Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.
"Marry me."
Carlton was waiting on her with wide eyes, waiting for her answer. She couldn't find her voice; it was dead in her throat. All she could do was cry.
"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, I will. Yes."
Carlton had been planning that dinner for weeks. He was going to take her back to El Avenido Pacifica (he'd reserved the table a week before the date) and it was finally time. They hadn't told anyone they were dating (after nine months and more than a few quickies in the broom cupboard, they managed to keep it a secret, and hadn't even allowed their work to suffer because of it), but he was planning how to tell Vick that they were getting married. If she said yes, that is.
If she says yes.
The fact that it was a question instead of an order-he couldn't imagine, though, that "O'Hara! Marry me!" would go over particularly well-was perhaps the scariest part of the whole ordeal. She could say no. More terrifying still, she could have perfectly valid reasons for not wanting to settle down. She was a young woman. She had a lot going for her. Marriage was not a thing that women who shied away from seriousness were generally fond of.
Nor was it to say, however, that Juliet had shied away from seriousness. He never thought of her as a great romancer or some kind of sexual paragon with dozens of salivating partners, but he'd been worried about the concept of monogamy to her. He was at a place in his life where he was perfectly content with just one woman (and what a woman), possibly for the rest of his life, but try as he might, he couldn't suss out how Juliet felt about the issue. But, as though she knew what he feared, she was the perfect girlfriend. Even their little spats usually ended well-in angry, passionate sex, generally, which is how he resolved all of their arguments should end-and there was never any evidence of flirtatiousness or interest outside of himself, which he found half mind boggling and half wondrous. She really did love him. She was perfectly happy with him, and only him. That was enough to keep him going for months. He didn't even need two dozen successful arrests, two big drug busts, and even the arrest and conviction of one of the city's most dangerous pimps.
He was careful about what he wore that night. Nothing too formal-nothing that would give away his true intentions. He chose, in the end, dark grey slacks, a white shirt and a matching jacket. And his favorite pair of brown loafers-perhaps not his favorite pair. His favorite pair (as constantly described by Juliet) looked like a dog had spent two years chewing on them, and he couldn't wear them on that night. He chose the other loafers-the ones that were till shiny, if a little scuffed at the toes-and inspected himself in the mirror.
Good enough.
He grabbed his car keys and wallet, and the little blue velvet box, and headed to the car.
Avenido Pacifica tonight at 9 pm. See you there.
She smirked and shook her head. Typical Carlton-the non-romantic romantic. She flipped through her closet and eventually found what she was looking for-a plain black dress with a little gathering on the side-and slipped it on over her head. As she smoothed the skirt of it over her legs, she was suddenly struck with a deep sense of longing. She didn't know what for, but it was there and it was intense; made her grind her teeth and hold back tears. It came over her in a wave of rage-rage at her inadequacy, unable to tell him what she wanted.
He's never going to ask. He's too scared.
She closed her eyes tight and tipped her head back.
"No tears," she wheezed, fanning her eyes. "Relax." She looked back at herself in her little mirror and gave herself a halfhearted smile.
He's too damn scared.
She pawed a tube of lipstick out of her handbag and started putting it on.
"I'm asking her to marry me tonight." said Carlton. Father Brannigan nodded. They didn't bother with the confessional anymore-they sat comfortably in Brannigan's room in the rectory.
"How do you think it'll go?" the priest asked. Carlton shrugged. He was pale.
"No way to tell," he said hoarsely. "Only thing to do is to hope for the best.
"She'll say yes." said Brannigan. He looked up at the priest sharply.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"She'll say yes. Trust me, my son." Brannigan replied. Carlton swallowed hard and checked his watch. It read at 8:30.
"Goodbye father," he said, straightening up. "Wish me luck."
"I want to marry you two!" Brannigan called after him. Carlton cracked a smile.
The dinner had been lovely, and while Carlton waited for the cheque, they chatted about useless things. He toyed with the velvet box in his pocket, heart thundering.
Just ask her, chrissake!
"Hey, I need to ask you something." he interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. "And it's kind of important, so...listen, okay?"
She nodded.
Holy crap. Fuck.
"I need you to, uhm...I just..." he was failing. He couldn't speak. "I want you to..."
"What, Carlton?" he ground his teeth.
"Marry me."
He searched her face for an answer, and instead, saw her grin and then saw the tears fall from the corners of her eyes.
"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, I will. Yes."