Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No copyright infringement of publicly recognizable characters, products or services is intended.

A/N: Episode tag for "Lassie Did a Bad, Bad Thing" and "Heeeeere's Lassie."

I'm not a doctor and have no medical background so forgive the forensic interplay that takes place later in the chapter. This is fiction after all.

As always, feedback and reviews are welcome. Thanks very much for reading!

Chapter 2: Answers are Optional

Lassiter massaged his eyes with the fingers of one hand. They were dry and tired and though they demanded sleep, the soothing circular rhythms from his fingertips were a welcome substitute. Of course, he would rather be driving. Maneuvering about the road would present a much needed distraction from the images in his head.

The blood.

The questions.

The emptiness.

The frustration.

The bruised and forever staring body.

Yes, he would rather be driving.

Instead, O'Hara was behind the wheel; driving much too slowly and glancing at him so frequently that he felt as if he were being profiled. Somehow (and he wasn't sure how) she managed to convince him to let her take the wheel, leaving him riding shotgun in his own vehicle; a thought that sickened him. It was like borrowing somebody else's toothbrush or sharing a piece of gum. But since he could barely remember how he got into the car in the first place, he reasoned that it was just as well to let her do the honors for now. Just for now.

Left to his thoughts, he tried to piece together his latest discovery: The woman's name. T. Patterson. The body. The bloody, pale, dead body.

The woman of his dreams now had a name, which meant that she also had a life and a job and a family. She was no longer just a phantom in his mind. She was a victim with a killer.

A murderer.

But who? Why?

Routine questions seemed out of place where the Patterson woman was concerned. He had a feeling that he knew who her killer was. He had a feeling that he even knew why she was murdered but the answers were as unclear to him as the images in his head. They danced before him like firelight, evasive and cunning, teasing him with a sense of revelation while all the while admonishing him with their sense of familiarity. It was like rereading a book. Everything was old but yet everything seemed new.

Lassiter sighed, letting his head drop back against the headrest as he tried to tame his thoughts.

"Are you ready to talk now?" O'Hara's voice cut in.

"About what?" There was a degree of terseness in his response. Even he could detect it but he was too tired to be overly concerned about it.

"Oh, gee Carlton, I don't know. How about what happened back there?" She was nearly shouting.

He knew that tone and he didn't like it. He opened one eye to glare at her disapprovingly.

Juliet was unfazed. "I have never, ever, seen you like that before. Not even after the crazy chick in your apartment tried to kill you."

His eye slid closed again. He hoped she was picking up his I'm-ignoring-you transmission.

Juliet continued her protest in spite of it. "You told me there'd be no side effects."

"There aren't."

The car jerked off to the side of the road and stopped just as quickly. O'Hara switched off the ignition and turned to him with tears in her eyes. "Like hell," she exclaimed, the intensity in her voice forcing his eyes open again. "You were wheezing and shaking and talking nonsense..."

He did another internal scan, amidst her rant. Why couldn't he remember any of this?

Maybe he did pass out.

His chest tightened and his stomach turned. The mere thought of being that vulnerable in public nearly made him heave. He let his eyes close as he willed away the queasiness and chided himself for being such a pathetic wreck.

Get it together, he nearly said aloud.

O'Hara's voice dipped into his thoughts once again. "Carlton!"

He turned to see her regarding him sternly.

"Are you even listening?"

He felt trapped. He wasn't listening but he couldn't tell her that.

Could he tell her that?

He stammered a few syllables as he looked for an out.

"That's it," she said, gripping a hand tightly on the steering wheel and reaching for the ignition. "I'm taking you to a doctor."

"I'm fine, O'Hara," he growled, reflexively grabbing her hand as if starting the car again would put them in mortal danger.

Seeking medical attention was seventh on his list of The Worst Ways to Resolve this Problem…If you could call it a problem and he most certainly was not going to call it a problem. (And yes there was a list. Ninth on that list was to tell his mother. Third, fifth and twelfth was to notify anyone who answered to the name of Spencer.)

Juliet fought his grasp in a determined effort to turn the key. "No you're not."

He gripped her hand more tightly and pulled her towards him. "I am fine," he said slowly and confidently, holding onto her until he felt her begin to relax beneath his grip.

He marveled. She was genuinely concerned for him. Why she was concerned he wasn't quite sure. He hadn't done anything special enough to earn more than a second thought from her. What's more, since becoming partners they'd found themselves in dozens of situations far worse than this, so what was she so worried about? He was absolutely fine. There was no way that he was going to waste her worry on the fact that he wasn't sleeping at night and secretly suspected that he was going crazy.

He let go of her hand. The half-frown on her delicate face told him that she still wanted to know more.

He allowed his head to drop back onto the headrest as he gathered a breath and weighed the decision to let her in.

Where to begin?

"I haven't been sleeping too well," he said in a long exhale.

O'Hara nodded, a hint of sarcasm showing on her lips. "Oh, you haven't been sleeping. That's too bad." She continued nodding as if the news was a satisfactory explanation.

Lassiter nodded along with her, quietly anticipating that he wouldn't get off that easy.

"Carlton, I've been on a million stakeouts with you. I know what not sleeping looks like and I'll give you a hint, it doesn't look like this!"

Her hand moved back towards the ignition but he grabbed it again, an involuntary "No," escaping him in a yell.

She jumped; startled.

Lassiter could feel his heart racing and a general uneasiness settle over him. He took a slow breath, releasing her hand and settling back into his side of the car. "It's not just a few all-nighters, okay. It's been more like a couple of weeks now."

"A couple of weeks?"

He shrugged. "To be honest, I kinda lost track."

"You lost track?"

An eyebrow raised. "Is there an echo?"

O'Hara's face turned a shade of red. "Carlton!"

"What?" Why was she yelling?

"That sounds like a side effect to me."

"It's not. It's not even related."

"You developing insomnia is not related to your overexposure to amyl nitrates?"

"Yes, it isn't." He hesitated. "Or...No, it's not. Pick one." He felt flushed. "Anyway, I'm fine so let's just get back to the station."

She looked at the dash, chewing slowly on her bottom lip. There were more questions coming. He knew it. He prayed silently that he was wrong.

"How'd you know where to find it," Juliet asked, staring into him with intense curiosity.

Lassiter clapped his hands over his face and massaged away a rapidly, growing headache. "Find what," he growled, his voice muffled by his palms.

"The name tag. How'd you know?"

He drew his hands through his hair and let them rest on the top of his head. He had no idea how to answer her question. He had even less of an idea of how he knew where to find it. He just...knew.

"I don't know," he said, relieved to hear himself say those words aloud. "Must've been a lucky guess."

"A lucky guess?" Juliet shook her head. "I can only think of three people who might have known where to find a piece of evidence like that. A psychic, a witness or..." she hesitated, turning sheepishly towards him.

Lassiter's eyes grew wide. "I dare you to finish that sentence."

Juliet bit her bottom lip. "You knew exactly where to find it."

"Like I said, lucky guess."

"But it was more than that."

"Deductive reasoning then."

She wasn't convinced. "Carlton, you first described it as if she was wearing it and it was only after you found out that she wasn't, that you suddenly knew where to find it." She ran her hand along the steering wheel. "I thought that maybe you had seen it when we first came upon the body but then I remembered that we hadn't gone that way." She looked at him expectantly.

Lassiter folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. He was almost too shocked to respond to her open accusation. It wasn't that he didn't understand her reasoning, in fact he completely agreed with it. He had no idea how he knew about the nametag and he couldn't shake the haunting suspicion that he had been at the crime scene before. If he didn't know better (and he wasn't quite certain if he truly did) he'd consider himself a suspect.

But what bothered him was that O'Hara's analysis only allowed for those three ridiculous conclusions:

One. He was the killer. Which he would like to believe that he was not.

Two. He was some addlebrained witness. Which in all likelihood could never happen under his code of ethics, for he certainly would have shot the perpetrator even if he missed the chance at saving the girl.

And three, he was suddenly psychic. The worst of all accusations because of its loose association with that narcissistic dunderhead, Shawn Spencer.

Lassiter sighed deeply. "O'Hara, I don't know how I knew where to find it or why I said what you said I said or why we're even talking about this right now."

"Because what just happened doesn't just happen, Carlton." Juliet raised her voice to speak over his rising ire.

"Well, it must because it did so can we just let it go?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

Juliet made a face. "Because it doesn't make any sense."

"You're not making any sense," he argued.

"What does Hudson mean," she asked pointedly. "You didn't answer me before."

Lassiter suddenly found it difficult to breathe; a sensation that he was becoming much too familiar with. "I don't know," he said, grimacing slightly. "It's just a word that plays in my head all day."

"Why," she asked, her tone softening.

"I don't know," he shouted, nearly irate. He paused to note his flaring temper. Why was he so frustrated? He took a slow, ragged breath. "Look, I'm having strange dreams because I'm not sleeping." He paused, his eyes rerunning the sentence through his head. "Or...I'm not sleeping because I've been having strange dreams."

That sounded better, right?

O'Hara slowly looked him over. Something clearly resonated. "What kind of dreams," she almost whispered.

Involuntarily, the images began to populate his mind. He tried to describe them to her without focusing too deeply. Somehow, knowing that the ghostly pale woman in his dreams was a real victim did little to warm the coldness of her grip or dampen the shrillness of her scream. He tried to move past it by recounting to O'Hara other details about the dream but he found it hard to describe anything without the same eerie feeling washing over him.

He shivered and closed his eyes to will the images back into submission.

"This is childish," he said after a long pause. "It's complete nonsense." He opened his eyes to ground himself in the realness of the afternoon sun. "I close my eyes and it's there. That one word…Some woman…The screaming..."

O'Hara's hand rested gently on his knee. "Maybe you should talk to someone."

Lassiter sneered. "I thought I was talking to someone."

"Someone besides me, Carlton. Someone who can help you sort this out. I've never seen you like this. You've scared me half to death, twice today. I may have missed the boat when that crazy chick tried to kill you but you better be certain I'll never let anything like that happen again."

He turned to see her regarding him thoughtfully and he hated himself for it.

He'd worried her.

He was wasting her grief on a childish problem that, if had been man enough to not let it best him, could have been sorted out much more reasonably; not to mention privately.

He grit his teeth. Never again would he allow her to be this disturbed on his behalf.

"Look, O'Hara," he began, assuming his Head Detective voice and sitting a little taller in his seat. "Thanks for your concern but I'm fine. Now, we need to get back to the station. We still have work to do."

He locked a pair of stern eyes with hers, engaging her in a stare-off. When she didn't turn the key, he glanced at the ignition then back to her with eyebrows raised.

"Fine," she said softly, her voice disappearing beneath the dull roar of the engine.

She shifted the car into gear and they drove on in silence.

###

"Mr. Spencer."

"Chief."

"Thanks for dropping by."

"Thanks for ringing my bell." Shawn slinked to a seat opposite Vick's desk, leaving her and Gus as the only people standing in the room.

"Oh, please don't sit," Vick chided, grabbing a folder from her desk and passing it their way. "You won't be here that long."

Shawn popped up, taking the folder from her grasp and leafing through its contents. It wasn't lost on him that he and Gus were the only people in her office. "Is this a secret mission, Chief? Because I'm not sensing the intrepid Detective O'Hara or Head Deputy Do-Little anywhere around."

"This was their case," Vick lead, visibly miffed by the verbal jab at her Head Detective. "I've put the detectives on something else for the time being. I figured that you and Mr. Guster could wrap this one up. It involves the Mayor's fishing buddy, Mr. Charles Downer. So, please use a bit of tact."

Shawn tucked the file under his arm and smiled widely. "Not to worry, Chief. We'll use all kinds of tacks, thumbtacks and even pushpins if we have to. And if we run out of those, we'll use some Scotch Tape and Poster Putty. Though, in full disclosure, that may require a little extra spending money and a day-trip to Staples." He pointed a thumb at Gus. "Gus has a rewards card though, so we're totally covered."

"Fifteen percent off," Gus added, proudly.

Vick nodded slowly, clearly uncertain how to respond to their banter. After a brief moment, she waved a dismissive hand. "That's all, thank you. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I'm expecting a call." She returned to her desk and busied herself with paperwork as Shawn and Gus sauntered from the room.

Once they were both out of earshot, Shawn slapped Gus hard on the arm.

"Owe!" Gus pulled away and rubbed his arm tenderly. "Shawn, what did we say about using your words?"

"Dude, we need to get on Jules' and Lassie's case." He stole a glance at each of their desks. Juliet's was neat as a pin; nothing on it drew his attention to what they might be working on. Lassiter's desk on the other hand, was a mess; littered with files and coffee stains. From the looks of it he was working on everything from cold cases to misdemeanors.

"We already have a case, Shawn." Gus started through the bullpen with Shawn on his heels. "As long as the check clears, it doesn't matter what we're assigned."

"Of course it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"It does when ours is boring and theirs is awesome."

Gus stopped and threw him an agitated stare. "How do you know that ours is boring? We haven't even started it yet."

Shawn sighed. "Gus, don't be the yellow cake in a Black and White Cookie because your life would be a lie…A moist, delicious lie." He slipped the folder to Gus and watched him thumb through it. "The Mayor's buddy's boat is missing and wait for it," he put two fingers to his head, "The house keeper did it."

Gus looked at him, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"The house keeper always does it. They're like butlers, right? It's a part of their secret code."

Gus frowned. "Uh, I don't think that's going to work, Shawn."

Shawn pointed at the file and waited for his friend to continue reading. "No alarm, no sign of break-in and she had the only other key. What's more she is an avid boat fan and was applying for her own license. Clearly she was overcome by Look-But-Don't-Touch syndrome."

Gus looked up from the file. "There's no such thing and even if there were, it would imply that she didn't do it."

"Dude!" He was growing anxious. "She did it, okay? It's all right there. They already have enough to go on." He waited for Gus to finish reading the report then look to him with satisfaction. "Cool. Now, let's find Lassie and Jules before the slushy truck comes."

A wide grin grew on Gus' face. "I hear that," he echoed, as he slipped Shawn a fist bump, slapped the file closed and followed him down the hall.

###

"You'll be pleased to know that there was a definite match to one Teresa Patterson." Woody smiled broadly as he slid the sheet from the red-haired woman's body.

"Why would I be pleased to know that," Carlton asked, his mood as sour as ever.

Woody looked cautiously to Juliet who pursed her lips and shook her head subtly. "No reason," he said with uncertainty, returning his attention to the body. "It appears she died of a skull fracture-"

"She was strangled to death," Carlton interrupted, his hands folded tightly across his chest.

Juliet bit her lip. She knew that Lassiter was known for drawing quick, obvious conclusions but she wasn't too comfortable with his level of accuracy on this case. Whether he dreamed it or not, he was speaking with such authority on so many details, it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that he wasn't at the scene of the original crime.

"Her neck was fractured," Carlton continued, moving closer to the victim. "It's faint but you can see the disfiguring just under her bruises here and here." He pointed at the bruised area around the woman's neck.

Woody and Juliet looked at the body more closely.

Woody grit his teeth and nodded. "You are spot on, Detective. The hyoid does seem out of place." He chuckled nervously. "How did you catch that? I mean it's only slightly disfigured. I certainly would have guessed some sort of trauma due to the tissue damage but I thought the skull fracture was a much more traumatic injury."

Woody beamed at Lassiter, waiting for a reply but he heard nothing. The detective held his place opposite the table with eyes growing dim. He breathed a deep breath and brought his hand to his head.

Juliet caught the movement instantly, her own insides doing a summersault as she saw him sway to one side as if he might fall over.

"Carlton," she called, watching him shoot to attention.

"There was a struggle," he mumbled as if being jolted awake. "Check her hands," he continued, succumbing to a yawn.

"Right," Woody said quickly. "I was going to do that anyway. It's my favorite part. I like to pretend that I'm giving a mani pedi."

Juliet made a face, fighting the queasiness that Woody's mental image brought.

The door opened behind them, spilling Shawn and Gus into the room.

"See Gus, I told you this wasn't the way to San Jose." Shawn chuckled overtly and slapped Gus on the arm.

Gus grimaced and pulled away. "I said use your words!"

Shawn's smile faded. "I did use my words."

"No, you hit me!"

"After I used my words."

Gus continued to rub his arm. "Dude, use your words instead of hitting me!"

Shawn nodded as if the revelation was news to him. "Oh, I got it now. No worries, buddy." He slapped Gus' arm again before facing the others with a smile. "Hey guys. Whatcha doin'?"

Lassiter sighed and rubbed his neck. "The same thing we always do whenever there's a body, Spencer."

Shawn moved closer to the table. "Scratch your heads and say to yourselves, where's that devilishly handsome psychic detective and his chocolate-flavored friend?" His retort earned him a scowl from almost everyone in the room but seeming not to notice (or care) he turned his attention to the woman on the table. "Who's she?"

Lassiter turned to Woody meaningfully. "Let me know what you come up with. I'll be at my desk." He huffed from the room, brushing past Shawn and Gus along the way.

Shawn looked after him. "Gus, make a note. Lassie's cranky. It must be Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or-"

"Shawn." Juliet rolled her eyes. The boys routinely teased each other openly and while she wasn't exactly a fan of it, she rarely stepped in so long as they kept it light. Her biggest exception to the name-calling was when one or the other wasn't present. She wouldn't let Shawn tease Carlton when he was away any more than she allowed Carlton to tease Shawn. (Though if she were honest, she did let Lassiter get away with it more often than Shawn did. After what would often seem like a public spectacle from Shawn, a little venting from Lassiter, once they were alone, seemed to be understandable.)

Woody regarded the boys and smiled broadly. "Actually Shawn, Detective Lassiter has made quite the discovery today. Not only did he accurately identify the victim, he made a key observation about her cause of death." He chuckled awkwardly. "He couldn't have been more spot on if he'd killed her himself."

"Woody!" Juliet shot him a scolding look. It was bad enough that she had nearly suggested the exact same thing but to hear someone else say it just made it sound vulgar.

Woody hung his head woefully. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Shawn's interest was peaked. "What," he said through a nervous laugh.

Juliet rolled her eyes and started from the room. "Nothing, Shawn."

Shawn followed with Gus right behind him. "We're suspecting Lassie of murder?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Gus added too whimsically.

"Don't be absurd," Juliet said quickly, navigating her way through the halls and wishing that she could lose them down some mystical secret passageway.

"It's not as if it hasn't happened before," Gus said from behind them. "I'm still not totally convinced he didn't kill Chavez."

Juliet stopped cold and turned to Gus, her betrayal hanging in her eyes. "Gus, that was Drimmer and you know it."

Gus stood his ground. "Not for certain. Besides, your perspective of a person changes dramatically once they've chased you through an entire apartment building, wielding a sword."

"Gus is right," Shawn said, raising a hand to tag his best friend; a move that Gus dodged. "Lassie went Uma Thurman on him. Gus is probably the only one here who deserves the right to pass judgment."

Juliet sighed and started off down the hallway again. "I'm sorry Gus but you and I both know that Lassiter would have never actually hurt you."

"I beg to differ," Gus said dismissively, bringing up the rear.

"So, seriously," Shawn cut in, "We think Lassie did it?"

"No one thinks that," Juliet sighed. She was beginning to lose her patience.

"Woody seems to," Gus commented slyly.

Juliet let a slight growl escape and spun back towards the boys. "Look guys, Carlton has been out of sorts for the past few weeks. He may be tired and cranky and may seem to know an awful lot about this case but he is by no means a suspect. Got it?"

Shawn and Gus glanced at each other before returning a knowing look to her and nodding hesitantly.

Juliet threw her hands into the air and continued back upstairs.

When she reached the bullpen, she found Carlton sitting at his desk, head in his hand, eyes closed. She slowed her pace and moved softly across the room as if her footsteps might wake him.

"Oh look, Lassie's sleeping," Shawn declared from just behind her. "He looks like me in the ninth grade."

"And the tenth, eleventh and twelve," Gus added.

"Come to think of it, that was me in summer school too."

"That's probably why you had to go."

"Maybe-"

"Guys," Juliet half-whispered, motioning wildly for them to lower their voices. "Just leave him alone for a few minutes, okay."

Vick's door opened at the utterance of her words and Juliet cringed as she watched the chief step through it, heading straight for Carlton's desk.

Gus immediately picked up on the impending doom. In one fluid motion, he leaped into the center of the room and pointed an energetic finger in the opposite direction of Lassiter. "Oh, my gosh," he shouted, far too loudly. "Is that Stonewall Jackson?"

Vick, along with the rest of the bullpen, paused to regard Gus curiously. (Except for Dobson who actually followed Gus' gaze with anticipation.)

"Really," Shawn quipped, shaking his head. He joined Gus in the center of the room and brought the fingers of one hand to his head. "What Gus meant to say is that we have solved the case of the Mayor's friend's missing dingy and we'll gladly share our findings with each and every one of you after a brief prayer. Would you all please bow your heads and close your eyes? Oh look, Lassie started already."

Vick looked towards Lassiter and shook her head in disappointment. "Detective," she shouted, startling Carlton so much that he nearly fell out of his seat. She looked shortly around the room and then beamed into him, "My office. Now."

She walked from the room, leaving a quiet bullpen and a confused head detective looking after her.

###