CHAPTER SIX

. . . . .

. . . .

Her eyes were huge.

Beautiful too, dark blue, sometimes more blue-gray, but always lovely.

"Don't freak out," he said quickly. "I'm not about to leap across the table and have at you."

Although if that were an option...

Focus, man! Focus!

Her mouth opened and she shook her head slightly.

"Let me just explain it if I can," Carlton began. "You really can relax."

She shook her head again. "Carlton, I—"

The server showed up with their plates, and Juliet seemed frustrated by the interruption, but he had to speak before she shut down what he needed to say to her.

Server gone, having been politely thanked, he picked up his fork—this might be his last meal—but she started, "Carlton, I'm not freaked."

"Your eyes are like saucers," he said plainly. "You're alternating between pale and flushed. You're freaked. It's okay. Just listen."

She was anxious. "It's not okay—I—"

"Juliet."

She froze, and he knew in part it was because he'd allowed himself to call her by name.

"Juliet, listen. If you think what I said means I have feelings for you, you're right. I do."

A little voice in his head commented, you said it. You actually said it. And you're still breathing.

Carlton went on evenly, "But you don't have to worry about them. Part of the anomaly factor is..." He searched for the right phrasing. "That I've learned over the last few years to value our friendship and partnership more than..." He had to smile wryly. "Than anything else."

Juliet's hands were trembling, and she moved them to her lap.

"I value you more than anything else."

You said that too! the voice crowed. End times!

How else could he put it, short of saying he loved her, which she was so not ready for and wouldn't be able to get past? "Feelings" was a muted euphemism he could live with.

Her color had faded again, and the trembling seemed to be overtaking her whole body.

He couldn't stop. "Back then, I would have thought it was all or nothing. But over time, over these last few years, I've learned… that people like you can exist in the sorry dysfunctional lives of people like me."

"Carlton," she whispered, those glorious blue eyes misty.

"You are the nicest, loveliest, most well-adjusted person I know." He tried another smile. "That is, who carries a gun and has unexplored anger issues. And if a nice, well-adjusted person like you can see value in me, and stick around for five long years and seem to... be content with that? Then I'm just rolling with it. And I hardly ever roll with things, Juliet, so I know you understand how much I mean this. Okay?"

She seemed frozen again.

But he was out of words, so he speared his chicken and took a bite.

"Carlton, I..."

"No, you can't have the car keys. I'm not walking back home."

That, finally, seemed to relax her a little. She sagged back against the booth. "I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"You don't have to say anything. I wanted you to know what you'd done for me, and now you should eat your dinner."

Glancing down at her plate as if unsure how it got there, she leaned forward again and said earnestly, "I meant, I don't know what to say first. I know what to say. I just... I..."

"Eat," he said patiently.

He was kind of surprised he hadn't already either burst into flames or melted into goo.

You just told the woman you love how you feel.

Well, sort of.

It wasn't the expression of feelings so much—he'd been able to tell Victoria and various other women in his long-ago past how he felt; it was that he'd been living with these feelings for Juliet so long, and had been so keenly aware she would never return them, that to speak them aloud was...

Well, hell. He might deserve a medal.

For his coffin.

After she shot him.

Because she would. He just hoped she wouldn't dump his body by the side of the road; he'd hoped for a more dignified ending to his career.

Juliet was staring at him. Trying to figure him out. She nearly always could, though she was often kind enough to keep it to herself.

After a moment she drank some of her tea and bit into a spring roll, but halfway through that she set it down.

"Okay." She took a breath. "Everything you said blew my mind."

He rejected well, duh in favor of, "Yeah, I know. Eat."

"I'm eating. Shut up."

With deliberation, he stuck another piece of chicken in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Goober."

Hmm, she might not shoot him.

"What you said," she tried again, "you seem to think is... something I didn't want to hear."

He stopped chewing.

"And that it was unwelcome."

His heart skittered a bit, and he swallowed the chicken before it fought back. "Or icky," he supplied.

This earned him another eye roll.

"I've learned a lot about what's important from you too, you know." Juliet was getting stronger, as if she felt she was on steadier ground now.

Carlton nodded. "Interrogation techniques, how to get the copier to work—"

"Shut up," she said again, no heat but still serious. "You had your say, now I get mine."

"Yeah, but you didn't know what was coming. I do know what's coming, and it's seventy percent likely to be bad."

"Seventy... what?"

Patiently, he explained, "The odds are rarely in my favor."

"But..." she seemed puzzled. "Why would you assume a seventy percent chance of something bad from me when I just told you this wasn't... unwelcome?"

"O'Hara," he said flatly, "between the partnership issue, the age difference, my cranky personality and the fact that I'm not your type, I think assuming a seventy percent chance of rejection is startlingly optimistic of me."

To his surprise, she smiled. "You're right. About you and optimism, anyway." She poured another cup of tea, ate the rest of the spring roll and then leaned in. "Our partnership is incredibly important, but it still has the capacity to be more. Our age difference is immaterial. If I had a problem with your crankiness I'd tell you... and actually I have told you many times. I don't disagree that I'm nice but I'm not a doormat, hence those unexplored anger issues you mentioned. And what is this crap about 'my type'?" She used air quotes to emphasize.

Carlton scowled. "Spencer? Football players? Scott Seaver? Those guys are all your type. Not me."

"We fall for who we fall for, Carlton. I also dated Cameron Luntz, remember? He's a bit like you, wouldn't you say? Hmmm?" Challenging.

He maintained the scowl while thinking we fall for who we fall for sounded scarily promising. "Bite your tongue, woman. Next you'll be saying Goochberg was like me."

Juliet laughed, and suddenly he felt a lot less like he was having the last meal before his execution.

"You can be rehabilitated," she assured him, and finally tried some of her egg foo yung. "Ooh, I should have listened the first time you told me to eat."

He arched one brow. "You should always listen to me the first time I tell you anything."

"Not when you're full of crap," she retorted.

She wasn't wrong, and he didn't hide his smile.

But back to the point, he reminded himself. This needed to be settled tonight, preferably before the fortune cookies arrived. "Okay, so what are you saying when you're not insulting me?"

"I'm saying," she said with exaggerated calm, "that I have feelings for you too, dumbass."

Fork in mid-air, he looked at her for awhile, until the chicken fell back to the plate with a thunk.

Juliet followed its path, amused, and then met his gaze again.

"Oh."

"Oh," she mocked.

But, his inner naysayer pointed out, this didn't mean she would want to act on those feelings. His willingness to tell her how he felt, framed with the value he placed on their partnership, might merely be allowing her the freedom to say she felt the same: that the partnership was what mattered.

Not moving beyond it to something more. To everything.

"Oh," he agreed, and re-speared his chicken.

After a bit, she prompted him. "What happened today to make you admit this to me?"

What indeed. It was simple, really.

"The past. Remembering how I was, and how I regretted... not just how things worked out, but that I was in that... mistake for the wrong reason, with the wrong person, at the wrong time."

Juliet nodded as if she understood this.

He wasn't sure he did: from the moment Lucinda walked into the room he'd felt disconnected from reality.

"And you think I'm...?" She left it open, her expression both curious and expectant.

"The right person."

Damn. You said something else you never thought you'd say.

Juliet smiled tremulously.

"But reasons and timing aren't mine to control."

The smile became radiant. He hated her a little tiny bit for perhaps a quarter of a second, because when she smiled like that she was utterly irresistible, and this was not the time for her to be irresistible.

Because he just could not trust his heart's yearning on this. He couldn't.

The server came back to ask if they needed anything.

This woman. Please. No need for a to-go box; I'll just carry her out in my arms.

Juliet's phone buzzed with a text, and he thanked God for the pause.

. . . . .

. . . .

The message was from Chief Vick: If you're on the way back I assume Lassiter's driving. Progress report?

She told Carlton it was Vick, and replied: got the guy! Full report in the a.m. On the way home.

Bad timing, but then they should have checked in earlier. She put the phone down and returned her full attention to Carlton, who promptly continued as if there'd been no interruption at all.

He looked, as he had for this whole conversation, both resolved and uncertain, mixing the hell with it with am I crazy?, and she really could study his blue eyes forever and never figure out every single nuance.

And right now, he was talking fast.

"Look, you don't need to say another word. You don't need to reassure me or promise me anything or even be... nice. I hit you with a lot, but I don't expect anything. Maybe it was a mistake to say it at all, but after today with Barry, I just felt like it was time to lay it out. I'm perfectly happy to go back to work tomorrow and have my partner who I hope is still my friend, and that's good. That's great. It's been the best of the last five years and I hope it'll be the best of the next thirty years—unless you get promoted out of Santa Barbara, which you deserve, or maybe you can be Chief when Vick retires or pisses off the mayor, and you can go on with your life, right now, without worrying about me. You can be happy with whomever you choose and I will never be bitter, not as long as you're with someone you really love and who makes you happy."

So much to unpack here, but his eyes... damn, she loved his eyes.

"I admit," he added quietly, "that I'm going to bitch about you getting involved with Spencer, but that's because it's Spencer. You'd be better off with Guster. Or Cameron Luntz, even though he is a know-it-all bastard."

Juliet could not help but smile at such Carltonness. "I can't decide whether to laugh or to throw water in your face to get you to snap out of this. Stop thinking you know what I'm thinking."

He blinked. "Oh, I never know what a woman's thinking. I mean, statistically speaking it's safe to assume if she's thinking about me, it's bad, but usually I don't have a clue."

Juliet did laugh now. "You sound almost cheerful."

"I generally feel safe admitting my faults to you, O'Hara."

She treasured that. He would never understand how much his trust in her meant.

"Carlton, let me be clear. Only put your fork down first; I don't want you to choke."

He obeyed, but snuck in a sip of water.

"You have feelings for me. I am not displeased to hear this. And I have feelings for you, but I have to admit I haven't... let myself think about them too much. It seemed best to let everything just percolate. You know?"

He managed a nod.

It was true: despite her private admissions today while absorbing the Lucinda chapter of his life, and despite a deep-seated certainty that forward was the only way to go with a man like Carlton, she needed to think about everything.

Maybe not a lot. But some.

"It's not going to be simple. We both know that. But I already know it'll be worth it to try."

"I'm..." he hesitated. "I'm still an all-or-nothing guy. It won't be an experiment for me."

Juliet tilted her head. "I understand. I just mean... no one can predict the future, right?"

"I guess not. Fifteen minutes ago, I would have predicted you'd request a transfer as soon as you got to the station in the morning."

"Oh honey, I'm not transferring anywhere so long as there's a chance I could make Chief someday."

He smirked; she loved that too. "You know I'm not taking orders from you."

"You said that once before and you were quite wrong," she reminded him.

"My arm was in a sling. You had me at a disadvantage. Bully."

Juliet grinned, and he grinned back, and this was going to be good. Yes.

"I would be happy to put your arm in a sling again if it would ensure compliance."

"Compliance," he scoffed. "By then I'll be running a ranger station in outer... someplace remote. In Montana."

"Outer someplace remote," she said, laughing. "I don't think so. I think you and I are going to be together a long time, partner."

That much seemed inevitable. Happily, happily inevitable.

Carlton surveyed her awhile, the light in his eyes calmer now, as he settled into what she knew was unfamiliar territory for him: giving something a chance.

Perhaps some glue was in order.

"You know me better than anyone else. And while our personalities are very different, as you said, and in many ways I'm exactly the kind of person you would find supremely annoying, you have stuck with me for five years. You can't be nice to McNab unless he's in another room, but you're nice to me all the time, by choice."

"Well, you do have a service weapon," he muttered.

She reached over and put her hand on top of his, smiling. "Shut it."

He turned his hand to clasp hers. "That really makes my point more than yours."

Juliet laughed and squeezed his hand. "Shut it, or you are walking home."

Now his voice was a touch plaintive. "So what are we talking about here?"

Right. Glue.

"We are talking about investigating all these feelings. We are talking about finishing dinner, getting in the car, talking about mundane things like spending time together outside of work and not solving crime. Dating."

"Dating." His eyes widened. "In public."

"Uh, yeah? Don't worry, I clean up nice."

Instant scowl. "Screw that. You're the reason the sun comes up, O'Hara; it can't wait to get a look at you." Then he looked horrified.

Juliet, for her part, was enchanted, and goosebumps skittered across her arms.

Oh, he is so the one.

He was blushing madly, and trying to retract his hand, but she held on tight. "O'Hara..."

"Stop. This is going to be okay, Carlton. You are going to be okay. We are going to be okay."

Finally he relaxed, and she let him go.

"Now," she concluded, "we are finishing dinner, and heading home."

It seemed altogether appropriate that the fortune from her cookie read: Doing the best at this moment puts you in the best place for the next moment.

But even better than his said: Don't let the past and useless details choke your existence.

"Dammit," he complained. "Philosophers. I'd have done better with the one that says 'don't be a dick.'"

Yeah, he was the one.

. . . . .

. . . .

It was a month before they kissed.

He'd wanted to kiss her for years, but even after believing there was hope, he wasn't going to rush her.

She initiated it, in the station parking lot after work one night, when no one was around and the moon was high, and he forgot about circumspection because her lips were pressed to his and everything shimmered slightly.

For the next few weeks she kissed him every night at quitting time, and at the close of every date, and perhaps sometimes he kissed her first, but he never doubted he was welcome to do so, and every second of every kiss was more perfection than he'd ever known was possible.

At the two-month mark they became lovers, and he could have sworn he had an out-of-body experience.

At the three month mark—and he barely remembered anything of the previous month which didn't involve magical nights with his Juliet—she said, "We should tell the Chief about us."

"We should?" He felt chilled until she settled him with a look. "I mean, we should."

"The sooner we tell her, the more open-minded she might be about not splitting us up."

He'd been trying to avoid thinking about that possibility; the chance of separation was the one reason keeping their relationship quiet made sense to him.

Juliet smiled at him benignly. "I told you we were going to be together a long time. You might have to marry me to keep us in the same station, but you're up for that if necessary, right?"

Carlton's heart went *sproing*.

"I... yes. Yes, I'm up for that. If necessary," he amended, getting his mojo back belatedly. "Purely in the name of partnership preservation."

She swatted him with her t-shirt, which he had removed from her warm silky body minutes ago. "You owe me for that."

"I owe you for everything." He was a little breathless, but so was she, and they were quiet...ish... for awhile.

In years to come, he gave thought occasionally to Lucinda Barry's role in his life, and how twice she'd led him to Juliet.

After she was killed in the line of duty, he and Juliet both competed in the shooting competition held in her honor.

Later they visited her grave, hand in hand, and he privately gave thanks for the lessons she'd taught him, intentionally or otherwise.

And then he took his wife home and thanked her for the rest of their lives.

. . . . . .

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A/N: there, Lassieteers. You made me turn a simple story about meeting Lucinda into THIS! Consider yourselves wrist-smacked. ;-) Oh, and ace888? You started this, so I expect to hear from you!

P.S. Those were real fortunes.