CHAPTER THREE

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. . .

Carlton knew how to compartmentalize. Without the ability to compartmentalize, a cop couldn't make it on the job. You had to be able to put aside the horrors you might see in order to keep your sanity.

By his own cautious analysis, he'd done fairly well compartmentalizing his feelings for Juliet into a box he only took out at night (or when he was weak and no one was looking), keeping them separate from the work day and their partnership.

Mostly.

He had feared she might fall for Spencer's line of crap (although he knew Spencer did actually love her), but he'd also chosen to believe she would eventually come out of her pineapple-scented-coma, because she was so smart, and had plenty of self-esteem, and surely one day, one day, she would see.

He even assumed he'd figure out a wedding was in the works by judging her level of happiness (blindness) with Spencer beforehand, and be able to prepare himself for it.

(As if there was a way to prepare for that other than leaving town, which had crossed his mind.)

But he never saw this coming.

He'd thought she was increasingly unhappy with the man of late. Even during their God-awful argument this morning, he had perceived cracks in the armor of her staunch defense of Spencer.

To hear "I got married" and "please come get me" in the same conversation didn't fit any scenario he had ever envisioned.

He glanced at Juliet, slumped against the passenger door, sniffling. She looked exhausted.

Twenty minutes of driving toward Santa Barbara had earned him not one word from her, but in her defense, he hadn't said anything either.

He didn't know what the hell he should say.

What happened?
It'll be okay.
What did he do to make you regret it on the same day you married him?
Really, it'll be okay.
Why him?
It'll be okay... eventually. I promise.
Why wasn't it me?
I'll be okay. Eventually.

And if it's up to me, you'll be happy no matter who you're with.

"You want coffee?" he asked abruptly. "I passed a McDonald's on the way up and we should hit it soon. Maybe you need some food too."

After a moment, she smiled very faintly. "Coffee. And an apple pie. Yeah." She looked full at him, her eyes huge and troubled. "Thank you so much for coming."

He only nodded.

It was only another few minutes before the golden arches appeared, and Juliet asked uneasily if they could use the drive-thru rather than go inside. There was no chance he'd argue with her request.

He placed their orders—coffee, pie, and a hamburger for her just in case, and one for him too in hopes chewing would keep him from saying stupid-ass things while she was clearly so very upset.

And married.

There was a parking space in the street next to the McDonald's, so he pulled in and parked, windows down to let in the cool night air, and she handed him his coffee before sorting through the bag.

"O'Hara."

She looked up at him, growing still.

"What the hell happened?"

"It's been a really, really long day," she sighed, and held out the wrapped burger.

Carlton took it, spectacularly un-hungry, and kept his gaze on her.

"First, I am so very very sorry for slapping you this morning. I was completely out of line and totally wrongheaded and you can't even imagine how much I regret it."

"I may have had it coming," he suggested, because he probably did, and because her eyes were misty and he didn't want her to cry anymore.

"No, I don't think so. You were telling the truth. You always tell the truth. You're not always gentle about it," she amended, "but you always tell the truth, and nothing you said this morning warranted a slap."

Again, he could only nod. Truthfully, he wasn't sure anything she had said warranted the way he talked to her.

Juliet bit into the apple pie and sighed again, this time with contentment more than weariness. "I've been thinking about today a lot in the last few hours and honestly, challenging you about Shawn is where it all went wrong. You let me have it, and rightfully so; and I stupidly ran out and got a bottle of sangria and took it home to wallow."

He couldn't help it. "Girlie drink. Real wallowing requires Scotch."

Juliet smiled, and one tiny weight lifted from his heart. "Regardless. I skipped lunch, so that girlie drink did a number on me pretty fast." She had another bite of pie, and sipped her coffee.

"I thought your brothers taught you to drink."

"Oh, they did. Lesson one, don't drink on an empty stomach. It was my second screwup for the day."

"O'Hara," he warned her. "Just tell the story. Self-recriminations can come later."

She set the pie down and took a deep breath. "Shawn showed up early in the afternoon. He was agitated and asked if I'd come for a drive with him. He said he'd been to see Henry and he wanted to tell me about it but he also wanted to just drive somewhere."

"On his bike?" That would explain her needing a ride. "Or in your car?" Yeah. That'd be more like it for the mooch.

"Better," she said dryly. "Gus' car, which I found out later he didn't have permission to use."

Carlton withheld a "duh."

Juliet glanced at him, and that same faint smile told him she knew what he was thinking.

Benefit of the partnership. Liability when he wanted to be inscrutable.

"Feeling rebellious, I got in the car, and we drove. For while he didn't talk about anything in particular, but when we were nearly to Santa Clarita he got to the point."

It would take that long.

"He and Henry had a long talk. You know how shaken up Shawn was when Henry got shot. Almost losing him was a wake-up call, and he said Henry wanted to push home a few lessons he'd learned while he was recovering. Lessons like: don't waste opportunities." She rested her head against the door, sipping her coffee.

I shouldn't have wasted mine.

"And the one which really got to him: you might not have as much future as you think you do, so don't put off the important things. 'Someday' might never come."

Henry was a smart guy... sometimes.

"So Shawn said he was taking that to heart. He said it was time to stop fighting the inevitable—age and responsibility and commitment—and as he parked the stolen car in front of the county clerk's office, he turned to me and asked me to marry him."

Carlton didn't allow himself to think anything.

After a moment she looked at him, solemn and tired. "At first I said no, because it was more than a little crazy."

"Good girl," he muttered.

"But he pressed the point. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to push, today of all days. Didn't I ever want to do the unexpected. Didn't I ever want to prove that what was right might not seem logical to anyone else. Didn't I want to show everyone what a good couple we were. Didn't I ever just want to throw a big 'screw you' at people who say 'you can't do that.' Didn't I." She fell silent.

He sipped coffee and eyed his burger. Wanted it even less now.

"He said he loved me and we should take this chance."

When a tear ran down her cheek he took the coffee from her hand and set it in the cupholder, turning her to face him while he brushed the tear away. He didn't know what he was doing but she accepted his touch and the napkin he handed her, blowing her nose and reclaiming the coffee when she was ready.

"I know now that what made me say yes had very little to do with my feelings for him and a lot more to do with wanting to prove you wrong."

Even though he'd half-expected something like that, it was still hard to take it in. He had enough natural guilt about everything without having to add Great, I'm the reason she married Gel-Head to the list.

The napkin was useless when she began to sob again, and Carlton felt equally useless. He got out of the car, crossed to her side, opened the door and pulled her up and against his chest, because he needed to put his arms around her as much as she needed someone's arms, and she probably didn't have his arms in mind but he was the one with her, right?

Juliet sank into his embrace, cheek warm against his heart, and they stood in the street while she cried herself back to order.

Golden arches behind, stars above, traffic passing. He held her, because he loved her, and he would always love her, and after she inevitably reconciled with her husband she would forget this night and that she'd turned to him for comfort.

"Isn't a girl supposed to call her mother crying on her wedding night?" he asked, his lips brushing her soft hair.

Juliet's small laugh was muffled against his re-dampened shirt. "It's the time difference." She lifted her head. "You're the best substitute ever, Carlton. When a girl can't call her mom, her best friend is always next on the list."

He was touched, and couldn't stop from brushing more tears from her warm skin.

"Okay." She breathed deeply, steeling herself. "Let's get back in the car and I'll tell the rest."

. . . .

. . .

She finished off her pie first and started on the burger at Carlton's insistence. The coffee was good and she needed the sustenance, and she needed Carlton, and someday she hoped she could make him understand how much she appreciated him.

After she said yes to Shawn, they went in to get the marriage license. Of course he didn't have the money to pay for it—Carlton rolled his eyes—but she put it down to the impromptu nature of the proposal (even though it niggled at her that Shawn knew exactly how to find the county clerk's office in a city unfamiliar to him).

She'd allowed herself to feel a bit giddy—she was getting married!—but in truth, in God's honest truth, it had been as important to her to prove Carlton wrong as it was to marry the man she thought she loved.

When she said this to Carlton, very quietly, he was silent. His blue gaze—even in the dim light of the car she could see how blue they were—was steady, but it was impossible to read his thoughts.

Not the first time she'd been sorry about that.

Would he think she was nuts, or selfish, if she asked him to hold her again?

It hit her that she'd already been physically closer to Carlton in the past hour than she'd been to Shawn all day. Shawn had kissed her enthusiastically after they were pronounced man and wife by an uninterested judge over at the Santa Clarita courthouse (another place he mysteriously found without a map or asking directions), but then he'd dragged her back to the car and said they had to celebrate.

She resumed her tale there, for she was confident Carlton didn't want to hear about Shawn kissing her.

He drove directly to the resort—as if he'd been there a dozen times before—and as soon as they stopped in front of the grand fountain he said with incredibly authentic surprise that he'd just remembered this was where Gus and Kelli were staying, and wasn't that cool, and Gus would be so thrilled and they could get a room there too and wouldn't it all be so freaking awesome, etc., etc.

It was then, she admitted to Carlton, that she first felt the tickle of real uneasiness about her decision. It was then she began to wonder how much of the day had been spontaneous in the first place. Clearly he'd looked up addresses and directions to all three places before he ever showed up at her apartment, but then why not admit it? Why play like it was all innocent? Did he think she was stupid? Did he think he couldn't just ask her to marry him in a conventional way and take his chances on getting an unrushed reply?

When Shawn went to the desk to get the room, she'd hung back. She'd known there was no way he had the money for the reservation, but it never once occurred to her that he had her credit card, nor that he'd used it at the gas station earlier. She just assumed it was the usual: he'd palmed Gus' credit card, and she'd be the one to pay it back later. (She'd long since realized their weekend getaway months ago had been Gus-funded, not that Shawn had admitted it directly.)

Carlton's reaction to the admission about her credit card gave a definite set to his jaw, and for a moment she worried he might completely make mush out of what was left of his burger. But again, he kept quiet.

Shawn, their room keycard in hand, called Gus immediately. I have to tell him we got married, he explained, and she didn't begrudge him that. But when she heard him tell Gus they should have dinner together, more alarm bells went off.

She warned Shawn they shouldn't disrupt Gus and Kelli's weekend. She didn't say the two of them should be alone together, because she shouldn't have had to tell him. It was kind of built in to the whole getting married thing, right?

Next to her, and decidedly baleful, Carlton wrapped up the rest of his sandwich and threw it in the bag.

Shawn overrode her, and by then the sangria was wearing off and reality was kicking in with a size 13 steel-toed boot.

Gus—gaping—and Kelli, confused, met them at the entrance to the restaurant. Gus congratulated them, awkward hugs were exchanged, and the four of them had a strange meal together. Shawn was ebullient, and very enthused about the 'chance' meeting on this fateful day. We should celebrate, he said.

Juliet finally found her voice and suggested they go check out their room. Maybe she could calm him down and remember why she'd said yes if they were alone and everything was quiet.

Except Shawn, of course, didn't do quiet. He was restless in the room until he turned on the TV, still proclaiming this the best day ever. She asked if he wanted to call his dad: no. He didn't ask if she wanted to call anyone, and the unfortunate truth was she didn't.

From this point in the story, it was easy to be more detached. She described their argument, but had to add, "It's not really ever an argument with Shawn. He doesn't argue properly."

Carlton frowned. "He and Guster go at it enough."

"Yeah, but it's like he brings a squid to a knife fight. When you and I argue, we stay on topic for the most part and yell until we're done. With Shawn, it's about deflection. He's willing to yell, but never about the actual point of contention."

"Squid to a knife fight," he mused. "I like that."

"Anyway," she said, but had nothing left. "I was stupid, that's all there is to it. Blind and stupid and misguided and—"

"Stop." He rubbed his face, and she could see how tired he was too.

"And now I've got the biggest mess of my life."

Carlton sighed. "Yeah. Unless you work it out with him."

Juliet turned her head to study him. "Work what out?"

He was obviously uncomfortable. "You might work it out. There's something there, right? Or you wouldn't have said yes at all."

She had no idea how to respond. Carlton was telling her it could work out? With Shawn?

Finally she said, "You can't work out personality clashes."

At first he was silent.

Then he said slowly, "We did."

Juliet was stunned.

Carlton looked at her evenly. "Who's more different than we are? And we've lasted seven years."

"Carlton," she breathed, "that is not the same thing."

"Isn't it? Who ever thought the nice rookie would last with the bad-tempered son of a bitch head detective?"

"It is not the same thing," she repeated. "You and I are alike in a lot of really important ways, like valuing truth and hard work and trusting each other and knowing how to be… quiet together. Being bad-tempered isn't who you are, Carlton. It's only what you show on the outside. I've just stuck around long enough to see the warm gooey inside."

He looked at her sharply. "Don't you ever call me warm and gooey again."

Juliet laughed—for the first time in hours where it wasn't bitter—and saw his reluctant smile. "I won't. I promise. Sort of. But seriously—you know what I mean about Shawn. I'm not going to be able to 'work out' who he is against who I am."

"Juliet." He seemed to be bracing himself. "You had over five years to see what kind of man he was and you began to date him anyway. I'm just saying you shouldn't be so sure you can walk away."

"I had five years of letting him charm me, and a lot of optimism that his heart—the heart he doesn't often show anyone—would make him a good choice. Or at least a temporary one," she admitted.

He looked at her again, this time curiously. "What do you mean?"

She fiddled with her seatbelt. "It means I've had a few late-night conversations with myself wherein I acknowledged that Shawn wasn't likely to become someone I could spend my life with. Not unless a lot of things changed."

"Marriage is a pretty big change," he pointed out reasonably.

"Real marriage is, yes. Not a quickie ceremony in an out-of-town courthouse with a guy who spent the day lying to me and surreptitiously using my credit card."

"That's fair." Another reluctant smile.

Now she was curious. "Why are you encouraging this? You're the last person I'd expect to support my marriage to Shawn. I mean, I know you'd support me, but the marriage wouldn't be something you'd like much." Shawn, she realized, would be insufferable about it at the station.

"It's not," he admitted. "But after our fight this morning, I can't afford to give you any reason to think I might try to sabotage your relationship."

Curiosity turned to appallment. "Oh, Carlton, no! I've never thought you were trying to sabotage my relationship. I knew you didn't like it, but I never thought you wanted to wreck it." She was earnest; he must know that.

After a pause he said, "Okay, look, you've had a long day. I think I should take you home so you can rest. You never know what you're going to think about things in the morning."

"I know what I'll think about you in the morning," she said softly.

"I probably don't want to hear it." His tone was dry as he started the engine.

"You might. I'll think you're the best friend I've ever had in my life, and I'll wish I deserved it even a little."

He turned to look at her, startled, and she saw in those vivid blue eyes a flash of emotion.

"O'Hara." He stopped, swallowed, and began again. "O'Hara, you are a stellar person, and if you think having me as a friend is a good thing, then I'm incredibly honored."

Stellar. Not so much today, but how sweet of him to say it. She smiled mistily. "It's the best thing."

Carlton let out a sigh, and she suspected he was pleased.

"Let's get you home."

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