She should've known putting the couch in her office was a bad idea.

Granted, she had sort of seen it coming. But Karen Vick put what Karen Vick wanted in her office, and if she thought a couch should be shoved in next to the potted plants, then that's where it would go. Utalitarian, with business-like legs and arms and a surprisingly comfortable black leather seat and back. It fit her office and it fit her. So she would put that couch in her office, and anyone who didn't appreciate the presence of such a thing in the Chief of Police's room would get over it.

She sighed, because she really should have known better.

Shawn, and it was anyone's guess as to why she hadn’t been expecting it, had welcomed the couch with open arms. He leaned on it, sat on it, hid under it, dove onto it, and once (and he had gotten quite an earful for getting shoe prints on her couch) had used it as his theatrical stage for a particularly dramatic vision. Even Gus, who usually backed up the strange things his friend did while in the midst of a visit to the other plane, had looked defeated at that one.

The couch, quite frankly, fascinated him, and he couldn't seem to leave it alone.

"Mr. Spencer," said Karen pointedly. "Turn around and put your feet on the floor. I'm not going to ask again."

Shawn grinned cheekily but did as he was told, swiveling around on the couch and straightening in the seat, and she had to wonder when her office had tunred into a kindergarten classroom. She wasn't supposed to have to deal with this for at least another couple of years.

Lassiter rolled his eyes, making sure everyone in the room saw it, including (especially) the psychic sliding back and forth across her couch, feet planted firmly on the floor. Juliet coughed and Karen knew instinctively, without having to look, that she was badly hiding a smile. Shawn waggled his eyebrows at Lassiter, winked at Juliet, and continued his journey back and forth, back and forth along the black leather.

It was slowly driving her mad.

"Mr. Spencer," she snapped. "Enough. If you would like to continue working this case, you will sit still on my couch and pay attention." She was irritated to realize how similar she sounded to an old Elementary school teacher she'd had in 2nd (or was it 3rd?) grade.

"Right," he said, stopping. He immediately began to beat out a rhythm on his knees and she decided to let it go. For now.

Shawn had come in completely wired that morning, practically bouncing off the walls. Karen and the rest of the station were used to his exuberance, but that was nothing to what this was now. He hadn't stopped moving since he'd arrived. Everytime he got close to settling down he'd start fidgeting. A harried looking Gus had lasted all of thirty seconds before he'd had to (very conveniently, she might add) rush off to work. He'd looked irritated, and Karen had asked him what was going on.

Gus had shaken his head, scowled darkly, and said "crunch time," like that was supposed to mean something to her. Shawn had taken that moment to have an essentially unhelpful vision and Gus had made good his escape before she could ask him to clarify.

She could understand his hurry.

"Mr. Spencer," she said warningly, and he immediately stopped playing drummer on different parts of his body, hands going up in a "who me?" gesture.

"Alright," she said, turning back to the better-behaved detectives sitting in the chairs in front of her desk. "Do we have any theories on--"

"There's not enough information," Shawn broke in before she could finish. "You'll get nowhere with the information you have now."

"Excuse me?" asked Lassiter. He felt the attack on his detective skills keenly. "We have all we need, we're just missing some--"

Shawn snorted. His legs crossed. "Yeah you're missing it. You don't have it." His legs uncrossed.

"What gives you--"

"Unless you can give us more than that," Karen cut in smoothly, "we're working with what we have."

Shawn shrugged, leg starting to bounce up and down. "That's what the spirits told me." What he didn't mention was the fact that they'd told him all night.

"They were very insistent," he simply added, voice prim, but the reasonable tone was ruined as he started to twist on the slick leather.

Karen’s look was pointed and he stopped mid-action, grin growing as he straightened.

"Now," she said. "Is there some sort of connection we missed?"

Shawn got to his feet as Lassiter answered, his tone annoyed but calm. "We've gone over--"

"Mr. SPENCER," she snapped. "Enough is enough. Either sit down or get out of my office."

Shawn flailed, stopped in the middle of a hop and nearly over-balancing. He caught himself, then looked at Karen, a hopeful, almost innocent smile growing on his face.

She wasn't impressed. "NOW."

Shawn had gotten exceptionally good at hearing the difference between "stop it" and "stop it right now because I actually mean it and will do something about it."

He didn't need to be very perceptive to hear it this time. He sat back down.

"And if you move again," she added, voice rising as his legs started to twitch, "I will make sure you leave this station."

Lassiter's smirk was huge.

"I sense," said Shawn, legs smashed together, hands folded neatly in his lap, "that I am about to fall very, very still."

"Good," she said. "Now--"

"As a statue."

"Yes," she went on, tone a little harder. "As we have estabished that--"

"Like a man carved from stone."

"Mr. SPENCER."

Shawn made the slashing motion across his throat then put a finger to his lips. He nodded once sharply, mock-serious.

Her look said "not again" and he propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, put his chin in his hand, and managed to look both innocently contrite and rather like he was planning something devious.

Though that could've been the smile.

She ignored it (he was technically doing exactly what she'd told him to) and turned back to the detectives. "Go through this with me. Where are we?"

"Nowhere," Shawn muttered somewhere to her left but she ignored him, indicating with a pointed look at her senior detective, who was glaring daggers at the insolent consultant, to go on. He shot one last irritated look at Shawn then did as the Chief's eyes had ordered--namely, "ignore him."

"Geoffrey Harber reported a break-in at his pawn shop three nights ago. The only item stolen was this--" he placed a picture of a gaudy but exceptionally expensive necklace that Karen couldn't have been paid to wear on her desk which she inspected dutifully "--and this." Juliet handed him another picture and he placed it on top of the first. Karen recognized the matching earrings.

"There was a security video of the robber, correct?" the Chief broke in. She'd heard this before--it simply helped her thinking process to go through it one step at a time.

"Yes," Juliet supplied. "The video quality was low, but we got a picture. Terrence Carlin. The problem is--"

"The problem," cut in Lassiter angrily, "is that our resident 'psychic'--" Karen wondered how he could so clearly put the quotations into the word without the hand movements (not, mind you, that she wanted her senior detective to start using air quotes) "--informed us that he didn't do it."

"And Carlin had an alibi," Karen prompted and Lassiter scowled. "Alright, Mr. Spe--" His name trailed off as her gaze turned back to Shawn.

His eyes were closed, chin still in his hand as his head dipped slowly towards his lap. His neck jerked back up an inch and he shifted on his hand, eyes still shut.

"Mr. Spencer," she said lightly. He didn't react and she frowned. "Mr. Spencer," she said sharply, louder.

His elbow slipped off the arm of the sofa and he gasped, eyes popping open as he nearly clocked his chin on the armrest his elbow had just escaped. He caught himself then looked up, eyes wide and startled.

"Whoa, what, hi," he said, shaking his head. Juliet hid her smile behind her hand as Lassiter rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Sorry, psychic episode, no control, you know, the usual." He shook his head again, blinked hard a couple times, then met Karen's eyes.

"Hi," he said again, smiling as though he'd meant to nod off in the middle of her office. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Mr. Spencer," she said, eyebrows raised. "You fell asleep on my couch. I'm hardly inclined to believe you were having a psychic episode."

"I know they can look similar," he said, waggling his head as though dodging the accusation, "but--"

"Go home," she said, cutting him off. "You're tired--no, I don't want to know why--and it's not helping our investigation."

Shawn frowned, mouth pursed. "Crunch time," he finally explained, then added, "And Gus brought me."

Karen's eyebrows went up, though she ignored his declaration concerning his lack of ride. "Crunch time. That tells me nothing."

Shawn smiled but didn't explain. Crunch time meant figuring out what was going on now, on running out of time to sleep because it was bothering him that someone had managed to trick him, to slip something past him. It meant staring at a whiteboard until seven in the morning and falling asleep in the junk on his desk before Gus showed up half an hour later and Shawn insisted they go to the station. It meant wasting hours figuring out nothing.

He put the side of his head in his hand, and took her in. "Yeah," he said. "Didn't tell me anything either."

Lassiter scoffed and immediately started ranting about irresponsibility, the inability to focus, and blah blah blah, Shawn had heard it all before. It was the same old stuff, over and over again. He leaned heavily into his hand, sighing loudly.

He realized what a mistake the position was when he nearly nodded off into the couch arm again five seconds later, right in the middle of a particularly cutting remark about staying up all night to party.

"Psychic episode," he said again, provoking Lassiter with his nonchalance as he got to his feet. Karen looked ready to warn him but simply sighed, turning back to the detectives he was now pacing behind. It wasn't worth it, quite frankly.

"Regardless," she said. "What are our theories?"

Lassiter still looked peeved that the fake psychic had cut him off (again) but Juliet was already leaning down, digging through the case file in the box at her feet. She straighted, pulling out a sheet.

"I wrote down our ideas," she explained to the senior partner looking incredulously at the neatly hand-written notes.

"I like the one of the clown," Shawn said suddenly, startling her as he leaned over her shoulder. "And that's cute," he added, pointing at a spiral, lopsided rose.

She pushed him back with her hand, trying not to look embarrassed. "It's a snowman," she said, then hastily, to the weirded-out looks she was receiving from her superiors, "Doodling helps me think."

Karen simply nodded--she wasn't about to begrudge the woman her stress release--and Lassiter tore his eyes away from the deformed clown/snowman thing. He'd thought it was a bush with a face.

Juliet cleared her throat uncomfortably, half-covering Shawn's suspiciously amused-sounding cough, and began reading off theories.

"Someone tampered with the video--"

"No evidence," cut in a voice immediately, and all three looked to the psychic rolling his neck, eyes closed as he paced.

Lassiter's tone was annoyed. "How could you know--"

Shawn's eyes opened. "I know," he said, waggling his fingers at his temple. He rolled his eyes at their faces. "Tape is smooth, no cutting of film, don't tell me the CSI guys found prints on the tape..."

"They didn't," Lassiter admitted grudgingly. "Go on," he commanded Juliet sharply.

She nodded and continued reading. "Someone who looks similar to Carlin--"

"Psychic says no," broke in Shawn, now bouncing on the balls of his feet. "His aura was..." he searched for a word. He gave it up after a second. "It's just...there's, I don't know..."

"Too much bullshit for coincidence?" Lassiter supplied mockingly.

Shawn stretched, popping both shoulders. "Something like that. And their jawlines are exactly alike."

Karen picked up the picture of Carlin and the picture from the surveillance tape as Juliet went on, successfully cutting off the beginning snipe-fest. "Other theories are that Harber is involved--"

"Duh."

"And," she said louder, over the psychic's voice, "that he wanted to steal from himself for the insurance."

"Not even close," Shawn snorted. "Did you see those policies? Crap. Utter crap. This is just--"

"Enough," Karen broke in sternly. Juliet nodded her thanks as Lassiter tried, very pointedly, not to be distracted by the psychic now bending, now reaching for the ceiling.

"A relative--"

"No."

"Family heirloom--"

"Now you're really reaching. Please."

"Gang--"

"Ha! And a no, another no, and a maybe but probably not to the last one," Shawn finished without turning around. He started stretching his arms out again, pushing awkwardly at his joints.

Lassiter's glare was dark. "What in the hell gave you the insight to--"

And suddenly Karen got it. The nervous energy, the inabiility to sit still for more than five seconds wthout falling asleep, the swift but confident killing-shots to all her detective's theories.

"Mr. Spencer," she cut off her head detective. "Exactly how long did it take the spirits to tell you this last night?"

Shawn paused mid-stretch, stomach exposed as he stood, arms still reaching for the ceiling. "Er..."

"You idiot!" broke in Juliet and they all looked at her, varying degrees of surprise written across their faces. "I told you you needed to stop worrying about it! 'Go home and relax, Shawn' I said." She regarded him peevishly.

He dropped his arms. "'Go home and take a break,' were your exact words, I believe," he said helpfully.

She pointed at the couch without moving her eyes from his own. "Sit."

"I--"

"Sit," she repeated, tone firm. He put up his hands, half-bowing as he walked over to the couch, smirk fighting its way onto his face. He dutifully sat, but his leg was already bouncing up and down.

"Where were we?" Juliet asked, turning back to Karen, smile back in place.

Karen shook her head. He really was a five year old. The man had to practically do jumping jacks in her office to stay awake because he'd stayed up all night consulting with the incredibly unhelpful spirits. Here was an idea: how about sleep? She sighed, and tried not to be distracted by the psychic's violently twitching leg.

"Alright," she said, looking at both her detectives. "We need more ideas. What other--"

"You don't get it yet?" Shawn demanded. Lassiter growled warningly but Karen put up a finger to stop him. She would hear him out. "You don't have it!" She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly and he crossed his legs, uncrossing them almost immediately. "The piece! The...you know, the piece you're missing!"

"Thank you, Spencer," Lassiter said, smile painfully bright. "We need the piece," he repeated, turning to Karen, smile on his face stiff and sarcastic.

Shawn gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "You mock me! But you still don't get it," Lassiter's expression flat-lined, the atmosphere around his head somehow darkening. "You're missing some piece of evidence, some little fact, something." He suddenly looked frustrated, a first as far as Karen had ever seen. "You can't go anywhere with what you have! You can't get the puzzle without the pieces!"

"Fine," Karen said. "We'll take it into consideration." Shawn looked irritated, rolling his eyes. He was really pushing it as far as attitude went. "Can you give me anything else?" she asked, turning to her own men.

Juliet looked like she was considering it, but her eyes kept darting to the man fidgeting on the couch. Lassiter looked over the sheet of ideas again. "We'll look into the tape--" Shawn scoffed as he started rolling his neck, both legs now bouncing up and down, and he grit his teeth but went on "--there's the possiblity that we've overlooked--"

"Overlooked," Shawn snorted loudly. "You mean you actually look?"

Lassiter looked like he was chewing glass but he persisted, voice strained somewhere in the back of his throat. "And Harber's family will be further pursued."

Karen nodded. "Good. I also want you to go back to the crime scene," she sighed when Shawn started beating out a new drumline on his jean-clad thighs but went on, "and just look for anything remotely out-of-place, or..." she frowned but didn't falter when she saw Juliet glance once more at Shawn, then lean down decisively and pick up the case box.

"...and see if..."

She watched, still talking but not sure of what she was saying as Juliet quietly said "here" and placed the box firmly on the lap of the psychic sitting just a couple of feet to her right. He looked surprised and she said, very nonchalantly, already turning away, "Just hold it."

He shrugged and did as he was told, legs falling still with the box planted on his lap. He started surreptitiously rifling through the contents, leaning over the large file container to flick inconspicuously at the tops of each page.

Juliet smiled as though she had done nothing and Karen realized that Lassiter had picked up the slack in the conversation, glancing suspiciously at the psychic but willing to play along.

"Right," he said. "I guess we just need..." he trailed off and all three saw Shawn losing focus and determination as the flicks of paper lessened. His eyes remained steadfastly open, however, though he blinked heavily.

"Right." Juliet's answering smile was cheerful. "I guess you'll be needing the interrogations from last time." She didn't wait for a response and said, "Move please," as she pushed Shawn back by the chest, rummaging busily through the box as she gently forced him against the couch. She pulled her hand back, using it to finish digging through the files.

"Here we are," she said brightly, pulling out the sheets, turning back to Lassiter. He accepted them with raised eyebrows and she shook her head slightly.

"Okay," he said. "I'll look through these and see if someone said anything questionable."

"Great," Juliet replied. "Do you want me to take some of them, or--"

"You can stop," Karen cut in, watching Shawn. "He's asleep."

Lassiter and Juliet broke from their relatively pointless conversation, turning their heads to look at him. He was slumped against the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep.

Juliet let out a long breath, relaxing into her chair as she looked heavenwards. "I thought he'd never go down."

"Sweet justice." Lassiter closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's like having an exceptionally retarded puppy. Clever use of resources," he added in Juliet's direction.

The young woman beamed, almost glowing. The Head Detective rarely handed out praise, and to be on the receiving end of such a thing was something she constantly strived for.

Karen tried not to look amused, but she met Juliet's gaze and it was a hard thing when the junior detective's eyes were sparkling like that. She allowed a quick smile to grace her features. "Now that we've gotten that taken care of--" Lassiter snorted and Juliet's smile grew just a little wider, "--it's time to get back to work. I like your suggestions, Lassiter," he nodded, "but I would like you to look over the interviews and the crime scene again, in case we missed something." Her face said she was unimpressed when his expression turned to "are you serious?" and he backed off immediately.

Shawn shifted suddenly and they all looked at him, but he simply settled back in with a quiet mumble and didn't wake.

"Go," she said, pointing to the door as she turned back to her computer. "I'll speak with CSI about the tape."

The detectives nodded and turned to leave, Juliet pausing only long enough to take the box from Shawn's lap. She smiled and held it up. "Will you be needing this?"

Karen's own smile was wry. "It's just a psychic episode, O'Hara," she said.

Juliet's laugh was quiet as she pushhd the door open with her hip and joined the busy throng of officers of the SBPD.

***&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&***

Juliet looked up from the crime scene report she was poring over just in time to nod at the Chief as she left her office. Karen tipped her head and strode down the hall--she must've finished at her computer and was headed to speak with the CSI guys. The young detective turned back to her work, absently fishing another paper out of the file box sitting on Lassiter's desk. She hadn't bothered going back to her own.

The Head Detective broke the silence not five minutes later. "For the love of...What are you doing up?" he called loudly, irritated.

Juliet looked up to see that Shawn had emerged from Karen's office. He didn't answer her partner's query, however, simply shambled across the hall. Juliet glanced at her watch and frowned. She'd thought for certain he'd be out for more than half an hour.

She looked up just in time to see a rookie too engrossed in a file to pay attention clip the psychic on the shoulder, nearly sending them both tumbling. The rookie grabbed him by the shoulders, steadying both of them.

"Whoa, sorry Shawn," she heard him say, then without waiting for a response, obviously busy, hurry down the hall.

Shawn didn't say anything, just kept truckin', now headed in the direction the rookie had turned him. He looked almost like he was aimed for them, but his slow steps were veering off the closer he got.

Juliet glanced at Lassiter, who was staring, disconcerted, at the fake psychic. His frown matched her own. "Spencer?" he asked, and she turned her head to look at Shawn, now nearly even with the detective's desk. "What are you doing?" His tone said he didn't really want to know but morbid curiosity was pushing him on.

Shawn didn't even look at the detective, though she finally noticed he was saying something under his breath.

Juliet didn't realize she was standing until she had grabbed his arm and was gently turning him to face her. His eyes were open but glassy, and though he was looking at her, he wasn't looking at her. His mumbling was no more coherent than it had been before, though one of the words he kept repeating over and over may have been "Harber."

"Shawn?" she prompted, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, no," Lassiter broke in testily. "No. Take yourself and your 'psychic visions' somewhere else. I'm not in the mood."

There was a pause as both, out of habit, waited for Shawn to jump in with an insulting retort (even Juliet knew her senior partner had opened himself up with that "mood" line), but there was no response.

"Spencer?" he asked, standing up. Juliet peered closer at the psychic's eys. There was something familiar about this... "Spencer, look at me."

Juliet got it as Lassiter was leaning over her shoulder. Her hand jumped to her mouth, but it did nothing to stifle the surprised laugh. "My little brother used to do this all the time," she said, still looking into Shawn's glassy eyes. She turned her head to look at Lassiter, a "so?" look growing on his face.

Her smile was amused. "He's sleepwalking."

Lassiter's snort was disbelieving, tone flat. "What."

"He’s sleepwalking," she repeated, glancing back at Shawn. He was still mumbling.

The Head Detective’s eyebrows were raised when she looked at him again. "I thought that was something only kids did. Maturity issues aside, he’s not exactly 12."

She shook her head. "It’s rare in adults, but it happens. Usually when they’re stressed." She caught the look he was giving her. "What? I was curious."

"Right," he said and she turned away, wrapping her hands around Shawn’s wrists to hide her embarrassment. "And stressed?" He scoffed.

Juliet pulled Shawn’s arms up, then gently turned him so that he was facing back the way he’d come. "I doubt he stayed up all night doing whatever it is he does just for the fun of it," she supplied helpfully. Her eyes didn’t leave Shawn’s face, though his own seemed to be looking through her forehead.

"With Spencer," Lassiter said, "you never know." She heard the sound of his chair creaking as he sat back down and she started walking backwards, hands still around Shawn’s wrists.

Lassiter’s tone was incredulous. "What are you doing?"

She looked past Shawn, still walking. "Putting him back in the Chief’s office. You’re not supposed to wake sleepwalkers."

Lassiter rolled his eyes peevishly, picking up the photographs he’d been studying. "Why am I always surprised..." he muttered.

"Surprised at what?" she asked. He looked up, caught off guard that she’d heard him.

His eyebrows returned to their usual place flat across his eyes, and he went back to the photos. "That the moron can’t stay still even when he’s sleeping."

Juliet was still laughing when she entered the Chief’s office.

"Alright, Shawn," she said to the psychic, though he couldn’t hear her. "Let’s get you back to the couch." She turned around, then forced him back into it with a gentle push. He sunk onto the sofa and she picked up his legs, swinging them up as his upper body slid down the leather back and onto the seat.

Juliet sat on the edge of the couch as she reached down to his feet. She worked at the laces on one sneaker, then slid it off, placing it under the sofa. The other one was harder work (he’d double knotted the laces), but when she finally managed to pull it off she realized he’d only put on one sock that morning.

There was something completely adorable about the fact.

His eyes were already closed when she turned back, but she briefly teased the fringe of his hair with her fingers anyways. "Stop thinking," she said quietly, her smile soft as she left the room.

She was settling back into the rhythm of searching files she’d searched five times before when Lassiter’s irritated "Unbelievable" brought her head back up.

Shawn was already halfway across the hall.

"I’ve got it," she said unnecessarily (honestly, like Lassiter was vying for the job?) and stood up, shaking her head as she crossed the hall.

"You’re impossible," she informed the psychic as she pushed him back into the room. But her eyeroll at her senior partner as she exited the office thirty seconds later said she still thought it was cute.

She was less amused the third time around.

"Oh, honestly," Juliet huffed as she threw the papers onto the table, getting to her feet. Lassiter looked up to see his junior partner stalking across the station towards the resident nuisance as the office door swung shut behind him. "This is getting ridiculous," she muttered."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "O’Hara," he called. She paused, turning. "Make sure he stays this time."

She blinked. "Make sure he..." It registered that he was ordering her. "Oh, uh..." Her eyes suddenly lit and she walked back to the desk with a quick glance behind her to make sure the sleepwalker wasn’t about to run into something. She quickly shuffled through the papers on his desk, pulling out several files.

"I’m taking the witness statements," she explained, "and the interrogations. I’ll be working in the Chief’s office if you need me."

Lassiter decided not to ask as he handed her some of the statements from the pile next to his hand. She nodded her thanks and went to rescue the dazed psychic shuffling across the hall, taking him gently by the hand and pulling him back into Karen’s office.

Lassiter shook his head and went back to work.

***&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&***

The sight that greeted Karen’s eyes when she re-entered her office nearly 45 minutes later actually made her hesitate for one incredulous blink of her eyes.

"O’Hara," she said, and closed the door quietly behind her. The young woman looked up, pen held lightly between her teeth.

Juliet was perched on Shawn’s back, her toes barely brushing the ground as the psychic lay sprawled on his stomach along Karen’s couch, his head turned away and one arm trailing off the edge and onto the floor. Several sheets of paper were spread out around the junior detective’s bare feet, her dress shoes having joined Shawn’s under the couch. She was holding Harber’s statement in her left hand, her right engaged in twirling gentle circles on the psychic’s scalp.

Her right hand stopped its activity, fingers pulling out through the soft, brown hair in order to take the pen from between her teeth.

"Yes, Chief?"

Karen paused. "No," she said decisively. "No, I don’t think I want to know." She walked to her desk, sitting down in her chair as she started going through the pile of papers stacked neatly next to the moniter. Juliet took that as permission to stay where she was, pen swishing rapidly back and forth between her index finger and her thumb as she refocused her attention on the statement.

Karen looked over as Shawn grunted, forcing his head to the other side where she could see his partially cracked eyes. Juliet didn’t react as he shifted but to stop the distracting pen movements, using it to mark something in the middle of the page.

"Can’t breathe," he mumbled, unfocused gaze still visible between barely parted eyelids.

Juliet shifted farther down on his back without removing her steady gaze from the paper in her hand, tucking the pen behind her ear, hand moving back to his hair. She immediately resumed massaging the crown of his head. "Better?"

He simply sighed satisfactorily, eyes sliding shut.

Juliet didn’t even look at him, but Karen had to hide her amused half-grin when the junior detective’s smile turned suspiciously soft. She very much doubted the tender look on her face had anything to do with the paper she was so pointedly studying. Karen coughed quietly into her hand.

Juliet’s head shot up. "Oh," she said, looking at her boss, hand pausing. Shawn muttered something unintelligable and her hand started up again. "Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you mind--"

Karen put up a hand, stopping her. "Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go ahead and assume you have a good reason for--" she gestured at the strange position the two were in, "--this."

The junior detective nodded, business-like, but that soft smile was back on her face. Karen glanced down at Shawn, eyes amused, and suddenly frowned.

"He’s drooling on my couch."

Juliet looked down at the man beneath her, inspecting his slightly parted mouth and the line of saliva trailing onto the black leather. "Oh. Right." She reached down, grabbed the shirt at his neck, and stretched the material, using it to wipe up the spit. "Good?" she asked, releasing his shirt and looking at the Chief.

Karen had to suppress another smile, her tone dry. "Thank you, Junior Detective."

Juliet nodded, her own grin spreading as she ducked her head, and both woman returned to their separate reports. They worked, sharing a comfortable silence.

"He is kind of cute," Juliet said quietly, almost to herself, then caught Karen looking at her. "When he’s sleeping," she amended hastily, eyes sliding back down to what she could see of his face.

Karen had to bite the inside of her lip. "He’s quiet, at least."

"Yeah," agreed Juliet, nodding her head, and Karen wasn’t sure she’d actually heard her. "Yeah he is. Maybe a little."

Karen turned back to her work, twisting the wedding ring on her finger as she smiled. Interesting. How very interesting.

Under the couch, the shoes seemed to wink at her.