Disclaimer: like I really have to tell you I don't own psych
Summary: A tiny little tale in my Cliché Lassiet series. What do you confess when you're about to DIE?
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Handcuffed together, locked in a room, explosives outside the door, in the middle of a building now littered with said explosives while a madman with a twitchy finger and a dubious remote control made his cackling way out to freedom, ready to blow the rest of it to hell.
"Juliet," he said, the name unfamiliar on his tongue.
As if in counterpoint, she said dryly, "Lassiter."
He smiled faintly. "Juliet. I'm sorry I can't get us out of this."
With her free hand, she brushed hair out of her damp face. "I'm sorry I can't get us out of this."
"No. I mean... I'm supposed to save you. I'm supposed to be the one who dies for you. Dying together isn't how it was supposed to be."
"Why not?" she asked simply. "Who better to die with than my partner?"
Lassiter sighed, and was afraid, but not of impending death. "You're supposed to die with someone you love."
Juliet's hand trembled; he felt it against his own where they were cuffed.
He added slowly, "Like I am."
Her eyes grew wide.
"I know it's the last thing you wanted to hear from me, and maybe it's selfish, but I can't get blown to bits without telling you I love you. I have for a long time. I've let everything stand between us, from Victoria to my divorce to Spencer, and I'm not saying you ever would have been interested, but I blame myself for not even trying. And I blame myself for not being able to get you out of this so you can go on and have the wonderful life you deserve with someone you love, even if it is that asshat Spencer."
There was a tilt to her head... a light in her eyes... and he thought, Bastard. You shouldn't have reminded her now about missing out on that life.
"I love you," he said again, quietly. "And I thank you for being my friend and partner all these years."
Somewhere outside the room, they could hear Kessler laughing madly, a stereotype until the end. No chance he wouldn't blow himself up too, but it was small consolation.
Juliet's hand was still trembling, but now she curled it into his warmly, and it seemed so natural for their fingers to interlock. "Carlton, you arrogant idiot."
Well, that hurt, and he muttered, "Excuse me. I should have added 'please don't feel you need to respond.'"
"First," she went on, ignoring him and also refusing to release his hand, "it really is arrogant of you to feel like you had to be the one to save us. I'm a pretty good cop too, you know, and have just as much responsibility to save you. Second, you assume I wouldn't have been interested because... why? Because that same arrogance makes you think you're more unworthy than anyone else?" She rolled her eyes. "Third, you also assume that making a move was entirely on you? What about me? I had plenty of opportunities to go after you that I passed up out of sheer cowardice. Fourth, Shawn was already on his way out of my life, whether he ever knows it or not. Finally—" She yanked him closer and added in a fierce whisper, "I am dying with someone I love, you idiot."
She kissed him and he instantly forgot they were about to blow up. He forgot Kessler, the explosives, the years gone by, his badge number, his address, his blood type and his name. Actually, his name was the first thing to go.
They were dusty, dirty, and doomed, but they were kissing. Lassiter was in heaven, despite being on the doorstep of hell.
Her mouth was warm and sweet and hungry and they clung together for precious moments until she broke free, her dark-blue gaze intent on him. "Are we clear?"
An explosion rocked the building, and dust and drywall chunks fell from the ceiling.
Burn, baby, burn.
"Yeah," he said, and gathered her close again for another round.
"Yeah," she purred against his lips, welcoming him against her body, her free hand snaking around his neck as his dared to slide down her back and further south. "Oh, yeah..."
A closer explosion. They didn't stop kissing. There was no point. Fear of death was nothing now.
"Best way to die," he murmured.
Tears on her cheeks. "I love you, Carlton. I'm yours now forever."
He looked into her beautiful eyes and smiled, gently brushing away a tear with a kiss.
They were still kissing when the door blew in, ending everything with one huge cacophonous noise.
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The Writer lifted her fingers from the keyboard and considered what she'd written.
Not bad. Eternally together.
Except deathfics are so freaking pointless, and "real" life is hard enough.
A happy ending would be so much better.
She began typing again.
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Buzz McNab, surprisingly light on his feet and stealthy of movement for such a large person, spotted Kessler easing out of a doorway. There was no time to alert SWAT; he had to go for it.
Kessler had his back to him, a manic grin on his grime-streaked face, and he stared down at the remote in his hand.
Buzz simply walloped him upside the head.
Kessler went down in an ungainly heap; Buzz caught the remote before it hit the ground, and then he alerted the SWAT team.
The bomb squad poured into the building, where small explosions were still going off, and made short work of searching the rooms, kicking in doors where necessary to find Lassiter and O'Hara.
Who were kissing at the time they entered.
And didn't seem to want to be interrupted.
At least that's what Buzz heard. He kind of hoped it was true. He liked Shawn Spencer a lot, and knew Shawn really cared about Juliet, but Lassiter loved her. Buzz had seen it for years but knew Lassiter would cut his legs off if he ever mentioned it, so he kept quiet, did his job, and hoped for the best, because that's what his Francie advised him, and she was never wrong.
He watched the two of them being treated for cuts and scrapes at the back of the ambulance. Lassiter was grousing about the attention and Juliet was fussing at him to keep quiet, but from time to time they simply looked at each other, full of wonder, and it made Buzz feel unaccountably warm and fuzzy.
He agreed with Francie—the Lassiter-O'Hara babies would have some pretty amazing blue eyes. When he told her about today, she'd probably start making booties for Juliet.
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