Date: 2007-12-20 10:02 pm (UTC)
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."
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