Work Text:
Carlton’s the one who volunteered them for this case. Ergo, it’s his fault that Juliet is currently elbows-deep in a bathtub, trying to wash a very large golden retriever.
The couple they were portraying – Amy and Rick Smith, from somewhere in the bland Midwest – believed in big car, big hair, and medium-sized dogs. They were also friendly with two people who lived next-door to their prefabricated, rented-by-the-police house. They (not Rick and Amy) were selling leather goods illegally. Two more days and they should be able to haul them in, and Juliet and Carlton would get to go back to being who they really were.
But right now, Juliet ws preparing Murphy for the town’s annual block party and pet parade. He was less than enthusiastic about the ordeal, but this is something her character would do, and something that the neighborhood expected. Their job was to look as normal as possible.
Carlton came out of the house with the “I’ve got three different bottles of dog shampoo. This one is supposed to provide a ‘lustrous coat,’ so I suppose we should use it,” he said. Kneeling beside her, Juliet watched Carlton as he moved through the motion of cleaning the dog.
Murphy did not like shampoo, among the many other things she’d introduced him to this week. She wondered how he’d fit in with her group at home, and was about to ask Carlton if he wanted to take the dog on.
Then, she got a good look at him.
Sleeves rolled up and soon soaked, his voice quite unable to still the thrashing beast, she’d never seen him so undone.
Undone, he was something else.
Juliet shoved the inappropriate thought away. “Okay, you hold, I’ll scrub.”
“Fair is fair,” he agreed. His grip on Murphy was firm but not cruel; soon she had the dog’s coat gleaming and they helped him out of the tub. Carlton rinsed and she dried. During the process, Murphy tried to get away, and when she dove for him Carlton was there. She ended up with an armful of him, tackled to the ground, with Murphy fiercely shaking himself dry against the hedges.
“Carlton?”
“O’Hara…” She kissed his lips, and he kissed her back, hands carding through her hairspray-coated locks. For a long time, they clung and kissed, soaked to the bone, the dog staring at them like they’ve both lost the plot.
“If you’re going to kiss me like that,” she says. “You have to call me Juliet.”
“Agreed,” he said, and dove in for another kiss.