I do not own Psych or any of its characters. All other publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

This is a re-edited version of a story I wrote for PineappleHead for the Psychfic Secret Santa Exchange. It is completely finished and ready to be posted and I'll be updating it once a week. Lassiter is my favorite character and it was fun to write a love story focused on him. I hope you all enjoy it.

This takes place right after Last Night Gus before Lassiter meets Marlowe.

Carlton Lassiter scowled as he looked around the room. He hated Halloween. It was just an excuse for teenagers to vandalize public property, for children to run around on sugar highs being a nuisance to everyone, and for adults to dress up in a pathetic attempt to recapture their youth.

Unfortunately, his opinion was not shared by the rest of the department. Hence, the crowded Halloween party he was currently attending. He hadn't wanted to come but the whole thing had been organized by O'Hara and Spencer and the two of them had guilted him into it. That, and the Chief had threatened to volunteer him for the supervised trick or treating program, where police officers escorted children around designated neighborhoods. He shuddered at the thought. At least here he could drink.

He made his way carefully through the crowd, passing a werewolf that looked like it had mange and a witch whose wart covered face looked a little too real. He shook his head in disgust. If his fellow officers spent half as much time solving cases as they did on their costumes, there wouldn't be any crime left in Santa Barbara.

Dobson was manning the mini bar set up at one end of the refreshment table. "Hello Lassiter. Great party, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's something," Lassiter said sarcastically. He waved at Dobson's costume. "Batman? You had to pick a vigilante who makes the police look like incompetent fools?"

"I like Batman," Dobson said defensively. "He was a man trying to help the people of his city and the police were the ones contacting him for help." He grinned. "Sort of like when we call in Spencer for help."

Lassiter bristled. "That is not the same. We could have solved any of those cases without Spencer's interference." He sneered at Dobson's costume. "And Spencer never had to dress up in a ridiculous get up to solve crimes."

Dobson crossed his arms. "He's dressed in plenty of strange outfits while working cases."

Lassiter threw up his hands. "Whatever! Just make me a Jack and Coke."

"Where's your mask?" Dobson asked, tugging on his own. "Everyone is supposed to wear one." He gave Lassiter a look, apparently deciding to be difficult after having his costume insulted.

"I lost it," Lassiter lied. It was bad enough he had been forced into a costume, even if he got to keep his gun. The mask just made him look ridiculous.

"I'm sensing your mask is close by," a familiar annoying voice said.

Lassiter sighed, turning to find Shawn Spencer standing next to him. He was about to make a snarky comment about fake psychics when he noticed what was strapped to the man's side. "Please tell me someone wasn't stupid enough to give you a real sword."

"I wish," Spencer said wistfully. He pulled it out and Lassiter saw it was made of cheap plastic. "Jules said it was too dangerous to let me have a real sword but this one totally ruins my costume." He was wearing dark clothes, a black cape, a black hat, and a black piece of cloth around the top of his head with cut outs so he could see.

Lassiter frowned. "What exactly are you supposed to be?"

Spencer huffed in exasperation. "I'm Zorro, man. Don't you see the resemblance to Antonio Banderas?" He said the last part in a fake Spanish accent and struck what Lassiter guessed was supposed to be a manly pose.

"No." Lassiter grinned as Spencer visibly deflated. He glanced around but didn't see any sign of the man usually glued to Spencer's side. "Where's Guster?"

Glancing around himself, Spencer pointed towards the entrance way. "Over there, striking out with Officer Mendez."

Guster was wearing a tight green costume with yellow strips and a pair of sticks strapped to his back. Mendez had a hand over her mouth, trying to hide her laughter.

"What the hell is he supposed to be?"

"Kick-Ass." Spencer sighed. "Jules wouldn't let him have any real weapons either."

Lassiter didn't know what a 'Kick-Ass' was but it looked like another vigilante superhero. Was that all people thought about these days? "She's smart. You two could do enough damage with the plastic ones you have."

"That is completely untrue," Spencer said, swinging his sword and almost decapitating a mummy. The mummy gave him a dirty look and Spencer put his sword away. "It's only plastic. The worse you would have gotten was a bruise," he called after him/her.

Lassiter smirked. "Exactly my point."

Spencer pouted. "It's not fair. Jules dressed as Hit Girl and her weapons are all real." He sighed at Lassiter's blank look. "Don't you ever go to the movies?"

"Sometimes." The last movie he remembered going to was at least a year ago. He didn't see a point in wasting the money when he could rent it on DVD for a fraction of the price and not be interrupted by arresting the teenagers making out in the back row for public indecency (Vick had actually accused him of going purposefully to make arrests. It wasn't his fault today's youth were all oversexed exhibitionists who couldn't let a man enjoy a movie in peace). "I just don't waste my time on delusional stories about ordinary people who think they can take on a crime lord because they're wearing a mask."

Spencer tsked. "You need to loosen up and have more fun." He frowned. "Or any fun, come to think of it."

"I have plenty of fun," Lassiter sputtered indignantly. "Just last weekend I went to a seminar about using everyday objects as defensive weapons if a fight occurs while subduing a suspect."

"I don't think that counts," Dobson said. "It was department mandated."

"I stayed late and learned how to disarm someone with a toaster," Lassiter protested.

Spencer shook his head. "I can't do this with you anymore. It's too sad." He stepped around Lassiter and grinned at Dobson. "Dobson, my man. I have to say, love the costume. Do you have any cool gadgets in your utility belt?"

Dobson smiled smugly. "Do I ever. Check this out." He pulled something out of one of his pockets and started explaining how it worked to Spencer.

Lassiter interrupted them before they could get too involved. "Look, before you both go all geek boy on me, how about my drink?"

Dobson tapped his mask. "You know the deal."

"Yeah, Lassie. This is not a mask-optional party." Spencer shuddered dramatically. "That would just be obscene."

Lassiter growled as he pulled the mask out of his pocket (and how the hell had Spencer known he had hidden it there? He had checked and knew it wasn't visible) and put it on. "There. Happy?"

Spencer grinned. "Yes." Before Lassiter could react, he pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture.

"Spencer!" He lunged for the younger man but Spencer slipped from his grasp and wove his way rapidly through the crowd. "Dammit," he cursed softly.

"He's been taking pictures of everyone here. I wouldn't worry about it," Dobson said, not at all helpfully. He made Lassiter's drink and handed it over. "Here you go."

"Finally," Lassiter snapped, giving Dobson a dirty look that unfortunately didn't translate through the mask. He would remember this the next time he needed someone to search through a dumpster for evidence. He left the table quickly, pushing past other eager party goers looking for a liquid excuse to lower their inhibitions.

The room seemed more crowded now than it was before with people laughing and carrying on. It was making him feel slightly claustrophobic and he looked for a less crowded area of the room to retreat to. He finally found an open area near the back by the stairs that was blessedly free of his coworkers.

He sipped his drink as he surveyed the crowd. Everyone was getting more boisterous as the night wore on and people became intoxicated, despite Dobson's attempts to limit their alcohol. He never had liked these kind of parties, even in college, and figured it was time to leave. He would go find Vick to make sure she knew he had put in an appearance and then go home to his nice quiet house.

Lassiter turned around to do just that and bumped right into someone, spilling his drink all over them. "Damn it!" He hastily put his drink down, and took stock of the damage. He had managed to escape with a few splashes; however the woman's outfit was completely soaked through.

He winced. "I'm sorry. Let me find something to clean that up." He didn't see anything he could use nearby so he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. The drink had spilled mostly over her chest and he awkwardly patted at the material.

"I got it," the woman said shortly, grabbing the handkerchief out of his hand. She tried to soak up some of the liquid but it was obvious the dark drink had already stained the light colored dress. She sighed, looking down at her ruined costume. "Great." Her dark eyes flashed angrily as she glared at him. "I hope you know you're paying for this."

"You're the one who was in my way," Lassiter protested. The costume looked very well-made and he doubted he could afford to replace it. Not that he was at fault; clearly the woman should have been paying more attention.

She waved at the empty space around them. "There was plenty of room for you to walk by without bumping into me."

"So why were you directly where I was trying to walk?" Lassiter countered.

The woman glared at him another moment, then blinked. "Your eyes are very blue."

The detective's next snipe was halted in its tracks and he stuttered, "Um, thank you?" The last person to comment on his eyes had been Spencer, so he wasn't quite sure how to respond to this unexpected compliment, especially considering they had just been arguing. O'Hara's voice sounded in his head, telling him to compliment her back. "Your hair looks, um, clean." It was thick and curly, falling to just past her shoulders in shiny brown locks.

This made the woman smile. "Wow, you really don't know how to talk to women."

Lassiter drew himself up indignantly. "I was married."

"But not now?" the woman asked with interest.

It occurred to Lassiter that the woman, who had previously been furious with him, was now flirting. It was definitely a situation he hadn't been in often and he was unsure how to handle it. He looked away, then back over at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So, uh, what is your costume supposed to be?"

The woman turned slightly, revealing wings on her back that matched her mask. "A fairy, though the dress is part of my costume from the Renaissance Faire." She brushed at the damp fabric sadly. "I guess I'll have to replace it. I do demonstrations with medieval weaponry and a dress wasn't the most practical thing to wear but I did like it." She gave Lassiter a half-hearted glare.

He tried not to let the guilt show on his face. It's not like he had ruined her outfit intentionally. "What kind of weapons?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject. While his interest lay more with firearms, he did have a fascination with other forms of weaponry.

"Swords, maces, crossbows. . . basically anything that could be used by a single individual in combat during that time period," she said.

"Knives?"

She nodded. "Of several different lengths and styles. It's one of the few weapons of the time still used today."

"I'm sorry I missed it," he said sincerely.

"There's always next year." She waved a hand at him. "What about your costume?"

Lassiter made a face. "It wasn't my idea. I was supposed to be a sheriff, but then Spencer decided we should all wear masks so now I look more like a bandit."

The woman tilted her head. "I don't know. I'm thinking more like the Lone Ranger. You know, fighting for justice and protecting the people of the west while keeping his identity a secret."

Lassiter frowned. "Sounds like another vigilante."

"That was the only type of law there was in the Old West." She shrugged when Lassiter looked less than impressed. "It's better than a bandit."

"I suppose," he said reluctantly. He wasn't sure he liked being compared to any kind of unlawful figure.

The woman sighed. "If it makes you feel better, think of him as being undercover."

Lassiter did enjoy undercover work and it was an essential part of many police investigations. "Yeah, I could live with that," he said, causing the woman to smile. "What's your name?"

She blinked. "You can call me Titania."

Lassiter narrowed his eyes, recognizing the name from that Shakespeare play with the fairies. People only used false names if they had something to hide, usually something of a criminal nature. "I don't remember seeing you around the station before. What department do you work in?"

"Um. . ." She looked away and started to pluck at the ends of her sleeves. "Is that really important right now?"

"It is if you don't have permission to be here." From the way she tensed, Lassiter guessed he was right. "Who are you?"

"Carlton!" His partner, Juliet O'Hara, came rushing over to him. She was dressed in a tight black and purple costume with an ugly purple plaid skirt, a purple wig, and, of course, the required mask. "Have you seen Shawn?"

"Not since he almost decapitated someone with his plastic sword," Lassiter said, annoyed at the interruption. "Why?"

"He's supposed to be helping me judge the costume contest," she said, glancing around as if Spencer would magical pop up out of thin air (an act the fake psychic seemed to perform often, usually at a crime scene or somewhere else he was unwelcome). "Gus doesn't know where he went and he wasn't by the food."

"Well, he's not here." Lassiter turned away to question the fairy again only to realize she was gone. "O'Hara, did you see where she went?"

"Who?"

"The woman I was just talking with." Lassiter looked around but could see no sign of her.

"What did she look like?" O'Hara asked.

"She was dressed as a fairy in this medieval costume," he said, scanning the crowd. "I spilled a drink on her."

O'Hara shook her head sadly. "We really need to work on your people skills."

Lassiter ignored her. He had caught a glimpse of green matching the dress the woman was wearing. He headed in that direction only to be forced to stop short when a drunk pirate and his wench stumbled into his path, their bright blue masks clashing horribly with their outfits. "Move out of the way!" he snapped, trying to get past them.

"Relax, it's a party," the pirate said exuberantly, waving a half empty bottle of rum.

His companion grabbed the bottle. "I think you've had enough now." Tugging on the pirate's arm, she led him out of the detective's way.

Looking around, Lassiter didn't see any sign of the woman. He headed to where he had last seen her, but found nothing except a scrap of torn fabric on the corner of a desk.

O'Hara caught up to him. "Any sign of her?"

Lassiter shook his head. "Just part of her costume." He held up the bit of soft green fabric.

O'Hara's eyes softened. "Maybe she had an emergency."

Lassiter snorted. "Yeah, sure. Just like every other woman I've dated recently."

"Come here." Not giving him a choice, O'Hara wrapped him up in a hug. "Cheer up. I'm sure you'll find someone great real soon."

Lassiter eyed his partner carefully. "Just how much have you had to drink tonight?" He winced when she whacked him on the arm. "Ow, watch it!"

"Just shut up and let me comfort you," she said, tightening her hold.

"I don't need comfort," Lassiter muttered. Privately though, he had to admit the hug helped, even if her wig tickled his nose. At least he had one person who he could count on to be there for him.

After a few moments, O'Hara released him. "Now, go get yourself another drink and relax. It's a party. I'm sure there are plenty of other people here you can meet."

"Maybe," Lassiter said doubtful. O'Hara gave him a look and he rolled his eyes. "I'll try, all right?"

O'Hara nodded. "I'm going to go find Shawn now, but I'll be checking on you later."

He fought the urge answer with a sarcastic 'Yes mother' and simply nodded his head. As O'Hara left, he fingered the soft scrap of fabric. He hadn't even gotten the woman's name. There was no way to track her down.

Sighing, he stuffed the scrap into his pocket. Another drink sounded like a good idea.