The usual disclaimers apply—no ownership in anything psych, TPTB have everything, I have nothing except ideas for the unlikeliest of pairings and romantic schmoop that would have no place on the actual show. Which is why we have fanfic.
Chapter 11
Step 1: Open mouth.
Step 2: Insert foot.
Step 3: (v. important) Chew expensive, yet practical because better quality stands up longer to hard day-to-day wear, shoe leather. Chew vigorously.
Step 4: Repeat as needed until one has completely and irrevocably fucked up the best thing one has ever had. Will ever have.
"Hey, Carlton."
Carlton glanced over the rim of his coffee mug at O'Hara, standing beside his desk, back in a professional suit and looking far better than when he'd last seen her the day before.
God, was it only the day before?
Felt like a lifetime.
"O'Hara," he replied steadily. He nodded at the folder she held. "Those the files?"
"Uh—" She glanced down at the manila folder as if she'd forgotten she was even holding it. "Yeah. Um, Carlton?"
"I meant it when I said it was none of your business, O'Hara."
A twinge of shame that only marginally had to do with the flash of hurt crossing O'Hara's face, vibrated through him. Karen hadn't been wrong. Natural inclinations toward privacy and a deep desire to want to keep what he and Karen had to themselves for just a while longer aside, he'd taken definite pleasure in cutting O'Hara off at the pass.
But it had only been momentary.
And at what cost?
O'Hara placed the folder in his outstretched hand. "Cold case from a couple of years ago. Jewelry store robberies. Looks like they might be back. Taking advantage of the epidemic and the fact that most security firms and the police are operating on shoestring staffs."
He nodded as he set down his mug and began thumbing through the file. Definitely appeared to be the same crew. Extremely adept at using explosives in very direct and precise measures to break into stores and safes and exceedingly efficient in that they got what they wanted and got out quick. They didn't completely clean out stores—just went for the highest ticket items, which suggested they had an expert or some sort of insider.
"Call Guster," he finally said. "He's got the extensive safe knowledge. Find out what he knows about the safes involved in these cases. I can't imagine that explosives would be necessary for all of them. There's got to be a reason the thieves opt to use them every time."
"You know that means involving Shawn," she said carefully.
"If we're lucky, maybe he's at death's door," Carlton replied, handing the file back to O'Hara and dropping into his chair with a tired sigh. "Just call Guster directly. See if you can talk to just him and get him to not blab to his idiot best friend. Appeal to his ego. Let him have the spotlight for once."
"I'll do my best." She started to turn away then paused. "I'm surprised, but I… hope you're happy," she said very softly.
Dammit. It would have been so much easier if she'd been angry. Belligerent. Betrayed at being shut out. She was probably beyond surprised, but she was letting him know, in her own O'Hara sort of way, that she'd wait until he was ready to talk.
"I would have been," he admitted quietly.
Guess he was ready.
"Come again?" she said, dropping into the chair beside his desk.
"We, uh…" He stared down into his mug, swirling the khaki remnants at the bottom. "We kind of had an argument."
To put it mildly.
"Oh, I'm sorry." O'Hara's wince communicated that she understood "argument" to be an understatement. With typical O'Hara optimism she added, "But you know, Carlton, arguments aren't insurmountable."
No. Most weren't.
Then again, most didn't involve him and his unerring ability to say the worst possible thing. React in the worst possible ways.
"This one may have contained some deal-breaker elements," he admitted. Like accusing the woman you loved of simply using you for what amounted to essentially a one-night stand when he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.
She was right. She'd told him everything.
Except the most important thing, dammit. She'd had multiple opportunities and hadn't been able to bring herself to say the words. Fresh indignation flooded through him. He'd all but cut his heart out and laid it out for her. Why hadn't she said it?
Beside him, O'Hara sighed. "Who was the idiot?"
"Who?" Carlton's eyebrows rose. "You're not assuming it was me?"
She cocked her head and fixed that penetrating dark-blue gaze on him. "Why would I?"
"Because I'm me?"
"Yeah, and I've been your partner for going on seven years now. I know you." She crossed her arms. "And for you, Carlton, to have gotten involved with our boss, with your history, means you have some pretty deep feelings there, partner. And I'm not even going to go into how the Chief must feel about you to have taken this step. To say it's uncharacteristic of both of you would be putting it mildly and leaves the probability of who the idiot was pretty equal."
Carlton sat, stunned, at O'Hara's blunt assessment.
And considered her question. No, Karen hadn't said what he most needed her to say. She'd flipped out when he'd taken the phone from her and made it clear to O'Hara that yes, he and Karen were together, which he could have handled with a bit more finesse, admittedly, but he'd given into that damned impulse to get back at O'Hara and on which Karen had rightfully nailed him. And he'd had to go and lash out. Refused to see what was right in front of him.
Still though, Carlton couldn't help but wonder how long it would have taken Karen to say anything about them. She'd panicked so quickly and so thoroughly and yet was it really unjustified given his behavior?
A sinking sensation overtook him as he recalled everything she'd said. About how his tenure as Head Detective predated hers as Chief, hence there could be no finger-pointing or cries of favoritism.
How he could have had her. Long ago.
How she'd sighed and curled into his arms at his admission of "always."
How she'd agreed.
How she claimed she had no intention of letting him go.
"Carlton?"
He rubbed his temples. "We were both sort of idiotic," he said slowly, "but it's entirely likely I was the more idiotic of us."
"Huh." With that single unintelligible syllable, O'Hara stood, rapping the folder against his desk. "So what are you still doing here, then?"
He stared up at her. "My job?"
She blinked, dark blue eyes wide and guileless. Carlton knew that look. Knew how effectively O'Hara wielded it. Knew enough to be nervous to have it directed at him.
"I don't think you should be here, Carlton." A bit louder, her voice carrying, she added, "You have been working a lot the past few weeks and out in the rain the way you were the other day? I'd say the flushed feeling and body aches are just the beginning."
As suspicious glances were directed their way, she grasped his arm with one hand and his jacket with the other. Steering his bemused form down the hall towards the entrance she quietly said, "Even a mild case of this flu will take you out at the minimum, five days. More people are finally starting to trickle back to work, the epidemic seems to be tapering off. You and the Chief are practically the only two who haven't been taken out by this thing—you both worked through that storm the other day—trust me, no one's going to question both of you being out at the same time."
O'Hara was giving him a free pass. More than he deserved. But still—a long-honed sense of responsibility kicked in.
"O'Hara—I'm not sick."
She stopped by the front doors and pulled him aside. "You will be if you don't fix this," she hissed. Shoving his jacket into his hands she said in an urgent tone, "Look, I would have never seen it coming—not in a million years, but damn if it doesn't make the most perfect sense." With a rueful shake of her head she added, "Carlton, you guys—you're perfect for each other. And if Chief Vick is feeling anywhere near as miserable as you looked this morning—"
In a flash, Carlton recalled the sight of Karen, standing, naked, in more ways than one, clutching the medallion she claimed was a part of her—that made him part of her—every day.
He met his partner's gaze. "Thanks, O'Hara." He started to shove the door open, then paused. "I get now, why you didn't say anything. When you and Spencer—"
"You weren't completely wrong about why we didn't. Or at least, why I didn't." O'Hara smiled and shrugged. "I mean, yes, part of it was because it was new and it was ours and we just wanted to keep it that way for awhile, but if I'm completely honest, the bigger issue on my end had to do with you and how you'd feel about it." She sighed "I knew you'd hate it and maybe, you might hate me."
"I could never hate you."
He couldn't say he was sorry about reacting the way he had because to his mind, she'd handled it badly, but he could admit, in his own way, that he had, too.
Given how she smiled, she got it.
"Go on, now," she urged. "Go be deathly ill for at least five days. I've got this covered."
Okay—he'd been altruistic once. He wasn't strong enough to refuse the offer twice. "All right." He nevertheless felt compelled to add, "If you do need us, though—"
"I'll call," she assured him. "Probably your phone first, so make sure it's closer to you, okay? Now would you go, already?"
With a laugh, he pushed through the doors and stopped, stock still, at the sight that greeted him.
"Karen—"
Casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, gripping the handrail and grimacing as she slowly worked her way up the stairs. Even from this distance, he could see the beads of sweat dotting her upper lip and the pained pallor beneath the flush of exertion.
"Carlton," she sighed, so softly and yet, he still heard her. Loud and clear and deep within, where it counted.
In a few bounds, he'd reached her, slipping an arm around her waist. "What are you doing here?"
"I know you told me not to come in, but I'm not built that way," she gasped. "First off, as your boss, I make that call, you got it? And second—" She paused and gazed up at him with that light in her deep brown gaze that he knew from this point on would always be able to slay him. "As the woman who loves you, I couldn't let you spend any longer than you absolutely had to under the very mistaken impression that I don't."
Carlton was vaguely aware of the odd personnel walking past, casting curious gazes their way. He was far more aware of how Karen leaned even more fully into him, her free hand grasping his, right there, out in the open, her expression so revealing of her feelings, a man would have to be blind to miss it.
Or an idiot.
He swallowed hard. "You really shouldn't be out and about."
As her expression fell, he leaned in and murmured, "And neither should I. This flu's a real bitch and neither of us need to be around other people. Especially now that people are finally starting to recover."
She blinked slowly, comprehension dawning. "Both of us?"
He nodded. "Takes at least five days to work its way through the system."
"Five days, huh?"
Heat shot through his midsection and worked its way further down at the sultry golden light shimmering in her eyes. Still, though, like him, she possessed a strong streak of responsibility that momentarily cleared the passion. Shaking her head she murmured, "We really shouldn't—"
"Yes, Karen, we really, really should," he broke in. "Please?" he asked softly, prepared to defer to whatever she wanted.
For a long, breathless moment she stared up at him, then very deliberately shifted her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as she tilted her head back slightly. In clear invitation.
He didn't even bother to pause to see who was around. He didn't care who was around. All he cared about was the woman in his arms and what she wanted.
As his mouth touched hers, he felt, rather than heard, her soft, "I love you, Carlton."
Apparently, she wanted him.
After a soft, gentle kiss holding the promise of so much more, she made one more whispered request.
"Now take me home so we can get over the flu together."
He grinned as he met her gaze, definitely prepared to defer to everything she wanted.