Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Through current episodes, particularly strong from Heeeeere's Lassie and Shawn Rescues Darth Vader.

Chapter Five: You've Got a Friend

Juliet sat in the passenger seat of the cruiser for a long time, crying. She might well have sat there all the rest of the day except her phone rang, startling her. She struggled to compose herself and answered it, hoping against hope that it was her partner so she could make some sort of apology.

It was Chief Vick. "O'Hara, is Lassiter with you?" The woman sounded anxious, which was very, very bad.

"No, Chief, I - "

"Shit. I knew it. Do you have a good idea of where he was supposed to be? Someone's got his cell, they faked his voice and tried to call him in 'sick.'"

"Chief, Carlton is sick. He went home," Juliet said, hoping that was true.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Carlton Lassiter called in sick?" Vick finally said. "He's never called in sick. He worked through a case of walking pneumonia in '04 that I thought would kill him. What's he down with?"

An asshole partner, Juliet thought, but what she said was, "I'm not sure, Chief. Looked pretty bad, though. I was…" she laughed to show that the idea was ridiculous "…I was afraid he might be having a stroke, for a minute."

Another long silence. "Are you anywhere near his condo?" Vick said at last.

Four bus stops, Juliet thought. "Not too far, Chief."

"Could you go check on him, please? I can't trust him to seek medical care if he needs it."

"Sure, Chief. I'll head there now."

"Thank you, O'Hara," Vick said, in evident relief. "Keep me posted."

"I will. Bye, Chief." She put the phone away and got out of the car. She went around to the still-open driver's side door and climbed behind the wheel. She tried not to think about the fact that she was probably just about the last person on earth he wanted to see right now. At least if he answered the door she would have a chance to apologize and maybe explain herself, why she'd chosen today of all days to go on the offensive. Maybe he'd be able to forgive her if she told him that she and Shawn were finished.

She drove the cruiser to 1101 Prospect Gardens, the imposing five-story apartment complex Lassiter now lived in. She parked the dark blue Crown Vic in the equally imposing attached parking garage in the reserved slot next to the black Ford Fusion. She'd leave the car there and catch a cab back to the station. There wasn't much time left of her shift anyway, and she had intended to spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork.

She hated the long, slow ride to the fifth floor in the ancient elevator. She had never experienced the claustrophobic fear of elevators, but this particular one bothered her. It didn't creak or shake or hesitate and it had never, to her knowledge, gotten stuck, but it was still a seriously creepy elevator. The whole place was creepy, actually, from the overly ornate lobby to the grim hallways of the fifth floor. Maybe she was projecting - she didn't like the fact that Lassiter was still living here in the wake of everything that had happened after he moved in.

Finally the doors slid open and ejected her into the gloomy hallway outside Lassiter's corner condo. She fairly ran to the door of unit five thirty-six and pounded on the door frantically. She heard considerable noise inside - it sounded like Lassiter was violently rearranging his furniture, possibly by picking it up and throwing it - but no one came to answer her summons. She considered kicking the door open - all that noise constituted probable cause, surely - but aside from the fact that her partner would be even angrier with her for it the lock looked really sturdy and the door was as solid as she'd ever seen. Lassiter was really the door-kicker in the partnership anyway, and she was wearing heels.

She whipped out her cell phone. If he wouldn't answer the door maybe he'd answer the phone. She dialed his home number and then rethought that. The home phone he often ignored. The cell phone he never ignored. She cleared the screen and hit the speed dial.

"Lassiter," came the reassuringly gruff response.

"Carlton, let me in," Juliet demanded.

"In where?"

"In where? In your condo, of course. I've been knocking for ten minutes."

"I'm not at the condo, O'Hara. I'm on the bus."

Juliet shook her head in confusion. "That's impossible, the bus would have stopped here half an hour ago or more."

"I'm not on the bus headed home, O'Hara."

"If you're not home, then who's doing all that banging in there?" Juliet demanded.

Silence. Then, "Probably the condo."

"What?"

"It likes to redecorate itself. Listen, why the hell are you at my condo in the first place?"

"Making sure you're not dying of a stroke or something."

"What?"

"Well, you looked so sick, and the Chief was worried, and I was worried, and…"

"I'm not having a stroke, O'Hara."

"Then what's wrong with you?"

More silence. "I've got a toothache," he said at last.

"A…toothache?"

"A bad tooth. I assume even Little Miss Perfect Smile has had one at some point in her life, for half a second or two."

"You're being rather cruel to me, don't you think?"

"Do you deserve better treatment?"

"Of course I deserve better, I'm your partner. And your friend."

"Are you?"

The banging inside the condo stopped. Music suddenly blared behind the door.

"Hey ain't it good to know that you've got a friend when people can be so cold? They'll hurt you and desert you. Well they'll take your soul if you let them, oh yeah, but don't you let them. You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am I'll come running to see you again. Winter, spring, summer, or fall, hey now, all you got to do is call and I'll be there, yes I will. You've got a friend."

"Your condo is singing to me," Juliet sniffled.

"Roy Orbison?" Lassiter inquired.

"James Taylor."

"Hmm. I left Roy Orbison on the hi fi."

"Carlton, please believe me, I never meant to make you angry today. There's…something weighing on my mind that I really wanted to talk to you about, but I…guess I was too chicken. I took my troubles out on you and that was totally unfair. Please…please tell me we're still friends?"

A long silence. Juliet held her breath. "I…took a few frustrations out on you, too. Truce?"

She let out her breath and smiled. "Truce. Partner. Are you going to get that tooth taken care of?"

"Ah…not at the moment, no. I…haven't made an appointment yet."

"Carlton. Make an appointment."

"I will. I will."

"Where are you headed, if I might ask?"

"You may, I suppose. Carpinteria."

A beat. "Why?"

"My mother lives there."

"You're…going to your mother's? I hurt your feelings that badly?" Juliet had only spoken to Irma Lassiter over the telephone one time, years ago, and had taken away the impression that Lassiter's apparent avoidance of his mother was perfectly justifiable. If she'd been nasty enough to send him home to Mother's house, she'd been a true bitch indeed.

"Relax, O'Hara. Mother called me this morning to ask if I could come over after work and fix a leak in the kitchen sink. I figured I'd get it out of the way early while she was still at her Monday afternoon Gun Club meeting. I'm in enough pain without falling prey to one of her harangues."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll let you go, then, but you'd better make that appointment, all right? Or I'll come over with a pair of pliers."

"I'm about ready to let you. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"What?"

"You said that you chickened out, back at the car. What did you really want to talk about?"

"Er…uh…we'll talk about it later, okay? Once you've had that tooth taken care of." And I've had time to grow a spine.

"All right. See you tomorrow, O'Hara."

"Tomorrow you'd better be at the dentist, Mister."

"…Right. See you later, then."

"Bye, Carlton."