Author's warnings: mild language, brief drinking, some disciplinary corporal punishment.
"Three weeks max for this ridiculous court case, I promise, Adam," Ben Cartwright sighed as he squinted distracted into the first rays of daybreak. "I don't know why they're suddenly dusting off papers from thirty years ago to try to find a loophole, but I can't say it surprises me anymore."
Adam shook his head in resignation. There was always someone who was trying to claim a piece of the Ponderosa through whatever means. His family had worked hard to get where they were, and creating a bull's eye for moochers was an unfortunate side effect of success. "We'll be fine here, Pa, we're grown men, you know. I know what kind of businessman you are, I'll make decisions accordingly in your absence."
"I know you will, you have all along. That's not what I'm worried about." Ben exhaled, looking his eldest in the eye and putting a firm hand on his arm. "It's about this…this adjustment problem that Little Joe's been having."
"I know what're you're talking about." Little Joe was fifteen and, while Hoss and Adam had gone through their own rebellious stages, Joe's was…somewhat different. Not just finding his own way in the world, but doing so quite angrily, with more than a twinge of resentment.
"While his father is gone, the authority passes to the oldest brother." Ben looked at Adam meaningfully, and released the grip on Adam's arm. "I've told Joe as much."
Adam met his father's gaze, then nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "I don't think I can change this attitude of his, but I think I can keep it contained until you get back."
"Thanks, Adam." Ben briefly restrained his professionalism, leaning in to hug his firstborn. "Love you, son."
"You too, Pa," Adam mumbled, embarrassed but speaking truthfully.
BBBBBB
"I'll be back late tonight," Little Joe announced, and immediately walked out the door.
I guess so, Adam thought, fighting down a surge of annoyance as he was forced to run after his sibling. "Hold on, Joe," he called.
Little Joe sighed, air forced out of his lungs a tad more forcefully than was necessary, and whirled an adolescent attitude on his pursuer. "What?"
Adam decided to match the attitude, hoping that he came off as authoritative yet playful. "Can I ask why you'll be late? Is it a business meeting, city council, or what?"
"I'm an adult, why do I need to give specifics?"
"Out of something called respect. Have you noticed that I'm twelve years older than you, and I still let the family know where I'm going to be?
Adam was rewarded with a glare in response.
"Have it your way. Anyway, I'd like you to be home right after school, please," Adam said brusquely and crossed the front porch in two steps, now putting his sibling in the position of running after him.
"What, am I five years old?" Little Joe challenged as he banged through the porch door and stepped in front of Adam.
Adam turned abruptly to face him. "No. Joe, this is two or three weeks we need to get through, and then you can go back to having whatever issues with Pa that you were having. I'm not your wife for you to order around, or your father, or your mother, so just put all these issues on the back burner for a few weeks and don't shoot the substitute."
"I'll be home at a time that's convenient for me," Joe said coldly, and Adam hid a shiver of trepidation at the menace in his baby brother's tone.
Yet Adam knew that if he lost ground now, he would face three weeks of utter disrespect. "School gets out at four," Adam said quietly. "I'll give you until six o'clock to walk through this door."
Joe turned and strode out without another word.
"Damn it, I was in such a good mood when I woke up this morning!" Adam swore as he began the first of many pacing sessions.
Hoss couldn't hold it in any longer, and let a soft guffaw escape his lips from his inconspicuous place at the farther corner of the breakfast table.
"Yeah, keep eating, Hoss," Adam snapped, secretly relieved that he found a target for his displaced anger. "You're welcome to take this chore from me if you think you can do any better."
Hoss raised his hands in mock surrender. "You've gotten the benefits of being second-in-command all these years, now you can enjoy the drawbacks as well."
"Come on, I need your help with this, Hoss. Don't you take his side."
"I'm not on anybody's side. This is going to be an awesome three weeks, though. I'm thinking I might work in the fields extra long hours, or actually find a date for some weekend nights." Hoss cleared out to avoid a rejoinder.
Adam reminded himself that Little Joe was the youngest and was used to being the center of attention, and eventually busied himself to respond to the day's business correspondence.
BBBBBBB
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The time was 7:15 and still ticking, and Adam groaned inwardly, knowing that he had to follow through with his promise in order to be taken seriously for the next three weeks. Adam was steeling his resolve, also hoping that Hoss would not be home to critique his decisions.
Adam tried a variety of techniques to distract himself, but felt the mounting tension as the minutes passed. If it weren't for the confrontation this morning, he might have worried about the little punk. Adam envisioned his brother in a whole new way, the jacket with the collar that always stood straight up, the friendly smile that might actually be more of a smirk—
And then the vision was fulfilled with reality. Little Joe opened the door and softly closed it again, watching carefully. Only when he saw Adam did his expression once again darken with a steely resolution.
The two men faced each other silently, knowing what was to come, each dreading it in his own way. Adam spoke first. "What time does the clock say?" he asked gently.
"I'm hardly sneaking in at 3 a.m. after a rowdy night of partying."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It's seven-frikkin-forty-eight, warden."
Adam could feel his teeth grinding. "I don't think it would have been too difficult for you to get home an hour and forty-eight minutes ago," he managed.
"No speeches," Joe almost spat, his arm crossed. An expression of fear briefly passed across his features, and was replaced by defiance. "Do whatever you need to do to prove yourself to your father, go ahead and do it."
Adam caught Joe by the scruff of that jacket that he'd suddenly grown to detest, and in one fluid motion yanked it, twisted it, and pressed down so that the person wearing it was facedown across the desk piled with business papers that now seemed so trivial in comparison. Adam kept his left hand pressed on Little Joe's lower back, keeping him firmly in place as the right hand unhooked his own belt and pulled it out in three motions.
Adam caught himself, taking deep breaths to avoid punishing out of pure anger. He reminded himself that the purpose of this intervention was to live in semi-peace until their father's return, and determinedly resolved to only strike as hard as it took to get his point across. Little Joe turned his face away from his inflictor, but Adam's eyes were unfocused anyway, doubling up his belt in his left hand, the instrument meeting its target with a slapping sound rivaled only by the suddenly agonizingly loud ticking of the clock.
How many strokes was he supposed to give? Adam had never been struck in his life, and had no idea of the average. He settled on fifteen, his brother's age.
As soon as Adam released his hold and moved away, Little Joe swiftly moved past him and upstairs, avoiding eye contact and shutting his door softly to avoid further unwanted attention. Later Adam recalled the experience as feeling slightly drunk with unprocessed emotion, plopping down at the desk with now hopelessly disheveled business papers, even trying to physically cover his ears in an attempt to avoid the echo of his brother's last words.