A/N: I love all of you people. If anyone wants to know what the tango that I've been using as inspiration to write this is, it's called Oblivion by Astor Piazzolla.

Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.

He got to choose the place this time, and he went for the gold. El Avenido Pacifica, a little Argentine/Portuguese fusion place that overlooked the bay and was, due to being constituted more or less entirely by an enclosed kitchen and a patio, only a viable eatery option during the spring and summer. It wasn't too expensive and made a mean arroz con pollo, and Carlton was not-so-slowly coming to adore it. He wasn't much of an international, but knew good food when he tasted it, or when he could smell it being cooked fresh in the kitchen.

"Wow, Carlton. Nice pick." Juliet smiled. He nodded and loosened his tie with a deft tug. Spring in Santa Barbara was no time for ties knotted at his Adam's apple, especially not on this day. The breeze blew, balmy with just a lick of cool air, and ruffled his hair. The waves, as warm and cool (paradoxically) as the wind, lapped against the sand and the beach goers gently. He could hear children shouting and dogs barking, but it seemed distant. They were almost secluded-almost alone, in that little slice of South America. The mesero came with his lunch (arroz con currasco y cebollas, which tasted like ricey-beefy-oinony heaven) and hers (mini vegetarian empanadas and yellow rice and fried frijoles) and left them to their own devices. For a long time, they didn't say anything at all to one another, simply sat in a companionable silence, eating and listening to the tangos the restaurant's old speaker system warbled out.

"What made you choose this place?" she asked at length. He shrugged.

"Dunno. I always wanted to come here with Victoria...thought it would be worthwhile to try." Juliet tried not to look angry or deflated at the sound of his ex's name.

"Why didn't she want to come here? This place is pretty close to perfect." Because you're here, Carlton-

Get it together, O'Hara!

"O'Hara?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Your eyes glazed over."

"Sorry," she laughed uncomfortably. "I was just thinking of something else."

"What were you thinking of?" he asked. She looked up at him, mouth ready to spit out a clever lie, but no sound came out. His eyes were bright, unflinching blue. They deconstructed her piece by piece, figuring out every machination of her mind and soul. If there was ever a moment when anyone's breath had ever been taken away at the sight of a painting, or a building, or a piece of music or anything, it was nothing compared what she felt in that moment. She was simeltaneously self-conscious and enthralled; as though he had every thought she'd ever had about him on a table, and was examining them one by one. As though he could bring every wall she'd ever put up against others with one look alone-with one glance. It made her shiver.

"It's-" she sputtered. "It's not important."

"If you say so." he said suspiciously. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least she was in a clearing. He gazed out at the seascape behind his partner's head, looking pensive.

"Why didn't she want to come here, Carlton?" Juliet asked gently. He didn't reply for awhile.

"If it's too personal-"

"She didn't like foreign foods too much," the way he said it was as though it was the real, real strain on their relationship; horrible office hours and miscommunications be damned. "She wasn't all that adventurous. Didn't ever want to try new things."

"Well, that's just silly."

"I thought she'd make a conscession for this place...it's my favorite. I'm sure you, with your women's intuition could tell, or something." Juliet cracked a smirk. "But, nope. She hated it here just as much as she hated everywhere else. It almost made me hate this place actually. How sad is that?" Juliet thought just two things: the first; he looks so fantastic with that suit in this light. Dear God in heaven, he's so goddamn handsome. The second; I am going to kill that bitch ex of his, I swear to all that's holy. And to everything that's unholy too, just for good measure.

She said neither of these things, however (wisely) and instead, settled for resting her fingers lightly on top of his. He felt a jolt go through his entire body, and struggled to remain externally composed.

"Well, I don't care what she said. I love it here, Carlton." said Juliet.

"I'm glad, O'Hara." they smiled at each other for a long moment, and she made no move to retract her fingers from the back of his hand. He, while never taking his eyes off of her, flipped his palm up and wrapped his fingers around her hand. Carlton's fingers were warm and long and folded around her little, pale hand almost perfectly. Juliet knew she was blushing, could feel her heart banging against her chest like an eighteen wheeler travelling at a hundred miles per hour. But for a few minutes, she just didn't care. She wasn't moving anywhere.

It took some doing on Juliet's part, but she did end up convincing Carlton to come back to the station with her. He helped her fill out and file her paperwork, and even stayed late to take statements from a pair of kids who'd nicked their neighbor's car (McNab was out that day with a stomach virus). As a result, he and Juliet were still at their desks at 9:30 PM, having taken no breaks other than to refill their coffee mugs or to visit the restroom. Other than the two kids in Interrogation B and the officers at the front desk, there was no one in the station save for the two detectives.

"Mind if I put a little music on?" asked Carlton, his voice raspy from shouting.

"Go ahead," replied Juliet. "Have you got the statements of those two kids in B? I have their other forms here, I can just put them together in a file right now."

"Sure." he handed their statements over to her and popped a CD in the boom box on the floor of his office (put there by Spencer and forgotten after a strange case involving two feuding rap groups and, somehow, a winery in the Napa Valley). However, when soft sounds of accordions and violins began to play, he quirked an eyebrow and stopped the disc.

"Did I hear...the tango?" asked Juliet, half surprised and thrilled. Finally, something not Motown or jazz or classic rock. This was music that was visceral, music that was passionate. She adored it.

"No, I uh...I mean...yes. I liked the music that the restaurant played so much that I asked for a copy of their CD." His face was the color of a tomato and he couldn't look her directly in the eye. She laughed. "It's not like I dance or anything-no, no no no. I just...they were good songs. Not as good as Grand Funk Railroad but-"

"I like it," she said jovially. "Keep it on."

"Alright." he replied suspiciously and pressed play, not quite sure what his partner was on about. She closed her eyes and listened for a moment, trying to take herself out of the station for a moment. She was back in the restaurant, in her favorite black dress and her favorite red shoes, and he was spinning her around and catching her and lifting-

"O'Hara," he said it softly, so very softly... "Juliet."

She opened her eyes and there he was, standing over her in that charcoal suit that made him look amazing, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them. He extended his right hand almost lazily, because he knew, at least in that instant, that he didn't need to ask.

She took his hand and without another word, he spun her into the darkest part of the hall, barely a pair of inches between them as they danced. She knew that despite what was happening now, there was still a little part of her brain screaming for her to stop. They worked together and it wasn't right. He slept with his first partner, and had a crazy ex-wife, and was a hell of a handful to get to open up. Oh, and she had a boyfriend. Shawn Spencer. That guy.

But Carlton was a surprisingly talented dancer, and that little part could keep itself quiet for a little while longer.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession."

"Back again my son?" Father Brannigan had learned to identify his voice a long time ago, and more importantly, had learned to identify those little sighs he made (probably without even noticing).

"Yes, father. I'm sorry to take up so much of your time-"

"No apology needed. Regular confession is a good thing."

"Thank you. Well...it's about Juliet. Again." Brannigan chuckled.

"Of course." he said. Carlton nodded like a lost puppy

"Did she reject you?" Brannigan asked.

"No, it's nothing like that. Strictly speaking I haven't...I mean...told her..."

"My son!" Brannigan cried.

"I know father, I know. I'm sorry. I danced with her last night in the station and-"

"What?"

"I...I danced with her in the-it's a long story father, but there was a big lead-up to it and it makes sense so...go with it." Carlton spluttered. Brannigan smirked at the lattice screen.

"Alright."

"We did that and...I mean, that was...I didn't kiss her, or anything." He muttered. But I wanted to. And if I was any kind of a fucking man I would've.

"You really must tell her, Detective," said Brannigan gently. "Before you drive yourself insane."

Carlton nodded and dropped his head in his hands.