Juliet O'Hara took a deep breath and smiled as she looked up at the police department. This is going to be new and exciting, she told herself. I'm a detective now, working all the way on the other side of the country. And I'll get to meet my new partner.

She clutched the handle of her briefcase, locked her car over her shoulder, and started up the steps. As she approached the door, a young man with black hair opened the door for him.

"Thanks," she said graciously as she stepped in and held out her hand. "Juliet O'Hara."

"Oh, you're the new junior detective, right?" he said excitedly, shaking her hand vigorously. "Yeah, I heard that you would be arriving today. I'm Buzz McNab, by the way. So, you'll be working with Detective Lassiter?"

"Yes," she responded. She had been hoping this subject would come up with one of her other new co-workers before she actually met her partner. "What's he like?"

Buzz hesitated. "Well... he's not a bad person," he amended quickly. "He's a really good detective, he solves lots of cases."

He was trying to avoid directly describing Lassiter's personality. Not a good sign, Juliet decided. "That's not what I asked," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

The cop seemed to get the message. "Well, he's a stickler for protocol," he said. "He thinks I'm too young to even be a cop, so I'm not sure what his reception to you will be. But," he added brightly, "I'm sure, being partners, he'll warm up to you... eventually."

She smiled at him and tightened her grasp on the briefcase handle. "Well, thanks," she said cheerfully. He nodded and smiled stupidly. She was beginning to get an idea of what Detective Lassiter was like.

"Wait," he called suddenly, as she turned around, stopping her in her tracks. "There's, uh, there's something you should know."

"What?" she asked, turning around with a rising sense of dread.

"He, er..." Buzz squirmed uncomfortably. "He really, really liked his last partner, if you know what I mean. He was ranting about it in the parking lot a few days ago and, well, he's not happy to have a new partner."

"Right," she said, biting her lip. "Well, it was nice meeting you."

Forcing herself to be optimistic, she slowly turned around and walked towards the

Chief's office.

The Chief, a middle-aged woman with short, dark-blonde hair, was sitting behind her desk talking to a young man wearing a polo shirt and jeans. Juliet couldn't see his face, but she couldn't help thinking that he had nice hair. He was obviously not a cop; she could tell from his casual posture and his clothes that he had not been formally trained.

"...and I will tell you, Mr. Spencer, when I have another case for you," the Chief was saying irately. "In the meantime, stop badgering me and get to work on the high school computer theft or I will fire you."

"Yes, Chief," the young man said, not sounding remotely abashed.

"And I want you to stay out of our way and for goodness' sakes, stop decorating Detective Lassiter's desk with red and gold crepe paper."

"What about green and blue?" he asked without skipping a beat.

The Chief glared at him, completely unamused. "No."

She felt slightly guilty, eavesdropping on their conversation, so she cleared her throat loudly. The Chief looked startled and the young man called Spencer turned around and looked at me. He flashed a charming, immature, schoolboy-esque smile at her. "Shawn Spencer, Head Detective."

Juliet stared at him. For a second, she thought that maybe her instincts were wrong and he was a cop, but Chief Vick's annoyed facial expression said it all.

"Out, Mr. Spencer," she snapped. "Now."

"Yes, Chief," he said obligingly, and excited the room, but not before flashing another smile at Juliet. The Chief looked at her and attempted to smile.

"Detective O'Hara," she said, reaching out her hand for the younger detective to shake. "As you probably know, I'm the interim chief."

"Pleasure to meet you," Juliet said cheerfully as she shook the Chief's hand. She glanced towards the door where the young man had exited. "Is he really-"

"Head Detective?" she smirked slightly. "Not before, not now, and over my dead body." She paused, considering her words. "Scratch that. Not even over my dead body, because Heaven knows what he'll do with it. He's a new consultant who's worked a couple of cases for us. His methods are a little unprofessional, and that's to say the least."

"Is Detective Lassiter on his way?" Juliet asked, fingering her detective's badge.

"Yes, he's on his way back from an arrest," Chief Vick said absently. "Now, listen, Detective, I have a word of advice for you." Juliet straightened up.

"Stay in the backseat for now. Detective Lassiter is a little..." she paused, searching for the right word. "Well, let's just say he's not impressed by your age. He thinks you're too young to be a detective."

Juliet nodded, biting her lip.

The Chief opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the door swung open and a man, presumably Detective Lassiter, entered the room. He narrowed his eyes when he saw his new partner. Juliet clenched her fingers around the briefcase handle so tightly her knuckles went white.

"Carlton Lassiter," he said, holding out his hand, but with his eyes still narrowed as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of the young woman in front of him.

"Juliet... O'Hara," she said slowly, shaking his hand. She felt her heart rise into her throat as he stared back at her with intense blue eyes.

"Detectives?" the Chief said. "Shouldn't you... be going?"

"Yeah," Lassiter and Juliet said automatically. They both turned towards the door and he opened it for her.

"As my new partner, there's a few rules you should know about," he said in a lazily mechanic voice. "No whining. No crying. No puking at crime scenes. You're a detective; you practically signed up to see dead bodies so I don't want to see you reacting badly. No crying-"

"You said that already," she interrupted.

"That's because it's important. No crying. This is a police station, not daycare, okay? You're still practically a little girl, but-"

"I'm not a little girl," she said quietly, feeling her face heat up.

"How old are you?" he looked at her skeptically.

"Twenty-four."

"I rest my case. You're barely out of college. You're still a little girl."

"I'm not," she said softly, her eyes stinging with humiliation. Stop it, she told yourself. "I'm a detective."

"I know that. You better act like one- are you crying?"

"No." She turned away, wiping her eyes hastily.

"Good," he said, still half-glaring at her disapprovingly. "Get to work."

She walked away, feeling his gaze on her. Her face turned red and she swiped at the tiniest of remaining tears in the corners of her eyes.

He was right. This was what she signed up for.

She was a detective.

Now it was time to act like one.