Summary: He loves his son so much; but lately it seemed that all they did was fight. Everything changes when Clark is held hostage and his life is threatened.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

Beta: Many thanks to Ace Bullets for her help! All mistakes are mine!

Season: 3rd? In any case, Clark is still the only child in the Lane's family.

Genre: Family, Drama, Angst, H/C

Warning: English is not my native language! Sorry in advance for the mistakes and for my limited vocabulary. If possible, be kind and don't judge me harshly. I'm trying really hard. Many thanks for your patience, your feedback, and your support.

A/N: Feedback is not a necessity in life but it sure is appreciated :)

Like Father, Like Son.

CHAPTER 1

They hadn't said one word since they left the principal's office, and now, with each agonizing minute passing by, the tension in the car steadily intensified.

The father, with a stony expression, silently drove the car. He seemed almost calm but a tough fold was etched between his eyebrows, his firmly-set mouth, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, and the superfluous coarseness of his movements when he shifted gears betrayed his inner tension. From time to time he was throwing furious glances in the rearview mirror, looking at the boy in the back seat.

The son was sitting with his hands folded tightly across his chest. Glumly, he looked out the side window. His mouth was also set into the hard line; but his lower lip was noticeably swollen and there was a bruise, growing on his chin.

The father spoke first, unable to restrain himself any longer.

"I'm still waiting explanations, Clark."

The teenager rolled his eyes before answering. "Oh! By the way: Hi, Dad! Yes, I'm fine; thanks for asking!" Clark Lane almost cried out, then went back to looking out the window, obviously trying to look anywhere but at his father. Scowling, he ran his tongue gently on a cut on the inner side of his swollen lip.

Ed's gaze in the mirror caught this movement and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Of all the stupid things, Clark... For God's sake, you are FIFTEEN! What the hell were you thinking?!" he seethed through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Getting no reply he snorted. "Oh wait, that's right. You weren't. You never think of the damn consequences, do you?" He threw a fierce look at his son.

Clark stubbornly stared out the truck window, not answering, but his shoulders hunched a little.

"Are you going to answer me?" Ed prodded.

Clark heaved an exasperated sigh. "Why? It's useless. You wouldn't understand, anyway…"

"Try me!" Ed slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

"No." The teenager moved his gaze to look in the rearview mirror. He endured the hard-eyed stare of his father without flinching.

"That was not an answer, Clark!" Ed barked over his shoulder and couldn't keep his voice from rising. His legendary temper hung by a thread again. Any goodwill had gone a long time ago.

"It's the only one you're getting!" Clark declared, staring defiantly at his father. "And keep your eyes on the road, will you? I've had enough problems today."

Ed bit his lips, mentally counting to ten before responding. But no matter how hard he tried to control himself - when he spoke, his voice vibrated with barely suppressed anger. "Now, let me get this straight, smartass," he snarled. "I was in the middle of an important meeting when your principal called me. I had to explain to dozen of sergeants and team leaders that I couldn't finish the meeting because my fifteen-year-old son got into a stupid fight at school!" He tried to stop yelling, but his voice rose automatically as he kept going. "Afterwards, I was forced to listen to an extremely unpleasant lecture from your principal and the school counselor! You displayed undue violence and that'll probably raise a red flag for the school board, your principal said. Sure you don't give a damn about it. Fine! If you spit at your future and at your parents, it's your business. If you don't care about your music—which you could end forever breaking your fingers—again, it's your business. But—"

Clark interrupted him with a loud, exasperated groan. "I said to you that I'm sorry! I'm such a screw up, okay? I'M. SOR-RY. I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you. I'm sorry I'm not the perfect little son. I'm sorry that I ruined your perfect little family plans and—"

"Oh, put away the violins, would ya?" Ed cut him short and made a face; he was at the end of his rope. "This isn't a movie about your own sob story, Clark. Save the dramatics and just accept responsibility for once in your damn life!"

Ed pulled into their driveway. The truck stopped, but he and Clark remained sitting. Ed shut off the engine and turned round on his seat to face his son. "For the last time. Tell me what the hell prompted you to attack some kid. Or prepare be locked in your room until you are 18. The choice is entirely up to you!" He demanded sternly.

The boy looked dejectedly at the front door of the house, then he glanced down at his hands, his fingers absently fiddling with the handle of his school backpack.

"It's not what you think," Clark finally said. He raised his head and looked straight in his father's face. "You accuse me without knowing everything…again…"

"Oh, really?!" Ed exclaimed and threw up his hands. "All right! Maybe I've been unfair. Maybe I've leapt to conclusions without getting the whole story. So do me a favor: enlighten me!" He fixed his piercing blue eyes on his son.

For a few moments there was a tense silence in the car.

"Fine!" Clark blurted out. Folding his arms and jutting out his chin, he finally spoke up, somewhat desperately. "He said... He said that it's regular beat cops that do the real work. That they're the ones who really clean the streets up of the bad guys. That the SRU are only capable of useless, empty chatter. He said it's not fair that the people extol and approve you; that you're NOT heroes. That the SRU only recruits people who don't have the balls to work everyday on the streets unless they're wearing armored helmets and heavy bulletproof vests with highest level of protection... Who are too stupid to make tough decisions on their own and can only blindly follow the rules and protocols. Who could never become REAL COPS!" he cried out loud and paused, breathing heavily.

Ed opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he realized he hadn't known what he was going to say. Crap…

The boy's eyes glistened with close tears now. "He said that the sniper position is the most cowardly work... That you ... That they ... they are killing people from afar because they are too cowardly to look the enemy in the eyes. He said you a coward, Dad! Tell me! Tell me what I was supposed to do?!"

Ed turned away, biting his lips, unable to think of a quick answer. All his anger at Clark drained away. Now he was baffled, dumbfounded and taken aback. Not exactly the emotions he was used to. He glanced in the rearview mirror again. Clark was looking at him; his eyes were desperate for his father's response.

Double crap. What could he say? That Clark did the right thing by breaking the nose of this idiot? That Ed would have done exactly that in Clark's place? Well, was the honest answer, but unfortunately not the answer that the father-cop should give to his troubled rebellious teenager-son.

Ed closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to push his emotions aside.

Right now, he had to find the right words for his son to prevent a possible recurrence of a similar situation in the future. Clark never must jeopardize his own life and health because of the words of every idiot.

But later, when this was over, he would go down in the basement and murder a punching bag.

"Clark... No matter what someone else does or says, there are always other choices," Ed began to speak quietly in his best persuasive voice. "Fighting is not an option, and you know it. Did you even try to talk to him before hitting him?"

Clark's hackles were immediately up again. "Talk? You said TALK?!" he almost spat out the words.

Ed ignored Clark's sarcasm. "You should not have to beat him. Aggression never solved anything. Believe me," he continued as soothingly as he could.

Clark's face contorted with a grimace of contempt. "Are you really saying that I have to talk with every bastard?"

Ed shook his head. "Buddy… You allowed your emotions to take over. You were overreacting. You let this become personal and-"

"It WAS personal!" Clark exclaimed, fixing his angry glance upon his father's face. Ed knew that stubborn look on his son's face. Sophie claimed Clark got it from him…

He breathed out a deep sigh. "Do you know why there is a rule that if the case becomes personal for a cop he should be removed? He is no longer objective and begins to jeopardize himself and others, and-"

"I do not want to hear it! I do not want to know about your stupid rules!" Clark shook his head furiously. "I'm NOT a cop! And I never will be. I don't want to be like you; I'm not you! If some bastard insulted my family, I'm gonna respond, no matter the price or some stupid rules!"

Ed felt like beating his head against the steering wheel. How was it that he could talk down a career criminals, gunmen, potential suicides... but was not even be able to talk to his own son? "Clark, listen to me, buddy…"

"No! I'll listen to you when you stop talking like a negotiator or 'Constable Lane' and start talking to me like a father!" Clark was almost yelling now.

Ed clenched his teeth, making a supreme effort to make himself not snap back.

Clark sat bolt upright. "Yes, I knew that it was against all the rules!" he blurted out. "I knew that I would be punished for the fact that I've broken the nose of that moron. And you know what?! I didn't give a damn because I KNEW in my soul, in my heart that I did the RIGHT thing! Because if I hadn't done it… I couldn't respect myself. I would have despised myself!" His eyes shone with tears, and his mouth trembled.

"Kiddo…" Ed began softly.

"I knew that I would have problems!" Clark cried out. "And I didn't care. I made the decision and do was ready to accept the consequences! I just was hoping that my dad would support me. At least once..." He sniffled, no longer able to hold back the tears.

"Clark, Clark…" Ed reached out to his son but the boy angrily pushed his hand away.

"I was protecting you... I thought that's what family does... I was wrong! I… I hate you!" With that, Clark yanked the door open and jumped out the car. Ed watched silently as the boy ran into the house and the door slammed behind him.

He wearily rubbed his hand across his eyes. He felt wrung out, inadequate, and in way over his head. In addition, his temples begin to pound with the promise of a headache.

He leaned back and stared out the windshield, watching the slowly darkening sky, trying to wrap his head around what had happened and was dumbfounded at how quickly his good day had gone down the tubes…

He should be happy; it was the last day of work from the seemingly endless ten days' duty tour before he went on break. From the early morning today he craved getting through this shift, getting home and finally getting his deserved quiet, lazy family Friday night. And tomorrow there would be his long-awaited day off with his son, away from the noisy city; away from all this hectic madness and rush.

Fishing. He had been waiting for this for a long time… Only him and Clark; the father and the son, together; happy as before.

It was their old tradition. In those rare times when Ed's days off coincided with Clark's free days, they went on a fishing trip. Sophie sometimes joined them, but in most cases, she stayed at home, allowing father and son spend time together. These days were very precious to Ed, especially now, with Clark almost grown up, joining his father without the previous enthusiasm. With soft sadness, Ed began to come to an understanding that there weren't many more of their joint fishing trips remaining.

He missed spending time with his son and had been really awaiting his coming days off…

When Principal McCarthy called him and said that Clark had beat up his class-mate, Ed did not believe him.

It could be some kind of joke; an episode of a candid camera show; an alternate universe; anything but the school fight with his son in the role of the attacker.

Being pulled from a meeting that—if he was honest, he'd been relieved to get away from it—and driving across city, worried sick that Clark had been hurt, he hadn't been in the most reasonable mood when he arrived at the school.

After making sure that was Clark unharmed and after hearing a scolding from the principal and the school counselor, Ed loosed the whole force of his character on his son, masking his worry and disappointment with anger.

All this time, Clark was stubbornly silent, not giving any explanations. Silently, they got into the car. Silently, they were almost all the way home.

And here, explanations had been received… Ed chuckled bitterly, winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He noticed that the door of the house opened and Sophie came out, looking at the truck. Ed rubbed his eyes. They were tired and there were so many thoughts swimming in his mind. With a large exhale of breath, he pushed the door of the truck open, stepped out and headed to the house, wishing he knew what he'd done wrong in bringing up Clark.

How many fights had Ed himself gotten into as a kid or a teenager? Oh, definitely more than one. Did his father yell at him for it? Definitely, yes. But did Ed ever say to his father he hated him? Definitely not…

He came up to the front door. Sophie took a step towards him and hugged him. "You okay?" she whispered and kissed him softly on his cheek.

"Yeah…" Ed managed a tired smile, hugging her back. "Did he tell you?"

Sophie nodded, "He called me from the school."

They went inside.

"He's upstairs?"

Sophie sighed. "Give him time to cool down a bit…"

Ed nodded silently and continued his way through the house toward the bedroom. As he passed through the living room his eyes fell on a few family pictures on the wall. He stopped, looking pensively and sullenly at one photo, where he and a ten-year-old Clark were standing embracing each other, smiling broadly. He gave another tired sigh, looking with a quiet pain and sadness at Clark's beaming face.

He really didn't know what happened. One day they both were happy; his son loved him, admired him and was proud of him and his job. The next day they were fighting…

A hand touched his shoulder. He barely noticed as Sophie quietly approached him from behind. She put her arms around his waist and he took her hands in his. For a few moments they stood in silence, looking at the family photos on the wall.

"I'm not exactly Father of the Year today, Soph…" Ed muttered bitterly.

"It'll all look better in the morning, Eddie…" his wife replied softly.

Ed shook his head. "He said he hates me, Soph. I tried to tell him all the right things; tried to get through to him, explain to him... I just wanted him to be safe. And he hates me." He paused, sighing heavily. "Soph, I'm losing him and I have no idea why. What did I do wrong?"

"You did everything right," Sophie countered gently.

Ed still kept his pain-filled eyes on the pictures on the wall. "I swear I always did my best to be a good father to him… And here we go. My son is headed to the top of the list of school bullies. He hates me. Looks like I screwed up everywhere. And I have no damn idea how it's come to this…"

Sophie chuckled. "Maybe you're so afraid of screwing up, that you're screwing up," she rested her cheek on Ed's shoulder.

"Hey!" Ed turned his head and gave her a hurt look. His wife's eyes danced with merriment and Ed frowned. "I don't see anything very amusing in that," he grumbled. "Our son, the cellist, broke the nose of his classmate; that's sure not a funny thing!" He paused then shook his head. "Gee, I can still hardly believe it," he breathed out a harsh laugh.

"There's a first for everything," Sophie replied with a shrug. "And the fact that he is the cellist does not cancel the fact that he is a teenager as well. And your son," she smiled at her husband. "He did what his father would have done. He's starting to act like you, Eddie, more and more. There so much of you in him."

Ed wrinkled his nose and looked sideways at her. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not..."

"Why? You wanted him to be shy and timid?" His wife smiled at him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Then she grew serious. "At his age you would have done just the same. I know part of you is actually proud of him and approves his actions… He was protecting you, Eddie."

"He shouldn't," Ed said firmly and with a frown. "No matter what—or who said and did what—he shouldn't have to expose himself to danger. It is unacceptable!" He broke off, noticing that he began to slide into 'Constable Lane' mode. He cursed under his breath, winced and shook his head furiously. "Hell, Soph... No matter what I think or feel about all this, I can't approve of what he did!" He paused a few seconds, frowning; then went on with a sigh. "Yeah... I have to be on his side. And I'm NOT ... And that is why he hates me."

Sophie said nothing; just hugged her husband tightly, pressing closer to him.

Ed looked over the gallery again. His eyes stopped on a picture Sophie had taken that caught a moment Ed had tried to feed his three-year-old son. There were such identical expressions on father and son's faces; two pairs of stubborn glances and frowning brows; two pairs of tightly compressed lips.

"Soph, you know, sometimes I wish I could turn the clock back to another time, when the most difficult thing was trying to get Clark to eat his vegetables..." he sighed deeply.

Sophie laughed softly at that. "Sure you don't." She turned to face Ed. "You two are gonna make it up, okay? You'll have all day tomorrow, just the two of you, yours rods and fish. A little hiking and fishing. A little bonding. A lot of talking…" She looked at him intently. "You're both gonna be fine."

A sudden roar thudded from above and Ed's head shot up. Stunned, he listened to the sounds of heavy, low bass coming from his son's room. He turned his dumbfounded gaze on his wife.

"What's the hell is this?!"

"Music," she said, completely calm. "Yes, honey, your son doesn't like only classical sonatas," she grinned at him.

"Terrific…" Ed made a face. The 'music' fell abruptly silent; apparently Clark switched to his earphones.

"You can talk to him about it tomorrow. He will be glad to hear that you're interested," Sophie said.

Ed looked away. Suddenly he didn't want to be alone with the stranger that had once been his son. "About tomorrow… I'm not sure that's a good idea. Maybe better to postpone it till next time..."

"I never knew you to give up, Edward Tucker Lane," Sophie replied with a smirk and shook her head.

Ed looked at her, almost desperately. "He is not going to talk with me. He doesn't want to. He won't want to even listen to anything I say." He paused and had to swallow the golf ball-sized lump in his throat.

"It'll all look better in the morning…" Sophie repeated softly. She turned to him and cradled his face in her hands. "Talk to him. Just… Just try to be a father first…and then, if you think it necessary, 'Constable Lane' can take over and say what he needs—but without badgering him." She kissed him on tightly compressed lips. "Come on. Stop torturing yourself. Everything's going to be okay…" She gently pushed him toward the bedroom. "Go… Take a shower. Dinner is almost ready."

Ed came into the bedroom and sank wearily on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. Sophie was right. They both really needed to spend some time together. Talk—only the father and son—without the involvement of 'Constable Lane'.

Suddenly he hit the bed with his fist. Hell! When had he become such a hard-ass? What came first, his hard-ass behavior or Clark's attitude? Chicken or the egg? What the hell happened to him? When had he become for his son more a cop than his father? He dropped his face in his hands. For several minutes he sat there without moving, thinking…

Currently, the house was silent and peaceful. Some pleasant aromas from the kitchen began to penetrate his sense of smell and his stomach growled in anticipation. In a couple of minutes the tension began to leave him. A timid hope that he would still get his well-deserved quiet family evening once again glimmered in him.

Low bass chords from above hit in his ears again and all his tension immediately returned. Ed muttered a curse. His ears heard crap; Clark's obviously heard only cool stuff. The generation gap was alive and well.

He resolutely got to his feet. It was time to do something about it; time begun to mend their strained, strayed relationship. Yes, tomorrow they would go fishing, talk heart to heart, clear the air between them, and they would be good, as before. He was definitely going to salvage this mess.

(tbc)