Pie-Crust Promises
Title: Pie-Crust Promises
Collection: Dress Blues and Gold Badges
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter/Juliet
Warnings: Lassiter-flavored fluff, regulation infringement, intra-departmental fraternization, crossing the ship line into unfamiliar territory
Genres: Romance, Het, Angst
Chapters: 1
Completed: They're all standalone one-shots, so . . . sort of?
Word count: 679
Disclaimer: *eyebrow arch* Really? You have to ask. *shakes head*
Notes: For Styles, my commiseratory chat-buddy.
Summary: When she said it, she didn't know it was a pie-crust promise. Easily made, easily broken.
There are days I think I made a mistake.
Okay that came out wrong.
I make mistakes all the time. I'm not perfect. I know that.
But there's one in particular, that I'm beginning to regret.
Once upon a time I told Detective Carlton Lassiter that I didn't believe in interoffice romances.
To be fair to myself, I did mean it. And I still kind of do.
They wreak all sorts of havoc, especially when you work together as closely as partners. And as cops, they can be dangerous.
Distraction on a stakeout-either because you're fighting or because you're definitely not fighting-is one of the most unprofessional-and dangerous-things you can do wrong in this job.
And hesitation?
It can be a killer. Literally.
Like right now.
I should be focused on the bad guy and how I'm going to stop him.
But I'm just a little distracted.
Okay, I've been distracted for a long time.
But right now it's particularly bad.
Because I should be focusing on how to disarm or distract the psychopath currently sitting in my sights.
And all I can think about is where his gun is pointed.
That would be straight at Carlton's heart.
With Carlton's gun on the floor between them.
I could shoot, but could I do it fast enough that Carlton wouldn't get shot too?
I don't know.
I want to draw his attention my way, but I'm frozen.
There's something particularly paralytic about seeing the man you only recently admitted to yourself that you love in mortal danger.
This is worse than the first scenario in the academy.
My mouth is dry. My hands are beginning to shake. My knees are slowly turning to jelly.
“Stop.”
I whisper it so softly I can barely hear it.
But I have to do it. I have to draw his attention my way. It's the only thing I can do.
I glance at Carlton and take a precious moment to savor the image of him alive and not shot, just in case this fails.
Oh please don't let me fail.
“Hey!” I yell suddenly.
The gunman spins my way and I fire almost in the same breath as my shout.
It misses and I freeze as the muzzle of his gun points my way.
Now I'm going to die.
The thought that at least it's me and not Carlton floats through my mind as I blink, expecting to be dead before it's over.
There is a gunshot and I jump, but no agonizing pain floods my senses.
The blink ends and I have to repeat it to confirm what I'm seeing isn't a dream.
The perp? Dead on the floor, his blood leaking out through the hole in the side of his head.
Carlton? Alive. Most definitely alive. And looking quite pissed.
Before I can even think about it I'm running, and then I tackle him, hanging on for dear sanity. If he had died it would have ended us both. I might have been physically still here, but mentally . . .
“O'Hara?” he says after a moment, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.
I can barely force my muscles to cooperate, but I let him go, cheeks flushed a cherry red. I can't help straightening his lapels.
“Sorry. I was just . . . um . . .”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding like he'd really rather not continue the conversation.
Works for me. I'm not quite ready to reveal I made a mistake just yet either.
“I'll go call the clean up crew.”
“You do that,” he agrees.
I start to walk away, but have to turn back at the door to the warehouse and look one more time.
He's bent down, looking at the man he just killed.
For me.
Well, okay, yeah, he did, but that sounds way more cheesy than it really is.
Oh well.
It will have to do.
For now.
Next