Still Here, Chief

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the movie Frequency and I'm not making any money from this fic

Summary: In the present day, Frank has some things to 'say' to his son

Warning(s): Spanking (severe); spoilers for the whole movie; some mentions of violence

The whole situation was a strange one. Frank knew it had to be so much stranger for Johnny, though. After all, Frank had had years to come to terms with talking to his adult son in the future. Johnny had only had the space of a few days.

Frank was certain Jules believed him, even though they'd never sat down and talked about what Satch had said to her. He'd caught her looking at the ham radio with a mixture of wonder and fear on more than one occasion; and she'd never asked him about his friend John since then.

The police hadn't asked many questions; helped by the fact it had been Satch first on the scene. Frank and him hadn't talked about Johnny either, though Satch had got a strange expression on his face the older John got… like he wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to.

It was all quiet now. Jules had gone to bed, safe in her ignorance of the shifting in timelines; safe from the knowledge that, in one of those timelines, she'd fallen victim to a serial killer. And the Nightingale was dead, too… Frank's family was no longer in danger. He could stop worrying about their safety; stop lying awake every night, expecting the killer to resurface, no matter how much police protection had been placed around their home. After all, how could they protect Frank's family against one of their own?

"You and Mom didn't have to stay here tonight, Dad." John stepped into the living room, standing framed in the doorway. "I know… how much you must have been on edge, waiting for this day. But he's gone now. He can't hurt me or Mom… he can't hurt anyone else ever again."

Frank didn't respond directly to his son's comment, but patted the seat next to him. "Come sit down, Chief."

Some of the tension seemed to seep out of John's shoulders at the familiar nickname. He sighed wearily and sank down next to Frank. "I'm glad this is all over."

"You're glad?" Chuckling, Frank bumped shoulders with his son, though his voice turned more serious as he continued, "Every day, I've wondered if things were going to change. I tried calling you on the radio, even though I knew it wouldn't work. We both know how easy it would be for a random action to change the past. I never stopped wondering if he was going to come back."

"I'm glad it happened," John said. "I mean, it was awful we lost Mom for a while, but at least it all turned out okay in the end." He hesitated. "I'm relieved to know she'll never be aware of what happened." He glanced sideways at Frank as he added, "I guess you must wish you don't remember."

"And lose what we had?" Frank shook his head. "I don't know all the science behind how and why it happened, but I'm grateful for it. Things were dicey for a while, but we pulled through. And now we have our own story to tell my grandkids."

"Yeah…" A look of wonder came over John's face. "I have a son. You have a grandson." He shook his head. "No one else is going to believe this."

"I need to ask you something, Chief." Frank knew his son heard the serious note in his voice, because John immediately looked at him, holding eye contact. Frank took only a moment to consider whether it was the right time to do this or not. All he had to do was remember the Nightingale about to stab his son. "Why did the son of a bitch come after you now?"

John hesitated. "I haven't had a chance to sort through the new memories yet. Maybe something caused him to come back."

"Maybe, but I could hear you fighting him," Frank said. "Before I shot off his hand in the past. What made him come after you now?" He waited a beat and, when his son didn't say anything, asked, "Did you get cocky and make yourself a target?"

John's head dropped and he stared at his lap. "I didn't think it would matter. I taunted him. Told him I knew who he was, but…" His voice faltered.

"But that it wouldn't matter, because he already went down. Just didn't know it yet," Frank finished.

"Yeah."

"Do I need to tell you what's about to happen? Are your memories still confused, or do you know how I started dealing with your reckless behaviour?"

John closed his eyes, not voicing a response. He stood from the sofa and, as soon as Frank stood as well, he started to bend forward over the arm. But then he stopped, glancing at his father.

"Leave them on for now." Frank's hand went to his belt. He unfastened the buckle as John bent over the sofa's arm, shuffling forward until his upper body was supported on the cushions and his backside was the highest point of his body.

Frank rested his hand on the jean-clad backside, giving a few firm pats and feeling his son shift beneath his hand. "I'm glad it's over, Chief. But you shouldn't have made yourself a target." He lifted his hand and doubled the belt over, palming the buckle. Resting his other hand on John's lower back, he raised the belt and let it land with a crack that would have startled Jules awake… if she hadn't grown used to the father-son talks.

Frank didn't pause much between the strokes. While he wasn't overly harsh, he quickly fell into a pattern of stripes; leaving just enough time for his son to gasp quietly after each strike.

Frank never kept count of how many strikes he gave with the belt. He didn't make John count, either. But by the time he paused, John's feet were shifting and he was breathing heavily.

The jeans were loose enough that Frank pulled them down without needing to unfasten them. He yanked them down to just below John's knees, revealing his white boxers through which Frank could see his bottom was flushed pink.

It was during the next round of stripes that Frank talked, the belt landing to punctuate every other word. "I know how scared and upset you were. You felt like you were on your own and it made you reckless. But you shouldn't have told him you knew. We had a plan. I was never going to let you down, Chief. You know that." He moved the belt lower, so it was landing across John's unprotected thighs. It wasn't as hard, but John gripped tight and a soft whimpering sound escaped him. He jerked his feet, but they stayed planted on the floor.

Frank landed two full rounds of the belt and then paused to tug John's boxers down to join his jeans. "You were lucky, Chief. Very lucky the radio was still working. Very lucky I could drive him off and be here to save you." He hesitated, as he was able to tell, by John's hard breaths, how close to tears his son was. But he couldn't let John think it was okay to put himself in danger, no matter who he was protecting. Still, Frank couldn't bring himself to use as much force as he had been; though John's bottom looked red enough he thought his son wouldn't notice.

By the time Frank called a halt to the thrashing, John's entire backside was a uniform red from the crest down to mid thigh. He replaced his belt around his waist as John's shoulders heaved and he hiccoughed, trying to stop crying.

Frank rubbed John's back gently, letting his son calm in his own time. "I'm here, Chief," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

It took several minutes for John's tears to die down, but he relaxed under Frank's hand and, eventually, he stopped shaking and pushed himself up.

Frank stepped back, allowing his son time to replace his clothes and wipe the tears from his face. Then, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tight around John once more, relieved they hadn't been lost to each other. "I love you, Chief."

John relaxed visibly and wrapped his own arms tight around Frank. "I love you too, Dad," he whispered.

The End