They fly down the highway.

Shawn knows Tim, who always covers this stretch, has already filled his quota for the month, and there's no one around to crash into anyways. Tim is pretty laid back, and he's not speeding that badly anyways.

Just enough to make Lacy gasp with excitement as she rolls down her window.

"You know," she says as she leans into him, away from the wind rushing at her through the open window. "I've always had my eyes on you."

This is a blatant lie and Shawn knows it. She has looked at him, with more than passing interest, a total of two times. Shawn knows he's short, a class clown, and is just a tad on the dorky side of doofus, so he hardly begrudges her the lack of interest. Not that his shift in attitude has anything to do with that extra couple of inches below her neck, of course. He jerks his eyes back to the road and pretends he didn't see her smirk as he tries to concentrate on driving. He may know exactly what to say to make people, especially girls, swoon, but he knows just as assuredly that he has nothing on the jocks, none of their athletic build or classic good looks (though, he will admit, he has great hair).

It's nice to hear her say so anyways.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye and he can see down her dress again. She is practically licking her lips at him.

Shawn is filled with that reckless feeling again.

His hand jumps, just a little too quickly (okay, a lot too quickly) to be cool, to her thigh. She is helpful, however, grinning as she rearranges his hand on her leg, moving it up higher than he had dared, pulling the edge of her dress up with it. He tries a tentative squeeze and her ensuing laugh is throaty.

His confidence grows a notch.

"Take the wheel," he commands and she does. He loosens his tie (the tie was at his mother's insistence though he still can't figure out what the big deal is, considering he could've been naked under his robe and no one would have noticed), deftly unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt.

He retakes the steering wheel and she uses the opportunity to scoot a little closer. Neither are buckled, and there is something satisfying in ignoring the voice in his head that tells him to do things for his own good. It sounds remarkably like his father.

Her hand snakes onto his thigh and the hair on the back of his neck raises. She squeezes and laughs, again, when the steering wheel jerks just the slightest bit to the right.

Shawn knows this is stupid. That Lacy barely knows who he is, that he doesn't even really like Lacy all that much. He wonders, rather distantly as her fingers start to play piano on the inside of his thigh, how much he's going to end up regretting this later. The thought is quickly banished. The sensations traveling out from her hand on his leg are intense, tingly, and he knows, right then, that he doesn't want them to stop. Because it's hard to think of his parents, of the way their fights make his insides twist, of how he's not sure Dad is proud of him, when her hand is doing that to his leg.

It doesn't hurt, and tonight, he's tired of hurting.

Shawn clears his throat. "Where do you want to--"

Her other hand reaches up, twining into his hair on the back of his head, and his words are cut off. By the time she starts kissing his jawline, sucking a line up and down his neck, he's forgotten what he was going to say.

He nearly wrenches them into a grove of trees when her mouth find the lobe of his ear and she pulls it with her teeth.

She laughs into his ear as he tries to get his breathing under control. "First time?" she asks throatily, and then goes back to work on his jaw.

"No," he says, but his voice breaks in the middle of the word and she laughs again.

"Don't worry," she whispers huskily into his ear, and now he knows she's playing with him. The knowledge does little to help him. "I'll guide you round the 'bends." Lacy raises her eyebrows at him suggestively, then leans in again.

"I'd suggest you pull over," she breathes, and he's inclined to agree with her. It's very hard to argue with a woman who currently has his earlobe back between her teeth.

He's slowing to pull over when he hears the sirens. He pulls away from Lacy's hard kisses and glances in the rear view window. The red and blue lights are unmistakeable.

He sighs, but simply keeps pulling over to the shoulder. Lacy glances behind her.

Her expression is frustrated. "Shit."

Shawn looks irritated but shakes his head. "Highway patrol. Don't worry, I know this guy. He'll have recognized the truck, and he'll just give us a warning for speeding."

Lacy nods and commandeers the rear view mirror, pulling it down so she can examine herself. She wipes at the red lipstick smeared around her mouth as Shawn props an elbow on the steering wheel, watching her absently. It's inconvenient, but he'll be able to easily talk himself out of this one.

He's looking at his lap, both elbows now on the steering wheel as he rubs the back of his neck, when Lacy's sharp voice lashes out. "Shawn," she says urgently. "Shawn."

"What?" he asks, glancing over at her, but he has only a second to take in the horrified expression on her face before Tim taps on the glass of the driver's side window.

Shawn's smile is cheerful as he turns to the highway patrolman. "Yeah, Tim--" He freezes, and his face drains of all color.

It isn't Tim. It's Henry, and his expression says he's pissed.

"Out," he snaps through the glass. "NOW."

Shawn's mouth has gone dry. He looks back at Lacy and his eyes are somehow more terrified than hers. "We are in such deep shit."

He doesn't wait to hear her reply, simply turns back to the driver's side door, already pushing it open. Time to face the music. He's going to be grounded until he dies of old age. And then his dad will probably keep the body around the house just to make sure he gets the point.

"Look, Dad--" he starts.

Henry grabs his son, roughly turning him and shoving him up against the vehicle. "Up against the car," he snaps. "Spread your legs."

Shawn's head is spinning with the sudden turn of events. "What? Dad, I--"

Henry forces him back against the truck, forcefully spreading his legs for him. He starts searching him for concealed weapons, patting down his legs.

Shawn is bewildered. "You're--are you frisking me? Why would--"

"Check his accomplice," Henry barks over his shoulder.

Shawn's face is white. "My--!"

"Henry..." says a female voice from behind them. Her voice is young, and unsure. "Are you sure this is nec--"

"Do it," he lashes.

Shawn's brain starts to catch up with him. "My accomplice? Who the--what? Dad--"

Henry ignores him, still checking him for...what, Shawn doesn’t know, as he begins to read him his rights. Shawn feels numb, the familiar words (Dad had made him memorize them ages ago) washing over him. He can hear them, but he can’t understand them, can’t comprehend what is happening.

"Dad..." he says weakly as the older man finishes.

"You stole a truck, Shawn," Henry snaps, and it's impossible to tell what is greater: the disappointment, or the anger.

"I, but--! It's your truck, I didn't--"

"Disrespecting me is one thing." Henry's voice is hard and bitter as acid. "So is disrespecting your teachers, even your classmates," here he gestures at the cruiser parked behind the truck and his partner, a blonde woman Shawn has only seen once before, gently pushing a very white Lacy into the back of the police car. Shawn's own cheeks go a little paler, but Henry isn't finished.

"Disrespecting the law is something else entirely. You want to know what it's like to be an adult? Here it is." His humorless smile is nasty, but Shawn is still startled when Henry tightens a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. "You want to try out crime, you get to enjoy the consequences."

Shawn feels numb as his dad grabs him roughly by the shoulder, his grip hard as he pushes him towards the car. He's never touched him like this before, or pushed him around in such a rough manner.

He hadn't realized his dad could get angrier than he ever had before.

It's ironic, because the first coherent thing the 18 year old can manage is about Lacy. Henry is still directing him severely towards the cruiser when he finds his voice.

"She's not my accomplice. She thought I borrowed the truck. Lacy didn't have a clue. She...she just didn't know." His explanation is desperate as Henry opens the back door of the cruiser and forces him in.

"She's not my accomplice!" he repeats loudly as Henry slams the door shut, but this is more for Lacy's benefit than Henry's. She chimes in immediately.

"I had no idea!" she shouts at the two officers outside the car. "He told me he'd borrowed it!"

Shawn doesn't appreciate her enthusiasm in the declaration.

"Henry..." starts his partner with a quick glance towards the cruiser.

"Take my truck," he orders. "The keys are still in the cab."

The blonde woman is finally irritated. "He's your son."

"I know who he is," Henry snaps, then gets control of himself. "Just do it, Karen."

Karen glances at the cruiser. Both teenagers are finally still, and the girl is starting to regain some of the color in her cheeks, obviously calming.

Shawn, on the other hand, is starting to look sick. His cheeks are nearly gray, eyes downcast, and she's honestly afraid he's going to barf.

"Just...please." Karen is not going to argue. She's new to the station, relatively fresh from the academy, and Henry is the scariest damn senior partner she's ever going to have. "He borrowed your truck without permission. He's--"

"He's guilty of auto theft and he will learn the consequences of that." Henry's voice is almost mild, and his reasoning is sound. Shawn's a delinquent that needs to learn his lesson.

But he's also his son, and the tight lines around Henry's face, the anger tightly coiled in his eyes, says he knows that.

She has nothing else to say. She nods in acceptance and jogs towards the truck. And Henry grimly marches towards his cruiser, and his son.

Shawn starts talking the second Henry slides into the cruiser, slamming the door shut with enough force to make both teenagers wince. "Look, Dad, she's not my accomplice, she didn't--"

The promiscuous young woman takes over. "--I didn't know he'd stolen your truck, I mean I would never have--"

Shawn jerks his head once, hard, and regains control as she falls silent. "I told her I'd borrowed it, that I had the truck for the night to get to graduation parties. I lied to her, Dad. Please don't--"

"That," breaks in Henry sharply as he switches lanes, checking to make sure Karen is still behind him, "is something you can explain to her parents when they arrive to take her home."

There is shrill squeak of indignation, then, "That’s not fair!"

Henry glances at the angry-faced girl in the rear view mirror. She glares, but he hardly feels sympathy towards her when everytime he looks at his son, all he can see his her lipstick all along his face and neck.

His tone is ice. "I would suggest you both shut up. You," here he glares pointedly at Shawn, who misses it, staring as he is at his hands, "are already in trouble for stealing a truck. You want to push me further tonight?"

The ride to the station is deathly silent after that.

Henry is still mad when they reach the station. He steps out of the cruiser, movements jerky as Karen pulls up. She parks on the side Shawn is sitting at, and very casually, her own movements brusque and efficient, beats him to his son.

"It’s alright," she says over the top of the police car. "I’ve got him. You get the girl."

There is no reason for Henry to argue against this and he complies with a slightly sour look, helping Lacy out of the car. Karen reaches down and pulls Shawn up by the elbow. "Wipe off your face," she mumbles into his ear as she’s helping him out.

Shawn looks startled, then turns abruptly to take in his reflection in the window of the cruiser. What he thought of as some sort of badge of success, or something similarly idiotic, is still on his face, that red lipstick obvious even in the poor mirror image. He immediately brings up both hands, still cuffed together, to scrub at it with his sleeve as Karen guides him, a step behind Henry and Lacy, to the front entrance of the police station.

Shawn scours harder the closer they get, and Karen is practically pushing him towards the doors by time they reach them. He’s almost resisting, his eyes anxious as she opens the door with one hand and directs him, her strong, gentle hand on his elbow, through and into the brightly lit building.

The station goes quiet as he enters, the effect seeming to ripple out as more officers catch sight of first Henry, then Shawn, cuffed and led by his partner, behind him. Shawn drops his hands and his eyes.

Nearly all of these officers know him. A little less than half of them watched him grow up. There’s Mel at the desk to his left, Stacey just a little behind him. George is staring, wide-eyed, from his position at the front desk.

Shawn’s stomach twists. He opens his mouth, tries to tell a joke, say something stupid, diffuse the situation somehow, but he can’t even look up from the floor.

His mouth closes and he wishes, very desperately, that he was someone else’s kid.

Henry orders Lacy to sit on the bench in the hall and he is already marching towards George when Karen has Shawn sit next to the furiously glaring girl. The young officer quickly trots to catch up with her senior partner.

Lacy and Shawn are quiet as they sit on the bench. He is afraid to look at her, because he can’t take that expression anymore, that disbelieving, slightly horrified look he’s been getting from everyone who looks at him.

Lacy breaks the silence and he involuntarily glances at her. She is looking blankly at the wall in front of her, a hard look on her face.

"Your dad is one cruel son of a bitch."

Shawn’s answer is prompt as he looks away. "There’s no proof that you knew. You’ll be fine. How mad are your parents going to be?"

She turns her head to look at him. "That depends on how convincing you are. I’m not worried."

Shawn can’t bring himself to smile at the subtle compliment. He can convince all the people in the world except for the only one that matters.

Her expression suddenly turns fierce. "And I wasn’t talking about myself anyways. Your dad, is one cruel son of a bitch, Shawn."

He has nothing to say to this.

There’s no point in trying.

Karen’s voice is low as she catches up with Henry. "You’ve made your point. I doubt he’ll ever do anything like this again. Can’t you just let them go?"

"No," he says calmly, still angrily striding down the hall. "Maybe you missed my point. This isn’t just a kid disrespecting his father. Shawn broke the law, and he will pay the consequences for it. What am I telling him if I don’t follow through?"

Karen wants to say something about mercy, about justice being tempered with compassion, but she doesn’t push it. Henry’s voice might be reasonable, but he’s not calm. And she knows this is about a father hurt and disappointed by his son when he calls Lacy’s parents, because they both know a girl like that wouldn’t have been interested in a kid who just borrowed his dad’s keys.

He catches the look on her face as the phone is ringing in his ear. "It’s impossible to tell if they’re telling the truth or not. No proof, no case. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt."

She wonders why he can’t do the same for his son.

"Book him," he snaps and then, in the phone, "Hello, Mr. Woods?"

Karen gestures to Shawn as she passes and he gets awkwardly to his feet. She takes him by the elbow and leads him down the hall.

"We’re booking you," she says quietly.

He whips his head around to look at her, his eyes wide. "What? I figured I’d learned my--I mean...I’m 18, I’m going to have a--" he suddenly turns his head away from her, face dark. "Whatever. Just...whatever."

She can’t miss the way he looks like someone punched him in the stomach.

He tries very desperately to look amused at everything when they take his picture. Bev shakes her head angrily. "I can’t believe..." She snorts derisively then says "To the side, please," in the microphone. Shawn complies, weak smirk still on his lips.

"Maybe I can," she continues to Karen, tone scathing. She sighs a second later. "He’s a good kid," she explains. "A little rambunctious, but his heart’s in the right place."

"So is Henry’s, I think," Karen defends her partner quietly. Bev’s disbelieving scoff says everything about her opinion on the subject.

"Tough-love," the older woman says. "Sure. Like that always works out so well." She gestures at Shawn in the other room. "Obviously."

Karen doesn’t reply, simply leaves to collect Shawn. She doesn’t want to back-talk Henry. She really doesn’t.

But this is making it very hard.

She leaves to start filling out the report after she hands him over to have his fingerprints taken. Karen is hard pressed not to tell the teen everything will be alright, but she’s really not sure how alright it will be and she doesn’t want to lie.

Stacey has no such qualms as he uncuffs Shawn and starts to dip his fingers in ink. The big man’s moves are gentle, unhurried.

"It’ll be fine, Shawn. Just watch. This’ll all blow over in the morning."

Shawn’s voice is angry. "This will all blow over in the morning? My criminal record will blow over in the morning? I’ll bet that’s what you tell all the criminals."

Stacey’s tone is still gentle as he presses Shawn’s fingers to the card. "You’ll survive a criminal record. Anyone who knows you won’t care. I meant that your dad--"

"I don’t want to talk about my dad," Shawn cuts in quickly. "He can take a long walk off a short pier as far as I’m concerned."

The officer doesn’t press. It’s heart breaking to watch Shawn act like he doesn’t care when his hands won’t stop shaking.

Stacey actually feels Shawn stiffen when his dad’s voice hits them. "Shawn? Mr. Woods is here. I think you have some explaining to do."

"I’m finished," Stacey says and Shawn nods jerkily, getting rigidly to his feet. His mouth has gone dry again.

"Okay," he manages to choke, then clears his throat. "Okay," he says more smoothly.

It’s a slow night in the station and everyone can hear, very clearly, Mr. Woods chew out Shawn for doing this to his "poor baby girl." The poor baby girl in question is less than impressed with her father’s word choice, and she is obviously torn between telling her father to take a chill pill and shooting indignant looks at the 18 year old who is supposed to have wronged her. Its anyone’s guess as to how the red-faced, screaming Mr. Woods can miss the lipstick still smeared across Shawn’s jaw.

Shawn doesn’t have to do much convincing. A couple of mumbled "I’m sorry, sir"s are the most he can fit in between the large man’s ranting.

It’s finally Lacy who manages to pull her father to his feet, placating hand on his arm. "I’m fine, Daddy," she wheedles. "Can we go please?"

The fact that she can pull off the innocent act in that dress while her father is looking directly at her is impressive. She isn’t fooling anyone else, but that’s hardly the point.

"I’m sorry, sir," Shawn calls out one last time. Mr. Woods turns to say something that Shawn can only assume will insult his family, his upbringing, and/or his hair, but Lacy pulls on him. The glare turns away from him and they both leave, Lacy still hanging on her father’s arm as they disappear outside.

She doesn’t look at him before the dark has swallowed her.

The station slowly regains the quiet murmur of noise that pervades the building at night. It is then, sitting there, staring out the door after the only person who had been in this with him, that Shawn is struck by how very alone he is. And the only thing he can think of is that she didn’t bother looking at him as she left.

Shawn’s eyes drop to his hands. The ink is black on his fingers.

"Shawn..." starts Henry as he walks up.

"I hate you."

The words aren’t angry, passion-filled as they usually are. Henry has lost track of the number of times his son has told him that he hates him (alright, 27, and he still hasn’t gotten used to it), but somehow this is different. The words are hollow, but not empty. Almost mild.

They are stated as fact.

"Listen here, you little punk," Henry snaps, grabbing Shawn by the chin, jerking his head up. The words die in his mouth.

Shawn’s eyes are red, tears pricking in the corners of them. They are betrayed, filled with loathing, and deep, deep hurt.

Henry hasn’t seen Shawn cry in ten years. He’d been eight and had fallen from his bike, skinning his knees. Henry had told him to pick himself up, wipe off the dirt, and try again. He’d sniffled and Henry had lost patience, told him there were more important things to cry about in this world, and this wasn’t one of them. "Stop crying," he’d said. "Tears won’t teach you to ride your bike and crying to Mom will never solve anything. Grow up, Shawn."

He still wonders, late at night, when Claire is sleeping next to him and his son is quiet in the other room, why Shawn always remembers the things Henry wants to forget.

Henry drops his hand from Shawn’s chin with a short exhale of air. Shawn’s eyes remain where they are, frankly looking into Henry’s own.

"Do you know why I’m doing this?"

Shawn doesn’t so much as blink and Henry pulls him to his feet, already leading him back down the hall, towards the holding cell.

"I want you to understand that crime has consequences. That you can’t get away with something because you know people. Who would I be if I didn’t uphold justice even in my own family?"

He opens the door to the cell and Shawn suddenly resists. He looks at his dad out of the corners of his eyes, and his face is terrified. "Dad, please--" his eyes dart to the two other men in the cell, one of which looks like he could crush Shawn’s head within his hands.

Henry’s voice is hard, but gentle. "You’ll be fine." He pushes Shawn in and closes the door to the jail cell behind him.

The teenager turns immediately, hands on the bars. His eyes are wide, pleading. "Dad, please, I swear I’ll--"

Henry cuts him off. "Consequences, Shawn. I can only hope you learn the lesson." And then he does the hardest thing he’s done the entire night.

He walks away.

"Dad!" Shawn calls desperately, but he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even acknowledge that his son is calling to him. Shawn turns, mouth going dry as he drops onto a bench.

Head-crusher is looking at him in disbelief. "Your dad is Henry Spencer?" He looks pointedly at the lipstick still smeared on Shawn’s face. "Shit, kid, I hope she was worth it."

"She wasn’t," Shawn says, and his head drops into his hands.

He spends the night of graduation in jail.