CHAPTER FOUR

. . . .

. . .

There were two wooden patio chairs on Juliet's back deck, and she pulled one out into the morning sunshine, a large mug of coffee keeping her company as she sat and soaked up the warmth and hope of a new day.

Carlton had gotten her home around two a.m. He escorted her to the door, let her hug him again and whispered, "It's going to be okay," words she thought must have seemed slightly foreign to him.

Of course everything would be okay, eventually.

And not just because his warm smoky voice promised it. Not just because with his arms around her she felt safer and more hopeful than she'd ever expected.

No, everything would be okay because this was, in fact, a surmountable problem.

She'd been face down on her bed until an hour ago, phone off, eyes shut tight, willing it all to have been a strange bad dream. Now it was just after ten; a scant twelve hours past the breaking point in her relationship with Shawn.

Was it broken beyond repair?

She had to wonder, because Carlton had asked her to wonder, and for Carlton of all people to advise caution before making rash decisions about Shawn meant she should take the advice to heart. Certainly he hadn't been wrong so far.

The answer, however, was unclear. Except for the part where she was married. Married.

Her 'husband' was God knew where—no, she knew: he was partaking of the "sweet breakfast buffet," probably at Gus' expense—and she had to have the most difficult conversation with him imaginable. Soon.

So what are you saying? Exactly?

I'm saying that I already know I should not be married to Shawn. Not now anyway. And not like this.

Well, you cared about him enough to say yes. To stay with him all this time.

I did. I do. I… do. I did. But suddenly it's not the same as it was. As I thought it was.

Then what's this about "not now anyway"? You're saying you could be married to him someday?

Juliet sipped coffee to stall answering herself, and was half-relieved to hear someone knocking on the front door. She went inside and through to the front, where the door was open already—stopped only by the chain.

Shawn was on the other side, exasperated. "Why's the chain on?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" She let him in, noting with dismay that he carried a duffel bag. "What's that?"

"My things. Enough for a few days, anyway, until we decide where we're going to live, though I gotta admit, this place is pretty sweet." He smiled. "Hi, Mrs. Spencer."

"Hi—"

She was stopped by his kiss, a meaningful kiss, a kiss meant to distract her, but she was already so distracted that the kiss was just… annoying.

"Shawn," she said urgently, breaking away. "You can't stay here."

"Why not? The lease isn't so specific as to rule out an additional roommate."

"How in the hell would you know what my lease says?"

"Well," he said patiently, "it's our lease now. I don't think you get this married thing yet, honey." He plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on her table. "You feel better today? I really missed you last night."

Wait for it… wait for it… would it be about wanting a fourth for poker, or how her credit card would really have come in handy for the three a.m. snack run, or…

But he surprised her by appearing genuinely regretful. "I know I messed up our wedding day. I'm sorry."

Juliet sat at the other end of the sofa, still unwilling for him to be close to her, for reasons she could not fully grasp. "It was really weird, Shawn."

"I know." He leaned forward, studying his hands. "I had it all planned but I didn't think you'd go for it if you had time to think it over."

"You thought it would too late for me to think it over if we were already married?"

"Yeah, something like. I really did have that talk with my dad. The epiphany. Only it was Thursday, not Friday morning."

"Shawn," she said slowly, not really believing it, "are you actually being honest with me for a change?"

"Freaky, huh?" He grinned for a moment. "Jules, I'm always as honest as I can be, and one thing I'm totally honest about is that I love you and I want to be with you."

For a moment she saw the hint of truth behind the mask of charm and chicanery—the truth she'd spotted time and again over the years which had kept her from giving up on him.

But she didn't forget the truth she knew about herself: a little Shawn went a long way, and she had been unbecomingly relieved that Henry being shot had the side effect of interrupting her now obviously insane machinations toward having Shawn move in with her.

"Jules," he said expectantly.

Oh. She was supposed to say she loved him and wanted to be with him too.

Yeah, well.

"I can't handle this yet, Shawn. You know I care about you. You know it. But everything about yesterday is banging around in my head and heart and I just can't handle this."

The hazel of his eyes grew darker. "What did I do yesterday which was so different from the me you've known all these years?"

There was a question. A damned good one.

"Honestly? I guess… nothing. But on a woman's wedding day, Shawn, what stands out should be the good stuff… not the bad stuff."

He looked down for a few seconds. "I got carried away a little, I guess. But the thing is, we are married now. You're Mrs. Spencer. I'm Mr. O'Hara. We're supposed to be together and work things out and why not now? When's a better time than right now?"

When I feel sane again.

Shawn pressed on, "We could watch some TV. Go catch an early lunch special at Taco Tomás. We could go to the mall and make fun of the people coming out of the hair salon."

All things he enjoyed with Gus and had never quite figured out weren't her only interests as well, which was entirely separate from the fact that none of those things involved actually talking or working anything out.

"I'm sorry. I don't feel much like eating, I'm really not in the mood for TV, and the mall… I'm not in the mood for that either. I just need some space, Shawn."

"Jules," he said sadly. "This is supposed to be a happy time. I can't believe I've screwed it up that much already."

"It's not all you," she assured him. "Obviously I wasn't really ready for anything about yesterday and I won't even pretend I handled it well."

"I understand." He stood up. "I already know what to do, though." He headed toward the door, and she was beyond thankful to see him pick up his duffel bag along the way.

"What's that?" Because one should never assume with Shawn.

Standing in the open door, smiling as if he had all the answers, he said simply, "I have to win you all over again."

The door closed behind him before she could even formulate the thought "oh, crap."

. . . .
. . .

Carlton roamed his condo restlessly.

Juliet was married.

Married.

Married to Spencer.

And he—Carlton "I Just Don't Get That Asshat" Lassiter—had encouraged her to consider working it out with him.

Two words for ya, pal: Mo. Ron.

But all right, Lassiter, big shot head detective, think this through.

Possibility One: she divorced him immediately and life went back to 'normal,' even though there was no such thing as normal and he'd still only be her partner and friend.

Possibility Two: she would agonize for weeks or months—with Spencer jumping around trying to get her back—and she'd be miserable, and Carlton would be in the suck-ass position of trying to be supportive of the woman he loved being miserable over another guy. Who was, say it with me now, her husband.

Possibility Three: Spencer was over there right now doing her, and Juliet would appear all starry-eyed and lovestruck when she returned to work on Monday.

Possibility Four: He could begin eating the sofa until they carried him off for furniture abuse. And mental illness.

He sat down, weary. Possibility Five: he could tell her he loved her and confuse her even more. Then she would hit him with his sofa, quit the SBPD, and run off with Asshatticus McAssidork.

As long as he was thinking things through: what the hell was he going to do if she and Spencer showed signs of living happily ever after?

He could be happy for her if she was genuinely happy with her life. He could. Loving her didn't preclude being willing for her to be happy with another man.

But could he stay on as her partner?

Better think that through too.

. . . .
. . .

Juliet called Carlton late in the afternoon. "You were debating whether to call me, weren't you?" She felt a bit bold asking.

"Yes," he admitted.

"But you didn't want to feel like you were intruding."

"Something like that."

"Carlton, I slapped you across the face yesterday and you still drove eighty miles to rescue me from myself. I think that entitles you to full intrusion rights, as well as my eternal gratitude."

He was silent a moment. "You need to stop thanking me. You're my partner and my friend and there's no way I'd have let you down."

"I know, but since I haven't acted much like a friend lately, you're getting my gratitude whether you like it or not, so suck it up."

"Sucking," he said at once, and she laughed. Wow, twice he'd made her laugh when not a damn thing seemed funny. "I did wonder how you were doing."

Juliet thought she'd been ready for the question until it came from him, because Carlton would know if she was lying. He might not say anything about it—he would understand if she needed to make light—but he would know. And after kvetching at Shawn about honesty, she had to be completely honest with this man above all others.

"I'm… unsettled. But I'm okay." Which about summed it up, really. "Something else I owe to you. I really… I just have to say it again. If you hadn't come for me… my God. Yesterday of all days, I had no right to ask you for a damn thing, but you—" Her voice caught.

"O'Hara, please. Just… look, there wasn't anything on TV anyway."

Juliet laughed—three times now, she marveled. He was a wonder.

"Oh, Carlton," she sighed, and was happy again, and wasn't that a lovely feeling?

"You've seen… Shawn today?"

Another wow: Carlton calling him 'Shawn' was serious business. "Yes. He came over this morning expecting to move in but I put him off as gently as I could."

"Did he get to you?"

The question was noncommittal, non-judgmental.

Did he get to you?

"No. Not like that. But I do see what you mean about taking it slow—not because I'm likely to feel differently, but because I have to show him over time that I won't. The problem is, there isn't a lot of time left."

"What do you mean?" Sharp. "Are you thinking about leaving here?"

"God no," she exclaimed. "Never. But I did some Googling and it takes six months for a divorce to be finalized in California. I guess you knew that already, but I didn't. That means the longer I wait to file, the longer this drags out."

"When did you want to file?"

"Monday if possible."

Carlton made a hmmm sound. "Yeah, that's not going to seem to Spencer like you're giving it a chance."

Spencer. Actually, she preferred that. 'Shawn' sounded wrong coming from him.

"I don't… I don't want to give it a chance."

He paused. "It's too soon for you to be sure."

"You said that last night, but Shawn's not the only one who had an epiphany yesterday—although as it turns out his was really on Thursday. I had mine last night. It's what made me call you in the first place."

Again, the silence on his end was long. "I just don't want you to have any more regrets, Juliet."

She swallowed. Something about his use of her first name was so intimate, even though he probably didn't intend it that way, and certainly it wouldn't strike her that way if she weren't so messed up about everything.

"I don't either, Carlton. I want to do this—end this—right."

"Then time is what you need," he said simply.

Her partner was turning out to know just about everything.

. . . .
. . .

Juliet awoke to bright sunshine, a cool breeze, a sense of things not being horrible… and music.

Music, but her clock radio was off.

She sat up. Please don't let Shawn be in my apartment.

Even as she scolded herself for such a wrong-headed knee-jerk reaction (after all, he wasn't an enemy; she'd been dating him for a year), she was also analyzing the music and its source. Probably a neighbor kid in his car, right?

Sure it was. Still, she got out of bed and went quickly to the front window, pulling aside the curtain and looking down into the parking lot.

Next to her Bug, upon which rested a boombox, stood Shawn.

He was lip-synching… it appeared… and the song was "Don't You Forget About Me," at a very high volume. He had on his best ratty jeans under an oversized tan suit jacket, his hair was freshly gelled, and a little tiny voice in her head muttered all the trouble he takes to seem like he takes no trouble at all, and it's all about looking almost grungy.

Already appalled instead of charmed, she yanked the front door open.

He had just gotten to the first round of "don't don't don't don't" and grinned up at her, swaying to his toy microphone.

"Shawn!" she yelled. "I have neighbors!"

He only smiled and led into the line "we'll win in the end."

Beyond him, she gradually realized some of those neighbors were leaning against cars on the far side of the lot. Some looked skeptical but none seemed about to rush him. Except maybe Manny, who was carrying a crowbar.

She slammed the door and made quick work of pulling on jeans and a tee, finger-combing her hair and going back for another attempt at shutting him up.

"I'll put us back together at heart, bay-by," he mouthed to Jim Kerr's soaring voice, giving her the Serious Shawn eye, but she was now profoundly irritated.

"Shawn, turn that off!"

"Can't!" he yelled back in a pause, swaying slowly during the break.

"Then turn it down!" She went down several steps, but Shawn was unstoppable. "Good Lord," she muttered, and decided to wait it out, arms folded tight and hard against her middle.

It wasn't even nine a.m. She'd only slept that late because sleep had been fitful, and to be woken by something which was surely pissing off her neighbors as well as unnecessarily dramatic was not a good way to start the day.

The song faded out and she asked, "Are you done?"

"Not by a long shot, my sweet, sweet Jules." He bowed, adjusted his toy mike—was that glitter on the side?—and resumed swaying to what was unmistakably the start of "In Your Eyes."

To her further dismay, she spotted next to the boombox a stack of CDs. A stack.

Oh hell no, she thought, and returned to her apartment, locking the door behind her. Rapidly making no-doubt foolish decisions, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, found her shoes, listened to Peter Gabriel (albeit muffled) sing "I am the doorway to a thousand churches" and thought it highly unlikely in Shawn's case, and with a final savage brush to her hair, grabbed the same items she'd grabbed on Friday night in the hotel room: phone, keys, wallet.

There was a back door to this damn place, and she intended to use it.

Gus was sitting in one of her patio chairs. "Hello, Juliet."

"Gus, what the hell does he think he's doing?" She locked the door and faced him angrily.

"Wooing you," he said simply.

Juliet felt her jaw clenching. "Does he understand I have neighbors? And it's still what some people call early?"

"He already talked to them." Gus said it calmly, but she recognized the uneasiness in his demeanor.

"What do you mean he talked to them?"

"He went door-to-door. He told all of them he was trying to win you over and that he might be a little loud for a while but if they'd just give true love a chance, they'd never regret it."

Juliet stared at him. "Oh. My. God."

Gus nodded. "Yeah."

"So you're here to, what, stop me leaving?"

"He said you might run."

"He said I might run," she repeated in disbelief. "Are you actually condoning this dumbass move on his part?"

He stood up, smoothing his khakis with feigned calm. "He asked me to watch the back, and I'm his friend so I said yes."

"I'm surprised you're not speed-dialing him right now." She knew she sounded bitter, and Gus didn't really deserve it.

"I'm busy watching the back," he said calmly.

Juliet hesitated, sensing there was a second layer to his words. "Yes, so you said."

"It's a big… back, Juliet. There's a lot to watch." With that, he turned slowly to face away from her, whistling a little as he gave great care to studying the other decks and windows.

Her heart lightened considerably. "Thanks, Gus. Give me a ten-minute head start and then please, please for the love of God tell him to stop tormenting my neighbors?"

She watched the back of his head long enough to see his nod, and went down the back steps like a shot.

. . . .
. . .

Carlton had been awake for hours, just as restless as he was yesterday. His short phone conversation with Juliet had been the one bright spot in the day, in large part because she hadn't sounded much as if she was leaning toward remaining Mrs. Spencer.

When his phone rang, he nearly lunged for it, ready to take a bloody homicide over staying here going insane.

Juliet's name was on the screen.

"O'Hara?"

"Hey. Um…"

Immediate concern. "What is it?"

"Um… oh, geez. Look, I'm about three blocks from your place. Are you busy? Can I… hang out with you for a while?"

Hell yeah.

"Uh—sure. You can try one of these muffins I just took out of the oven."

Well, that sounded froo-froo.

Juliet laughed. "I'd love to. What kind?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," he said tartly. "Just hurry up."

She was laughing as she disconnected, and Carlton was way too proud of being able to make her happy even in a superficial way.

By the time she knocked on the door he had two muffins (blueberry) set out on the table and a fresh pot of coffee brewing.

She looked fresh and slightly wind-tossed—no makeup, he noted, but she never needed any in his opinion. "Good morning," she said warmly, and before he saw it coming, stepped into his arms for a hug.

Oh.

Yes.

More please.

Stepping back again, she drank deep of the scents from the kitchen. "You really did make muffins!"

"I astound myself sometimes," he said with mock severity, and gestured to a chair. "Coffee's on the way."

He sat across from her, watching with approval as she broke off a chunk of the muffin and popped it into her mouth. "Heaven," she said with a blissful smile. "Also my first meal."

"You need to take care of yourself," he admonished.

"Yeah? Aren't you the guy who lived for three days on nothing but coffee and trail mix because you were 'in the zone' on the Crawford case and didn't want to go home in case you lost your mojo?"

"Yeah?" he echoed. "What's your point?"

Juliet smirked and ate more muffin.

"So why are you on the loose this morning?"

"I've been walking," she said carefully, with a glance to her watch. "Huh. Just past ten. Seems like every key moment lately has been around ten."

"They're only muffins; hardly a key moment." He waited for her smile, because he loved it. "Hang on. Coffee should be up."

When he brought two large mugs out a few minutes later, she had tucked one leg up underneath her and the muffin was half-gone, so he turned around again to get her another one.

"Okay, now start." He put his feet up on the other chair—he was allowed to do that; it was his chair—and started in on his own muffin and java.

Juliet relaxed a little more. "I ran away from my apartment because Shawn was out front serenading me. Or rather, his boombox was serenading me."

He started to say "idiot" but bit it back. It wasn't actually that idiotic a move, but the man's timing was way off and Carlton had yet to hear Juliet's full reaction.

"'Disco Duck'?" he suggested neutrally.

Juliet grinned. "Not quite. I might have stuck around for novelty songs. No, it was the usual eighties stuff." Now she sighed. "Just… it's always too much, Carlton. It's always too loud, too long, too frenzied, too 'on,' too… you name it, it's too much."

"Too soon."

"Yes." She pushed a lock of honey-blonde hair behind her ear. "Definitely too soon."

"What are you going to tell people at work tomorrow?"

"If it were entirely my choice?"

He smiled slightly. "Let's pretend."

"Nothing," she said flatly. "But I know I can't get away with that. I need to tell the Chief, and I'm going to recommend she not let us—or me anyway—work with Psych until this is over."

"It would be no great hardship for me to not work with Spencer awhile," he allowed.

"You understand why, right?"

"Appearances."

"Exactly. You… I kept thinking about what you said on Friday. About me showing favoritism. I—"

He broke in, hating the memory of everything about that fight. "O'Hara, I am so sorry. It was totally unfair and I shouldn't have—"

She raised her voice. "It wasn't unfair and my point is only that if you ever thought it for even one second, other people thought it too. So if it came out that I married the same consultant I was already thought to be showing favoritism to, it'd be bad for the department as well, and I figure Chief Vick gets enough grief because of Shawn as it is."

"I'm sure she'd agree." He had another sip of coffee, watching her. "What do you want me to say when people ask me?"

"You mean because you've already figured out Shawn won't keep it quiet," she said wryly.

"'Disco Duck' and 'Tarzan Boy' gave me a clue, yeah."

"'Tarzan Boy'? Carlton, really?" she asked, laughing.

"'Safety Dance,' then," he said, unaccountably happy.

"I don't know. I can sort of hear Shawn doing a fairly creditable jungle cry." She tilted her head, smiling at him. Shining at him. She had no idea what she was doing to him.

"So what do you want me to say?"

The smile, surprisingly, didn't fade. "Well, the Carlton I know would bark 'None of your damn business; now get back to work.'"

"Not bad. I don't sound that girly, though."

"I do not sound girly!" she protested.

Carlton couldn't help but laugh, even though nothing about this conversation or scenario was supposed to be funny. "How about if I add that when you have something to say, you'll say it."

"Perfect. Thank you." She ate the rest of her first muffin and started in on the second. "I'm going to call Shawn later and ask him to please keep a lid on it but it's probably already too late."

"Probably. But you know I'll run interference for you."

Juliet smiled at him—and dammit her dark blue eyes were misty again. "I know you will. You're… you're the castle guard."

"Which makes you the princess I'm sworn to protect," he said lightly.

She gazed at him for a long time, so very still in her chair, and his heart began to beat crazily.

"Then I'll be safe forever, won't I?" It was so quiet.

He let out a breath. "Until my dying day, Juliet."

The silence was deep… and rich… and as she smiled tremulously at him, his words echoed in his head and heart.

Until my dying day.

. . . .

. . .