Speed trap (for det_lassiter)

[head_psychic]

Dinner didn't really work out.

There had been worse situations in the past, sure, it wasn't that much of a big deal, just the usual stuff about disappointment and losing at life. Nothing new, so maybe he shouldn't complain but he feels like complaining. In fact he is complaining over and over again.

In his head, that is, because he has left the scene of the fight long ago.

Shawn doesn't even remember what started it. When he thinks back he has to admit that it had been a nice evening actually. They had been sitting together, eating, talking, then one little side remark, then a harmless retort, another retort and suddenly he an Henry were yelling at each other to the point where Shawn grabbed his helmet and stormed out of the door.

Ahh, yes, gotta love family.

Needless to say that he isn't in a particularly good mood when he erratically races the area but the well-known hum and the speed of his motorcycle soon has the calming effect he aims for he definitely needs right now.

Comments

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

It doesn’t even take a mobile speed camera to know that the biker was speeding. Really, it was beneath his normal duties these days, and it’s late evening; the road is quiet and empty.

But, where are the traffic cops when they’re needed? Taking a coffee break, he can guarantee it. If the biker is allowed to get away without even a stern warning today, maybe tomorrow it’ll be the middle of the day and somebody could be hurt. Carlton raised an eyebrow; he supposed that the biker could get hurt tonight, going at those speeds, but he cared less for someone who chose to be that reckless.

Perhaps his mood is affected by the call from his ex earlier today. She wants her CDs and books back. And the bed. Apparently, she thinks that it’s hers. Not theirs. Hers. Perhaps all he wanted to do was sit quietly in the dark on the side of the road and avoid going home a little longer. And then duty has to come haring down straight past him, forcing him to do the only thing he’s particularly good at: His duty.

Slapping on the beacon, he swings his car around and tears after the bike. If they’re drunk he can at least have the satisfaction of taking them in.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Even though he is lost in his own thoughts it doesn't take Shawn too long to notice what is going on behind him. When he spots the flashing light he frowns in dismay. Looks like he got company.

Glancing at his speed indicator he groans, because it just shattered his hope for the 'I didn't notice I was slightly over the limit, do I get away with my cute smile?' excuse.

Oh this is just great. When did today become his lucky day? For a moment he thinks about trying to get away but he knows he wouldn't dare. Some of his dad's education still kicks in, no matter how much he might hate it occasionally. Besides, that guy behind him might have written down his licence plate already and if Henry hears about this Shawn knows he will never hear the end of it. Not that he ever heard the end of anything about his life when talking to his father but still, he didn't need to give him another reason to be disappointed. Henry could come up with more than enough on his own.

With a loud, annoyed sigh he slows down his bike and stops, his mind already working on the countless possibilities to talk his way out of a ticket.

Or whatever else he is going to face in a minute.

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

At least the biker stops shortly after Lassiter begins to signal for him to pull over. He should credit them that, but he sighs a little as he unfastens his belt; a chase would have been nice, work off a few of the cobwebs, make him feel alive again. How long has it been since he had a chance to show off the skills he learnt during the 'High Speed Pursuit' driving course? He aced all the practical tests, of course. His reaction speeds were top of his group.

Perhaps he can hold out hope for some kind of drug runner motorcycle courier. He checks his gun in his holster as he approaches the vehicle, just in case.

Drawing level with the bike, he slaps his hand on the rider's shoulder.

"Do you have any idea how fast you were going back there?"

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Driver's licence already swapped for Henry's old police card he inwardly prepares himself for citation, arguing, maybe some gum chewing road cowboy, whatever it is, they can bring it on, Shawn Spencer is ready.

Well.

That is until the hand hits his shoulder and the too-familiar voice starts talking.

His face still hidden underneath the helmet he allows his eyes to widen for a moment. Oh, that is just great. He totally has to reschedule here. Maybe trying to alter his voice and hoping Lassy doesn't recogn- wait, driver's licence. Kinda hard to do. Henry Spencer's police card isn't really gonna help here either.

Fine. Old-fashioned style, then.

"Apparently not fast enough." Turning his head he pushes up his visor, regarding the detective with a slightly sheepish grin. "Hiya, Lassy. You playing CHiPs? Can I be Ponch? I know, I'm supposed to be the bad guy here who were going too fast, which was purely accidental, seriously, I can explain that but you see, if you wanna be Ponch you really have to work on that grin of yours. 's too narrow. Besides, being Latino might help. Not that I am Latino but I got the grin about right."

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

No! As if he's just been burnt, Carlton yanks his hand away and spins on his heel so that his back is to Spencer as he prattles inanely on about something or other. He did not need this tonight! He should have ignored it, should have let the idiot go break his neck somewhere.

Scrubbing his face with his palms, he slowly turns back around.

"It's not funny," he finds himself saying in a bland voice that nothing like the frustrated one inside his head. "Do you think that you're above the law? You should be setting a better example."

For a moment he just stares at Spencer. What to do? The planned stern warning has just gone right out the window, the moron isn't particularly afraid of him to pay any attention. Nor would he take a ticket seriously and the last thing Lassiter wants is for the bike to end up impounded again. He’s not pulling it from an auction a second time. There’s only thing he can do.

“I’m taking you down to the station. Park that thing safely,” he gestures vaguely at the Norton, “and come on.”

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"What?" Shawn frowns in confusion, because he wasn't really prepared for that. A ticket, yeah. Lassiter, giving him a hell of a lecture, yeah. But the station? Now? "You're off-duty, why would you take me to the..." His voice trails off as he looks at his bike, then back at Lassiter. "Oh, come on. Are you serious?"

Not that Shawn minds the station too much, he loves hanging out there. It's more the right now part he doesn't like. There's this movie he wants to watch - some cheap action stuff everyone said was so bad it had to be good in so many embarassing ways that everyone watched it in secret so they could complain about it later. Exactly what he needs after Dinner for Well, now obviously down to One.

Besides, he's tired and still slightly cranky from tonight's melodrama episode of "Me and my Dad".

He looks at Lassy, trying to find something that tells him the detective is not serious. Well, alright, or rather something he can work with, some way he can talk his way out of this. It doesn't look too good, though, and Shawn can feel his face falling.

"Listen, can't we just..." He struggles for words for a second, trying to find the right thing to say. "Can't we just not do this or something?"

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

“How about…” Lassiter pauses and makes a show of pretending to think, “…no.”

Okay. So perhaps he’s just found a way to work out some of his frustrations at the day he’s had. Arguably, it’s unethical to treat Spencer differently to any other speeding motorist, just because he’s Spencer, but it’s also unfair that he should have suddenly dropped into life, disrupting the one thing he could throw his efforts into and be successful with.

“Are you resisting arrest? Am I going to have to carry you to the car? Again?”

He places a warning hand on Spencer’s arm. In the back of his mind he’s just daring him to kick up a fuss, to make this more interesting.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"You're arresting me?" Shawn gapes at the detective in disbelief. He laughs, airily, incredulously. "For speeding? You've gotta be kidding me."

His gaze falls onto the hand on his arm and slowly the grin falters a second time. "You're not kidding me."

This is awkward. When Lassiter said "I'm taking you down to the station", well, Shawn had expected it to signify "I'm taking you down to the station", not "I'm arresting your speeding ass".

When he looks up again there's a hint of annoyance in his face. "Oh, come on, Lassy!"

He theatrically throws his hands in the air, knocking Lassiter's hand off his arm. For Shawn this is just another example for a person trying to enforce control over him and it sends a seething, dadfight-like rage through his body. "What's with the testosterone rush? There's nobody here to give you a well-done pat on the back, so no brownie points for you."

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Lassiter can feel his eyebrows steadily rise. Oh, this is too good. It’s pretty predictable, to be honest, and fairly normal Spencer behaviour. But, if this was a stranger, this would be enough excuse to use the cuffs and haul them off their feet, which is exactly what Lassiter intends to do now.

“You need to learn some kind of lesson about respecting the law,” he mutters lowly as he fishes out his handcuffs. “Obviously, your dad has failed to teach you it, so let me try.”

He knows it’s a power trip as he yanks Spencer’s arms behind his back to click the cuffs on, but he’s feeling better already. He ignores the jibes about Brownie Points, he’s just doing this for himself.

“Come on, off the bike.” He takes a firm hold of Spencer’s upper arm to help steady him. “You have the right to remain silent, please feel free to exercise that right at any time…”

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn gasps at the sudden yank and gives a small whimper (which he would have argued to be a 'small sound of surprise') at the cold sensation on his wrists. His lips form a thin line when he presses them together, resisting the urge to throw his head back and growl in annoyance, which, in return, leads to another whimper - sound of surprise - when he is hauled off the motorcycle.

"I know my rights," he snaps and decides for himself that this day officially sucks. Not that it hadn't sucked before but Shawn feels like making it official. He's had his fair share of "learn your lesson" tonight. Besides, he can tell Lassiter is clearly enjoying this so the detective doesn't have to come up with this bullshit.

Shawn knows it's stupid - primarily because he's already cuffed - but he can't help the anger burning up. It's just too many triggers at once, too many remains of frustration from earlier tonight that make him squirm and struggle, resisting the attempt to get him anywhere near the car.

[det-lassiter.livejournal.com]

Grunting with annoyance, Lassiter tightens his grip on Spencer’s arm. Is he really annoyed, though? Surely he knew that Spencer would react in this way, he’d been counting on it, hadn’t he?

“Do you think this is going to do you any good?” he growls against the so called psychic’s ear. “I can carry you, you know I can.”

To prove his point, he slings his arm’s around Spencer’s waist, linking his hands together in front of him and leaning back to get he leverage sweep the man off the ground. It’s not easy, carrying a squirming man even the few feet between the two vehicles. He should have remembered that from the last time. It would have been easier to have just forced him to walk ahead of him with a tight grip to the back of his neck. However, he likes it this way; he likes the authority it gives him. Although others may say that it’s a sign that he’s lost control of the situation if he has to carry a detainee to the car, he can’t deny the rush he gets in the knowledge that he can carry Spencer, that he’s strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Reaching the car, he places a firm hand over Spencer’s head and pushes him down, shoving him in at the same time. He’s careful to make sure that he doesn’t hit his head on the frame, though. Do that a second time and he’d have to stop pretending that it was accidental and admit that he enjoyed it.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

When Lassiter pushes him into the car Shawn feels like kicking. Just like a horse, backwards, maybe being lucky enough to hit the detective's knee. Oh, he'd like that. A lot. Yes, he's angry, he feels like an eighteen-year-old kid that has REBEL written all over his forehead.

Mirror-inverted, because he didn't know better.

The only reason he doesn't do it is because he's not stupid. Or maybe it's just that he doesn't want to give Lassiter the satisfaction of giving him even more reasons to do all this stuff. Hitting a detective? God, Shawn really doesn't need to end up in-...

Whoa. Wait a second.

Surely Lassiter isn't going to put him into a holding cell, right?

He doesn't like that thought. Not one bit of it.

Shawn glares up at Lassiter, looks at him, eager to stare a hole in his body if he has to. He wishes nothing more than to find something, anything that at least gives him the satisfaction to get back at the detective. If he can't keep him from dragging, carrying him to the car he can at least try to piss him off.

"Must have been a pretty bad day if you need to be the big man so badly. Just because you don't wear the pants at home anymore doesn't mean you have to show them off to me."