

"You can't expect me to think you haven't run her credit cards."

Karen's professional ears started listening more closely.

But her head detective did not disappoint. "That's not only against all department protocol, Spencer, but it would also be an invasion of O'Hara's privacy, and as I've already said, my loyalty is to her." He stood up abruptly, anger in his features. "I don't know what you did to screw things up but you'd better figure it out fast."

She remembered her realization of his feelings for Juliet, and read his body language as being more personally irate than professionally so. Still, he didn't cross any lines or let his guard down. Master of self-control, was Carlton Lassiter.

Shawn got up too, suddenly conciliatory in a way which surprised her. "Look, I'm just concerned. I know you can understand that. Is she all right? Has she said…" He stopped. "Just tell me she's all right."

Lassiter just looked at him for a moment. "I really don't know that either, Spencer."

"When did you…" Another pause. "If you hear from her again, please ask her to call me."

"Before or after you try to hack into her financial records yourself?" Lassiter asked dryly.

Shawn grinned. "As if I would ever do that."

She rolled her eyes, and sipped coffee calmly while Lassiter advanced on Spencer, steel comprising every inch of his lean frame.

"Don't. Just leave her alone. When she wants to talk to you, she will. Hell, you don't even know what you did but you're prepared to make it ten times worse? Asshat."

Shawn retorted, "Why are you so sure I did anything at all? I'm telling you, I was here last Friday after the whole Harrison Yerden thing ended. You saw us; we were right here at your desk. Everything was fine. It's entirely possible you're the one who pissed her off, Lassie; in fact it's statistically the most likely scenario. I'm the beloved boyfriend. You're just the cranky, grumpy—"

"Mr. Spencer," Karen said sharply, coming out from behind the column. "May I help you with something?" She cast a quick glance at the simmering Irishman, judged he wasn't going for his weapon, and returned her attention to Shawn. "I wasn't under the impression Psych had been hired for any cases this week."

Shawn glared at Lassiter anyway, and then put on a fake smile for her. "Just checking in, Chief. I don't suppose you have any idea where my girlfriend is?"

"If by girlfriend you mean my Detective O'Hara—since your personal relationship should be irrelevant when you're on my turf, Mr. Spencer—the answer is no." She took another sip of her coffee. "But frankly, I might not tell you even if I did know. Will there be anything else?"

He looked at her with clear frustration in his eyes. "No, Chief. I suppose not." He glanced balefully at Lassiter before he left.

When he was out of earshot, Lassiter muttered, "I know you didn't do that for me, but thank you."

"I kind of did do it for you, Detective. And O'Hara." She smiled. "Sometimes my job has an up side."

He half-smiled. "Yeah. But in case you were wondering, I don't want your job as much as I used to."

Karen laughed. "I don't blame you." She started to leave him, but an impulse made her stop. "How is O'Hara?"

He tensed, but she knew he would answer honestly, and not just because she'd run Spencer off. "I don't really know. She's been in touch but hasn't said where she is or why she took off. Something's on her mind, but she's keeping it to herself."

And something's on your mind too, she thought, or maybe your heart, but didn't push. He'd push himself enough without her help.

. . . .

. . .

Juliet was glad she'd talked to Carlton last night. She knew he would never lie to her—he might fudge, because he did care about her; she knew he did—but the essence of anything he told her would be true.

Thinking about it as dispassionately as possible, she supposed the same could be said for Shawn. The kernel of his words was true. But the sentences those words formed were suspect from start to finish. It was as if he wanted to be mistrusted, wanted to be thought of as unreliable.

Of course, it all played up to the 'mysterious psychic' vibe he tried to maintain.

She was done helping maintain that vibe. Done.

Legs tucked up under her on the glider as the sun set over the trees, she held on to her teacup with one hand and her phone with the other.

Did she just want an excuse to talk about Shawn? Or… was Shawn her excuse for talking to Carlton?

Carlton. The last person, she thought with a smile, anyone would think of as a confidant, or the go-to guy if you needed comfort. But he'd been both for her in the past, and she knew without a doubt he would be there for her again if she asked.

Plus, he would like this place. It was hard for most people to believe the buttoned-down, coffee-swilling, fast-moving detective would be at peace in a setting like this, far removed from city life, but those people hadn't sat in a car with him during long stakeouts, listening as he described fishing trips, trips she suspected he took as much for the solitude as for the fish.

And he knew the mountains, the terrain; he spoke proudly of survival skills but he also spoke with bemusement, and contentment, of the peacefulness he found in the wilderness, and how he wished for more opportunities to get away.

He was not the man most people saw. She knew her knowledge of him was deeper and richer, and she was grateful for what he shared with her.

She put the teacup down.

It's Friday night. Am I interrupting your moves on the ladies?

If you mean the two plants by the kitchen window, Stella and Blanche, yeah.

She laughed out loud. Would you like me to leave you three alone?

No. They're both mad at me anyway. No chance of action tonight.

Juliet was already happier than she'd been all day. Sorry. Plants can be real heart-breakers.

(Call me, she was thinking. Call me. Let me be the coward one more time.)

I'm still not over the cactus affair. Damn, she was prickly.

She was laughing again, her eyes inexplicably misty.

Carlton. Thank you for last night.

Silence. The chirp took longer than she wanted.

He's been asking about you.

A catch in her throat. Painful. I know you won't tell him anything.

Even if I had something to tell, I wouldn't. And I hate like hell to say this, but you should get in touch.

She read it over and over again.

He sent another one: Even if it's just to say you won't be getting in touch.

"You are so strong," she whispered, "not asking me any questions."

Juliet.

I'm sorry to push.

She wiped her eyes and called him. "You're not pushing," she said as soon as he answered. "You're right."

He let out a breath. "I don't want to be right. I just want…"

"You shouldn't be in the middle."

"No, it's not that. I don't mind. Hell, I'll be a barrier as long as you want. But it might be easier for you if you just… I don't know. A text. A voicemail at eight in the morning, hours before he wakes up."

She couldn't help but smile a little. "I could do that."

"Okay," he said quietly.

"I'm not ready to talk to him, Carlton."

"I know. And it's not my business, but I'll have your back no matter what you decide."

"I know you will," she said with a sigh. "That's the one thing I'm absolutely sure of, every day. I know you have my back."

She wanted to tell him everything. She needed to. But not yet. She wasn't finished being angry and hurt and upset and she couldn't be those things when she talked to Carlton about this, because he would be angry on her behalf and he might not be really able to listen.

"I know you have mine." His voice was so gentle.

Juliet took a moment to settle herself. Sip of cooling tea. "It's lovely here. You would like it."

"Tell me about it."

"Not yet. Please understand."

"I do. I'm happy to hear from you at all, Juliet. You can keep your whereabouts a secret as long as you like."

Her fingers were shaking, and she had to put the cup down again. "You'll be the first person I tell, Carlton. You're already the only person I want to tell."

His intake of breath was sharp, and she imagined his blue eyes were wide. "Take as long as you like."

A little voice said it wouldn't be very long at all.

. . . .

. . .