Prelude to a Kiss
We know how it goes, yeah? No ownership in psych, no infringement intended, TPTB are very, very cool people and I'm just borrowing a corner of the sandbox.
What with FF being down all day, I got on a roll. And lo, we have two chapters.
It had been surprisingly easy, Juliet thought, as she stood in the suite's immense shower, the punishing spray from the multiple shower heads assaulting her with scalding hot water from all sides. For the past month she and Carlton had played their roles—roles that had come just as easily as Henry had said they would—standing a step or two closer together, stepping aside to have hushed conversations, spending off-hours together, at off-the-beaten track places. Hiking at one of the many parks just outside Santa Barbara, indulging Carlton's love of horses by going on a trail ride, him surprising her with a 1930s, Agatha Christie-themed dinner journey on a vintage steam-powered train. Never mind that she and Carlton solved the mystery inside of five minutes, the evening itself had been fun, no danger of being interrupted or tracked down by any friends or colleagues since they were up near San Luis Obispo.
Near the end of their first week, they made contact with the agency and here, Carlton had risen to the occasion, sitting protectively close to her during the screening, nodding and smiling when asked if a girl would be acceptable, given the high number available for adoption, but with just enough reluctance their counselor had asked if he was absolutely sure.
Carlton had been ready with a wan smile and a line about how of course, every man dreamed of having a son, just like him, but that really, the important thing was having a family. The counselor had nodded, taken notes, and said of course, she understood but there had been a gleam in the woman's eyes—avid, like a shark that had just spotted prey—that made Juliet's hackles rise and her blood boil. Instinctively, she'd reached for Carlton's hand, shocked at its iciness as it closed around hers almost desperately.
It wasn't until after they'd left that she learned what that act had cost him as he silently drove to a gas station, threw the car into park, and hurried inside as fast as his long strides could carry him without actually breaking into a run. By the time he'd emerged, pale but calmer, she was ready with ginger ale, crackers, and even greater depths of respect for her partner, especially after he'd snarled, "I am going to nail those affronts to humanity if it's the last damned thing I do, Juliet."
Their combined resolve had made even the overnights that Vick had mandated as necessary to sell their cover easier than expected. They decided his place was the better option because Shawn was far less likely to randomly drop in on Carlton than Juliet, although Carlton made certain to change the locks—just in case, he'd said, as he gave her a key. Even so, that first night had been odd—draped with a vaguely uncomfortable awareness that accompanied the realization they'd be spending a night together that wasn't on a stakeout.
But Juliet had come prepared with a pep talk on how they would treat this like a stakeout—out-of-the-ordinary maybe, but part of the job. Plus, she'd come bearing their old equalizer—movies. Halfway through Grease, they'd both relaxed and spent the rest of the night watching movies, and drinking beer, before finally drifting off to sleep. The next morning, Juliet had woken, surprised to find herself tucked under a blanket on the loveseat, when she could have sworn she'd fallen asleep on the floor, while Carlton lay sprawled on the nearby sofa, lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks and relaxed in a way she'd never seen before.
She'd lain quietly for a long time that morning, doing nothing more than watching, entranced, never having seen him asleep before. Never having seen him so... peaceful. As he'd blinked, slowly coming awake, the startling blue of his eyes muted to something softer, something surprisingly vulnerable, she'd maintained her steady gaze , smiling as he registered her presence… and returned her smile.
Which sent any thoughts of considering their time together as some sort of modified stakeout straight out the window. But she tried. There was no reason to freak her partner out with the thoughts suddenly assailing her at random moments. The increasingly powerful sensation that their cover, this make-believe, felt all too real. It was amateurish, she scolded herself. A result of all their time together. Transference. A bunch of other terms she'd learned at the Academy.
Right?
Then came the second night they spent together when, while paying off the pizza guy, Carlton spotted an unfamiliar car, parked just far enough away to be unobtrusive, but close enough for surveillance. After coming back upstairs and placing the pizza on the table, he surprised the hell out of her by taking her in his arms and holding her close, sending her heart rate into an overdrive that she'd later explain away as a rush of adrenaline. One hand playing through her hair, fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her neck, he'd leaned down and whispered in her ear they were being watched; picking up his cue, she'd drawn back, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling, acutely aware of their position near a window. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped as he turned his head and kissed her palm any more than she could help the pang of hurt she experienced at his apologetic expression as he did. They'd proceeded to share their pizza, Juliet at one point sinking playfully into his lap to offer him bites from her slice and drink from his beer, mindful of how intimate their shadowy forms would appear on the other side of the window and whispering in his ear that he didn't have to apologize for anything he felt necessary to protect their cover—that she honestly didn't mind.
She'd boldly punctuated that last with a kiss to his cheek, stopping just shy of his mouth, afraid that would send him toppling off the chair in shock and blow their story to hell. As it was, his entire body had tensed beneath hers, his fingers tightening on her hip and when she'd risen, it had been on slightly shaky legs and a lot warmer than a few sips of beer could have accounted for.
Juliet knew then she was playing with fire, but like a curious toddler, just couldn't seem to stay away from the source, justifying it as a means to the end. Arguing that the knowledge they were being watched effectively scratched their initial plans to utilize both of Carlton's bedrooms. That it would be patently stupid to jeopardize their cover over something so easily addressed. Especially when his king-sized bed had more than enough room to accommodate both of them comfortably. With a lot of room between them.
Lot of room, considering how he started out clinging to the far edge of the mattress.
Luckily, she'd at least been able to convince him—after a fair amount of cajoling and a subtle move toward her sidearm—that no, it was not necessary for him to sleep on top of the covers not to mention, ridiculous for him to sleep fully clothed in his suit. And so what if they happened to wake up the next morning—and every morning after a night spent together thereafter—with both of them having gravitated toward the center of his big bed, his arm wrapped comfortably around her waist? That was just human desire for closeness, right?
Right.
Luckily, it didn't affect their working relationship… much. They continued on as usual, working cases, solving cases, Psych being successfully assigned to other teams and in a stroke of pure genius—not to mention, evil—on the Chief's part, being loaned out to the Coast Guard for a drug trafficking case that had sent Shawn out to sea more than two weeks earlier. And if there was a little more awareness between herself and Carlton—a little more care, a little more fear when a perp pulled a gun on him, a little more aggressiveness on his part when a thug threatened her with a knife—that was only a natural byproduct of so much time spent together and really, only served to reinforce their cover.
Right?
Right?
Juliet sighed and lowered her head, allowing the water from the rainfall showerhead to sluice through her hair and down her back.
All of this was well and good, but it didn't do a damned thing to explain how they'd gotten here—which had turned out to be Lake Tahoe, according to the embroidery on the plush complimentary robes—and apparently married. She stared at the ring on her finger as she spun the taps shut and reached for the towel waiting on the heated rack. Last thing either of them was able to recall clearly was their attendance at the agency's Get To Know Us Mixer—a monthly cocktail party for new parents and prospective clients to meet and exchange stories and experiences. Once again, Carlton had played his part impeccably although his hand, as it held hers, had trembled on more than one occasion—with nerves or anger, she wasn't sure. Probably both, given that she'd felt the same way once they realized that all the new parents had availed themselves of the agency's special services and all the prospective parents were interested in said services.
Next thing either of them remembered—really remembered—was waking up, together, naked, and clearly a whole lot closer than they'd ever been before.
She would not dwell on the snippets of sensation, the wisps of memory, that had assaulted her as she woke—that only grew stronger during the shower Carlton had insisted she take while he did some reconnaissance. She couldn't afford to dwell, no matter how damned good those memories felt, skimming along the surface of her body along with the water, like the touch of a long-fingered hand or the warm, wet feel of a mouth learning every shadowy curve and hollow.
Staring at herself in the mirror as she wrapped herself in a robe she couldn't dwell on the sure knowledge that if he hadn't spotted those tiny pin pricks on her arm, they would have made love right there on the bathroom floor, fully conscious and situation be damned. The urge had been near overwhelming, desperate to learn him in the light of day—to experience everything he'd done that had left her so deliciously achy and sore, yet ready to go again and again and again, until they both dropped from sheer exhaustion and she maybe had another hickey or two to go with the utterly impressive one the man had left at the base of her throat.
If she knew any one thing, though, it was that Carlton would have hated himself afterward.
And if she knew any one other thing, it was that she wouldn't have. The absolute certainty with which that thought occurred brought with it more questions and potential ramifications Juliet was going to have to seriously consider.
Unfortunately, any considerations, serious or otherwise, would have to wait, because now it appeared they had two cases to solve and she had a genuinely freaked out partner and new husband to deal with.