[[Author's Notes:

Hello dear readers!

This is the first installment in a gift-fic I'm writing for the dear fmapreshwab, who gave me a most excellent prompt. I only hope I'm doing it justice, because she is awesome: an amazing writer who does exquisite Shassie-fic, leaves great reviews, and generally serves as a source of fic-inspiration for yours truly.

I'd only intended to write little tiny things, but the idea I got in my head was so epic that it's going to take a few chapters to do it justice. :D I wanted to get the first one published as quickly as possible, so I can hopefully get peer-pressure from you all to get the rest done in a timely fashion.

I'm a firm believer that Juliet is a total slash-fan, ever since the way she was grinning and squeezing when Shawn gave Lassy the note about being the all-weather tires on the alpine highways of his life and signed it "Hugs and Kisses". (Incidentally, that's why I spell it "Lassy" instead of "Lassie" because that's how Shawn spelled it in the letter. In case you were wondering. But you probably weren't.

ANYWAY. Read, review, and please do enjoy. And review. Have I mentioned that?

H&Ks, Elske]]

Juliet O'Hara has done just enough paperwork today that her mind is beginning to wander. Usually it's a task she –almost! – enjoys, the sense of closure and achievement that comes with closing a case, tying up all the loose ends.

Today, however, there's something a bit troubling on her mind: for one, the part where she's worrying about her partner. For two, there's the odd conversation with Chief Vick about how, as partners, it was their duty to look out for one another. She's fond of Carlton, she honestly is: she can't think of anyone in Santa Barbra she'd rather work with, despite the other man's occasional grumpiness, despite being perhaps too quick to reach for his gun, despite the sadness that's been hovering in his eyes ever since he stopped wearing his wedding-ring.

Was the solution as simple as finding Carlton a woman? Could it be?

There's something that's been rattling around in Juliet's brain for long enough to make her think that it's not that simple: that Carlton's problem isn't just that he's unattached, it isn't just that he's a divorcé, there's something deeper to his unhappiness.

She can hear Shawn Spencer's voice coming from somewhere in the station: it's too far away for her to make out the words. He's probably just here for his paycheck, she thinks, and then – like a flash of inspiration – she wonders if Shawn isn't part of the problem.

It might be her imagination. She's always willing to admit the possibility that it could be her imagination, because she's a closet romantic at heart (and yes, the kind of romantic that admittedly occasionally picks up those romance novels where boy-meets-boy instead). It might just be her imagination at work.

But now Juliet's thinking of Shawn, exuberant over-the-top Shawn, who's never once claimed to be heterosexual, who flirts with her but also flirts with everyone: even, she thinks, Carlton. …no, she revises that – especially Carlton. She thinks about how Shawn seems to take every opportunity to touch him, as though perhaps the spirits that guide his spirit visions are trying to push the two of them together!

Perhaps she's on to something.

Juliet thinks about the way Carlton reacts to Shawn, and it's usually something that can only be described as frustrated. She thinks about how Carlton is sometimes just as willing to touch Shawn right back, in a manly violent sort of way (of course), trapping him against walls, leaning in close to whisper veiled threats, a delicious contrast to Shawn's innuendo.

And sometimes, she realizes, she's noticed Carlton watching Shawn, although not as often, perhaps, as Shawn's got his eyes on Carlton. And sometimes after Shawn's been particularly hands-on with her partner, she's noticed Carlton fleeing to the safety of his desk and pushing the chair all the way in – not his typical posture – but – almost! – as though he's got something to hide. He'd disappeared for a long while the day Shawn was wriggling about in his lap, the day the spirits had him channeling that recently-deceased chorus girl. Curiouser and curiouser, thinks Juliet.

Maybe it's not just ordinary frustration on Carlton's part towards Shawn. Maybe it's sexual frustration.

And maybe she's on to something.

Juliet tips back in her chair, grins to herself. So maybe she's figured out the problem: now, what she's got to do, is figure out what to do about it.

Get the two of them in the same place at the same time, for starters. Shove the two of them together and give them no choice but to talk about it, once and for all.

At her house, she thinks, because if worst comes to worst: well, she just happens to have a radiator and some handcuffs.