Juliet O'Hara

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Juliet's head has been clouded with doubt lately. This mess with the Chief and Henry, contrasted with the steady progress of her relationship with Shawn. She needs someone to help her break this all down, and there's only one man in the station who can help her.

She pops by Carlton's desk and announces herself with a cough.

Juliet's finally getting what she wanted out of this vacation. Relaxation, sunshine, and great company.

She smiles, squeezing Shawn's hand and brushing his knuckles with her thumb.

Even though she's trying to enjoy the day spa and everything it has to offer, and trying to relish the whole 'no finger-to-the-temple-psychic-stuff' part of the deal, something else keeps picking and itching at Jules' mind.

"Are you awake?" she wonders out loud.

It's really nice out here, actually, secretly, she thinks. With all of those fresh peaches and roling hills and fields of sweet-smelling grass.

Some tiny part of Juliet - the part that's not utterly annoyed with Gus for falling for one of the cult members - sort of likes this town, the silence, the people. Even the annoying ones she's abandoned Shawn to while she enjoys the sweet freshness of the peaches she's taken.

Each bite is an orgy of flavor, and she's enjoying every moment of blue sky and fresh air she an eke out. It's going to take forever to get home, but right now the power of making Shawn squirm holds a little too much appeal.

It's been a long time since Juliet and Shawn have been alone. In fact, this is the very first time they've been alone in her appartment since they made things official.

"Come on," Juliet calls, as she emerges from the bedroom. "It's time for someone to finally meet you!"

From behind her, a large animal lopes up and leans against her hip, panting happily.

"Shawn," she declares, "this is Baby."

Baby is, in fact, a hundred-pound black-spotted white great dane.

WHAT DO YOU DO, SHAWN!?

Juliet had to usher Shawn into this place. She doesn't expect him to know anything about cut, clarity, or quality.

This should be fun.

Her eyes are dispassionate as she looks over the cases; she's not much of a jewelry woman in the first place, but These Are The Things You Do For a Friend.

"Maybe you shouldn't get the great big diamond-covered strawberry," she observes, as Shawn fingers one of the specimens.

She's taking the gun apart again, sliding the edge of the faded Van Halen tee-shirt into and out of the chilly notches of the chamber in the cool, white light of the moon.

This is her kitchen. Hers, a heavy four-letter word; when she was a child she'd owned nothing but a doll and a china set, and the expectations of the entire O'Hara clan.

It was a burden she'd shared with Ewan - Growing up together, they learned thrift and loyalty at an early age. That football had lasted him for years, and her dolls had lost their eye-paint years before they met the attic. She had made due with what she owned. Had done so enthusiastically.

She does most things with enthusiasm, anyway.

Lassiter knows that. He finally respects her for it, too. Even Gus, who resents her presence sometimes, actually likes her.

And then there's Shawn, who thinks she's sexy when she's tough.

Don't worry, it was long before I knew you.

She closes her eyes very tightly, swallows twice. The branches crackle and drag across the split eye of the window. She slips the bullets back into their chamber, slowly. One by one.

It's been four hours since he and Gus left on that stakeout, the one he lied to her about just to spare her feelings. As much as she believes in him - as deep as her faith may run, and as much joy as she finds in her job - she lives with the worry that being twinned to his life provides.

I think you're swell.

Where is he?

She promised herself she wouldn't feel this much after Scott disappeared, that she wouldn't put her heart through the crucible of the possibility of loss. She knows how desperately Shawn loves her; she never understood how deeply until the Yin arrest. The reckless part of him, the childlike part that makes her laugh is the side that worries her the most.

Her phone vibrates. A message pops up in royal blue font.

I M Fine. Pizza @ My Place?

Juliet breathes. Her thumbs stab back at the buttons through a sheet of tears.

Okay.

The phone beeps as she turns it off. There's nothing here but the silence of the night, and the weight of what she's chosen for herself, and she wants to escape it and shed the fear that's tightened her torso to knots.

She re-assembles the gun slowly, hearing the click of the trigger as she slips on the safety, the metallic song of mechanized death held at bay.

Juliet is, predictably, punctual when she arrives at the door. She stuck Carlton with most of the paperwork after she finished her shift, and has a handful of supplies in a plastic sack, which she's toting under her arm; mostly DVDs and magazines to restock his stash.

They've been planning on a little friends-night-in for awhile, and Jules is looking forward to it after the unfortunate dressing-down she had to give Lassiter earlier this morning. The man needs to cool his jets and relax just a little, in her humble opinion.

Knocking on the door, she listens for movement, unsure if she should just open it - a dangerous prospect with a cop in the house and several guns. So she stands, waiting patiently.

She's bearing pineapple-coconut cupcakes from that new bakery on the boardwalk. Beware, boy, beware.

Juliet is in the middle of her step-areobics session when her cell phone starts to buzz. She picks it up and manages to text back without missing a beat - only one man she knows would have this kind of timing.

Just come over, Shawn.

She finishes her ten minute cardio burst and fixes her hair. It's Shawn; he won't mind.