Epilogue

One Year Later…

"Oh, Lord, what the hell is he doing here?"

Carlton's eyebrow rose as he calmly sipped the last of his whisky. "Rumor has it he actually bought a ticket."

Sergeant Allen snorted. "Now I know you don't believe that nonsense."

"Of course not." He set his empty glass on the bar, shaking his head at the bartender's silent question. "I simply said it was the rumor."

"Why Gus puts up with that behavior—"

"Actually," Carlton interrupted, "I think he might have relieved Henry of his ticket."

He nodded toward the ballroom doors where a clearly frustrated Henry stood, a flowing velvet robe draped over his sharp tux and holding the crown that denoted the retired detective-cum-consultant liaison, King of Mardi Gras, this year's ridiculous ball theme. Ridiculous or not, it had at least provided the department with a convenient way in which to honor members of the force, both past and present, by creating a Royal Court. Carlton had been in Vick's office the day she'd called Henry in to give him the news and knew just how touched the older man had been that his former coworkers thought so highly of him. While Henry was as aware of his own abilities and intelligence as his idiot son, he didn't have the same deep-seated need to be publicly lauded for them and certainly didn't expect it. This would be a rare moment in the sun for him and yet, here Shawn was, being… Shawn, leaving Henry arguing with the ticket taker at the door.

"You gonna do anything about that?" Allen asked as she accepted a Hurricane from Alan the Firefighter, taking an appreciative sip of the frou-frou-y pink cocktail.

"About Henry?"

Allen hit him with a glare before turning her head to stare meaningfully across the dance floor to where Juliet, stunning in a deep red gown, stood ostensibly talking to Shawn—appropriately dressed this year, if one could consider a full Court Jester's motley and bell-festooned hat "appropriate"—but in reality, directing a death stare in Carlton's direction, her expression growing more thunderous as he smiled faintly and waved.

Beside him, Allen sighed.

"Detective, far be it from me to interfere in your personal life, but you are gonna be in a world of hurt if you don't get over there and save her from that fool."

Carlton full-out grinned as he watched Juliet's expression evolve into Get Over Here Now. "Come on, Allen, O'Hara's more than capable of handling herself—especially with him."

The sergeant snorted again, making Carlton wonder how many of the deceptively innocent-looking drinks she'd already had.

"Baby—"Alan started but lapsed into immediate silence at the look Allen shot him.

"Now, Alan, what have I told you about 'baby'-ing me?" Turning back to Carlton she jabbed a sparkling gold fingernail into his pristine ivory shirtfront. "All right, then, Detective, let me put this in language you might understand, being a man and all—if you don't get over there and now, I can guaran-damn-tee you're likely to get real friendly with your sofa."

"O'Hara wouldn't do that." He sounded confident. He was confident, considering he and Juliet had been inseparable in the year since the last Policeman's Ball, not spending even a single night apart. It didn't mean he hadn't been in hot water on occasion—he was still him, after all—but there hadn't been any transgression so severe that couldn't be fixed by a few quiet moments and acknowledgement that yes, he'd been an idiot.

Judging by the expression on Juliet's face, however, he might be entering new realms of transgression.

"O'Hara might not," Allen retorted with another poke to his chest, "but your wife just might."

Carlton sighed. Allen had a point. But dammit, it was just so entertaining.

He turned to Allen, who smiled.

"Yes, I know, you love me, no I won't tell anyone you said so. Now go, rescue your wife."

"Yes, ma'am." Drawing his brows together he looked at Alan. "You'd better keep an eye on how many of those things she has," he said with a nod at the rapidly emptying glass.

"And what, exactly, do you suggest I do?" Alan shrugged, clearly helpless in the face of the strong-willed sergeant.

"Good point." Carlton clapped a sympathetic hand against the big man's shoulder. "Vaya con Dios, hermano," he drawled, backing away as he felt himself assaulted by twin cannons of female wrath, what with the way Allen was rolling her eyes coupled with Juliet's withering stare and its clear overtones of I Will Kill You, Carlton Lassiter. Even so, he couldn't help but laugh—couldn't recall the last time he'd had such a good time baiting anyone not named Spencer—but it was definitely time to rescue Juliet from Spencer, Jr. The sofa was comfortable enough for naps and various extracurricular activities, but he wasn't at all sure about an entire night. Best to guarantee he not find out.

Besides it had been a good fifteen minutes since he'd last touched her.

Fifteen damned minutes too long.

"Jules, color me devastated you don't believe I bought not just one, but two tickets."

"By which you mean you stole not only your father's but Guster's as well," Carlton said with a glance toward the ballroom entrance where an obviously annoyed Guster had joined Henry at the door. You'd think they'd learn.

As he drew up alongside Juliet he placed a hand on her back breathing deep as he felt her lean against him with a grateful sigh. Judging by the look she shot up at him, however, they were still going to be having words later. Good thing he'd laid in a store of ice cream when he went grocery shopping. He'd long ago learned the value of a well-timed pint of Ben & Jerry's Volun-Tiramisu.

"And I'm fairly certain I'm going to be sorry I asked, but what reason could you possibly have to steal two tickets?"

"Because I know how important this ball thing is to Jules."

Carlton exchanged a bemused glance with Juliet. Yes, the man-child had been a bit morose in the weeks following last year's ball and had disappeared for a week following the announcement of their quiet elopement ten months earlier, but he'd eventually more or less reverted to behaving the way he had before he and Juliet had gotten involved, which was to say, reverted to acting the way he always had: entitled, obnoxious, spastic, idiotic, annoying—

"Shawn, I'm married." While tinged with a familiar note of exasperation, Juliet's voice was nevertheless extraordinarily gentle. Far better than the idiot deserved.

Spencer's sandy brows rose. "That doesn't mean you couldn't attend the ball with me."

"Actually, nimrod, that's exactly what it means," Carlton snapped, feeling no obligation towards gentleness or patience. Although, he supposed, this was partially his own fault. If he'd headed the moron off at the pass and had him removed from the ballroom, they wouldn't be wasting time with this.

"Come on, Lassie—" Spencer smirked in typical Spencer-know-it-all fashion. "Admit it—parties aren't really your scene. Don't you think we could at least come to some sort of gentleman's agreement? Like, you know, a time share?"

"Shawn!"

As Juliet spluttered in outrage, Carlton ground out, "My wife is not a condo, you narcissistic asshat." He considered it a sign of how far he'd come that he hadn't popped Spencer… yet.

The night was still young.

"Seriously, Jules," Shawn said in a wheedling tone. "You can't tell me this is really working out for you. I get that you were trying to teach me a lesson, and believe me, I've learned it. Don't you think this charade has gone on long enough?"

"Oh, Shawn—"

Carlton felt a wave of possessiveness wash over him as Juliet placed her hand on her burgeoning belly. Five months along and in his opinion, she was the most beautiful pregnant woman he'd ever seen.

She was flat out the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Spencer—" In deference to Juliet and the sudden exhaustion he could feel emanating from her, he kept his tone as non-threatening as possible. "I honestly have no idea if you're joking or if you're serious—"

"I've heard it both ways."

Carlton took a deep breath, calmed by Juliet's hand grasping his. In her touch he could feel the strength he relied on, her faith that he would deal with the situation, her assurance that if necessary, she could step in—but above all, he could feel her love. And it was because of that love he was able to continue in a reasonably calm voice.

"I have my doubts as to whether or not you've learned a damned thing, but trying to prove it with Juliet needs to end—now." He glanced at Juliet's hand resting on her stomach. "Especially now, you understand?"

If he didn't know better he could swear even the bell-festooned points of that stupid hat drooped, right along with the man's shoulders.

"Yeah. It's just—"

The younger man's face screwed up into what Juliet had confided she'd dubbed "Poop Face." Carlton had laughed so hard he'd wound up erupting into a vicious case of hiccups the likes of which he hadn't had since he was a kid. Totally worth it, though, even though it was hell keeping a straight face at crime scenes when Psych was called in. Even now, knowing full well a patented Shawn Spencer insult loomed on the horizon, he could feel the corners of his lips twitching.

"You, Lassie?"

"Yeah, him. Just him. Always him. I suggest you get used to it." Juliet moved her hand to Spencer's arm. "And if you've really learned a lesson, you might want to prove it by returning Henry and Gus' tickets to them and next year, buy your own." With a tired sigh, she leaned more fully against Carlton.

Taking her silent cue, Carlton slipped an arm around her shoulders and began leading her toward the exit. "Good night, Spencer."

At the entrance to the ballroom, he paused and informed the ticket taker that the two gentleman were invited guests and oh, by the way, the idiot in the Court Jester outfit was a trespasser. Waving off Henry and Guster's thanks, he continued leading Juliet into the resort's expansive rotunda until they came to a bench strategically placed near the water feature.

"Why don't you wait here while I get the valet to bring the car around?"

With a smile, she tugged on his hand and drew him down to sit beside her. "I have a better idea."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

Wordlessly, she drew a card emblazoned with the resort's logo from her small evening bag and held it up, a familiar gleam lighting her lovely blue-gray eyes.

Carlton bit back a smile. "A bit presumptuous, don't you think, Detective O'Hara?"

A perfect light brown brow rose. "I believe it was you who declared it an example of remarkable foresight, Detective Lassiter."

"That I did." The desire that was never far from the surface rose, prompting him to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her impossibly soft cheeks. "So am I forgiven for leaving you to deal with Spencer for so long?"

She leaned in and placed those perfect, soft lips against his, her teeth emerging to nibble at his lower lip in a way that fried every nerve ending he owned. "Oh, no," she whispered, her tongue soothing the slight sting her teeth had left behind. "You have to admit, that deserves some sort of retribution."

"You're not going to make me sleep on the sofa, are you?"

"No," she murmured against his mouth. "You're simply not going to sleep at all."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I suppose you think that's pretty shameless for a married pregnant lady." As her teeth continued their devastating assault on his lower lip, he gave thanks the bench was set back in a secluded alcove.

"You're my married pregnant lady," he murmured, trailing kisses along her jaw to the sensitive spot along her ear. "And I like shameless."

"Oh," she sighed, her hands stroking his hair. "Good."

Carlton stood and pulled her up into his arms. "And I believe I also said you can presume any damned thing you want with me."

She smiled up at him, and damn, if all those stories of pregnant women glowing weren't true—then again, as far as he was concerned, Juliet had always glowed. "Like love?"

He kissed her, slow and thorough, secure in the knowledge that this was something he'd always have.

"God yes, Juliet. Especially love."

~Fin