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.

Chapter Nine: Queen of my Heart

Juliet arrived in short order. He invited her in, caught the grin she was repressing, and asked what was funny.

"Nothing," she said in evident alarm. "Nothing's funny, Carlton, just…your hair…"

"What about it?"

"It's a little…messy."

Crap on a cracker. He'd forgotten to put it back in order after his frustrated tugging. "Dammit."

"It doesn't look bad," she hastened to assure him, "it's just not the way I normally see you. I like it, actually, it's cute."

He grimaced. "I don't like cute," he said. "Well, if you're coming in, come in."

He gestured her to a seat on the couch. At that moment the hi fi blared into life.

"And the Queen is in England, the King is in Spain. My love for you, it's still the same. You know that I want you 'til death do us part. You know that you are the queen of my heart."

Juliet looked at him quizzically. Lassiter, for his part, looked like a deer caught in headlights. "What song is that?" she asked.

"Er…'Queen of my Heart,' Hank Williams, Jr.," he stammered. "It's, uh…an electrical problem, old building, bad wiring, you know…I'm having a guy come out and take a look at it. Damn hi fi keeps turning itself on."

He launched himself at the cabinet and jerked the plug out of the wall. "There. Problem solved."

"Is that why I heard music in here this afternoon?" she asked. "Electrical malfunction?"

"Yeah."

"But…you said that you'd left a Roy Orbison album on the hi fi," she pointed out. "What I heard was very definitely James Taylor."

He shrugged. "Hey, so I forgot I changed the record. I'm getting old, you know."

"Carlton, you don't forget anything," she stressed gently.

"Oh? Well. I forgot that."

Shifty eyes, twitchy fingers, nervous lip…yeah, definitely a bad liar. Which was hardly a bad thing, but what was there to lie about here? She patted the sofa cushion next to her. "Sit down, Carlton, you're dancing around so much you're making me nervous. You look demented."

"Crazy. I'm crazy for feeling so lonely…and I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so blue." It was Willie Nelson singing, not Patsy Cline, though he had both singers' versions on vinyl. Neither was on any album with Hank Williams, Jr. Juliet looked at the hi fi with wide eyes.

"Didn't you just…unplug that?" she asked.

"Must've been the wrong outlet," he said in a strangled, squeaky voice. He grabbed the record off the turntable, heedless of the delicate grooves, and stuffed it willy-nilly into a random spot in the cabinet. "Kind of annoying, that electrical malfunction, isn't it?"

"Are you sure that's what it is?" she asked. "I mean, that was Willie Nelson. What album was that - was that Always On my Mind? What happened to Hank Williams, Jr.?"

"Compilation album," he lied desperately. "A mix of country singers."

She nodded, undeceived, and gestured at the seat again. "Come on, you need to relax. What I've got to say…well, it's probably going to make you very happy, actually. You'll be well within your rights to gloat."

He sat, on the furthest edge of the cushion at the farthest end of the couch. It was only a loveseat, though, so he couldn't get too far from her. She looked at him with a smile on her lips, because damn, it was so very Carlton to try and keep a distance of propriety between them when they were alone in his condo sitting together on a two-seat sofa, but the more she looked the less she liked the disheveled hair, at least in conjunction with his frantic expression. It reminded her too strongly of the way he'd looked sitting on the front steps of the building, hurt and half-drugged and more than half in shock, nakedly vulnerable in a way she'd never seen before.

If you could have one thing in this world that would make you feel better right now, what would it be? she'd asked, and whatever he'd said she would have tried to make it happen.

I wouldn't say no to a sloppy joe, had been his response. She smiled at the memory even though it hurt a little, too. She reached out and ran both hands through his hair so that it fell into a semblance of its usual order. Much better. The texture of his hair surprised her a bit. She'd expected it to be coarse and heavy, but while it was certainly heavy it was oddly silken in her fingers. It reminded her of the four long bolts of authentic oriental silk her brother Ewan had sent her from Hong Kong a long time ago, when she was in the midst of a Butterick enthusiasm. They were beautiful fabrics in Easter pastels, pink and orange and green and robin's egg blue, patterned with lithe, swooping dragons. The silk wasn't like the glossy, gauzy stuff she was used to - it was as heavy as anything she'd ever felt in the stiffened folds of a satin prom gown but it was still perfectly soft and luxurious to the touch.

She'd never used the silk, afraid to mar the beauty of the raw fabric with her clumsy, amateur sewing skills.

"What are you doing, O'Hara?" Lassiter asked at last, and she realized she still had her fingers in his hair. She pulled away with a blush.

"Just fixing your hair," she said. "It looks about right, now."

"Thank you," he said, only a little uncomfortably. "Do I have a smudge on my face? Perhaps next you'll be giving me spittle baths."

She laughed. "Sorry. I just didn't want you looking like…like you did after…"

He cleared his throat pointedly. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, yeah. Well…" She took a deep, fortifying breath. "I broke up with Shawn."

Any reaction Lassiter might have had to that news was forestalled by the hi fi, which suddenly blared "The Liberty Bell March" at top volume. He dove over the back of the couch and tore the arm right off the record player. He picked himself up off the floor and came back around to sit on the far end of the loveseat again. He held the needle arm in both hands and turned it round and round.

"You broke your hi fi," Juliet pointed out.

"Not a problem. I'm thinking of getting rid of it anyway. Defective."

"Why would a John Philip Sousa march be on a country music compilation?" she asked.

"I dunno. Record exec was a Monty Python fan?" he suggested. "So. You ended it with Spencer, eh? That's…that's too bad."

"Is that what you really think?" she asked.

"I'm sorry about it if you are," he said. He was very carefully not looking at her, and he still turned the needle arm over and over in his long-fingered hands.

"Wow. I, uh…guess I didn't expect this," she said. "I thought you'd crow a little, you know, tell me you told me so, gloat over Shawn's downfall…"

"That would be rather petty of me, wouldn't it?" he said mildly. She couldn't tell if he was really responding to her by the way he was staring at nothing and turning that needle arm.

She scootched closer to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "Carlton, are you okay? You look so rattled. You didn't hurt yourself, diving over the couch like that, did you?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, no, I'm fine," he said. "So it's over with Spencer, then. Finito. Down for the count. Rung down the curtain. Uh…are you okay with that?"

"With the fact that the relationship is over, or with your oddball synonyms for 'over?'"

"Either or. Both."

She smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay with that. Shawn isn't, of course. In fact, I'm still not sure he knows it's really over, even though I spelled it out for him pretty clearly when I caught him in my house messing up my kitchen shortly before you called me."

"So wait, you ended it just this afternoon?" he said, for the first time showing some sign of lucidity. "I thought you wanted to talk about it this morning."

"I did," Juliet said. "I ended it with him on Saturday. He just thought he could win me back by baking me a hideous pineapple taco pizza for supper tonight."

Lassiter jerked. "Saturday?" he said blankly. "You broke up with him on Saturday?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing," he said numbly. Part of him wanted to tell her what happened to him on Saturday, but another part, the part of him that kept his heart guarded up until alcohol lowered his inhibitions and defenses, warned him against making the confession. "Pineapple taco pizza, eh? That sounds…utterly revolting."

"It's worse, believe me," she said. "And the sad part is, he honestly thought it was my favorite pizza. I actually feel kind of sorry for Shawn. He's so bright, and so quick, but there are some things I just don't think he'll ever be able to understand."

She hugged him. "I hope Marlowe knows how lucky she is," she said. "She's getting one heck of a good guy."

He jerked completely out of her embrace and stood up. He dropped the needle arm onto the floor and paced with his hands jammed deep into his pants' pockets. "Marlowe broke up with me," he admitted at last. He leaned against the doorframe leading into the dining room. "On Saturday."

Her eyes widened and she gaped at him in utter dismay. "Oh, Carlton, I'm so sorry," she managed to say at last. "God, no wonder you've been so upset. What happened?"

"She decided to be a little adventurous," he said. "After all, her sentence is almost complete, and for the first time in her life, I think, the future is truly hers. And Adam Hornstock asked her out."

"Adam - the lawyer you hired for her?"

"She doesn't know that I hired him," he explained patiently.

She stood up. "Carlton, I'm so sorry it didn't work out. You were so happy, and I just…I really, really wanted that for you."

"Yeah. Me too."

Distantly, she heard music start to play. "Well, you done done me, and you bet I felt it. I tried to be chill, but you're so hot that I melted. I fell right through the cracks, now I'm trying to get back. Before the cool done run out, I'll be giving it my bestest, and nothing's gonna stop me but Divine Intervention. I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some, but I won't hesitate no more, no more, it can not wait. I'm yours."

"Is that…is that Jason Mraz?" she asked incredulously.

"Cee…CD player, in the bedroom," he stammered. "Elec - "

" - Trical malfunction, right right," Juliet finished. "I thought you couldn't stomach pop music?"

"I like some of it," he admitted, "and Mraz has kind of a…an eclectic thing going on. A little jazz influence, gospel, this and that…"

She nodded. "Well, I am really, really sorry about Marlowe." She stepped forward and hugged him, arms tight about his waist and her cheek pressed hard against his shirtfront.

"I, er…thank you, O'Hara," he said, and gently disengaged her. "But I'm really okay. And if I'm really okay and you're really okay, no sympathy necessary, right? Right."

Suddenly a new song pealed out of the bedroom at top volume. "Don't be stupid, you know I love you. Don't be ridiculous, you know I need you. Don't be absurd, you know I want you. Don't be impossible, I'm mad about you. I can't live without you. I'm crazy about you. Don't be stupid, you know I love you."

"Now, I know there isn't a compilation album in hell that has Jason Mraz together with Shania Twain," Juliet said. "What's going on here, Carlton?"

"It's a party mix," he invented wildly. "Burned it off the computer. Wow, look at the time. You'd better be going, don't you think?" He pushed her toward the door.

"All right, all right, I'll go. But Carlton…?"

"Yeah?""If you need to talk, about Marlowe, about…anything," she said with a significant glance in the direction of the source of the music still blaring angrily through the condo, "you know I'm here for you, right? You've got my number, call me. Or just…just come by my apartment. Anytime."

She left, and Lassiter addressed the now silent condominium. "I know you think you're helping me or something," he said, "but you're really not."