A/N: Back by popular demand as it would seem! I'll try to make this story chaptery for you all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.

"But Jules! You can't mean that you're missing out on the combination Fairly Odd Parents/Jimmy Neutron marathon! I've been looking forward to this for weeks!" Shawn whined over the phone. Juliet cracked a smile, but it vanished after McNab heaped another pile of paperwork on the corner of her desk.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, but I'm swamped down at the station." she replied.

"Tell Lassie to do it." he said quickly. She laughed.

"Carlton actually isn't here today. He's working a case downtown, then going in for a physical."

"Huh. Doesn't sound very Lassie-ish to me. Lassie going in for a physical without someone dragging him by his ankles is like...oh, I don't know...missing the cartoon showdown of the century." Shawn cried. Juliet laughed.

"Look, Shawn, I've gotta go. I'll see you later." she said. He sighed.

"Alright Jules, adios." she closed the phone and tried to concentrate on the mountain of paperwork on her desk. It is odd that Carlton went to a physical without someone forcing him to.

"Maybe he's just finally gotten over his fear of hospitals." Juliet mumbled to herself. A pair of passing trainees gave her odd looks, which she returned with her best Lassiter-esque glare. If he was there, he'd say something like: move along! Don't think I can't get you thrown out on your asses either! Juliet almost giggled. He had always been very quick to protect her, which was something she'd always been tacitly thankful for. It showed that he really cared for her, beyond being a partner. In fact, she wouldn't shy away from calling Carlton her best friend. She'd never had problems making friends, but something always made them slip out of her grasp-be it distance, eventual and irrevocable differences, or her family's less-than-stellar history. Not to mention, when she'd announced at one girl's brunch (yes, she'd been to a few of those tedious affairs) that she had been accepted into the police academy that she'd lost quite a few of her girlfriends. But it seemed that Carlton had always been there. He'd never faltered from her side, not even once. Not even when he was going through everything that had to do with Victoria (ungrateful skank said the part of her brain that was governed by pink glitter nail polish and Mean Girls) did he allow her to feel as though he didn't appreciate and care for her. That was something unique.

He's a special guy.

Not that special.

Yes. That special.

Juliet clamped her eyes shut. Not that crap again. Get it together, O'Hara. The stern reminder usually served to shake her out of her stupor, but when she imagined it said in his voice, it only served to drive her deeper into her fantasy.

"O'Hara?" The Chief's tone was clear and snapped her out of her haze, finally.

"Chief!" Juliet sputtered, fumbling through paperwork. "Sorry, I was just-"

"Take a break O'Hara. You're on your lunch." The Chief replied. Juliet hung her head and nodded slightly as Vick left her desk. Juliet packed her purse and headed into the parking lot only to remember-

I took the bus today. Carlton usually drives me.

There was, clearly, only one thing for the predicament that she'd found herself in (though, to be honest, there were probably any number of things that she could've done but chose to ignore). She whipped out her phone, dialed the only number besides 911 and Vick's work extension that she knew by heart.

Ring ring.

Ring ring.

He had lied about going to a physical. Who could anyway, with doctors and their creepy stethoscopes and blood shot eyes ready to stick you with a needle and bring you to the morgue before you could say boo? The very thought of it made him shiver.

He, Carlton Lassiter, had worked a case and gone to church.

He still wasn't a believer, or at least not a strong one. He'd never exactly denied the existence of a God, higher power, or whatever, but being on the force taught him one thing. There were cops who were given God's strength, and cops that saw the parade of human filth before their eyes, and thought, where is this God now?

Thankfully, Lassiter belonged to neither group, having been terrified out of certainty on either side by women in black hoods with rulers waiting to slap his backside in first grade. But he couldn't deny that since the whole "O'Hara Conundrum" had reared its ugly head (that smells like peaches and produces smiles that are like slices of sunshine and still wears peppermint lipgloss, which is pretty damn adorable-) in earnest, it was nice to have somewhere quiet to retreat to. Somewhere that no one knew his name or who he was or what he did. He was just another person in the back pews, sitting quietly with his head bowed. It was relaxing, after long days of taking down bad guys and restraining himself from either kissing or fucking his partner at any given second (she wore skirts to work. How did she seriously expect him to function?) to have a few minutes to himself.

And of course, as he was reflecting on the serenity of the moment, his phone beeped.

Repeatedly.

Fuck.

A dozen old women looked over their shoulders at him in disgust. He was sure that one of them-some crotchety bag named Doherty who lived a block away-actually said "shame on you" as he hurried to the exit to catch the call.

"Lassiter." he barked, once outside.

"Hey, have you had your physical yet?" Juliet's bubbly voice ruptured the hold he was sure he'd had on the part of his heart (the huge, ridiculous, overwhelming part) as his face folded into a smile.

"O'Hara," he struggled to keep his voice stern. "Yes I...yes. Just got out."

"Oh, good. I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch real quick? I've got a case to work on the west side of town and if you want I can take the bus and meet you-"

"What? No. I'll come get you. See you in fifteen." He was grinning now, tying to get it all out of his system before he saw her. She sighed happily.

"Thanks Carlton, you're a lifesaver."

"No problem, O'Hara." He closed the phone and pocketed it, striding toward his car. It was only after he'd gotten into the vehicle, gunned the engine and turned up the radio (The Rolling Stones mirrored his mood) that he realised she'd called him Carlton. He loved it when she called him Carlton. Lassiter was too dispassionate, detective was too professional, but Carlton fit him like his favorite tie. And it didn't fit him any better than when she said it.

It was only after she closed the phone, pocketed it and began rooting through her bag for her lipgloss, that she realised the Santa Barbara Health Center was a half an hour away from where he had said he'd been working his case.

Curiouser and curiouser.