Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Through season six finale
A/N: The title is a line from a poem by Ogden Nash. Unfortunately I don't remember the title of the poem.
Chapter Nine: A Little Incompatibility is the Spice of Life - Especially When He has Income and She is Patable
She caught up to him at Meltreger's, the most trendy of the three bars he occasionally patronized. She was simultaneously relieved and anxious to be able to read sobriety in the way he sat his barstool. There was a buffer zone of empty stools around him, partly because he always chose the least-occupied section of bar to sit, partly because it didn't take even drunk people long to know that it wasn't wise to get too chatty with the suspicious-eyed man in the grey business suit. She gave herself one final prink in the mirror of her powder compact, touched up her dark coral lipstick, and approached.
"What say you pay up your tab and take me out to dinner?" she said, coming up beside him. He stared at her over his Old Fashioned, agape. She pushed his hand down so that he put the tumbler on the bar.
"O'Hara, I…" His eyes traveled over her, from her still slightly damp hair to her high hemline and down to her creamy white pumps. He swallowed hard. "You look lovely."
She smiled, a little shyly, and reached down the neck of her dress - causing his eyes to pop slightly - to pull out the platinum pendant.
"I haven't taken this off all week," she confessed. "Not even in the shower. I suppose that's not good for the metal but I just couldn't bring myself to take it off somehow."
His voice was a hoarse croak when he spoke, and he had to gulp down some of the bourbon. "I'm glad you like it."
"I love it. And I think, just maybe, that I love you."
He choked on his drink and she had to slap him hard on the back before he could breathe again. She nodded toward the door. "Come on - my car's in the parking lot and I know you took a cab. I was thinking chicken marsala, some nice wine, maybe a little dancing?"
At best he looked confused. "Dancing?"
"Yeah. I mean, I know those lessons you took were for tap but you could manage a little slow dance, couldn't you?"
"Slow dance? Me? With…with you?"
The spiky-haired female bartender took his glass away and wiped down the bar. "The lady's asking you on a date, Dirty Harry. I suggest you take her up on it."
"A date? O'Hara, I can't…we can't…"
"Yes, we can. Yes, you can. Now let's go - I'm kind of hungry."
"Eight eighty-seven," the bartender said. Silent, numb, Lassiter pulled out his wallet and paid up his tab. Juliet tugged on his arm and he followed her out into the parking lot. She folded him into the passenger seat of her VW and climbed behind the wheel.
"I hope you don't feel railroaded," she said as she started the car. "I don't mean to pressure you into something you don't want, I just thought that after everything that happened we could use a night out to get comfortable with each other again, and if you wanted something more, then, well…we could see where the night takes us."
"Where the…night takes us," he repeated slowly, and looked at her again. She knew he was wondering whether the lack of lines beneath the clingy fabric of her dress meant she wasn't wearing a bra or panties, and in fact she wasn't - and hopefully the restaurant would be nice and warm or she was going to end up a little bit embarrassed, even though she didn't mind flashing her high beams at Carlton. "Juliet, I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Okay, I'm just going to ask you outright. Carlton, would you be interested in being my boyfriend? I would use another term for it but honestly I can't think of one that doesn't sound ridiculous."
He stared at her. "Why…would you ask that?"
She laughed. "Because I'm interested in being your girlfriend, that's why."
His jaw dropped. "You're not…you're not serious…?"
"I am," she said. "I've been thinking a lot about you lately, and about us. I don't know that we could have something together, but…I really think that there's a damned good chance, and I don't want to miss out on a good thing because I'm scared to take a risk."
"But…but I'm…and you…you're…"
"Carlton. Put your doubts and insecurities aside for a minute and answer the question."
"I…" he blushed deeply and looked out his window. "I'd like to take that chance, Juliet, but not with your career. The last time I tried to have a personal relationship with a partner she got transferred."
"Vick chewed me out pretty thoroughly, Monday morning," Juliet said. "She wasn't angry that we'd had sex, she was worried that I might use you for sex until I found another boyfriend. She told me pretty much outright that she would ship me out in a heartbeat if she found out that had happened, but she also more or less told me that I should consider a serious relationship. It makes me wonder exactly why Berry got transferred, but it also makes me think that if we were open about it, and still managed to maintain our professional partnership, she wouldn't have a problem with us being together."
"Are you sure you didn't misinterpret her?" he asked.
"There wasn't a whole lot of room for interpretation, really. She just didn't say 'the two of you should get serious' outright. She was very protective of you, it was kind of sweet really."
Silence descended for a time while she drove, then, "Can I ask you…kind of a personal question?" he said.
"I suppose so."
"Why would Vick think that you would…'use me for sex?'"
"Ha. Because she's a perceptive woman."
"Pardon?"
She risked taking her eyes off the road for a moment to meet his gaze. "I wanted to have sex with you again, Carlton - clean and sober sex. She could tell."
"You…did?" he asked wonderingly.
She took one hand off the wheel to grab his thigh. "I do. I already knew that you couldn't be a casual hookup - Vick just drove the point home. It took me this long to sort out how I felt about the idea of being more than friends, with or without benefits."
"Don't you think, maybe, this is a little too soon for you to be thinking about starting anything serious?" he said, a little breathlessly.
"Please. I can't rebound fast enough from Shawn Spencer. I love you, Carlton - that's something I know. Whether I can be in love with you remains to be seen, but I know that you're worthy of it." She took her eyes off the road again. "I know you've been hurt in the past, Carlton, and I know it's hard for you to trust. I also know that I broke your trust in the past. Do you still have faith enough in me to give me a chance? The last thing I want is to break your heart."
"Yeah. Yeah, I trust you."
"Thank you for that," she said warmly. She pulled into the restaurant parking lot. "A little crowded. Hope we can get a table."
"We might have to sit at the bar for a few minutes but this place is rarely all that bad on seating," Lassiter said. They went inside and the maitre d' found them a nice, intimate booth at the back of the restaurant, with high seatbacks that cut off view of the other diners, and a padded bench seat that put them side-by-side instead of across the table from each other. The waiter arrived a few moments after they were seated to give them their menus, and the wine steward came to take their drinks order. Lassiter ordered a fairly expensive bottle of champagne.
"Carlton, white wine would be just fine," Juliet protested, but she was smiling. He shrugged.
"If you really want to do this thing then I figure we should do it up right," he said. "If you'd prefer white wine, though, then I'll change the order."
"I've never had champagne," she said shyly.
"Then it's time you had," he said decisively. The wine steward returned smartly with their bottle, opened it, and poured two flutes for them. Juliet raised hers.
"A toast?" she offered. "To new beginnings."
Lassiter smiled and raised his own glass. "I'll drink to that."
