CHAPTER TEN
. . . .
. . .
"You hit her?"
"Well, not as hard as I wanted." At his perturbed expression, Juliet explained, "She was on top of Carlton on the raised bed so the angle was all wrong. Best I could do was clip her under the chin and knock her loose."
Dr. Gentry did not seem comforted.
"And I was… kind of yelling some things at her too, which caught the attention of a passing nurse, and a few minutes later, I was ejected from the hospital for the day."
He did not miss the opportunity. "What were you yelling?"
She shifted in the chair. "I'm not… entirely sure I… quite remember what I… might have said."
His smile was faint. "We'll come back to that. How's Kate?"
"Fine. She was ejected too." She hoped her smug satisfaction at having bruised the little orgasmo-queen wasn't too obvious.
"Wait—wasn't she a patient?"
"She was about to be discharged, and technically she assaulted a police officer."
"But you punched her."
"Because she was attacking another patient in his bed," Juliet retorted.
Dr. Gentry laughed. "Of course; I'm sorry. How's Carlton doing?"
She felt uneasy again. "I think he's okay. He was trying to push her off of him and if he used both arms for that out of instinct, he might be feeling pretty crappy. Plus, who knows whether she hurt his leg when she hauled her skanky ass up there."
"True." So mild, his tone. "Now, you're sure you were only looking out for the interests of a fellow officer?"
"Yeah right," she muttered. "Chick was mauling my man."
Again, his laughter was warm, as if he honestly and inexplicably thought she were perfectly rational. "Should we revisit what you might have been saying to her during all this?"
Juliet sighed. "I might have said 'he's mine, you oversexed bitch.'"
"Might have," he repeated with a grin.
"Might have. But then again, maybe what I said was, 'move away from the injured man in a calm and orderly fashion.'"
"Hmmm."
"'… you oversexed bitch.'"
"I really should not laugh at that," he said—while laughing. "Yes, I believe we can safely assume your feelings of possessiveness toward Carlton go beyond mere partnership."
"Damn straight."
"All right," he went on after composing himself. "So you and Carlton have re-established the closeness which was lacking in the past year, if not increased it. What about your relationship with Shawn?"
Juliet had been ignoring Shawn's calls since Sunday afternoon. His texts and messages were testy rather than conciliatory or even befuddled, and he didn't come by the hospital.
For the doctor, she laid out their last conversation, relieved to be able to say she'd put the kibosh on living together even though she hadn't found the courage or energy to do more than that.
"I can't remember if I told you this, but we worked a case over a year ago involving a mental hospital. Shawn went undercover as a patient and the psychiatrist who was assisting us gave him a diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder."
Dr. Gentry nodded. "It's risky for me to say so without ever having met him, but from what you've told me, I suspect that doctor was correct. However, we're here to talk about you and your course of action, and I must remind you about the importance of ending your current relationship and having some breathing room before you initiate something new, regardless of your certainty of your feelings for Carlton. The breathing room is for him as well."
"Um. Yes. About that."
"Yes?"
"Um. Well. Before I left, he, uh, gave me a pretty clear sign he might not need so much breathing room as you think."
Dr. Gentry regarded her curiously. "And what was this sign?"
Juliet felt flushed.
. . . .
. . .
After Juliet was forcibly removed from the room on Monday—right behind the frighteningly randy Kate Favor—Carlton's doctor came in to check him out post-scuffle.
While Nurse Wendy looked on in clear disbelief that two women appeared—at least circumstantially—to be fighting over this particular patient, the doctor judged that none of his stitches had been pulled, and despite understandably elevated blood pressure and pulse, Carlton was allowed to get out of bed—with assistance—as desired.
He might even be released by the end of the week; no promises.
Carlton could barely concentrate on anything he said. He heard only "out of bed" and "released soon" with his ears, and "holy crap, what the hell just happened with Juliet" in his head.
The doctor made a few chart notations and left the room; the nurse eyed Carlton warily.
"I'm fine," he said testily. "I want to get out of bed now. I want to sit in that damned chair by that damned window. Okay? Now. And you didn't have to kick Detective O'Hara out. She was defending me."
Nurse Wendy was unimpressed. "Too bad. She assaulted a patient, just like Ms. Favor did. You're lucky we didn't ban her or call the cops."
"Lady, we are the cops."
"Not in here, you're not. In here, you're just another patient, and she's just another visitor."
He kept his grumblings silent for a change.
She summoned the orderly, and with minimal fuss or pain, Carlton was soon out of bed and seated in the padded chair with his leg up. The orderly brought him his laptop, Wendy said they'd be back in an hour, and for a few moments he just sat, eyes closed, reliving the last thirty minutes.
His mother sailing in. Dear God. Being trapped in the bed, no way to escape… he shuddered. Thank God for Althea's innate goodness and ability to know when he needed protection, not that he would ever admit such a thing to any living soul (except possibly Juliet) (and Althea) (probably just Juliet).
Then seeing his mother turn her Spotlight of Doom upon Juliet—and how Juliet rallied.
"Carlton's special lady friend…"
He felt mortified anew. Although Juliet hadn't done more than turn pink, at least in his presence. She might have extricated herself from the assumption as soon as she was safely out in the hall with them.
Then Kate Favor.
For one second he allowed himself to feel purely male pride about having been desired by an attractive woman.
For every second after that, he was unable to forget exactly how many men Kate Favor had in all likelihood desired—and acquired—in her adult life.
Yeah, I don't think so.
And Juliet returning to the room.
Yeah… wow.
Carlton took a deep breath, and then another. And another.
Because wow.
He reached over for the laptop and managed to turn it on. He'd do better at a table and it was unlikely Statler was available on an emergency basis, but at the least he could set up a time to 'chat' with him later.
And when exactly did you become someone who would actively seek out this kind of assistance? You of all people, Carlton 'I Can Damn Well Take Care Of It Myself' Lassiter?
Shut it. This is a woman we're talking about.
Oh yeah. Good point.
Besides, buddy… in case you forgot, someone else's opinion might come in handy to explain why the hell you kissed her before they threw her out.
. . . .
. . .
Juliet closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying again to absorb the enormity of it.
"You'll have to do a bit more than look euphoric if you want me to understand," Dr. Gentry remarked.
How did he always seem so calm?
"The nurse was snapping and Kate was being hustled out and Carlton was very agitated. They wanted to throw me out but I went to his bed to get him to settle down. He was trying to get up, and he was arguing with the nurse and the orderly and someone said something about calling security. I just wanted him to calm down, and I wanted to apologize for causing such a disruption even though I kind of also wanted to chase after Kate and give her a proper punch."
Dr. Gentry cleared his throat. "One day, Juliet, we should probably discuss your anger issues."
"Yeah, who knew, right?" She grinned. "It's handy on the job sometimes. You have no idea. Anyway, I went to his bed and tried to push him back onto his pillows but he fought me. Carlton," she added flatly, "is the definition of stubborn."
"Juliet, are you okay?" The blue of his eyes was turbulent, shocked, angry, worried.
"Yes," she promised, and held out her 'punching' hand to show him."Please lie back down."
Carlton was still trying to get into a sitting position, if not get out of the bed entirely.
Behind them, Nurse Wendy stood in the doorway telling an anxious Kate Favor she really could not come back in. The orderly was looking between that action and theirs, unsure where to stand to jump in if called upon.
"They can't kick you out," Carlton said hotly.
"They can, and it's okay. I'll call you later and see how you are." She patted his chest—touching bare skin again thanks to the v-neck gown which had been torturing her the last few days—but Carlton grasped her hand before she could withdraw.
"Thank you."
Juliet smiled—suddenly feeling sort of tremulous—and didn't want to leave him at all.
His eyes were stormy-ocean blue now, and his grip on her hand tightened. "I mean it."
"Oh, Carlton, I'd do it again in a—"
In a what? She couldn't remember, because suddenly his warm mouth was on hers, and he let go of her hand to cup her cheek, slipping his long fingers into her hair and drawing her close, seeking and giving.
He's kissing me, she thought. My God, Carlton is kissing me.
And Carlton is kissing me very, very well.
Nurse Wendy said sharply, "That's all very nice, but it's time for Miss O'Hara to leave and for Mr. Lassiter to get back to his recovery."
Juliet—who hadn't realized she was standing on tiptoes in order to deepen the kiss—abruptly hit the floor again, along with reality.
The nurse grasped her arm firmly and pulled her slightly away from the bed. "Do not return before I start my shift tomorrow morning at eleven. I will make sure the security officers and orderlies have their phasers set on stun. Do not call Mr. Lassiter this evening either; I will not have any more agitation heaped upon him today. Is that understood?"
Juliet was lost in Carlton's damn-near-hypnotic blue gaze.
"Miss O'Hara!"
"Understood," she managed, and was hustled out of the room before Carlton could so much as protest.
She looked now at Dr. Gentry, who gazed back at her most interestedly.
"So."
"Yes," he agreed. "So. Can you elaborate upon what your feelings are about this incident? I mean, in a non-giddy person's terms?"
Juliet had to laugh at the gentle poke. "Well… I'm pleased, and I'd like to do it again without an audience, but I'm also a little worried, because I know Carlton. He's probably completely twisted up about this right now."
"Because…?"
"Oh, Dr. Gentry. Carlton feels so… responsible for everything. He'll be asking himself if he took advantage of me. Or if I kissed him back so his feelings wouldn't be hurt. Or if I'm going to call the chief and demand a new partner. Or if word's gotten back to the station about it and we're both in trouble. I know him. I mean…" She sighed. "I know him better than anyone else does, I'd bank on that. But I guess I only know him as well as he lets himself be known. Maybe I don't know anything."
"Now, Juliet—"
"Getting involved with Shawn being an excellent example of that."
"Stop right there," he cautioned her. "We're working on unraveling the mysteries of two very complicated relationships. You must not hold yourself up to an unrealistic standard."
Juliet knew he was right. She also knew there were so many things for her girl-brain to process: the kiss, Shawn, the feel of Carlton's bare skin under her hand, the kiss, Carlton's lit-from-within blue, blue eyes, the jealous rage she'd felt over Kate manhandling him, the kiss, getting out of her relationship with Shawn, and the kiss.
Not to mention the kiss.
"It was a very good kiss," she said softly.
Dr. Gentry smiled. "I'm sure it was. Let's talk about how to keep things under control for awhile, okay? For both of your relationships in their transitional stages."
Control. Huh. That'd be nice.
"So you're advising me not to pull a Kate on him next time I go to the hospital?"
Because the idea of straddling her lean blue-eyed Irishman, with only the thin cotton of his hospital gown between them… mmmmmm.
"Yes, Juliet. I am advising you not to 'pull a Kate' on Carlton."
"Do you always have to be right?" She sounded plaintive.
He laughed. "In this office? Yeah, I kinda do."
Well, that sucked.
. . . .
. . .
Four a.m. Tuesday morning.
Carlton had scored a five a.m. time slot with Statler (eight a.m. for the doctor), but judging by how long it took to get the request through, he knew he absolutely had to be able to sit at a table with the laptop in front of him, and even then it was going to be slow, typing with one hand.
Juliet couldn't come back until eleven, so he wasn't worried about her (or the fierce Nurse Wendy Westlake) walking in on him, but he had a bigger issue right now: getting out of bed without undue shoulder pain, making it to the chair, figuring out how to lower the bedside rolling table to serve as a desk, and—who was he kidding? He couldn't do all that on his own with one arm out of commission.
Lying back, willing the frustration to abate, he remembered something Juliet had cautiously told him some years ago.
They were at a coffee shop where the on-duty barista did not like him one bit. Juliet made the calm observation that he'd been rude to her. Carlton had first protested the accusation, then said it hardly mattered whether he was rude to a barista; it would only lead to having to be polite to other people as well when they were too slow to give him life-saving caffeine, and all that time spent being polite would delay the solving of crime, which she might do well to remember was their job. Juliet made the further calm observation that taking an extra five seconds to be less abrasive would make law-abiding citizens more inclined to do what he said when it was really important (like "Everybody down! Now!").
Smile, she'd told him, and this is where she got cautious. You have those really nice big blue eyes and women respond to big blue eyes, so smile. Just a little. And see what happens.
Grudgingly, since otherwise the barista would continue to figure out ways to serve him less and less or worse and worse coffee, he gave it a shot.
The first day, the barista merely frowned at him. The second day, she seemed puzzled. The third day, she acted as if he were an ordinary first-time customer. The fourth day, she smiled back.
He'd never have believed it possible and he refused to return to the coffee shop after that, in case it was a terrible fluke and the woman intended to run him through the espresso machine, but he didn't forget how… remarkable it was to smile at a woman who smiled back, simply because she liked his eyes, and no matter what kind of an ass she'd previously thought him to be.
These reminiscences led to one conclusion: he was going to have to ask for help, and he was going to have to be nice about it.
Dammit.
The night nurse was new to him, and obviously tired. She responded to his call perfunctorily, but when she entered the room he mustered up every positive vibe possible and tried out the smile as he asked her to help him to the chair and see about lowering the rolling table to serve as his desk.
She frowned. "It's not even 4:30 in the morning. You should be sleeping. How's your pain?"
"Under control. I feel okay but I can't sleep. I'm…" He paused. Don't lay it on too thick. "I've got some people who want to hear from me and I figure this is as good a time as any to get in touch."
Still she frowned… but not as much.
He smiled again. He hoped he didn't come across like the damned cat in Shrek 2.
(Though if that would work…)
Shortly before five, he was situated even more comfortably than he'd dreamed of: the nurse had stuffed pillows behind his lower back so he could properly sit up in the chair, and the table was lowered to the perfect height, positioned so he could use the laptop one-handed.
It would still be slow, but he could do it.
StatlerPsyD: Good morning, CL. I wondered if you'd given up on these sessions.
CL: Hang on. Gotta type one-handed. Highlights ahead.
StatlerPsyD: This should be interesting. Take your time.
CL: Stepped in a bear trap last week, messed up leg. Next day, shot in the back by Serbian. In hospital. Juliet with me the whole time. Yesterday she popped a woman trying to maul me & got kicked out. Kissed her. She kissed me back.
CL: You there?
StatlerPsyD: Yes. When you sum up, CL, you cover an impressive amount of ground. May I make a suggestion?
CL: Yeah.
The next thing to appear on his screen was a long-distance phone number.
CL: What's that?
StatlerPsyD: My cell.
CL: Why?
StatlerPsyD: I think given your medical situation—you only have the use of one arm?—and the fact you've just dropped about seventeen bombshells in one relatively short paragraph, an actual conversation might be more productive.
Carlton's thoughts were a mix of hell no and dammit he's right, with a side of all that trouble to use the damn laptop and I end up on the phone, and a chaser of but then he'll be real. This will be real. You asking for help will be real.
And obviously habitual, damn it all.
StatlerPsyD: You can say no; I don't mean to add to your stress. I'm just offering it as a suggestion.
CL: Thinking.
StatlerPsyD: Understood. If it'll help sway you, this one time will be free.
CL: Well that's just weird.
StatlerPsyD: :-) I do actually enjoy my work, you know. What do you say?
His phone was on the table next to the laptop and he looked at it suspiciously.
Are you seriously afraid to talk to this guy after everything you've put on screen in the past few months? You? Carlton 'Fear No Man' Lassiter?
"The hell I am," he muttered, and moved the phone closer so he could punch in the number.
And then…
"Hello, CL."
He went mute.
"This is CL, right?"
"Carlton," he said, sucking up the initial hesitation. "You can call me Carlton."
"Hmm. It suits you."
"I'm not going to ask what that means."
The voice was amused. "It doesn't mean anything except it suits you. A strong name for a strong and reserved person."
Carlton had occasionally wondered what Statler sounded like. He'd found a few photos when he ran the background check—dark hair, dark eyes, mustache—but photos didn't tell the whole story.
Based on the words which filled his screen, he'd imagined the man to be a cross between John Cleese and Frasier Crane: a bit plummy; urbane and dry.
But this man sounded more like Dr. Sydney Freedman from MASH. Very relaxed. Hard to faze.
"So you had a busy week?" Statler prompted.
"You could say that."
"You want to try those highlights again, with a little more detail?"
Jump in.
By the time he got to the Serb shooting him, he knew this would never have worked as an online chat: there was too much.
Statler asked for a few clarifications, and eventually Carlton got to the part where he had to admit the damned doctor was right about Juliet's trust and dedication.
"Try not to hold it against me," Statler said dryly. "Sometimes I do know what I'm doing."
"Don't get cocky," Carlton shot back.
"I'll make an effort. Go on."
He picked up the torch with overhearing the conversation between Spencer and Juliet, and Juliet's kiss to his cheek that evening.
"What do you think that meant?"
"Crap. Is this where it starts? You asking me what I think everything means?"
"I have to know what you think about these events, Carlton. What you feel."
"Uh-huh. Make up your mind: are you asking me what I felt or what it meant?"
The doctor made a sound of amusement. "I'm asking whether you think she kissed you out of affection, or reassurance, or to stake a claim, and how you would feel about any of those scenarios."
Carlton glowered at the empty room. "Yesterday afternoon," he went on grimly, "is what I want to talk about."
"So we shall, then."
The man was still amused, but Carlton decided not to shoot him yet.
"My mother."
"What about her?"
"Juliet stepped out for a minute and my mother came in. It was horrifying."
"You know, I don't believe we've ever discussed your mother."
"We never will," Carlton assured him, still grim. "She came in with Althea. I was a sitting duck. It felt like the bear trap times ten."
"You know, I do believe we will have to discuss your mother. Who's Althea?"
Not today, doc. Not damn well today. "Juliet came back. My mother went for her. Althea kept me from leaping out of my bed."
"Your mother… went for her? Is she some sort of hyena?"
The question was so cool and relaxed that Carlton paused and actually grinned.
But he had to focus. "It was a verbal sortie. Juliet held her own. Althea called her…" Here he paused, feeling his face flaming. "My special lady friend."
"Ah, so the mysterious Althea is an observant creature. Did you tell me who Althea is?"
Carlton ignored that. "They went out in the hall, leaving me to stew in my own helpless miasma of … whatever you want to call it. Then Kate Favor waltzed in."
"The Bigfoot documentarian from last week?"
"The delusional and sex-crazed film student, yes. She said she wanted to thank me for taking down the Serb who was about to kill her, and the next thing I knew, she was on the bed and trying to ride me like it was last call at Gilley's."
He paused mainly for breath.
Very slowly, Dr. Statler said, "Giddy-up?"
"Have I ever told you I don't like you?"
"Not that I recall. May I ask you how you felt about this invasion of your personal space?"
"Appalled. The woman's seen more traffic than the I-405."
"And?"
"Like I was trapped in a nightmare and the next person in the room would be Spencer in a clown suit with trained squirrels and a tray of snow globes filled with yowling vegans."
Long pause from the other side. "Oh, my. I think I should have suggested phone calls a long time ago."
"That's not exactly encouraging, Dr. Feelgood."
"Oh, no, I'm quite encouraged to hear you be so very interestingly specific. Who's Spencer?"
Crap.
"I'd rather discuss Althea, and I'm not discussing Althea."
Statler laughed. "Yet. We'll move on, then."
"Juliet came in, saw what was happening, and popped Kate in the jaw to get her off of me. She… shouted at her."
"Your decision to stop there intrigues me. Something about what she shouted?"
He could still hear her voice: the anger and possessiveness.
"He's mine, you over-sexed bitch."
He's mine.
Carlton swallowed. "She shouted that I was hers."
"Did she now? How interesting."
"I really hate that, you know."
"But it is interesting. Interesting is a useful word, don't you agree? Never mind, I'm sure you don't. What happened then?"
"People came in to break it up. Nurse Nattering Nabob of Negativity tried to kick them both out but Juliet came to me. I was trying to get out of bed but Juliet kept me down and I…"
"It's the pauses which reveal so much," Statler commented, "and before you say it, yes, I'm aware you don't like me."
"Good." He cleared his throat. "I thanked her. I was holding her hand, and I… kissed her."
"Hmmm. Why?"
"Why?"
"Yes. Why did you kiss her?"
He was at a loss, as well as annoyed. "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"It's a very simple question. Five words, five syllables. Why did you kiss her?"
"Because I—"
Statler waited a moment. "Because you…?"
"Because I wanted to, dammit."
That really was the heart of it. She was so close, her face flushed with the heat of battle, her eyes bright and beautiful, and so much had happened in the past two weeks even if most of it was in his head—and in that moment, all he wanted was to close the distance between them and kiss her.
"You'd just been nearly assaulted after the horrors of a visit from your mother—whom we will discuss one day—you'd just seen the woman you love stand up for you, and you wanted to kiss her."
"Yeah," he said helplessly, sixteen-year-old boy all over again.
Dr. Statler was gentler now. "And what did she do?"
"She kissed me back."
She'd leaned in closer, even. If Nurse Moodkill hadn't interrupted…
"And?"
Carlton sighed heavily. "The nurse yanked her out of the room and she can't come back until eleven this morning."
"What do you think will happen then?"
Now… now the fear resurfaced. "I don't know."
"Is she still with her boyfriend?"
"Yeah."
"Then you do know what will happen when she comes in."
"If she comes in. She might already have moved to Fresno."
"Surely not; I've been to Fresno. Let's assume she does come in at eleven."
"Yeah, I know what will happen."
"Say it," Statler said patiently.
Suck it, he wanted to retort, but that was the asshat's phrase, not his.
"She's already in a relationship. I can look but not touch. Or influence. Or hope."
"Strike that last part, Carlton. Hope is always allowed."
"Swell."
"But you don't have to martyr yourself either. There are healthy ways to find out the lay of the land without applying unfair pressure."
"Like what?"
"Well, you could talk to her about all this."
"Bite me."
"Use your grown-up words, Carlton."
"I can't talk to her about this yet. I don't know what this is."
"Then let's discuss it now. We still have some time. But before we go on—I really would like to know who Althea is."
"You can dream," he muttered.
"And also Spencer."
Pfffft.
. . . .
. . .