A/N: so thanks for all the reviews. I know it kinda came out of nowhere that Delilah/Gypsy broke up with Carlton. This doesn't explain it, but the next chapter will have a small explanation. but here you go, enjoy this chapter because it sets up the rest of the story!

Gloria woke up on her birthday, and everything that happened the day before flashed through her mind

The soft candlelight flickered, bring Delilah back to the situation at hand. She had been too preoccupied with all that she said, everything she did, to even be aware of the restaurant. Carla eyed her suspiciously as she sat.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, picking up her glass of water. "You don't seem very conscience."

"It's over, between the cop and me," Delilah stated, dead inside. "For real this time."

"Oh that's wonderful!" Carla declared. "Here, let's order champagne."

Delilah glanced up at her friend, so much pain in her eyes, pain she would never express and told Carla, "I don't think I feel up for that. Maybe I should just head home."

"Sure, but does this mean you're back in the game? I mean there's no reason for you to stick around here anymore. He's out of your life now, right? You can come back to work?" Carla questioned, eyes glued on Delilah, waiting for the answer.

Delilah stared back, her face blank. "Um… maybe. I don't really think so. I just need time to sort a couple things out." Delilah leaned in and gave Carla a quick peck on the check. "Good luck, and don't get caught."

Delilah walked out of the restaurant while Carla staring after her, anger, shock and betrayal swirling in her.

The apartment was quiet when she got back. She did not know why it surprised her so much. Any chance he would stick around and fight for her was killed, she made sure of it. Still, a small part of her, the naïve part, had hoped he would have stuck around.

Searching through her iPod, Delilah found the perfect song for the moment, Bon Jovi's "This Ain't a Love Song". It was exactly what she wanted, a sad song to curl up and cry to.

Turning around to her wonderfully soft bed, she was stopped by what she saw. Carlton was standing there, with his shoes on, wearing pants, a belt and his white undershirt. In his hand was his tie and lying on the bed was his jacket, all he needed was his shirt and he was ready to walk out, for good this time. That thought made her stomach flip.

"Don't worry, I'm getting the rest of my things and then I'll be gone," he told her, his voice not hiding his hurt.

"Oh good," she replied softly, sitting on the bed.

She watched him search for his shirt as the song began to play. He paused in his quest and looked at her. "Nice song," he muttered sarcastically.

"My iPod's on random," she defended weakly.

He shook his head, obviously doubting her sincerity. Still, he did not say anything, it was easier to keep silent and listen to the song instead. He could not trust himself to open his mouth, he was afraid he's start to beg her to take him back. Her on the other hand, she would not speak. If she even opened her mouth, she knew she would burst out into tears. It was easier for her to let Bon Jovi talk for her.

They were silent, Carlton still searching for his lost shirt. Delilah knew where it was, tucked between the bed and the nightstand, but she refused to tell Carlton that. Instead she stared at the same spot on the floor, at least until they both heard the lyrics, "Baby, I thought you and me would stand the test of time, Like we got away with the perfect crime but, We were just a legend in my mind."

Carlton sighed and sat on the other side of the bed. "'Perfect crime', huh?" he mused.

Her stomach twisted, the last thing she wanted to do was talk about them. Thankfully, she knew what to say to Carlton make him stop talking about their makeshift relationship. "I guess you don't have to worry about work anymore," she told him coldly.

"You think that's all I care about, don't you?" he asked quietly.

She got up, just walking away from him and stated, "It should be." She turned around to finally face him. "Why are you still here?"

He got up and threw on his jacket, disregarding his lost shirt. Angrily, he spat, "Fine, I'll leave. I just thought maybe you would want to apologize since all I have to do is make one phone call and the FBI will bring you back to that detainment center for the rest your life."

She stormed over to him, he had said the wrong thing. She shoved him towards the door and screamed, "Get the hell out."

"Fine, whatever you say, murderer," he hissed and stormed off.

She did not stop him. She shuddered as the door slammed shut. A moment later she was curled up in a ball on the ground, balling her eyes out.

Carlton threw back his eight or ninth scotch, trying to drown his pain. He tried never to drink heavily, but there were certain occasions that just warranted it. This was one. He motion for the barkeep to refill his glass. The bartender gave him a skeptical glance, but Carlton just glared at him, and the bartender filled his glass.

Carlton tossed it back, but leaned a little too far back. He felt a shooting pain in his back as he blinked away the lights on the ceiling. He knew he should have tried to get up, but he did not see the point.

"Lassie, are you okay?" a voice asked, as a head appeared in his line of view.

"Ugh, Spencer… what are you doing here?" he asked, finally getting up.

"Just getting some drinks with some friends," Shawn answered.

Carlton nodded, and stumbled backwards. Shawn caught him and asked, "You okay there big guy?"

Carlton grunted, and grabbed the bar to keep the world from spinning out of control. "Everything was fine when I was sitting," he muttered.

"That happens when you go from sitting to standing because now the alcohol can circulate through your blood easier," Shawn explained.

"I just need to sit," Carlton defended, trying to reach for his tipped over barstool.

"I got it for ya," Shawn told him and propped up the stool. Carlton sat down and motioned for yet another drink. "You sure need another one lightweight?"

"Back off Spencer," Carlton snapped and started searching for the glass of scotch that did not come yet.

"Is something wrong with Lassieface? What's with the heavy drinking? Did Polly Smith deflate?"

Polly Smith? It took Carlton a moment to understand what Shawn was talking about. But it hit him like a bag of bricks. That was a name he gave Shawn and Gus when they were pestering him about his date with Delilah. That was last thing he wanted to think about her right now.

He gripped the glass that the bartender just placed in front of him. He raised it to his lips, wanting to just drown her out of his mind, but he remembered Delilah calling him pathetic. Instead of throwing the scotch back, he threw it across the bar.

Shawn jumped at the sounds of breaking glass and stared at Carlton, shocked. Carlton's eyes were fixed on the dark spot that the glass hit. The liquid was dripping down to the floor faster then he expected.

"So you want to talk about it?" Shawn questioned. "Or do you want to destroy more of the bar?"

Carlton looked at Shawn and motioned for him to lean in closer. Shawn obliged, and Carlton whispered, "Polly Smith, is an unethical, immoral slut. I want nothing more to do with her. She's dead to me. I hope she disappears off the face of the Earth."

"What happened?" Shawn asked, taking advantage of Carlton's inebriated state.

"She was not as dedicated to the relationship as I was, and difference of ethics."

"Oh, that sucks. How long were you two together?" Shawn was going to milk this situation for all that he could.

"Oh we were never together," Carlton corrected. "She made that very clear."

"So it wasn't a together relationship? How long were you and Polly, you know, not together?" Shawn asked, grinning.

"Years… years of being utterly confused by her smile, her amazing smile with those lovely red lips that feels so good and her hair that smells like apples," Carlton confused, closing his eyes, his mind thinking back to Delilah's ruby puckers and apple scented locks. He needed a drink. "Barkeep, another scotch."

The bartender came over, glaring at him. "Listen, the last two drinks I got you you didn't even manage to drink. You've had enough, I'm kicking you out."

"Fine, I'll leave," he stated, getting up and stumbling towards the door. "There are five other bars right down the street I could go to."

Shawn shook his head and walked over to Carlton. "Come on buddy, I'll take you home."

Carlton pulled away from him and grunted, "No. I'm fine."

"You're in no shape to drive, I'll take you home," Shawn insisted.

"Fine," Carlton grumbled and walked out into the parking lot.

Bacon wafted through the air, a good thing for hung over Carlton to wake up to. He smiled, for a split second thinking that last night was all a bad dream, and that Delilah was in the kitchen cooking him breakfast. He lifted up his head, listening. There was nothing. No singing, and Delilah always sang when she made breakfast, that's how Carlton knew his nightmare was real.

He walked into the kitchen and saw eggs and bacon laid put on a plate. He smiled to himself and sang softly, "Do you believe in magic? In a young girl's heart."

That was always the song she sang when making egg. "Build Me Up Buttercup" was the song when she made pancakes.

"Good morning Sunshine," Shawn greeted chirpy. "How you feeling? Hung over?"

"What are you still doing here Spencer?" Carlton asked, sitting at the table.

"Well, I didn't feel right leaving you alone, and you begged me to stay and cuddle. I just couldn't say no," Shawn told him, laughing as he saw Carlton choke on his eggs.

"I did not!" he roared.

"No, you didn't, but you should have seen your face," Shawn explained.

"So, why are you still here?"

"You know last night you didn't have a shirt on, right? Just the undershirt. It was more then you I ever wanted to see."

"Spencer…" Carlton warned.

"I didn't think you should have been alone," Shawn confessed.

"Why?"

"Dude, you had me stalk a girl for you," Shawn reminded him. "When I asked where you live, you told me Polly's address and we ended up just sitting outside her apartment for almost half an hour. I mean other then it's totally creepy, it was nice. We got to talking, had a little man bonding."

"Oh god, did we see her?" Carlton asked, concerned that Shawn knew Polly's true identity.

"No, I finally convinced you to let me bring you home before anybody called the cops," Shawn answered. "I'd thought it be a little embarrassing for you to be picked up."

Carlton nodded, and looked down at his breakfast. Shawn watched him, wondering what the older man was thinking. "I would have sang for you, but you didn't tell me what song."

Carlton dropped his fork and glared at Shawn. "What?"

"You told me she always sang, not very well, when she made breakfast. I would have sung for you, but I didn't know what music you like."

Carlton got up, suddenly angry, but was trying his best to control it. "Listen Spencer, I appreciate the ride and making sure I didn't die, but the last thing I want is for you to even mention that godforsaken woman. Got it?"

Shawn nodded. He knew not to cross certain lines. "All right, well I have to get to work, so you-"

"Oh, oh, can I go with you? I'm getting a psychic vibe saying the Chief wants me for something important."

"No, but if the chief really wants you, why don't you just leave now?"

"I drove you home in your car, do you really think I would have put you on a bike? So I need a ride, and since you're going there anyways…"

"Fine, give me ten minutes," Carlton told him as he tossed his plate in the sink.

Shawn nodded, grinning.

It was an awkward silence during the ride to the police station. As soon as they were parked, Shawn bounced up the stairs inside. Carlton was happy to see him go.

"Mr. Spencer, it's about time you got here," Karen scolded. "I called you over half an hour ago."

"So sorry Chief, I was having trouble with my ride," Shawn explained, grinning.

"All right, get in my office. Detective Lassiter, this involves you too," Karen stated and led them towards her office.

"Psychic vibe, huh?" Carlton whispered.

Shawn shrugged and replied, "Sometimes they come in phone calls."

"So Mr. Spencer, you're probably wondering why I called you in when there are no current cases that needs psychic help," Karen began.

"No, I assume this has something to do with charging the department for twenty three pineapple pizzas," Shawn told her.

"That was you?" Karen asked, her eyes narrowing.

"All right, so obviously that wasn't the reason. What is it?" Shawn asked quickly.

Still angry, Karen answered, "We have reason to suspect that Charles Barlwin's life might be endangered. You know who he is, right?"

"A wanna be Baldwin?" Shawn took a shot in the dark.

"He's a multimillionaire," Carlton corrected. "Owner of the Nikclari Company, it produces half of the technical information used by the military."

"All right, so his life might be endangered, do you want me to get a psychic read to see who might want to kill him?" Shawn suggested.

"Not quite," Karen replied. "We want you to trail him, observe him, and see if there is anyone around him who would want to kill him."

"Great! Gus and I will get right on it."

"Mr. Burton will not be working with you," Karen stated. "You need the experience of a professional. You have the choice of working with-"

"Please say Columbo," Shawn said, with his eyes closed and fingered crossed.

"Working with Detective Lassiter," both of the two men's faces dropped, "or…"

"Chief, please, please don't stick me with him. What about O'Hara?" Carlton begged.

"Or, Mr. Spencer, you could work with someone else, who's not technically part of the department," Karen offered.

"Who?" Shawn and Carlton asked simultaneously.

"Me, sweetheart," Delilah replied from the doorway.

Shawn quickly glanced at her and then with a big grin told the chief, "I'll take her!"