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. All the pictures on here are legitimately taken; I didn't hide behind any bushes. I also deleted the fanfic section.
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 anymore. I no longer have 1,000 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.
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, where the state gymnastics finals were being held that weekend. Only five minutes earlier, Susie Andrews, the state qualifier for the balance beam, had been preparing to start her routine. Then Shawn had run onto 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 for a collapsed pommel horse that had put 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 look Juliet gave him.
"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 on the name embroidered on the uniform shirt; it was the same last name as one of the gymnasts participating in the competition. "Our friendly neighborhood janitor hasn't been here for the epic vaults 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.
It was well past dark when Lassiter finally made his way home. Before Marlowe, he would have spent the night at the station finishing his reports. Since they'd gotten married, he tried to make an effort to get home every night to see her.
He grabbed the mail from the box in the lobby and quickly glanced through it. A small purple envelope between the electric bill and the bank statement caught his eye. There wasn't a name on the return address, but it was addressed to him. Frowning, he quickly opened it and almost fell up the stairs.
How did she know where he lived? He thought he'd made it clear to her there was to be no contact. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the purple envelope into his jacket pocket. There was no reason to worry Marlowe with this nonsense.
He turned his key in the lock and was relieved to see his wife in the kitchen with a plate of food ready for him.
"I heard your car in the parking lot." Marlowe gave him a warm smile. She put the plate of food on the table and motioned for Carlton to sit down. "How was your day?" she asked, giving him a quick kiss.
"Long," Lassiter mumbled. The concerns he had felt in the hallway were fading as he breathed in the smell of home and Marlowe's lasagna. "How was yours?"
"Busy." Marlowe ran her fingers through the hair on the back of Lassiter's head. "I got packed for this weekend, made sure you had some dinners in the fridge. Oh, and we're going to Erna's for dinner next Sunday."
Lassiter nodded as she was talking. He'd half-forgotten she was going out of town to visit a girlfriend for the weekend.
"Carlton." Marlowe broke into his thoughts. "Is everything okay? You seem distracted."
Lassiter jumped and thought about the purple envelope in his pocket. "Everything's fine," he gave her a half-hearted smile. "I'm just going to miss you this weekend." He gave her another smile and took a big bite of dinner before she could ask him again.
She didn't seem to fully believe him but decided to let it drop for the time being. "I'll miss you, too, but I'll be back before you know it." She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.
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.
Shawn laughed and shook his head. "Lassie, 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. "Marlowe's out of town for a few days. Plus, he's been under a lot of stress lately."
"I can't imagine why," Shawn commented. "Unless it's because he's been binge-eating those chocolate-covered almonds he thinks I don't know about." He cocked his head to the side. "Which, unless Lassiter can eat a Costco-sized container of those in three days, there have to be some left." He headed for the head detective's desk.
"Shawn, remember what happened the last time you snooped in Lassiter's desk," Juliet warned.
"What? I invited convicted criminals to his birthday party? Oh wait… that was you." Shawn grinned at her and started looking through the drawers. No almonds, but the bottom left drawer was locked.
"That's weird." Juliet frowned. "He usually only keeps the top middle locked."
"So, what's he hiding besides snacks?" Gus asked. He had gone to help Shawn, the promise of food motivating him.
"Clearly, Lassie takes his snacks as seriously as we do," Shawn said, now moving on to searching through the pen holder on the desk for something to pick the lock. Then he grinned. The small screwdriver embossed with the NRA logo looked like it would work just fine.
"Not true," Gus clarified as Shawn started fiddling with the lock. "We have a whole desk for snacks."
"You know that's right," Shawn grunted, finally getting the drawer open. Sitting on top of the pile of paperwork in the drawer was the half-full container of almonds, which Gus quickly snatched out of Shawn's grasp. "Hey!" Shawn was prepared to fight Gus for the candy when something caught his eye.
Underneath the almonds was a manila folder. There was no label on the folder, but he noticed a purple envelope sticking out from the top. "What is this? Does Lassifrass have a secret admirer?" He snatched the envelope from the folder.
"Shawn, it's illegal to go through someone else's mail." Gus reminded him, tossing a handful of chocolaty goodness in his mouth.
"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.
"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 stuff!" Lassiter was back. He snatched the card from Shawn's hand and crossed his arms to hide it from view.
"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, his voice slightly higher pitched than a moment before. "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 addressed to your apartment! And what else was in that file?" He started to dig in Lassiter's desk again.
"I told you. I have received letters from convicted criminals before," Lassiter snapped. He grabbed the rest of the folder from the drawer and slammed it shut. "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 hugged the folder to his chest 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."
Juliet stayed at her desk trying to finish the gymnastics case report, but she couldn't shake the feeling there was more to Lassiter's story than he was telling her. After an hour of writing the same line over and over, she sighed and turned off the computer. There was no way she would get anything done with Carlton on her mind.
Taking a chapter out of her partner's book, she grabbed her gun out of the desk and headed for the shooting range. Maybe pretending one of the targets was Laura would help clear her mind.
She headed down the stairs and turned the corner. "Lassiter?" She was surprised to see her partner sitting in the alcove just outside the range. "What are you doing down here? Hiding?"
He scowled at her. "No, I just don't need people prying into my personal life and hovering over me because they're worried."
Juliet rolled her eyes at him. "We're not hovering, but we are worried." She sighed and sat down next to him. "Carlton, that girl is dangerous. She almost killed you last time."
"Getting shot in the arm is hardly life-threatening," Lassiter started to argue.
"But getting beaten over the head twice, chloroformed who knows how many times, and subjected to emotional duress before being shot is." Juliet was stern with him.
Lassiter let out a sigh. "O'Hara."
She braced to be on the defensive, and he sighed again.
"Juliet, I know it might seem like I'm being flippant, but you've seen how Spencer and Guster reacted. I don't need a three-hour production of what might happen played out in the station." He grabbed her hand. "I've got more than just myself to think about this time. I have Marlowe's safety to consider too."
Juliet squeezed his hand. "I just think you letting Laura communicate with you is a bad idea."
"I'm only keeping the letters to be on the safe side. I'll need evidence if there's a need for a restraining order."
"When there's a need," Juliet corrected him. "And what do you mean 'letters'?"
"There have been a few." He admitted. "They started showing up here. One every other week or so. Plain white envelopes. But this one came to the apartment last night." He showed her the inside of the folder. It was a pile of newspaper clippings and a dozen or so cards, eleven on white envelopes. The handwriting on all of them was the same as the one Shawn had found.
"That's more than a few," Juliet still wasn't convinced.
"I've informed her of my marriage. I told her there's no need to keep writing." Lassiter was trying to reassure her. "I'm taking this very seriously."
"Just keep me in the loop with her," Juliet insisted.
"I will," Lassiter stood up, wincing as his knees protested. "Now, are we going to shoot something, or are we going to go home?
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Welcome to 2021 Everyone! All it took was eight years for Deej and Zed to get together again and put out a completed fic. We hope you enjoy!
Welcome to 2021 Everyone! All it took was eight years for Deej and Zed to get together again and put out a completed fic. We hope you enjoy!