Right, so there's only so many parts of the Beatles song I can use. I had to end the story here.

It's seven o'clock and Abigail is impressed.

Not only has Shawn remembered their date, but he's shown up early with a bouquet of her favorite flowers and, most amazingly of all, no chaperone.

The dark corner booth of the restaurant is just as dark as promised, and after the waiter takes their order they are left to their alcove in peace.

Shawn's being polite and funny and charming, although as they munch on their breadsticks she's beginning to wonder if maybe he's just on autopilot.

"Shawn?"

"Hmm?" he asks around a mouthful of bread.

"I think after dinner we should go home."

Shawn waggles his eyebrows suggestively, trying to swallow the food in his mouth so he can speak, but before he can Abigail continues.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," she corrects, and at his hurt expression hastens to add, "Not that that wouldn't be fun. Shawn, it's just... you've been through a lot, and I think you need some time to digest it all."

"I'd rather just digest this meal."

"Yeah, but-"

"What's there to digest?" Shawn interrupts, talking quickly. "I brought a serial killer to justice. End of story."

"Perhaps, " Abigail reminds him, her voice gentle, "but from what you said the sequel isn't over yet."

"Abigail," Shawn shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't want to talk about it."

"And that's fine. That's understandable. All I'm saying is... you don't have to rush into this for me."

"For you?"

"For me. Or for you. It's been how many years, Shawn? And how many months since the reunion? Another night or two isn't going to hurt us. I'm not going anywhere."

Shawn sighs, pushing his plate away in order to rest his elbows on the table. "I know," he says softly. He ducks his head down, scratching at the nape of his neck.

"Of course you are," Abigail shakes her head at him, smiling. "I can't believe we actually had a date last night. After all you'd been through!"

Shawn finds the energy to grin. "Yeah, I'm just that impressive," he jokes.

"So it's agreed then? We'll take it slow. You can have some time to get back to, well, not normal, because let's face it, you're not really normal-"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Abigail grins. "Oh, I meant it as one. So, we'll have dinner on, say, Friday. Maybe go see a movie or go bowling or something."

Shawn subconsciously makes a face at the mention of bowling.

"Not a fan of bowling?" Abigail asks, taking a bite of bread.

"No, it's not that, it's just," Shawn pauses, his mind on Juliet and not for the first time. "I think Friday is League Night," he finishes lamely.

"Oh. Well, whatever," she decides brightly. "I just, I don't want to rush this. You know?"

Shawn nods and smiles, though he doesn't know.

"Great," Abigail says. The waiter arrives with their entrees, and they settle in to a subdued dinner.

Shawn hardly eats, pushing the crab cakes around on his plate, wishing he'd ordered something else.

He doesn't need any reminders.

They don't linger long after the check has been paid, and they can't really talk on the motorcycle. Shawn's grateful for the silence, although he desperately fills it with random thoughts to keep the real stuff at bay.

He drops her off, receives a soft kiss on the cheek, and heads home. He has honed his senses, but he is too distracted to catch the bittersweet finality in her goodbye.

It's early, but he's exhausted.

He falls into bed but cannot sleep. Hours pass. Shawn stares at the ceiling, trying not to think.

He replays his father's warning. Damn Henry for being right. Will he really never sleep again? One night of coma-like unconsciousness and that's it?

But I did catch him, Shawn protests to himself. One of them. Isn't that worth a few hours of sleep?

Apparently not.

He's not sure if it's insomnia, the Yang sleeping curse, or just his brain unable to slow down, but his thoughts are all over the place, and so he's betting it's a mix of all three.

Things are supposed to be better after a near death experience. Food should taste better, the sun feel warmer, smiles stretch wider. Why hasn't that happened? Why are things worse?

Shawn shifts on his side, zealously molding his pillow into a snowmanlike lump. Aside from coffee, which he's certain has magical powers and always exceeds his taste expectations, life doesn't feel much changed, and certainly not for the better.

Even as he thinks it, he knows it's not completely true. Things do feel different... because they are different. And not just in a bad way.

Shawn likes Abigail. He knows it. Given the opportunity, he could even fall in love with her. He's as sure of it now as he was all those years ago on that pier. But he's also sure of something else- he's already in love with Juliet.

Now that he's not approaching a serial killer/hostage situation, Shawn lets his brain mull over the idea. Sure, they haven't technically even kissed yet, nor gone on a date, and he is pretty sure in his haste at her apartment he managed to see an alarming number of Lord of the Rings books, but it is what it is. He loves her, and, his thoughts drifting back to the drive-in, she's probably pretty close to feeling the same way.

Great.

Now he's not even the slightest bit tired.

It's just about sunrise by the time he gives up the idea of going to sleep at all. He decides he might as well head to the station now; he'd been able to leave the station for his date only because he'd promised the Chief to come back the next day and give his statement. They're worried he'll forget.

Like Shawn can forget.

Even if he weren't the way he is, he cannot forget.

He hops in the shower, dresses, and heads for the station, wondering if maybe the act of giving his statement will help put this case behind him.

*~*~*

"Don't be ridiculous, O'Hara," she chides herself, reaching once again for the door handle. Once again her hand hovers without making contact.

The car's been processed. She can clearly see the backseat is empty. Even if it weren't, she's in the parking lot of the police station. She's safe. And yet...

She drops her hand and it falls limply back in place at her side, keychain dangling and clicking quietly against her ring.

She can't spend another night at the station, but she can't bring herself to open the door either.

'Get back on the horse, O'Hara,' a voice in her head commands, sounding suspiciously like her older brother. But she's frozen in place.

Someone clears their throat and she jumps, turning and casually hiding her keys out of sight behind her back.

"Hey," Shawn says quietly. He tries to meet her eyes but she's staring at her right big toe. He takes a few steps, closing the distance between them. "How are you holding up?"

Juliet gapes at him, wondering if he's been reading her mind. She shrugs. "I'm alive," she responds, which isn't an answer but at least it's true.

Shawn nods. The fact that they're alive, both of them, is such a blessing that neither feels right to complain about anything yet. Who cares if you can't get in your car - you're alive. What does it matter if you can't sleep at night- you didn't die in an explosion. Beggars can't be choosers.

"How are you?" Juliet asks, her keys heavy behind her back.

"Fantastic," he answers with a slight twitch of a smile.

Juliet smiles ruefully, adjusting her arm and hoping the keys don't jingle. If Shawn finds out she can't get back in her car, well...

"You heading home?" he asks, nodding to the vehicle at her back.

"Yeah. I was about to. I just..." Juliet sighs and runs a hand through her hair, cursing silently at the reminder when her hand slips through air where her hair used to be.

Shawn doesn't make her finish her sentence. "Do you want a ride?"

'He said "want." Not "need."' Juliet's pleased with his word choice. "Oh, no, thanks, Shawn. I should really get my car back home," she replies automatically, even though the idea seems more than nice. And it's not just because I want to avoid driving.

"Oh," Shawn's face is unreadable.

Juliet takes her hand from behind her back and fumbles with her key. 'Please insist,' she begs in her mind, hoping against logic that he can hear it.

She opens the door and Shawn's hand reaches out to gently shut it. "Detective, have you eaten breakfast yet?"

A shiver involuntarily marathons through her spine. 'It's just my title,' she chides herself. 'Shawn saying it shouldn't change anything.'

But it does.

"No," she answers truthfully, her stomach thanking him for the opportunity.

Shawn smiles. "Then may I take you up on that date offer?"

Juliet shakes her head, stifling a grin. "Shawn, I'm sorry, but that offer expired."

Her grin breaks free after only moments of his dejected stare. "I'm kidding, I''m kidding," she insists.

"Too late," he replies, turning and walking towards the bike.

Juliet's puzzled, unable to tell if she's actually hurt his feelings or not.

"Are you coming?" he calls.

Juliet smiles, tossing her keys in her purse and hurrying after him.

She's never been on his bike before, and they both savor the brief ride.

Despite the Norton's engine, when they pull into the parking lot Shawn can hear her gasp. Maybe "hear" isn't the right word so much as "feel" since she's clinging so tightly to him. For a few tense moments he wonders if maybe it's a bad choice. He helps Juliet off the bike, and when she removes her helmet he can see by her expression he's picked the right place.

He holds open the door and, without saying a word, they walk into the diner where they met.

The End

And, much like Abbey Road, there may be a little "Her Majesty" added to the end. :)