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We're back! We had so much fun writing Laura the first time around that we had to bring her back again. We hope you enjoy this fic as much as our first one.


Hello Everyone!

It’s me! I know what you’re thinking: this website looks a whole lot like my other one. I assure you, however, that it is completely different. As you can see, there is a distinct lack of fanfics and dreams of matrimony. All the pictures on here are legitimately taken; I didn’t hide behind any bushes.

You might be asking yourself, ‘Didn’t you get put in prison two years ago?’ or ‘Did you ever get Detective Lassiter’s blood out of your favorite dress?’ or my personal favorite, ‘How did your therapy go?’

It’s true that, I, Laura Peters was a resident of the state psychological center. The state of California decided that completing a therapy program there would be acceptable retribution for the things I did two years ago. (And yes, I did get my dress clean. Hydrogen peroxide and cold water work wonders.)

But back on topic. I’m going to come as clean here as my dress now is; I don’t have a crazy obsession with the psychic detective Shawn Spencer any more. I no longer have 1000 adjectives to describe his hair and I no longer fantasize about our wedding. I think he and Detective O’Hara make a lovely couple and I am perfectly happy for them.

After kidnapping Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police Department and landing myself in a boatload of trouble, I had a time of inner reflection and realized the error of my ways. There is only one person who deserves all the attention I had previously been bestowing on Shawn Spencer and much, much more. (I’ll give you a hint: his name begins with Carlton and ends with Lassiter.)

Please take a look around the site and bask in the epicness that is the finest, most amazing, most wonderful head detective in the entire history of the SBPD.

- Laura

P.S. Aren’t his eyes amazingly blue?


“I’m sensing something great and powerful!” Shawn Spencer shouted to the surrounding crowd. He was standing in the middle of the civic center. The state gymnastics finals were that weekend and only five minutes earlier, Susie Andrews, the state qualifier for the balance beam, had been preparing to start her routine. Then Shawn had run into the middle of the floor.

“Spencer! Get out of the way!” Lassiter yelled from the sidelines. The police were in full force due to threats on all the gymnasts’ lives over the past week. None had been carried through, except a pommel horse that had collapsed and left one of the competitors in the hospital with a broken ankle. Despite their best efforts, the department had been unable to catch the person responsible.

“Give me three minutes,” Shawn held up three fingers at the detective. “Gina Madison got that much time for her floor routine and although I won’t be ending mine with a double axel, I think I deserve just as much time.”

“That’s an ice skating move, Spencer,” Lassiter snapped, avoiding the weird looks Juliet gave him for knowing that.

“I’ve heard it both ways, Lassifrass,” Shawn laughed.

“Shawn, hurry up,” Gus whispered. He glanced around nervously at the parents who were giving the duo threatening looks.

“Although great and powerful, I’m not referring to the Wizard of Oz,” Shawn continued, narrowing his eyes as he spotted the civic center’s head janitor. The guy had been hanging around all weekend and yet Shawn hadn’t seen him cleaning a single thing. Plus, whenever any of the events had been going on, the guy was always at the next event on the list, claiming to be checking the area for spills. Shawn focused in on the name embroidered on the uniform shirt. It was the same last name as one of the gymnasts who was participating in the competition.

“Our friendly neighborhood janitor hasn’t been here for the epic jumps or bar routines.” Shawn pointed his finger at the man. “He’s been here to create a sensational week of stories for the newspaper and to help his granddaughter advance in the finals.”

If the panicked, deer in the headlights look hadn’t tipped the cops off, the all-out sprint for the nearest exit definitely did.

Juliet clotheslined him before he got there and had him in cuffs by the time Lassiter hurried over, closely followed by Shawn and Gus.

“And to think, these are only twelve year olds,” Gus tsked.


Lassiter was on his third cup of coffee when the Psych duo waltzed into the station the next day. He rolled his eyes as Spencer stopped by O’Hara’s desk first.

“If you’re looking for your check, Spencer, the Chief said it would be another day or two. I know she called you about it; you shouldn’t even need to come back here,” he snapped, piling his reports together.

“Lassie,” Shawn laughed and shook his head. “I always need to come back here, if only to kiss the fair Juliet’s hand and wish her well. You’ve been working her hard this week and I haven’t gotten to see her.”

Lassiter growled something under his breath and headed for the front desk to drop off his reports.

“Be nice to Carlton, Shawn.” Juliet patted her boyfriend’s arm. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Shawn commented. He cocked his head to the side as he noticed a purple envelope sticking out from a pile on Lassiter’s desk. “What is this? Does Lassifrass have a secret admirer?” He snatched the envelope from the pile.

“Shawn, it’s illegal to go through someone else’s mail,” Gus rolled his eyes.

“It’s illegal to open, but this seal, my friend, has already been broken.” Shawn waved the card in the air. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the handwriting on the front before pulling out the folded paper inside.

“What is it, Shawn?” Gus asked.

“Well, I mean, I only saw her handwriting once...” Shawn flipped the card upside down and looked at it more closely.

“Who?” Juliet prompted.

“Spencer! What in the name of Sweet Lady Justice are you doing? Don’t go through my mail!” Lassiter was back. He snatched the card from Shawn’s hand and quickly stuffed it in his desk drawer.

“Lassie,” Shawn tried to calm himself. “Can you please explain to me why you are in correspondence with one Laura Peters?”

“Laura Peters?” Gus repeated. “You mean the crazy girl who stalked you and kidnapped Lassiter to convince him of how awesome she thought your hair was?”

“Yes, kidnapped, stalked, shot, concussed and generally assaulted Lassiter,” Shawn clarified. “And for the record, my hair is awesome.” He frowned, putting a hand protectively to his head. “Lassie, you do remember all that right?”

“So what, she sent me a card,” Lassiter shrugged noncommittally. “People in prison send me cards all the time.” He avoided meeting the looks being shot his way. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why haven’t you said anything about it?” Shawn asked. “That card was postmarked last week.”

“I told you; I have received letters from convicted criminals before.” Lassiter crossed his arms. “And it’s none of your business who sends me mail and who doesn’t, Spencer. Now stop interrogating me; I have better things to do with my afternoon.” He grabbed his jacket and stalked off before anyone could ask him more questions.

Juliet watched him go. “Shawn, he hasn’t been this defensive about anything since his divorce. I’m worried about him.”

“Me too, Jules, me too,” Shawn murmured. “Gus! To the Psych cave! We have some research to do.”


“She has a whole site set up for Lassie!” Shawn was staring at his computer screen, his face a mixture of amusement and disgust.

It had only taken about twenty minutes to track down the site. Laura hadn’t been any more creative with the site name than before; ShawnSpencer. net had been replaced by LassiterRocks. com.

“I mean, the only condolence is the lack of short stories,” Shawn mused, clicking through some of the photo albums.

“How was she released after only two years?” Gus was reading over Shawn’s shoulder.

“Who cares? The bigger question is how do we break it to Lassie that he’s got his own stalker site?” Shawn frowned as he came across a picture of Lassiter accepting an award for the Salamatchla case. “Can we print out the site and post it all over his desk? Show up at his condo with balloons and a condolence card?”

Gus wrinkled his nose. “It might lack some of the stories, but it’s still just as creepy. I agree; Lassiter should know.”

“Can we tell him tomorrow? I was planning on watching the Jake and the Fatman marathon this afternoon. That’s why I wanted to wrap up the gymnastics case yesterday,” Shawn protested, reaching for the remote.

“Fine,” Gus huffed, grabbing the remote first and turning on the TV. “But only because I love me some William Conrad.”


Lassiter was somewhere between fast asleep and half-awake when the peaceful quiet of his dark condo was interrupted by a loud banging on his door.

“Sweet Justice!” Lassiter had thought the shenanigans at his condo would be over now that Amy had been arrested. He was tempted to just ignore the banging but quickly gave up on that idea when it persisted even louder than before.

“I’m coming!” he yelled, stumbling through the living room and nearly tripping over the coffee table trying to get to the door. He checked the peephole, groaning as he saw who was on the other side. “Spencer, so help me, I will have you arrested for disturbing the peace if you don’t stop it this instant!” he snapped, yanking open the door.

Shawn and Gus pushed their way in the moment the door was open. They were clinging to each other like they were scared out of their minds. Lassiter took a step back before they could latch onto him as well; judging from their expressions, it was a completely plausible possibility.

“Lassie!” Shawn was relieved to see the detective unharmed. He paused. “Are those really your pajamas?”

Lassiter glanced at the red and blue plaid flannel pajamas. He crossed his arms defensively. “They were a birthday gift from my mother.”

Shawn seemed to accept that answer. “They look really fuzzy.” He reached out to run a hand along Lassiter’s sleeve.

Lassiter smacked the hand away and took another step back from the duo. “Did you two show up at my condo before dawn to compliment my sleepwear or am I under the influence of drugs again?” The detective still hadn’t fully woken up, and he was in no mood to deal with the current situation.

“Here’s the thing,” Shawn began slowly. “We were going to tell you yesterday, but then we started watching Jake and the Fatman because Gus loves him some William Conrad.”

“You know that’s right,” Gus gave his friend a fistbump. “Then when that was over we watched Criminal Minds and the episode was about a stalker who killed his victims in their own homes and we realized that waiting another minute could put your life in serious jeopardy.”

“And since we couldn’t actually call Thomas Gibson if anything happened to you, and Gus isn’t really tall enough to pass as Shemar Moore, we decided we had to come over and tell you,” Shawn added.

Lassiter’s head was hurting just listening to the babble. “Jeopardy?”

“I’ll take people who have stalker websites for 500, Alex!” Shawn exclaimed. “You have a stalker site! Laura Peters made you one! I found it yesterday.”

“You should take comfort in the fact that there are no stories of matrimony on it,” Gus tried to console the detective.

On the ride over, Shawn and Gus had been placing bets on Lassiter’s reaction. They had come up with dozens of possibilities, but complete apathy was not on the list.

“You don’t look concerned,” Shawn observed, eyebrows arching in surprise.

“Why would I be concerned about a girl who has completed her state-ordered therapy?” Lassiter went back to his kitchen to start making his coffee.

Shawn and Gus shared a look and then Shawn followed the detective. “How did you know Laura completed her therapy?”

“That was posted on her website...” Gus trailed off.

“Lassie!” Shawn connected the dots. “Bad Lassie!” He shook his finger at the detective. “You do not look at websites dedicated to yourself.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it last time,” Lassiter told him calmly. He was staring intently at the coffee maker, willing it to brew faster, “Laura Peters has a restraining order against her, and there is no danger of me being kidnapped again. I appreciate your concern, Spencer, Guster, but I am completely safe.”

“You might as well just say ‘Good Day, Sir’ and put us out on the stoop,” Shawn rolled his eyes. “Look, where is your laptop? Let’s fire it up and we’ll take a peek at what the creepster herself has posted. Maybe it’ll be five dozen pictures of your eyes.” He batted his eyelashes at the detective for emphasis.

“If you promise to leave and not show up at the station for the rest of the day, I will play along.” Lassiter headed for the spare bedroom he was using as an office.

“Unless the chief calls us in for a case,” Shawn clarified. “In which case we will definitely still show up because Gus is obsessed with us being able to pay the bills.”

“She won’t,” Lassiter muttered, ignoring the faces Shawn and Gus were making at each other. He opened the laptop and clicked a bookmark link in his browser. The website loaded up and Shawn and Gus were greeted with a picture of Lassiter. The caption read, “I’m Sexy and I Know It.”

“That’s awkward,” Gus whispered to Shawn.

Lassiter ignored them and clicked to close the picture. “See, nothing out of the ordinary.” He pointed to the wall of text.

Shawn squinted and leaned closer to the screen. “Dude, that’s not the same text that was there last night.”

“What?” Lassiter turned back to the computer.


My Dearest Detective,

Don’t think I don’t know that you’re reading my every post, Carlton. I know enough about you to realize that anyone who signs up for the forum as “Glockinator269” is probably you.

I’m a little hurt that you haven’t reached out to me even though I’ve sent you multiple letters and postcards. You’re obviously intrigued by the fan club. I can’t blame you. You’ve been living in Shawn’s shadow ever since our last meeting.

I’m not sure if you’ve read my latest letter, but since I haven’t heard from you, I decided to reach out here. I feel like I’m in danger... I’m not sure why, call it a gut feeling or a woman’s intuition, but I’m worried that something bad is about to happen.

Help me, Detective Lassiter. You’re my only hope.


“Intuition,” Shawn snorted in laughter. “Who does she think is going to buy this story?”

“It’s kind of weird,” Gus agreed. “It doesn’t really sound like her either.”

“Plus, throwing a Star Wars reference in a plea for help? It’s probably not real,” Shawn agreed.

Lassiter was massaging his temples, trying to get rid of the headache that had started the moment the duo had burst through his door.

“So, Lassie,” Shawn grinned at the detective. “When are you making breakfast?”

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