(9 years ago)

"House 1307, what do you got?" Shawn's dad asked with a knowing smirk.

Shawn quickly visualized the yard of the house with that number. "Grass is too green; they're breaking the water restriction. And they're going to get divorced. She's seeing the cable guy."

"How do you know she's married?"

Shawn rolled his eyes at the obvious answer. "Girls don't edge their lawns. Duh."

His dad made a strange sound that almost sounded like a laugh before he cleared his throat. "Alright, hotshot, try this one out. License of the truck three houses down."

There was a truck three houses down? Shawn looked and frowned at the proof that he'd messed up. He'd been too distracted by the lawn ornaments across the street. Still… his dad didn't say it had to be from his memory…

Shawn burst into a sprint, his eyes on the prize. His dad yelled behind him, but really it was his own fault. Why leave a loophole in the rules if he didn't want it found? Shawn didn't see the other person until it was too late, and he ran into them as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

They stumbled back and Shawn saw the glint of a collar. Not a person, then. The slave shouldn't have gotten in his way, they'd slowed him down. He sped back up, only needing another few seconds of running before he had his answer.

He spun around and ran back to his dad, grinning as he answered, "KITT 42."

His dad didn't grin back. "What was that?"

"You didn't say I had to stay here."

"Not that."

Uh-oh… he was totally about to get lectured.

His dad pointed down the sidewalk and said, "You didn't even stop to see if that woman was ok."

Why would he do that? "She's a slave…"

It was the wrong answer. His dad narrowed his eyes before digging in his pocket, pulling out his badge. He knelt to look Shawn in the eye before asking, "Do you know what this means?"

Shawn crossed his arms and answered stubbornly, "It means you get to shoot bad guys."

"...Only when I have to. But it means something else; something more important." His dad traced the letters around the inner circle. "It means it's my duty to 'protect and serve' the community. Everyone in the community."

"I'm not serving a slave," Shawn argued. That wasn't how things worked. "Becky says–"

"If Becky said to jump off of a cliff, would you do it?"

"It's like you don't know me at all…"

His dad just sighed and rolled his eyes. "You want to be a cop." He pointed towards the slave who was now grabbing groceries from a car trunk. "That's not how a cop acts. Not a good one, anyway. Slaves are just as important to our community as doctors and teachers and the man driving the ice cream truck. Which means you're duty-bound to protect them just like everyone else."

"Are they more important than cops?"

"Don't push it. Go make it right."

"Dad…"

"Now," his dad said in a voice that left no room for argument.

Shawn sighed; there was no winning against that tone. But he didn't have to go willingly… Shawn slumped his shoulders and made a large show of turning around and walking back, dragging his feet on the sidewalk the whole time. It wasn't fair; no one else had to apologize to a slave…

The slave's arms were loaded down with bags when he reached the car. Honestly, if it wasn't for her collar, she could have been one of his teachers. She stopped when she realized he was watching her, a few curly strands of dark hair falling in her face as she looked at the ground.

Shawn automatically scanned her clothes to look for clues as he reluctantly said, "Sorry I ran into you. Are you ok?"

Her clothes didn't tell him anything, and her voice was just as nondescript as she answered, "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Ok. Cool." There were still a bunch of bags in the trunk, even though her arms were completely full. His dad had just said to make it right, not help her… A memory of a police badge flashed through his mind. Serve and protect.

Dangit.

Shawn nodded towards the trunk. "Do you want some help?"

The slave's lips twitched into a soft smile for just a moment before it was tucked away. "If you like, sir."

He didn't really like… but it was the right thing to do. Shawn grabbed a load of groceries and followed the slave into the house.

(Present Day)

"He didn't die saving 'just a slave'. He died saving a person."

A tense silence followed the words as Shawn braced for the collar to shock him and prove him wrong. The collar stayed silent.

Relief warred with elation which warred with fear. Too many emotions clashing just under his skin, several of them echoed on Gus' overwhelmed face.

Gus blinked, almost like he was snapping out of a dream, and several tears fell down his cheeks. He quickly nodded as he said, "Yeah. Yeah, he did save a person."

The acceptance and understanding soothed the storm in Shawn's brain. It wasn't like he'd expected Gus to suddenly go against his belief that slaves were people, but it was such a dangerous thing to say to a master.

But… What now?

There was only one certainty; he really didn't want to talk about it. He'd just taken out a side piece of a Jenga tower; any slight breeze would send everything tumbling to the ground. Gus' face scrunched up and more tears fell, giving Shawn his way out. "Dude, your eyes are going to be so clean once we're done with this…"

Gus choked out a wet laugh. "I can't help it. I'm a sympathetic crier."

"But I'm not crying," Shawn pointed out, conveniently ignoring how his own eyes were prickling.

"No, no you're not," Gus agreed. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, his efforts clearly futile as more tears fell. He hesitated before stepping closer, moving slowly as he reached out to clasp Shawn's shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Shawn's throat tightened as he saw the sincerity in Gus' eyes. No one had ever been proud of him. He clasped Gus' shoulder back. "I'm proud of you."

Gus gave him a small smile before sniffing and turning away. "So, uh… checkers?"

"Sounds good."

It wasn't until they were halfway through the game that Shawn realized he hadn't flinched when Gus had touched him.

Shawn paced in the dorm room, his hands keeping busy with the Rubik's cube. It had been two days since their visit to the grave, and his mind wouldn't keep quiet about it. No matter what he was doing, random emotions or thoughts kept breaking through. Stabs of fury when he thought about the penny, soothing acceptance when he remembered Gus' hand on his shoulder, jolts of adrenaline when his own words echoed in his head.

It was huge, a complete break from his training. And he was, frustratingly, having to come to terms with the fact that the realization had barely changed a thing. He hadn't been expecting anything big like his collar falling off or people treating him like equals. But he'd thought there'd be at least something. More purpose to life, or at least a quieting of all of the voices telling him to 'be good'.

If anything, it had made things harder. He couldn't hide behind his training anymore as he was crushed by the reality of what had been taken from him. His fingers moved faster, breaking up the pattern he'd formed in the cube until the colors were a chaotic mix.

Maybe it would have been easier to stay in the slave mindset for the rest of his life. Nothing had changed; he was still a slave. He was still going to be treated like a slave. But the option was a red herring; it wasn't worth thinking about. He knew the truth.

He'd been acting like a person for months now.

The reason things hadn't changed was because he'd already changed. From the very first night he'd been with Gus to when he hadn't been punished for talking back to pushing Gus to break the law to moving into the dorm to running away… It was impossible to tell where the switch had happened. Just because he hadn't let himself realize it until his cuffs needed maintenance didn't mean the change hadn't already happened. He just hadn't had the words for it yet.

It was still disorienting.

He continued to pace, letting his mind wander wherever it wanted. Flashes of his training made his heart pound, but it was immediately soothed by memories of Gus telling him to act the complete opposite. Older memories resurfaced, times when he'd been free to break the rules without fear. When he could take any order given to him and examine it from every angle until he knew at least three ways to follow it and still do things his way. His back and tongue stung with echoes of the times he'd tried that after being collared. Where did the person end and the slave begin?

The door opened as Shawn was mid-stride, and he quickly stopped and tossed the fidget cube into his basket. He shouldn't have lost track of time like that…

"Hey, everything ok?" Gus asked as he closed the door.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Shawn took in how Gus' eyebrows drew together and how his hand clenched tightly around his backpack strap. "Are you alright? Did you finally ask Candice out?"

The stress written across Gus' face lessened as he clicked his tongue in a very Candice-like fashion. "Why would I ask her out?"

"Because you're into her and she's into you?"

"I don't have time to be into anyone," Gus grumbled as he dropped his backpack on his bed. He glanced at his watch before looking around the room. "Besides, today would be the worst day ever to ask someone out."

It was almost validating that Gus still didn't make sense. "Why not? Valentine's Day is the day for that."

"No, it's the day for when you already have a girlfriend. Not the day for getting a girlfriend," Gus said like it was obvious.

It was so not obvious. But Gus was checking his watch again and something was definitely up. "So who are you waiting on, then?"

"How do you do that?" Gus asked in bewilderment.

"Why else would you be checking…" Shawn paused as Gus glanced at his watch again. "...your watch three times in the last two minutes?"

Gus made a face before glancing out the window. "Because the police called –or, rather, Lassiter called– and he's going to be here any minute."

Why didn't he open with that? And why would the cops come here instead of asking them to come to the station? Shawn's stomach flipped as he glanced out of the window himself. "What did he say?"

"Not much…" Gus trailed off as they saw a police cruiser park up front. "He said he needed to talk to me and asked when I'd be available. I thought he wanted a longer phone call until he told me he'd meet me up here…"

Lassiter didn't look happy when he climbed out of his car, but there was a file in his hands. If he was here to cause problems, he wouldn't bring a case with. Right?

Shawn looked around the room, instincts telling him to kneel and do what was expected of him. Except he didn't want to kneel. He'd still have to do it for the rest of his life, but they weren't in public. Gus had said the dorm room was safe…

His legs shook as he walked to his corner and stayed standing, his arms down by his side. His fingers twitched, begging for something to fidget with. Why had he left the cube in his basket?

"You ok?" Gus asked, his eyes knowing.

Shawn jerked his head in a nod. "Yup."

People didn't have to stand at attention. People didn't have to kneel. People were allowed to look at other people. The shaking increased and Shawn stubbornly stared at the door. He was safe.

A knock rapped on the door and Gus checked on Shawn one last time before opening the door. "Officer."

"Guster," Lassiter answered as he walked in. He met Shawn's look and scoffed with an eye roll.

Maybe choosing to practice being a person with a cop hadn't actually been the best of ideas…

Lassiter didn't spare him another glance as he told Gus, "Apparently, we're stuck together. The chief has decided I'll be your permanent handler."

"Ok," Gus said suspiciously. "Why come here to tell us that?"

Lassiter crossed his arms as he cast another judgmental glare at Shawn. "Because if we're going to keep working together, then I want both of us to be on the same page. No more surprises." His cadence changed, like he'd rehearsed a speech. "The only reason society works is if everyone follows the rules; bankers don't embezzle money, ex-lovers don't try to kill each other, cars don't run red lights. Cops arrest those that break the rules. That applies to slaves too; they have to follow their rules for the good of everyone."

Gus hid it well, but Shawn could see the tension in his jaw as he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Simple." Lassiter nodded at Shawn. "You can let yours do whatever you want in your place, it's your prerogative as an owner. But when he's under police authority, he's expected to follow certain rules."

"Rules like…?"

Shawn listened with bated breath; what if Gus didn't agree to the rules? What if he wasn't allowed to solve more cases? He really should have knelt… He could act like a slave if it meant still getting to investigate crimes.

"Rules like me being in control of him. He shouldn't speak out of turn, or draw attention to himself. I give you a case, he looks at it, he tells me what he sees –privately– then the chief is happy, and you take him back home. Done."

"Not done," Gus immediately argued. "Shawn can't control when and how he has his visions—"

"His 'visions' are a load of crock and you know it," Lassiter snapped back. "I have been the laughing stock of the whole station after his last little episode. If I'm stuck dealing with him, then you better believe I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen ever again."

"I'm not going to let you control him. Making him be quiet and kneel out of sight doesn't help anyone."

"And him spazzing out in front of everyone is just going to get him put down."

Shawn's mouth moved before he could stop it. "I'll do it." Two shocked pairs of eyes stared at him and he forced himself to look back. "I'll control the visions until we're in private."

Lassiter smirked, clearly thinking he'd won.

"But I also get to have visions if– when we help take down the bad guy."

Lassiter's smirk dropped into a sharp frown. Gus looked absolutely delighted.

The unspoken approval carried Shawn past all of the voices from his past screaming at him. He took over his own negotiation. "I'll be perfectly behaved in the precinct, the spirits will help with your cases, you'll look good for your chief… And you just have to keep us in the loop. In case I have any more visions."

"And I stay in control of his collar," Gus added quickly.

Lassiter turned towards Gus, talking as if Shawn wasn't there. "And how, exactly, is letting him run his mouth at a potential suspect going to help anything?"

Shawn answered him anyway. "Do you think your last perp would have confessed so quickly if it had been a free person laying everything out? Clearly you thought it was working well, since you didn't tell me to stop once."

"Perps can sniff out weakness from a mile away. A slave not knowing his place is a hell of a weakness," Lassiter argued stubbornly.

Too bad he was surrounded by stubborn people.

"A cop arresting the wrong person is even weaker," Gus shot back. "If you want our help, those are our conditions."

"I don't want your help. What I want is to be given cases and to bring perps to justice. Not babysit two nincompoops who have no idea how the world works!"

"Two nincompoops who…" Gus made a show of thoughtfully counting on his fingers. "...helped you arrest how many people again?"

Lassiter's hand twitched, like he wanted to grab his gun. But he was backed into a corner; they all knew it. He had his orders and they were just as binding as any order Gus gave Shawn.

"I stay in control of him when he's in the precinct," Lassiter finally said. He shook his head firmly, cutting off Gus before he could start. "That is non-negotiable. If he acts like he says he will, then I won't need to order him around."

Gus hesitated, clearly conflicted. He glanced over at Shawn before asking, "And you'll keep us on the case the whole time?"

Shawn's heart warmed at the fact that Gus was putting Shawn's request over his own.

Lassiter reluctantly agreed. "I'll keep you updated on any changes to the case. But I do not want you hovering over my desk."

"And you won't order Shawn around unless he's not following your rules in public. And you won't make him kneel," Gus bargained.

"Fine," Lassiter said with an eye roll, clearly annoyed that the conversation was still going.

Gus looked questioningly at Shawn, who quickly nodded back. Not only was he getting to solve more cases, but now he'd get to see them through to the very end. Of course he'd agree. And Lassiter didn't like them, but he was exactly who he said he was. He'd follow his own rules.

"Deal." Gus held out his hand for the expected sales handshake.

Lassiter raised an eyebrow at the gesture and offered the folder instead, slapping it into Gus' hand. "We have a new case."

Gus just stared at the folder in shock, his groove broken. Shawn cleared his throat after several seconds, his fingers itching to flip through the pages. What goodies did they get to solve today? Murder? Mugging? Malpractice? Mutiny?

Gus shook himself and quickly glanced through the file before handing it over. He looked confused, but he didn't say anything as Shawn quickly looked over the evidence.

It seemed like a simple case; just a smash and grab at a jewelry store. A few glass shards edged with blood were bagged for evidence, and the cameras had been disabled before the robbery. But then why only grab things from one glass case instead of all of them?

Shawn flipped the page to find an arrest summary. One suspect caught, collar number 87914110, owned by the jewelry shop owner. All but five pieces of jewelry were recovered with the arrest. The remaining pieces were listed and Shawn's eyebrows rose. He didn't know anything about jewelry, but they certainly sounded expensive.

There was just one thing that didn't make sense. Shawn looked up and asked, "You caught your perp red-handed. What do you need me for?"

"Great, even a slave doesn't see it…" Lassiter scoffed before asking Gus, "How many slaves do you know who'd suddenly decide to steal his master's most expensive jewelry, grab his remote, and then run away?"

Gus looked at Shawn, panic flashing across his face as he answered, "That's a rhetorical question, right?"

"Fine… How many forty year-old slavebred slaves do you know, with no history of running or fighting back, who would commit a crime like this?"

Shawn watched the conversation carefully; it wasn't often a slave was given the benefit of the doubt. "You think he was ordered to do it."

"I think it's convenient that the pieces he hid somewhere are the ones that'll give his owner the highest insurance payout."

Gus asked, "Don't police have a way of looking up what orders the collar has enforced?"

"The owner 'respectfully declined' our request for that information," Lassiter said with a sneer. "We have to wait on a warrant. Considering we already have a suspect in custody and nobody cares enough to defend a slave… It won't be high on any judge's to-do list."

"And there's all sorts of ways to tell a slave what to do without making it an actual order," Shawn added. Memories of threats and lose-lose situations loomed behind him like a tsunami wave about to crash down. He ran away from them, focusing all of his attention on the case. Could Lassiter be right?

"I convinced the chief to give me twelve hours before the slave is… questioned." Lassiter's voice twisted in derision as he crossed his arms. "I saw several cops bartering away their best shifts so they could get first go at him."

Gus looked queasy at the thought. "But he already has to tell the truth…"

Lassiter's answer dripped with sarcasm. "He's already stolen from his owner and tried to run away. Of course they'll need to 'convince' him to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"I don't get it," Gus said. "You were all worried about being the laughing stock because of Shawn, but there's no way this will earn you any brownie points with them."

"They see what they want to see when Justice is supposed to be blind." Lassiter glanced at Shawn, his eyes hard, before bringing his focus back to Gus. "Like I said, slaves have to follow the rules. And that means they shouldn't be punished if they're doing what they're supposed to do. You don't arrest the gun; you arrest the person who pulled the trigger."

Even after knowing Lassiter would follow his own rules, it was still impressive that he'd be willing to do it even at his own expense. A small kernel of begrudging respect started to grow in Shawn's chest as he went back to studying the case.

The missing jewelry pieces definitely lent weight to Lassiter's theory. While Shawn's first instinct had been to look for signs that the slave had learnt about the Black Market, it really didn't make sense for the most expensive rings and necklaces to be the first ones he got rid of. Even if he hadn't know which was the most valuable, he'd have to have the worst luck in the world to select all of the worst pieces to keep.

Which brought Shawn back to Lassiter's theory. If the slave had been forced to steal the jewelry to become the fall guy, then those missing pieces would be the key to prove his innocence. But where would he have hid them?

No. Where would the owner have hid them? Shawn's hand jumped to his head. "I'm getting something."

"Please don't…" Lassiter sighed.

Shawn rolled his eyes back and flung his other hand out, like he could reach into the past. Really, it was for Lassiter's own good. This way he wouldn't have to lie if the chief asked whether or not Shawn had a vision.

"Words, threats, fear. Sharp shards, blood, a handful of goods worth more than his life… But not all of them. He wasn't… wasn't…" Several movie quotes burst in his mind like fireworks, and Shawn shot one at Gus. "His owner is going to lose because he was afraid to…"

"Trust," Gus answered back instantly. "The owner didn't trust him with the expensive jewelry."

"He kept them; hid them away. Insurance pays him off, and he still has the goods. Trade one slave for double the money."

Lassiter groaned, breaking up their excitement. "That doesn't tell me anything useful. If I can't get a warrant on a collar, I definitely won't get one for the jewelry store or the owner's house."

"What if the slave told you where it was?" Shawn asked, his thoughts rushing by faster than he could keep track. "Slaves know where everything is."

"Slaves never squeal on their owners."

"Why not?" Gus asked as Shawn sobered to the reality around them. "If someone tried to frame me for theft, I'd want to help the cops get him."

"Do you want to tell him?" Lassiter asked, addressing Shawn for the first time.

He really didn't… "It's making his master happy."

Gus stared in shock before throwing his hands in the air. "Seriously?!"

Shawn winced as he made his master unhappy. Where did the slave end and the person begin? "It's not your body, you just have to feel it… He was born a slave. It's all he knows."

"Bullshit," Gus snapped out. "Slaves are human, and self-preservation is a human thing, not a slave/person thing."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "And that's why every slave I've talked to has immediately flipped on their master… Oh wait."

"I'm not buying it. How many have even had the chance?" Gus barrelled on without waiting for an answer. "What happens to a slave who's convicted of a crime?"

"Assuming they survive the questioning and punishment" –Lassiter left just enough space for them to hear that it wasn't a guarantee– "they get sent back to their master. Depending on the crime."

"Uh-huh. And what happens to the slave if his master is convicted?"

"The master decides where he goes, either to another family member or sold for the money."

"And you really think that doesn't affect whether the slave will talk or not?"

Lassiter opened his mouth to retort back before snapping it closed again.

Shawn's dad had never told him what happened to slaves in police custody. All he'd known was that it was bad. But 'bad' didn't cover the complete catch-22 that slave was currently in. Even if he talked and his master decided to have him sold –the best case scenario– his master still had the power to decide where he was sold. Despite what Gus thought, some things were worse than death.

"Give him a third option," Shawn's mouth said for him.

Lassiter tensed, his eyes boring into Gus' as he said, "If I hear a single word about 'freedom', I'm walking out the door."

"I didn't say a word," Gus said, staring back.

There was way too much stubbornness going on in this room. Shawn added to it. "You can offer to sell him to someone better. If his options are to risk being beat to death by the cops or beat to death by his master's family, of course he's going to choose the option that's most likely to bring him back to the master he knows."

Gus' eyes lit up and he quickly added, "Log him as evidence. You said a slave is like a gun that was fired… You don't give a gun back to the person who shot someone."

Lassiter's voice was a disbelieving deadpan as he repeated, "Log him as evidence…"

"Why not?" Gus asked, his lips quirking up in a humorless smirk. "It's not like he's a person."

Lassiter was weakening; Shawn could tell. He added to their points. "A good interrogation is just as much about what you can offer as what you can take away. If you seize him as evidence, then after the trial you can sell him to a vendor that sells house slaves. No arrest on his record, no beatings, and no angry family looming over him."

Lassiter's expression was holding firm with a neutral angry vibe, but cracks in the mask were showing. He clearly hadn't ever considered incentivizing a slave before. He finally murmured under his breath, "It is outside the box…"

This seemed to mean something to him as he straightened his shoulders and informed the room, "I need to bring this proposal to the chief. Considering he sent me to our 'resident slave' to see if there was anything to be" –he raised his hands up to make air quotes– "divined, there's a chance he'll even listen."

Energy jolted through Shawn and the room lit up by several degrees. Lassiter had actually listened to them.

And 'divine' was a really really good word.

Lassiter plucked the case out of Shawn's hands and left the room. His voice carried through the hallway as he called back to them, "If you're coming with, you better hurry. I'm not waiting for you."

Shawn quickly dived for his shoes and Gus ran to grab the leash. Less than a minute later they were jogging down the stairs, on their way to save a person's life.

A/N: While I don't expect any trouble, I'd very much appreciate if any politics were left out of the comments. Thank you.