Monday dawned flowerless and gray, the clouds over the ocean as oppressive as the cell walls in the station basement. Currently, the building was mostly empty, with the exception of the receptionist and a few of the night shift. Melody sipped her coffee groggily and fiddled with the objects strewn across her desk. Joining the single picture in its frame and the pens and pencils were a few books, a lime green stapler, and a mug decorated in pastel flowers and butterflies that currently housed the pencils and pens. She dusted off the glass of the picture frame, smiling briefly at the image of her and her mother posed in front of the Grand Canyon the summer before her freshman year of college. It was her favorite picture of the two of them; besides that, it was one of few pictures of her mom, who claimed to be un-photogenic and preferred to be behind the camera than in front of it. Melody made a mental note to call her mother just as the door to the station opened.
Butterflies found their way into Melody's stomach as Detective Lassiter walked through the doorway, shaking himself to rid the raindrops from his jacket. He glanced at the reception and stopped in his tracks, bewildered. "Where are your flowers?"
Melody flushed. "I took them home over the weekend. They're in my bedroom..." Actually, they were on her bed stand so late at night, when she couldn't sleep, she could look over and see the flowers glow silver in the moonlight.
"Oh." Carlton stared at the girl for a moment before regaining control of his thoughts. "Well, good morning." He hesitated, about to go to his desk, before turning back to face Melody. "What are you drinking?"
She hadn't expected an interrogation first thing in the morning. "Um. It's a dark chocolate mocha. Single shot. I get jittery." Too much information for small talk. "There's fresh coffee in the coffee maker. And your mug is clean." Why were they the only two people in the station? Why wasn't the phone ringing? Melody didn't know how to handle an actual conversation with this man. She was just really good at looking at him when he wasn't paying attention.
Carlton blinked, startled. "You didn't have to do that." A pause, and then, "Thank you." Another long, awkward pause. Finally, Lassiter nodded his farewell and quickly went to his desk. He glanced down and noticed that his hands were shaking. It had taken a lot of control not to just reach over the desk, pull the girl to him and kiss her until she couldn't breathe. Which was strange, because usually the only uncontrollable impulse Carlton ever had to squash was the urge to strangle Shawn Spencer. Not to mention the fact that Carlton Lassiter had never, ever, ever had such a strong immediate attraction to anyone in his life before. Not his last girlfriend, not even his ex-wife. It was a little frightening. Lassiter wasn't used to not being in control of himself. He'd started getting used to not being in control of everything around him; he'd had to, since the chief had started hiring Spencer to work cases. But he was always, always in control of his own actions and feelings.
Damn it. He knew what he was about to do, and it killed him. But it was really his only option. Carlton pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. "Uh, yeah, hey Shawn, Carlton Lassiter..."
...
"So, what, I'm your dating coach now?"
Lassiter glared at the man on the other side of the desk, but didn't say anything. He didn't have home turf advantage in this case; he had agreed to meet Spencer at the Psych office.
Shawn tossed a paper ball at the trashcan next to Gus's desk, making it in easily. "Not that I'm opposed to this at all. I'm just not sure how much extra I should charge you..."
"I'm not paying you, Spencer," Lassiter spat. "You said you would do this favor for me."
Gus walked in to the back office, a steaming mug in his hands. "Of course we're not going to charge you. Right Shawn?" Shawn nodded reluctantly and leaned in towards Carlton, folding his hands. Gus took the seat next to the cop and held out the mug. "Coffee?"
Carlton groaned and cradled his head in his hands, causing the psychic team to exchange a confused glance. "Gus's coffee isn't that bad, Lassie. The cinnamon adds an exotic flavor."
Lassiter looked up at the two. "No. Coffee makes me think of her. Thinking of her makes me want to do stupid things."
Shawn frowned. "Stupid things like...?"
The image of misery, Carlton sighed heavily. "Ask her out on a date."
Gus let out a laugh that transformed rapidly into a cough at the cop's glare. Shawn was more straightforward. "Asking a woman that you are interested in out on a date isn't usually classified as 'stupid.' Unless, of course, that woman is married. Or is actually a Tibetan monk."
Gus shot his partner a withering glare. "I don't think women can be Tibetan monks, Shawn."
The man shrugged. "Well, what, are there Tibetan nuns? Come on Gus, think about this for a moment."
"That's it!" The detective was on his feet, gathering his jacket. "I should have known that you clowns would treat this like a joke."
"Come on, Lassie, calm down. We're sorry, ok?" Shawn stared intently into Lassiter's eyes, trying to project calming vibes. "Now, tell us what the problem is. Did you send her the flowers?"
"Wait, what flowers? Did you already know about this, Shawn?"
"Of course, Gus. Lassiter came to me last week and told me not to bring you because I am clearly more experienced with women than you are."
"What? That's ridiculous. I've been married before! You've never had a girlfriend for longer than, what, a few months?"
Lassiter watched the two argue, feeling vaguely like he was watching a terrible cartoon that he couldn't turn off no matter how hard he tried. "Yes, Spencer, I sent the flowers," he interjected, regaining the men's attention.
"And?" The psychic watched the detective expectantly. "Did she suspect anyone?"
"As far as I know, no," Carlton replied, shrugging. He stood and walked over to the window. "I mean, I asked O'Hara if she sounded like she had any idea who they were from, and O'Hara said no..."
Shawn jumped up from his chair. "Jules knows this girl? Both you and Jules know who this girl is, and she knows her well enough to have talked to her about anonymous flowers..." He stopped, a light bulb flash idea striking him. "Oh my god, Lassie, you have the hots for the new receptionist!"
Lassiter whirled around, cursing his clumsy tongue. "Her name is Melody, and I don't have the 'hots' for her! I just..." He stopped, sinking down onto the nearby couch. "Whenever I'm around her, I can't think straight, and I... I just... it's..." He stared down at his fists, clenching and unclenching them rhythmically as he tried to regain control of his breathing.
Gus let out a low whistle. "Lassiter, you've got it bad." He let out a laugh. "Almost as bad as Shawn does for-"
Shawn flailed out with his leg, kicking Gus in the shin and stifling his best friend's comment. Turning his attention back to Carlton, the psychic offered up a rare piece of genuine advice. "Lassie. She didn't have any idea who sent her the flowers, so that means she isn't involved with anyone. She's free and clear! What's the harm in asking her out? Take her to lunch. Or go to coffee. Or tea," he added hastily, remembering the detective's earlier reaction to the idea of coffee. "Tea is classy. Just... something fun and easy. No pressure." Noticing that Carlton still seemed a little uncertain, Shawn smiled. "Come on. What have you got to lose?"
...
"I'm sorry. Did I hear you correctly?"
Carlton felt like a ten-year-old boy again, standing in front of his mother and waiting for a reprimand for skipping school. "Yes. I would like to know what protocol is regarding inter-department relationships."
Chief Vick regarded her head detective for a moment. "Detective Lassiter, I absolutely cannot condone a relationship between you and Detective O'Hara. I know it's hard when you spend so much time with someone not to develop an attachment to-"
"What? Oh, no, no! Chief, no..." Lassiter found himself on the verge of hysterical laughter. This was going to be harder than he thought. "No, there is absolutely nothing between me and Detective O'Hara."
"Oh." Vick leaned back in her chair. "Well, I'm afraid it's still against policy for a detective to date a subordinate officer from the same department. That's not to say that it doesn't happen, just that it either happens secretly or under intense scrutiny."
Carlton ran his hand through his hair. "Um, well, you see, it's not exactly an officer that I would like to pursue. I mean, hypothetically of course, because I'm only asking about policy because I would like to know-" He stopped at the look he received from his chief. "I, uh, would like to ask Melody out on a date."
"Oh!" Lassiter's eyes widened; that didn't sound like rejection. "Well then, Detective, I wish you luck. Technically, Miss Scott has been hired specifically by me; I sign her checks, not the State. For all intents and purposes, she's a consultant. You're not breaching any protocol." The chief glanced at her watch. "If that is all, I have a meeting to get to across town. I trust you can handle command for a few hours."
Carlton stood and moved towards the door. "Of course, Chief." He reached to open the door for his boss.
Chief Vick stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and Carlton? Please be careful. She's a good secretary, and I would rather not have her quit just now."
